Bright spots

Written a week ago....  How time creeps along.

The Venus transit of the sun on June 5^th  was supposed to cause all manner of angst and inner turmoil.  Well – it would need stand in line.  I doubt I would notice in the ambient field of angst that characterizes this journey. How would one distinguish among the plethora of other possibilities: what I ate last nigh, weekly Mefloquin anti-malarial dose, impending travel, etc. 

However there have been bright spots and yesterday was one of those.  When I wake up feeling random sadness that I often feel here, I put on my “big girl panties” and do a little meditation and set my intention to be happy and have a fulfilling day – or at least interesting.   Yesterday started with the Marching Band in full dress uniform preparing for an event.  So I stood and let the enthusiasm of their music wash over me.    The megawatt smile of one young woman drummer lit up the place.  Off to a good start!

Walking into work I received the usual good natured “Bodo-Boda?  taunts and smiles from the Boda group  that knows I don’t ride.  I miss them when they are not there – it’s become a ritual greeting.

Later I received a fabulous box of good coffee, chocolates and other goodies from Evie and when I arrived back at the office after lunch (worked most of the day out the office – to access electricity and internet) my nice soft, contoured chair had been delivered!  Since Ive been using a straight-back un-padded wooden straight-jacket-sort-of-chair all this time, this is a huge deal to have something more user-friendly! Miracles abound. Even got a packet of sewing needles from the Director.  There were other little treasures that appeared through the day, but what was so lovely were the number of people who shouted out greetings and stopped to talk.  Periodically there are sweet reminders that I am part of this community and well received.  I loaned a good mystery to a waiter in the Coffee Hut and even recognized the smiling-drummer (Helen) somewhere else in town and we chatted.  This doesn’t seem big, unless you’re HERE and are in a constant state of embarrassment owing to the fact  of being unable to distinguish one new person from another.  The subtle differences that we use in the States are somehow confounded by Ugandan's shared characteristics.    It’s useful to note that to them, all Munus look alike:  all glaringly white, funny hair, paler eyes.  The distinguishing characteristics of blue or green or brown eyes and different hair color just don’t make the short list.  Yes - all us white folks look alike...

I’ve been reading an excerpt on Uganda from a book by Richard Dowden, Africa: Altered States, Ordinary Miracles  and at the very least I am realizing that my experiences and insights are in sync – at least in large part – with those felt by a person with a lot more experience with Africa and Uganda than mine.  So, when I feel out of place, frustrated , angry and out-of-step while also feeling humbled by the grace and generosity of spirit I experience daily from Ugandans here – I am a bit relieved to discover I’m not totally screwed up - just living in a state of constant contradictions.

Last Saturday, when I performed my ritual trip to the cuk madit (main market) to get produce, salt and a random assortment of goods, I  met a woman my friend Karla had met the week before and  who had given her a whole bag full of free goodies, because it was their first meeting. Mary Ester is about my age and has a little shop there.  She sits outside the entrance shared with an isle narrowed by huge stalks of Matoke (think green bananas/plantains).    Before realizing she was the same woman, I greeted her in Acholi, asked her name and as we chatted I realized the connection.     The items she gave Karla were not expensive by American standards, but a really significant expense for an Acholi shop keeper.  She gave them as an act of new-friendship and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  To refuse would have wounded her.    So when I met Mary Ester, I wanted to purchase something from her shop.    I started with salt, the only thing I really needed but she asked me what else I might need.  Before I left, she had gifted me a large package of spaghetti. Again, it was her way of honoring the meeting of a new friend.  It was also very good business!  I walked out having purchased a 10 pack of toilet paper as a thank you. 

Other produce sellers are always giving us a little extra - 5 tomatoes for the price of 4, an extra scoop of rice, another onion.    This is a “fixed price” market for the most part,  so this is what in Louisiana would be called Laignaippe – extra.  This in a culture where the average daily income is somewhere around 3,000 shillings  (25,000 sh = $10)  - to give away 2000 shillings  (Mary Ester)  of goods means most of a day’s wage.   I don't recall this ever happening in Safeway or Whole Foods.  

