Life as a Zoo Creature

Ah - are any of you out there old enough to remember the Twilight Zone episode where a man ends up in a different universe, is greeted by strange creatures who treat him well and even build him a house?  Come on....   I know some of you saw that one.  Awakening in his new digs and surprised by the generosity of his hosts, he surveys the joint. Opening the curtains of a large picture window, he sees an expanse of fence, on the other side of which are the locals observing MAN {that'd be him} new addition to the Zoo:  Species -  Homo Sapiens -  in His Natural Habitat.

Well there were flashes of that last night for me as I met some new friends (a newly transplanted USAID couple) at the Indian Restaurant near my house.  So near in fact, that the gaggle of little girls who have finally stopped tormenting me on the ally leading home - found me at the restaurant.  There we were enjoying a quite conversation under the Bat-tree (yes - bats swooping in and out), when the gawking-gaggle-of-girls showed up.   They waved - I waved and smiled. They lined up along the fence, hands curled into the mesh, noses poking through the spaces watching our every move.  They stayed.  They yammered at me - "you give me..." and then it turned ugly.  I was polite for about five minutes into the taunting.     This is unusual in my experience here.   We've all been "observed," but it's always been a little more innocent.  The ring leader must be about nine and I finally suggested that they go "that way."  One said, "First we just come inside."  On no...  The new friends were not amused and were getting uncomfortable and so was I.   I replied "No - first you go home,"  this accompanied by "the look" I have had to adapt to let them know I am serious.  So they straggled  off, but one of the younger ones grown brave began calling out a taunt I think I'm glad I didn't understand.  Welcome to the Zoo animal - and by the way - you're the entertainment.  This never happens with the adults here, who are very respectful.  For the most part it doesn't happen with the kids either. After a few giggles, they are gone.  But these little girls have all the makings of a street gang.  In talking to them a few weeks ago about "manners" I guess I forgot to include gawking at the restaurant...    This might have the makings of a Miss Manners Does Uganda column. 

But other than that, life here bumbles along.  My friend Karla who was assigned not one, but TWO horrible NGO's to work with  (the one who went to the lovely town of Ft. Portal to work with an NGO where her discoveries resulted in her being told to "be careful, people get poisoned for less,") decided she wouldn't wait around to experience the truth of that.  She has spent the last year giving her all, offering productive suggestions and projects all to no avail.  Peace Corps really dropped the ball n this one and we are all sad to see her go.   BUT - and Karla, I know you will appreciate this - she has relinquished her title as the WalMart Pancake Diva and sent me her remaining pancake mix!  By Post Bus no less! Thank you Karla and  we will toast you this weekend with pancakes and fake maple syrup.  Admittedly,  we will also indulge in some envy as you will certainly be basking in the luxury of a hot bath, fresh linens and good food somewhere in Zurich.

On a different note altogether, I've had an article about my Peace Corps experience published online at  The Journal of Humanitarian Affairs (http://greenheritagenews.com/living-with-the-power-of-choice/) if you'd like to check it out. 

The Marching Band has "finished," turning over its share of air space to the Muslim Call to Prayer. Oh - in answer to the question about the tenacity of the marching band, this is a group of local folks who no doubt play for fun, but also make money with their music.  People hire them for all manner of celebrations and events. Remember the Male Circumcision parade?  Yep!   And the Hand Washing Day parade?  Same folks.  They practice every day and always end with the Ugandan National Anthem. What they lack in musicality, they more than make up for in enthusiasm. They still make me smile.

A Trip to the Pharmacy

Had an interesting totally Ugandan experience today in the Pharmacy of all places.   Allergies have been causing me terrible headaches over the last few days, to the extent that I left work today.  A rarity for me.  So finally, after having taken everything in my own medical stash - all to no avail - BC powders, coffee fully leaded, antihistamine and decongestants, ibuprofen, acetaminophen...  I went in search of some good drugs.  It is said you can get ANYTHING here, so I was rather looking forward to something in the way of a pain killer laced with a little euphoria.  You know Vicodin, Demerol, something that would not only kill the pain, but give me a little buzz or at least a good sleep.