On the communication front, there are rituals here that slow things down, but must be honored regardless of circumstance.  To circumvent ritual for the sake of expediency and dive directly into a conversation by stating the purpose of the visit or the problem at hand would not only be rude, but ultimately counter-productive.  Moving forward requires that the social be acknowledged first.  One greets:    "How was the night? Ah - the night was good.  And you - did you sleep well?  Yes – and you?  How are the people at your home?  Fine. Thank you.  How are your people?" And so on.   It is rude not to stand, greet, shake hands, ask and answer many variations of greetings and offer a chair regardless of how long a person is staying or the purpose of their visit.  Many Apwoyos (thank you, hello, you're welcome) , mabers (good) , ayas (yes, or your greeting was received, I have heard you, etc) later, one may venture into the cause of the visit.   But one ALWAYS starts with the good first.  You would only acknowledge a problem or difficulty later.     To alter that would create problems you don’t need.  Even in the police station, where issues abound, greeting and nicities precede any inquiry.

Onward – after yesterday’s lovely day, a night of electricity and rain, snacking on Evie’s chocolate macaroons and reading more of a good mystery, I ventured into work this morning to find that I am to represent LABE in a quarterly meeting.  I don’t like last minute things like this and not being fully prepared.  This is clearly one of my life lessons and I’m getting the opportunity to practice things being less than in perfect order.  (Hysterical laughter...)   I waited around to get some printed updates (printer not working as planned) and wandered down to the place of the meeting which was to start somewhere between 9AM and 10AM.  I arrived at 9:35 to an empty building.  It is now 10:35 and two people have arrived.  You are beginning to understand why I have read 60 books already and others have read more.  But I didn’t bring a book, so I am blogging and working.

I’m moving onto a Power Point Project and writing an article for the Human Rights Focus Quarterly publication that I researched most of yesterday.  Thank you God for computers,  internet access  and - at least this month - beautiful weather.

Of Cow Tales and Cocks

In the absolutely random world we know as Peace Corps the odd or merely unusual is not far from our doorstep.  Sometimes, it is ON the doorstep, but not this time.    These are mostly tales of cows with a rooster thrown in for good measure.  The cows here in Uganda are unusual; except for the occasional Brahmin, most that we see are Ankoli – with beautiful, long (sometimes 3.5 feet) rather bowlegged horns.  You’ll find a picture of a herd at the end of my alley on Nancy’s Pics. The Roosters (a term never used - it's "Cock" here), are - well - obnoxious and deserve whatever fate befalls them - hopefully a stew-pot.   And not mine, thank you.  These are some tough birds.

Back to cows...  Recently, one PCV reported that he’d hung his hammock outside and run off to do an errand.  Rounding the corner to his humble abode, he returned to discover an Ankoli bull with a nice  set of horns doing battle with the hammock, having pretty well torn it to shreds.  

Bull - 1

Hammock - 0

Then there was the one who ate – or at least tried to eat, the hoodie belonging to a young Australian volunteer near Gulu.  He’d done his laundry, hung it on the line and gone about his business.  When he returned later, the cow was feasting on what remained of his hoodie.  Only the tail end of it was hanging out of the cow’s mouth.  He’d had trouble with cow’s sucking on his laundry during dry season, but not devouring it. Ugandan by-standers rescued the hoodie (and maybe the cow…) by pulling it (yeeees….) back out of the cow, the hoodie now boasting tooth marks and a goopy mix you might expect coming up from inside a cow’s seven stomachs.  Don’t think he’ll be wearing that anymore, but it’s a helluva souvenir.  You can’t make this stuff up.

Another volunteer, probably gone by now, reported waking up from a nap to a cow standing over her in bed and nuzzling her while she slept.  Hmmmm – Instinctively, she grabbed a book on the bed at whacked it on the nose and  watched it gallumph away and out of the house. 

Makes mine about the bull who wandered through the door in the gate to my house, grazed his way around the yard until finally being chased out by his exhausted herder - tame.  Unless you are the herdsman who was seen still chasing this bull a half-hour later down the streets of Gulu. Probably all in a days work.

Language also presents some interesting conversational results, meaning nothing untoward here, but none-the-less pregnant with possibilities in the American-English lexicon.  One conversation with a Villager looking for his - cock:

“Madam, madam!  Have you seen my cock? 

No I can’t say that I have.   Where do you think it is?

It is the bush I think!

Really? Whose bush?

Yes - it is in your bush…  Can you help me find it?”

You might ask how these tales come to me…   Well,  it’s Peace Corps and we are hungry for relevance of any kind: being relevant, hearing something relevant, construing something that is totally irrelevant  into something that is somehow relevant.  And not unlike being being a little stoned, to survive in PC means being able to turn into absurd in funny – or relevant – or at least entertainment.   So – recently in conversation I’m sure must have been terribly relevant (these only last so long amid the interruptions of our ambient insanity here)  a couple of these tidbits came to me from “The Cock Whisperer,” a moniker bestowed on a young PCV after she quelled the early morning crowing of a noisy cock by whispering “sssshhhhhhh” out her window. 

                        THE END – or in local vernacular:  IT IS FINISHED

But What Are You DOING There???

Yes – I know a long silence. I have returned from Kampala where I spent almost a week organizing PC headquarters after attending a Train-the-Trainer workshop.   Arranged the Country Director’s Office, Reception and the PCV lounge, where volunteers do research,  have access to computers, generally hang-out when they're here for medical or anything administrative.    Lots of hard and dirty work, but I really enjoyed working with PC staff I never get to see and getting the PCV lounge in a usable and friendly state. When I arrived,  there were three mostly empty book cases and three rooms of huge boxes filled with books.  The task was to unpack, organize all of the books into PC categories (functional categories, not Dewey decimal system), get shelves and furniture in and shelve or otherwise deal with about 10,000 books.   I know it sounds perverse, but it was very gratifying and concrete.  

So much of what we do on a daily basis is “seed planting,” both literally and metaphorically. It's often frustrating because it may be years (if ever) before our labor or indeed our contributions  bear fruit. We may never know the results and many of the benefits are not measurable or tangible.  But – as I said,  this was concrete work:  before – chaos, after – order and function.    Also, in our daily work, there is little feedback or gratitude expressed.  Not that that’s a requirement or even why we came, but it does feel good on those rare occasions when our work is acknowledged (as opposed to people just wanting more...) And the work seems to have been deeply appreciated, so, it was a real boost to my mood and sense of accomplishment.  This is work I’m not known for here, so it’s nice to have it discovered and be relevant after all.

Re-entry to Gulu was difficult.  After enjoying a week of water-on-demand (mostly, except for drinking water, which still has to be purchased) and electricity around the clock, it was a rude awakening to come back to no electricity and a house full of bugs, mouse/rat droppings, rotten food and mold. The geckos and lizards can stay, except for the big buggers know to arch their backs and hiss when confronted…   The up-side was "water is there."

Two trips to Umeme (power company – an oxymoron because there is seldom power) and I perhaps will get some response.  In addition to the usual lack of and off-and-on nature of power, it seems I have an intermittent problem with electricity EVEN when “It is there.”  As we were bumbling around in the dark, the tenant house in back had power.  Equally as often, we will be sitting with power in the evenings and it is all of a sudden “not there.”  We scramble for some form of light: a match, a phone, computer screen – something to go dig around and light a candle.  The flip side of that is sitting in the dark, reading by candlelight and the power comes on.  Everyone jumps up with shrieks of delight, plugs stuff in and 30 seconds later – power is gone – for the night.    To exacerbate a nasty mood, the other tenants have water at their outside tap, when – because of water pressure issues, we will have no water in the house. Such are the vagaries of daily life in Uganda. In that case we trek a couple of blocks up the dirt road and haul water back in the ubiquitous jerrycans.  The only plus to that  (diggin' deep here) is that I'm usually greeted with big smiles of surprise at the sight of a Mzungu hauling water.    

That is life in Uganda and it seriously interferes with getting anything done – even the most basic tasks.  For example: finally, our organization received approval for the funds to buy fuel for the generator, desperately needed to accommodate the nearly total lack of power during the workday for days on end. The generator didn’t work and was repaired Friday.  Little power over the weekend at the house meant that I arrived at work with two dead computer batteries and anticipated being able to plug in.   That was before realizing that, over the weekend, someone broke a panel in the glass door and cut the cord off the generator!  Still – some movement does happen against all odds and here are some of the projects that are are taking form. somehow. For those of you who wonder what I really DO here other than haul water and gripe, here is an update. I hope I don't bore you to death - read at your own risk.