I entered full of hope and was shown a plethora of possibilities, none of which I'd ever heard of and they hadn't heard of anything I wanted.  You see these are not actually pharmacists and there's nothing like a PDR there to guide you on what these the drugs with these new names actually ARE or what they DO.  Asking for details is not helpful.  So I left with Head Ex (that already sounds a bit ominous).  Is that like an Ex-husband,  you had a head but now you don't?  It's loaded with caffeine and is supposed to be Uganda's answer to Excedrin Migraine.  Don't think that's gonna help me sleep...  So I asked for something else. As he gave me this stuff called ParaFenac.  Sounds like something I should be using to wax my legs, but it's a pill so guess I rule that out.  I just asked, "Will it keep me awake or help me sleep?   Big smile:  "Oh madame, it will do both!"  "No, no" I said, you have to pick one or the other, both cannot be true."  "OK - it will help you sleep."  So I walked out with this stuff  and immediately Googled it to be sure I'm wasn't about to swallow strychnine or something for my libido (which could no doubt use some help).  Since this sign appears by the road on the way to a friends house (and appears courtesy of Michelle, another PCV) I felt there were many possibilities.

When we came here we were told if you go in any clinic, hospital or pharmacy and say you have "x" symptoms, you will automatically be treated for malaria.    "Headache - ah! you have malaria.  
Stomach hurt?  You have a touch of the Malaria. Fever - malaria.  Ingrown toenail - malaria. Foot in mouth:  malaria."    It's good to know - if I DO have Malaria  (or sickle cell or ulcers or loss of libido....) this is the "go to" place. 

You are thinking I exaggerate - but you would be wrong.  Today when I staggered home - head pounding - with my 4,000 shillings of meds and found I was being treated for Malaria, I knew the myth to be fact.  I went back and reiterated, "I need a PAIN KILLER, not Malaria treatment.  I do not have malaria! "  "Ah! but this will fix your headache!"   "No.... only if my headache is caused by MALARIA, which I do not have!"  Brazenly, I asked for my money back or a trade for a real honest to god painkiller.  So I left with 4 Codeine tablets, which I'm a little afraid to take, but will tomorrow if I still have the god forsaken headache.

Well there it is! I'm in a country where one can order Xanax, Valium and anything else just by bellying up to the bar and all I could come up with is codeine.   I'd like and cold beer and chips with that please.  Now those I know I can find.  Everything in Uganda comes with chips.  Cold beer - not so easy.

Mothzilla

It's a Friday night and Gulu is poppin'.  Really - poppin - I don't know if it gunfire or truck backfire.  It sounds a little ominous, but as usual - after 7PM I'm in for the night...  so whatever is happening will have to happen without me.

Life has settled into something akin to "normal"  as the rainy season continues and mornings are cool and the spider population that created such beautiful webs a week or so ago has turned into something more like Arachnophobia.    Lots of the creepy crawlies inside this week and some are just too big to ignore, so I capture them in a glass, slip a piece of paper underneath and deposit them outside...   Guess I need to do a spider clearing ceremony, huh.

Some progress has been noted on the front of a gaggle of little girls that have followed me home every day for months.  These are adorable little girls, but even those came become annoying after a bit.  What started as good-natured and curious hello's to "Byonce," the name they have given me (have NO idea why) had become over the course of a few weeks - relentless demands for money and "where do you live."  Then they would  try to follow me home - as a pack.  This is uncomfortable, because home is home and kids here, once they find out where you live, tend to camp out on your front porch and look in your windows.  I wanted to discourage this - and the begging - before it became any more of an issue.   Taking a cue from a friend, I  tried to handle this casually and first explained that demanding or begging form money is considered "bad manners," something they understand.    Well, that didn't work and the next time the ring leader brazenly grabbed at my open (my mistake) purse as I was walking away.  Well that did it... that's just obnoxious. I knew I'd have to be not quite so nice.  So many Muzungus have just handed over money here, it seems to be an expected thing and so much part of the problem.  The next day it happened again and the trail of little girls had expanded into a gang of about seven ranging in age from about 5 - 9.   Once again, I stopped them before we got to my alley and said that that absolutely could not follow me home, that because they were my friends and I care about them I want them to grown up with good manners.  If I let them continue doing this, I would be teaching them bad behavior - etc. etc. etc.     One has to choose language carefully, because some of the subtleties of English are just plain lost  You have to be very simple and very direct and at the same time, you don't want to make enemies of them because - well - they know where you live.  These, it turns out, live right behind me...