1.  I do a lot of Organizational Development work:  looking at systems - when there are systems - and determining what’s working and what’s not,  then devise procedures and documents with the goal of creating order out of chaos.  (I'm an optimist). It’s basically what I’ve done for years with clients, but at an entirely different level.  PC has a term for this approach and it’s called a SWOT analysis: Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats.    Who knew there was an acronym for what I’ve been doing all these years.  Gratifying in some ways.   Thus far, I’ve created Asset and Inventory  
Tracking Spreadsheets, Vehicle Tracking Systems, Excel spread sheets out the wazoo for Project Monitoring and Evaluation (big deal here for funding purposes) and various and sundry other documents and processes.

2.  Office organization:  analyzing, organizing and purging thousands of documents, creating a filing system, etc. ad infinitum,  and in the process doing inventory to enter into the Inventory System.

3.  Website editing and content creation is ongoing.

4.  Writing books for use in the Mother Tongue Language program. To date, I’ve written two children’s books: one on Malaria and another on sanitation (building a hand-washing station for the village to cut down on intestinal maladies).  The next is one on nutrition.  Right now they are in the draft stages, but the Malaria book is taking off and soon I will go to the field to participate in trainings and the collection of pictures for the book.

5. Early Childhood Reading Program: With the goal of contributing to developing a reading culture in Northern Uganda, I’ve spear-headed a local reading Program where we’ll do a much-publicized  story-hour with activities, games and reading aloud to give children the experience that reading can be fun.  Most have never held a book or seen a book with beautiful pictures.  To date we have over 200 hundred books, wonderful puzzles, art supplies etc.  to use in the program. (Thank you again everyone!)

One phase of this will be a lending library, but first the kids will be read to and get some instruction on how to care for a book.   When they are ready, books will be loaned for a week or two, and picked up later.  Think Mobile Library for people who have no hope of ever getting to a real one.  There is a library in Gulu and it has a good collection of children’s books but they are mixed in with adult history, law and accounting books!  The first step is to organize that collection and I’ll start that project in a few weeks.  I have to have permission from the Town Clerk even to volunteer…   and checking out books will be another hurtle.

6.  Pillow-case Dress Project: about 160  Pillow Cases have been donated (thanks to Welches Elementary School in Welches Oregon for 150 of those!) for a project that will feature teaching village women and women in prison how to sew.  Pillow Case dresses are easy to make (relatively) and will not only provide clothing for little girls (many of whom wear rags), but also teach a skill which might be turned into what PC likes to call an Income Generating Activity (IGA).      In the process of instruction, self-esteem is boosted and they will get practice in reading, following directions, numeracy and other aspects of functional literacy. 

7.  I am also participating in the training of the 46 new PC Trainees that arrived last Friday.  My sessions will be Marketing, Monitoring and Evaluation and a voluntary course that’s all my own called:  Keeping Sane in Peace Corps:  Boundary Setting and Survival Strategies.   (Fellow PCVs might take issue with the implication that I am sane however).  It’ve been requested to offer at at the All-Vol Gathering in August as well.  Now I’m having fun…

8.  Going back to Kampala in June to continue and wrap up the putting-in-order of PC HQ.

I walk to and from work everyday and home for lunch, walking a total of 4 – 6 miles every day.  Good exercise and another opportunity to “greet people”  and frustrate the Boda drivers.  Each day I walk by a group of Boda  drivers who know I don’t ride Bodas.  At first they were downright hostile about a Mzungu who refused to support their business.  Now, it’s become a good-natured joke and as I pass they all laugh and wave – shouting Boda-Boda?  Followed by Woto madwii-dwii  (walk fast-fast).  I guess you'd have to be here to appreciate it.  I go in about 8:30 and come home at about 5:00.  It’s pretty much a typical work day, except we seldom have power at the office. and that makes it anything but typical from the  U.S. perspective.  On those days I escape to work where there is Power and Internet:  the Coffee Hut.  They make a LOT of money from the Munu (Mzungu) population here.

Weekends are spent washing clothes, shopping at the local market for veggies, etc and collapsing on the couch reading and hopefully seeing some friends.   I’m keeping a tally of books read thus far:  55 to date ;-0

I’m not doing much travel to interesting places, though I hope that changes.  There’s just not a lot of energy left over at the end of a day or at the end of a week.  Our stipend translates to about  $300/month and Gulu is an expensive place to live in Uganda compared to other locations.    Public transportation chews up a lot of time and even more energy. Usually, one goes to a bus park, finds the right bus or taxi (matatu) in the middle of unbelievable chaos,  gets a seat and waits until the bus fills.  Sometimes that's a 4 hour wait.  There is ONE bus company that leaves on time in all of Uganda and it is run by the Post Office.  It also has the distinction of not allowing live goats or chickens in the passenger section, although they can and do ride in the luggage compartment under the bus.    Luggage has come out covered with chicken s_ _ _ _ and Goat  p _ _ _.   One more reason to pack light and make it a carry on.

And on that happy note – I’m headed out for lunch.   Looking forward to an actual tuna sandwich from Travis’ incredible stock of foil packed tuna.  I’ve even located pickle relish and sometimes I have Mayonnaise (which has not turned to Ptomaine paste with lack of refrigeration).  Yummy.

Random Acts of Kindness

Hi folks - Happy Mother's Day!  Sitting in a web-cafe in Kampala and have - at long last - been able to get sufficient internet connectivity to upload some new pictures.  These are of the Gulu house.  I know some of you are picturing me living in a mud hut with a thatched roof and gorillas gracing the tress outside.  And some folks ARE living closer to that - but even PC has limits, theoretically.  I'm "in the city."  So this house is somewhat typical, although larger than most, which is why I share it with another PCV.  Many of the houses you see here are of the clay-brick variety - but this one has been plastered.  I share it with one other PCV and - in addition to others PCVs that happen through Gulu - we share space with an uncountable array of geckos, mice, Giant ants, white flies and other seasonal creatures I'd rather not know about.

Floors and walls are concrete and the roof is tin. Windows somehow (almost) close, but no screens.  There are locks (sort of) and there is sometimes electricity (athough it's off more than it's on and totally random) and even less often there is water. At present electricity is turned off because they say we didn't pay the bill - which was paid last week when received.  The catch is, it was delivered two months late.   Ah - the joys of everyday life here.  Went through the same thing last month with water.  The dilemma is, utilities are so random, ya' can't tell you have a larger problem until your neighbor has power, water, etc. and you don't.  Since so few people have either, it's kind of of a crap shoot.    Note the Jerrycans around the hall sink: always kept full for the moment "water is finished." We have a very large water tank in the back which periodically fills, when there is enough water pressure from the main station.  When it fills, something like a toilet tank float is supposed to turn of the flow when it reaches the top, but it's broken.  Twice now in the middle of the night, I have awakened to the sound of pouring water.  That would be the water shooting out of the tank  (20 feet off the ground) as it continues to fill.  In the middle of the night, in the dark, I have scurried around for a flashlight, gone out that gate you see in the first picture and found the turn-off valve for water coming onto the property.    I have finally found someone to replace the mechanism, but the landlady wants in on the act.  Ordinarilly this would be a good thing, but the repairman (the one who has been called the Black Muzingu because he is on time) begged me not to involve her, because "she is a hard woman."  So true.   But that's another topic...

So what else can I tell you.  It has a garage - with huge metal doors damaged in the burglary.  So now a feral cat sneaks in a sleeps there.  Hoping he will keep down the mouse population, but the other night Jenna reported having "found the mouse," and having escorted him out via the suitcase he was all snuggled into.    When I got home, we found its big brother living in my bathroom.  (God oly knows how many we have NOT found). We had decided we could capture it and dump it out as well, but honestly you'd have thought it was a Black Mamba, the way we squealed when it ran between our legs and over feet.  Rather embarrassing to admit that, but....  there we were.  It ran INTO the wall, so we dumped mouse pellets at the base.    Once again, he could have stayed, had it not been for revealing his preference for my dark chocolate granola bars.

I am in Kampala this week, having left on the 7:00Am bus on Saturday.  Another surprise!  I don't LIKE walking in the dark, but that is required to get to the bus early enough to get a seat that won't result in my throwing up on another passenger: you know - a window seat with wind in the face.  

Arriving at 6:11 (sky just beginning to lighten a bit) I found the bus completely FULL, with disgruntled people still waiting to board.  Dismayed, I turned to leave figuring I'd have a tough time getting out of Gulu - in competition with hundreds of kids returning to boarding schools elsewhere.