Amazingly, they have settled down.  For a few days, just shouts from the street.  And the next day - there they were following me again in a raucous rag-tag group.  I stopped and said hello, and they began again - to follow me.  I stopped and said "You're following me..." but they had brought their youngest member - a tiny little thing with a halo of bouncing piglet tails done up with beads - must have been all of two years old  - to meet me.   I knelt down and said hello - shook hands with this wide eyed child who was part curious and part terrified of the white person.     And as we got to the corner, they stopped and waved bye.  Somehow, they have decided that this is the cut-off point indicating that - somehow - we have communicated.    They no longer demand money or follow me home, but we still seems to be "friends."    We're only on day three of this new behavior - but so far so good ;-)

It seems to be one extreme or the other though.  When I went to the market last week to shop for vegetables, a toddler ran terrified to his mother all the while pointing at me and screaming.  Great laughter all around by the mothers.  We tried to make friends, but this kid was having nuthin' to do with this scary white woman.

So life continues.  We had the first pillowcase dress class today and it was fun.  Great story:  I finally finished the first model for the dress, having picked a pillowcase that I figured would be an attention getter and a good motivator.  It's a scene with mountain peaks in the background and trees with quilts hanging on clothes lines.  Looked like Oregon to me, and the words Sisters Outdoor Quilt Show was on one of the banners.  So I took a chance and Googled it.  Sure 'nuf - there IS a Sister's Outdoor Quilt Show (Sisters, Oregon not all that far from where Brett lives) and I had the pillowcase that had been designed for their thirtieth anniversary!  Mom was a quilter and this was beginning to have the feel of synchronicity. I wrote to the e-mail address, let them know their pillow case had made it all the way to Uganda and was being used in a project to teach village women how to sew.  I received an immediate reply - and get this - one of the members of their quilting group works with a co-op of women in Eastern UGANDA making quilts and handcrafts.  She collects them, sells them at their annual quilt show and sends the proceeds back to Uganda!  The planet is shrinking.    As if this is not interesting enough, I wrote back to Brett's girl friend's mother (who spearheaded the pillowcase project resulting in 150 pillowcases) had just returned from a weekend trip to Sisters, Oregon and a friend of a friend has joined Peace Corps and is headed to - yep - Uganda!   Flat Earth indeed. 

So that's the story of the day and I don't think I can top that for coincidence and connectivity.  

Totally unrelated to any of this:  take a look at the moth I found on my front porch a few days ago.  Took me a few days to identify it because it's not native to Uganda, but comes from Sudan.  No wonder it looked exhausted.  It's a Madagascar Moth and has a resting wingspan of 5 inches!   I was so excited I took a picture and showed my Ugandan friends in the hope they would know how to identify it.  They thought it absolutely hysterical that anyone would take a picture of a moth and even care about the name.  I was told "we don't have time for that stuff," and thought that was pretty sad. But here it is for your viewing pleasure.     

I'm lucky to have discovered this before the new clutch of chickens descended onto my front porch.  Seems they like pecking for bugs that live under the papyrus door mat.  Heard these rather suspicious crunching-lurking sounds at my front door a few mornings ago and it sounded like someone hanging around and kinda freaked me out.  To my great relief, a big rooster and his three lady friends were just breakfasting alfresco.  

And on that note, I'm getting to bed, because no doubt that same bird will start crowing early as is befitting of any self-respecting rooster.

Isaac

From time to time, people have asked "what do people need, how can we contribute," and in the beginning, I honestly didn't know.  Since then projects have emerged and you have all been so generous.  You've been exceedingly generous to me by keeping me afloat with coffee, chocolate, food goodies, puzzles, books, cosmetics - an embarrassment of riches for which I am deeply grateful.  Others have donated art supplies, books, puzzles for kids, pillowcases and sewing materials for the reading project and the pillowcase dress initiative!   

So, I don't quite know how to present the story of Isaac, except that it is a story worth telling. He's an extraordinary young man and the first person I've felt compelled to help in this way. So here goes.

This is the story of Isaac.   

Isaac is a young man with the potential for a bright future.  I met him rather against my will a few weeks ago.    You see, I was doing my best to ignore this young man who walked into Coffee Hut as three of us – all Americans – all at different tables – were taking advantage of Coffee Hut’s power and Internet access.  It was late afternoon on a Sunday.

We tried to avoid eye-contact with this young man, because we are so conditioned to being approached for funds and we cannot help everyone.  People follow us home, present us with letters of woe (some of which are real, but many are fabrications), demand “you give me 2000 (shillings), you buy me…, you loan me…."  So for better or for worse – we are conditioned to throw the wall around us quickly.    There is a fine line between being here to help and  just handing over money. But that’s another discussion and one which could rage forever – and not my point. 