Well on my way to the exit, the conductor ran to get me saying "No, no madam, come!  We will not leave you behind!"  Wow!  How did that happen?  It was one of the "Random acts of kindness" that keeps us here.  He escorted me to the jam-packed bus and I was extremely aware of being escorted past a few other people.  Very uncomfortable with this, I explained that I did NOT want to go ahead of others waiting.  He pointed me to a seat in the front (seats of death as they are known - because if the bus hit's something - well you get the idea).   "First you just sit."     OK....  I sat.  Next a small Ugandan girl wrapped in a white shawl sat next to me and four others took places sitting on the steep steps coming in (now that's really pushing your luck).    Then a throng of others streamed  into the bus (stepping OVER the people on the seats), only to be turned around as the exasperated driver was throwing up his hands, "Do you not believe the bus is full - leave now."  Unlike the other buses, the POST Bus does not allow people to stand/sit in the aisles; live chickens and goats need not apply either (although they are welcomed into the luggage carrier under the bus).

At 6:23 we were off and in record time reached Kampala, where I downed a HUGE plate of spaghetti and a liter of water.  (One doesn't eat or drink anything after abut 8PM the night before departure, for fear of having to use the facilities at the "short call" stop just after crossing the Nile on the way into Kampala.  Good thing.  The short call stop was a sea of mud....

You want me to do WHAT with that?

Aaaaah - rain AND real Mexican food.  Life is sometimes good in Uganda.  Tonight several of us were invited to dinner by an ex-PCV, returned as a USAID employee.  We suggested our version of Mexican food:  you know beans cooked by Happy Nest (none of us has enough propane to cook beans for 4 hours), a little taco seasoning, some chapati to serve as  surrogate tortillas.... a few toppings.  His response, after some silence, "Well I can make tortillas, have you forgotten that I'm Mexican???"  Well yes - I guess I did.  No taco seasoning for this man.  We were treated to the "full Monty" of the Mexican food world: hand made corn tortillas from maize flour brought from the States, real Mexican rice, beans he cooked, a vat of guacamole (good avocados here) and fresh Talapia - all followed by a shot of Tequila brought from home.   

It is surprising the role food plays when you're away from home.  It can either make you nauseous with the constant rehashing of  local fare, or light up your life.  Tonight was a light-up-your-life night: partially because of the food, but in equal measure, it's the camaraderie  of cooking together and sitting around a table sharing a meal and conversation.   His wife is in the States, as he will be shortly, awaiting the birth of their first baby.  And because he's paid real money and lives in an ex-Pat style house (really lovely) with a real kitchen, it was like Christmas.  Thank you Drew!  We can live another week...

And this to the background of thunder and a little rain.  When I returned home (just) the gods were continuing to smile because I have both power and water.  Last night power came and went three times before deciding to stay for more than a few thrilling seconds and we have been hauling water for the last week. It's rainy season! What's that about anyway? 

Last week I spent in Kampala as part of a committee to revise training for new PC-trainees.  An OK week, but spent in the confines of the ever-so-luxurious City Annex and at the new PC HQ during the day.  New PC digs are pretty nice!  No falling down walls, good view, nice light...   And in the coming weeks I'll be going back for Train the Trainer sessions and then to participate in the actual training of the new group in July.   Not sure how I feel about all that, but it should be interesting and hopefully training will be improved.     Every activity is another month bringing us closer to a year at site - and many say that's the turning point.

There was some discussion today about service in the north being much more stressful than elsewhere in Uganda.  Not having lived elsewhere in Uganda, I couldn't say.  But there is truth to the reality of living in a post-conflict region.  There is a lot of grief and trauma in the air here and it is palpable.  The people - as I have aid before - are the most gentle of Uganda, but if you are sensitive at all to the vibes of a place, it's pretty exhausting in a way that doesn't always make sense from a left-brained perspective.  This place shares some of the characteristics of other post-war areas - including post-war Europe.  There is a mind-set that develops with so much aid coming in and it's not always productive or in any one's best interest.  I'm not saying there shouldn't be help, it just needs to be delivered in a way that promotes skills and not dependency and learned helplessness. That' a tricky balance and it continues to be illuminating.

In other news - the day before I left  for Kampala was the run-up to Labor Day here - a federal holiday - and great preparations were under way for President Museveni's visit.  Roads were receiving a last minute and long overdue face lift; the marching band was practicing....  So I went to hang out and watch the show - practically in my back yard.  It was actually quite an event - lots of locals leaned up against the compound wall to look in.    The different personalities of the band members were what was most compelling.  The drum section is dominated by women and there was one young woman, about four months pregnant I would say, who was really enjoying herself.  Her  smile could light up the world and he had a natural sense of rhythm.  The woman next to her was on auto pilot, not much going on there.  But another could barely contain herself and keep from dancing and breaking into a full-body-grin showing dazzlingly white teeth.  In full concentration, she'd stick her tongue out a bit and it was bright pink against her almost purple-black skin.  Periodically, she'd break into her Acholi dancing and then she'd remember herself and just play the drums.  At one point, when the completely male brass session needed to practice a bit and was clearly off-course - the women were becoming restless.  After about ten minutes of standing around, waiting for the guys to get their act together, the pregnant one just grabbed her sticks, commandeered the all-woman drum section and just took over.  They commenced to play full-out drums like they meant business.   Wish I'd had my camera; it was a real study.  Few Acholis ever get the chance to play a musical instrument, so these  men and women represent some of the elite who had to have learned to play in private school somewhere.    Hanging out with the neighborhood, it was one of those times I felt really part of the community - a moment of light.

That same morning, friends who put together two camps for young people were found in an exhausted heap at the Coffee Hut after the camp finished last week.  There were two camps, totaling about 150 teenagers - girl's and boy's camps running simultaneously, but at and separate locations.  An heroic undertaking to be sure - teaching life skills, business skills, health, etc.  My hat's off to those who volunteered for this because I am a coward. Personally, I'd rather drink bleach than be trapped with 75 pubescent girls (or boys) sleeping in dormitories and eating beans and Posho for a week. But those who did it said (after recovering from exhaustion, stomach maladies, sunburn and colds) - it was a great event.  Give me a storm at sea any day... 

One of the topics for the girls was  how to put on a condom....   Provided with 8-10 inch wooden penises with equally impressive girth  on which to practice (you want me to do WHAT with that?), PCVs taught rooms full of young women how to properly dress a penis. I'm still not sure if they were either scaring the daylights out of them or cruelly raising their expectations, but that is where your tax dollars are going folks. And I have to say it's one of the better uses from many perspectives.  Ten years ago there were 20 million people in Uganda - today, there are 34 million.  You get my point.   There was also voluntary HIV/Aids testing....   The other upside of of condom usage - HIV reduction.  From the looks of the streets in Gulu, the use-a-condom campaign is working.  'Nuf said.  Except that we were given a foot long strip of them in our medical kits and why were they were packaged in camouflage design?  No doubt so no one can find them in the out-back? 

And on that note of query,  I'm off to bed.

"May you have an interesting life..."

No travel log today, unless one considers this a travel log of  the nooks-and-crannies of my mind. Could be dangerous going there.  Reminds me of a time when a client of mine in West Virginia, living at the edge of an old, flooded quarry invited me to go canoeing with her into the partially flooded caves (spooky).  Filled with horror at the mere thought of being shrouded in darkness while  suspended over dark water - I demurred...  So you are forewarned...  

I received an interesting newsletter from a friend back in Wimberley yesterday (now a week ago) and it set me to thinking.  (As I said, you know where this is going, so feel free to get out while you can. ) Just before his epistle, a different Newsletter arrived, about a similar topic, not exactly the same - but related.  Well - when I got two in a row, that seemed significant.

Because - one of the things I have missed sorely here in this experience is my connection with things spiritual. That world - intuition, healing, synchronicity, metaphysics, things that go bump-in-the-night -  has been part-and-parcel of everything I've done both personally and professional for the last two decades. To have gone cold-turkey has left a void that I must discover new ways to fill.   People here don't really know me for that work,  so I get little of the feedback I grew accustomed to back home.   But some of those discussions are re-emerging. I came here - in part - to live the tools I taught to others and do it in a way that didn't involve making a living at it.  But you know that and I won't beat that dead horse.  Still, when a passion is also your business, it provides a different opportunity to keep it in the forefront of life - in fact be up-to-your-ears in it.   Here, much as I had expected - it has been relegated to the world of practical use and the very nature of something becoming part of the routine, takes a but of the mystery out of it, but it is no less valuable.  If fact it makes room for the next level of realization or exploration.  One skill builds on another as with anything else.  But I do miss sharing it - so I guess I'm sharing it with you.  I've started meditating again, and with it there has been a return of a sense of connectedness and also an increase in synchronicity.   Perhaps I'm baaaaack.