This, however, is a story worth telling….  Odong Isaac, a clean cut and obviously shy teenager approached the young woman  (Amber) closest to the entrance of this semi-enclosed dining area and very timidly asked if she could help him check something on the computer.   After much discussion and clarification, it became apparent that Isaac needed to see if his e-mail address was still current, because he needed an e-mail address to be able to seek a new sponsor for school.  As the story unfolded and Amber tried numerous approaches to validating the e-mail, nothing worked.  Seems he had created the e-mail years ago when he first started the process of finding sponsorship, but not owning a computer or having access to one via school on an internet café, the address had evidently expired.  Anyway, it was “not there.” 

I want to make it clear that Isaac never asked for money, nor was this a veiled attempt to obtain any.  His story spilled out in bits and pieces as Amber kept asking him questions.  Turns out he’d had a sponsor when he was attending a school that ended up being corrupt in their handling of funds, so had to seek schooling (and funding) elsewhere. He is now at Charity College just outside of Gulu and it takes some real doing for Isaac to get to town, but he needed computer access. As the conversation continued, Isaac said in frustration:  “I'm smart you know,  I have the grades to go to college, but I can’t take my exams, because  I can’t pay the fee.”  It was apparent that Isaac is a smart, very shy young man and we began to listen.  As Amber and Isaac talked, I was e-mailing someone who knows about access to sponsorships.  He never responded… But Amber got some more information from Isaac and got the ball rolling.

She sent an email to friends and family, set up a donate button on her PayPal account and friends donated enough to get Isaac through this round of fees.  When she went to the school she was greeted by smiles and kudos for Isaac.  They beamed as they shared that Isaac is “one of our best pupils [and]  is one of the FEW boys whom has never had a discipline problem.  The only thing holding him back is his financial situation.”   He’s smart, makes excellent grades, is a whiz at chemistry and physics and an artist as well.  (An example of his work follows).  Isaac, like so many Northern Uganda kids, has no real family to help – his mother sells sugar and cooking oil to help him.  He works when he can, only going to classes a few days a week – but still makes superior grades and is known in his school as “a real good boy!”

Amber discovered that  400,000 shillings (about $160 US) was standing between Isaac and his exams, although a total of $330 US was outstanding on his account.  Her friends had come up with more that that and she paid his fees – all without Isaac knowing. When she presented him with the receipt, Isaac didn’t understand at first, but when he did, he pulled up his shirt collar to try to hide his face, he was so overcome with emotion.  But really, this is Amber’s story to tell, so here is the link to her blog:  http://ugamber.blogspot.com/.  Amber is volunteering here until November so we are exploring ways to continue  Isaac’s education, because Isaac really DOES have what it takes to go to school and  succeed.

Amber has established a PayPal link for donations where people can contribute easily.  The link follows: (https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=RZYSSUTTA4888).  If this appeals to you,  100% of what is contributed goes directly to Isaac's school fees.  As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I am prohibited from collecting funds directly, but this avenue can work until we determine a more long range plan.

I’m sharing this story in case any of you is part of an organization/church that has been looking for a project  that will be personal and “change a life.”  Or you might have some other ideas on how to move forward and get something sustainable going. Isaac “is in Senior 4 (S4) right now, which is the stopping point for most students.  If you are smarter than the average bear you proceed on to S5 and S6; and then on to university.”  

So, in concert with Amber, I am spreading the word.  There are too many stories in this country to share and too many to even begin to address.  But we can help one and by helping one, we help many.  I am donating book royalties (a pittance I have to admit) and will do what I can to help continue this process after Amber leaves in November.  A sponsor would be idea, but small ($10 –$20) was what paid his fees the last time (we’re talking about $160 American total per semester) and can help keep things going.

Feel free to e-mail me directly (nwesson@focusonspace.com) if you want to brainstorm.  And thanks for reading. 

A Week in the Rear View Mirror

Saturday, August 4^th  - our one-year-in-country mark, is now disappearing behind us and just a memory in the rear-view mirror.  That much anticipated anniversary passed without the marching band (which will march for almost any occasion) parading through the streets and no one celebrated our year of survival, tears, friendship and laughter but us.   But around Uganda the 40 or so of us remaining from our group of 46 raised a beer somewhere around noon to celebrate what certainly feels like a victory.

We have “survived” Ebola, Kony 2012, rain, mud, revivals, terrorist threats, worms, shisto, malaria, burns, fires, some broken bones (not mine...) and even a few rats – not that there was any true survival to it, though some have had closer brushes with those that others.  Still, we never were seriously threatened by Ebola, the terrorists and especially not Kony.  It’s the daily stuff that wears one down.

But this morning dawned with a really spectacular, almost otherworldly fog which had deposited water droplets on hundreds of new little hammock spider webs decorating the property like a scene from Avatar.  Trees, bushes, even the water tank frame ethereally draped with cascading basket-webs woven by bowl-and-doily spiders (Frontinella communis for the purist).  We needed a little ethereal around here and it lasted just until the sun came along and dried up the dew.   The weather has been deliciously cool (70’s in the morning) and we love it, but the Ugandans are sporting shawls, wooly caps and winter jackets.

This is bed-and-breakfast week and our Gulu digs.  PCVs are coming through to be part of Peace Camp and some are staying with us.  It’s fun to see folks we haven’t seen for a while.  We’ve put together an absolutely deadly puzzle of a box full of beads sent by good friends. We are almost crazed  by the time we finished, but if what science says is true – we should be getting Alzheimers and the like ;-)

In the midst of this, Jenna, who was cleaning and organizing her room, managed to  somehow activate her burglar alarm, which – when it starts out - sounds like maniacal sleigh-bells. So in that perverse way my mind sometimes works, the first vision that flashed through my brain was of some demented bionic Santa outfitted with amplified sleigh bells (everything is on loudspeaker here..) bearing gifts like garlic salt, coffee, chocolate and such about to descend on our roof with a team of  equally of Reindeer. - no make that Gazelles.  Well – you’ve heard of Christmas in July…  But soon, this was accompanied by Jenna’s shrieking something like “Oh shit, that’s my alarm and I can’t turn it off.”  It accelerated into full-shriek at which point it sounded nothing whatsoever like sleigh-bells, but more like a prison break.  While she was frantically trying to silence the beast which had shrilled to an ear-piercing 120 decibels, I was too convulsed in laughter to be anything but annoying.   It was pure comedy and after about 10 minutes something magically happened, but I don’t think it had anything to do with Jenna figuring out how to silence it.  Simply popping the battery out  wasn’t an option, because it had obviously been designed to prevent an attacker doing the same and requires tools we were too rattled to find. 

It is interesting to note that  NOT ONE of our Ugandan neighbors who were casually cooking 10 feet away even looked up.  So much for the fantasy of rescue, should the damn thing be activated by something real!   I can only say, that Ugandans are accustomed to living in such close proximity with alarms, bizarre cell-phone-rings and loudspeakers, that it probably never even crossed their "what's that?" threshold.   Or they are either too polite to say to our faces “God those Muzungus are loud!” or to  risk offending us by asking, “Whats going on?”  So I can only hope, that if we should ever need an alarm (as our PCV friend did two weeks ago)  it would at least call attention to the fact that one cannot stealth about in the middle of the night playing the burglar.

Just such an act was what  triggered our putting actually batteries in her alarm and renewing those in my extra.  Travis and Brett gifted me with two personal alarms before I came and it was one of those I loaned to a friend a couple of weeks ago.   She credits it to scaring off the burglar who was having his way with her compound (fenced – gated – with sleeping guard and a drugged guard dog).    My $6.00 alarm shrieking out her window was what saved the day – NOT because it woke up the sleeping (now fired) guard, but because it scared the burglar away.

So there’s that to keep life interesting. 

And of course “water is finished,” not because there is NO water, but because the water line servicing OUR property is “spoiled,” meaning it exists in two disconnected pieces now sticking out of the ground awaiting repair by the city.  The parts are on order from Kampala and I was informed by the water company rep who came by when I reported water shooting from the ground (but not from our faucets) that “perhaps you will have to help us (rubbing his fingers together) because you know our parts are not here.”    I decided against asking him: "just which of your parts are missing...?"  and instead returned the lament –  "and this Muzungu has no money so you will have to ask the Ugandan landlady/property owner.”

So that’s the scoop from the last week.  The mouse population seems to be down and I’m hoping this is in part due to the arrival of a new litter of kittens produced by Yin, the black-on-white component of our Yin and Yang cat duo.  There are two Yin-like feral kitties prowling around and I can only hope that Yin has taught them well the fine art of moussing, because God knows Yang is a lousy mouser.

In reading the Isabel Allende novel, “Ines of My Soul,” about the settling of Chile by the Spaniards, I’m reminded that being without water, power and amenities pales in comparison with what it took to “civilize” the New World.    So I will shut-up (this time) about hauling water, which is my next task.

Onward to the bore-hole.