Anyway, the topic addressed in the first news letter has to do with Oneness, the concept that we are all part of the greater whole. I've referenced it obliquely before as a holographic universe - and it is a guiding principal of my life and indeed my choosing to be here.  The partial answer to the question, "what in the world are you doing there,"  rests in that belief and the its natural consequence: that if I/we can do one thing to help any part of this universe, we help all of it.  Consciousness knows no boundaries, so as long as one of us holds anger, fear, contempt, judgment - all of us hold it to one degree or another.   The flip side is - that as one of us becomes more enlightened, we all become more enlightened - the Hundredth Monkey Principle.  And I have re-discovered that  it is easier to  feel enlightened and release the negatives when one lives surrounded by a sense of safety and comfort that is so much a part of what we have considered to be our birthright in the States.  It is another matter, when faced moment-by-moment by things, people, circumstances that are so at odds with the way we are accustomed to operating.  Easy to judge things like "people being late, not knowing how to_____,  cultural acceptance of certain forms of abuse, etc."   I'm in a target rich environment here for learning non-attachment.  As was true on the boat trip, I am also coming face-to-face with some characteristics about myself that aren't so pretty (the down-side of self-discovery).  In psychological jargon, one might say I've met my shadow... 

Then came the newsletter about "being present - in the moment," not in the future, nor chewing on past successes or failures.  We hear about these concepts, discuss them, philosophize.....  But then we get back to living the life that is hard-wired: worried about the past, focused on the future, seldom in the present.  The useful thing about stepping out periodically, putting yourself in situations where you don't automatically know how to respond, is that it challenges different parts of the brain. - let alone difference parts of the psyche.  Anything we've done for long or have done repetitively forms a handy neural network, so the next time we need a response - a network fires without our even calling it into play.  That's why it's  exhausting to be learning all the time, to be stressed all the time, to be in immersed in a radically different culture.   And I have been exhausted most of the time here - the case for most of the PCVs I know.  Nothing comes automatically - each response is a new one.  And while one is seeking new responses, it's a constant battle between what we remember worked at one point in our lives and what might work NOW.  Those are often at odds with each other.  

So back to being in the present and Oneness. What an opportunity!  In wanting a metaphysical or spiritual experience (you know - one of those with bells-and-whistles like a precognitive dream,  communing with a ghost, a close encounter-of-the-third-kind...) I failed to see the one before me.  And that is, using this concept of being present  (and dealing with nothing and no one every being on time)  as an extended meditation... That means letting go of the judgment around it, letting go of expectations and not moving ahead to the future outcome....  Beginning to sound very Buddhist.  And that works for me, but I wouldn't mind some bells-and-whistles.

In thinking about this, one of the things that is both endearing and infuriating here is the issue of time.  It's one of the greatest challenge of westerners.  The other great challenge has to do with boundaries.  And here we are back to "being present and oneness."  Lordy, does the Universe always have to have the last word?  But I WANT THE LAST WORD!!!!  Could be time to put on my big-girl pants and shut up.  

Interestingly, there is often a sense of "no time" here.  Or maybe it's the black-hole of time. Have to wait?  Bring a book.  No amount of angst-ing over it, pushing, cajoling, logical discussion will make any difference. We can try to effect those changes (and I still think it's not only worth while, but required for any developing country to adopt some concepts of timeliness, honoring commitments, etc. because these are part of the bundle if one wants the conveniences brought about by commerce and business) but it is futile.   In the MOMENT, it is sometimes  more valuable to learn to BE. So... as someone who has always been involved in a project, been the teacher, the planner, had at least some illusion of control, this - shall we say - is  simultaneously illuminating, interesting and infuriating.  Reminds me of the Buddhist "curse:" May you have an interesting life. Because "interesting" implies lessons...  No shortage of those here.

Consistent with what I know to be true of intention and the world of quantum physics, law of attraction (tho I am growing to hate that term because of the baggage that comes with it and the some of  the Charletons trying to sell it  as "get rich quick") I know the instant one lets go of the attachment to something, the faster that something manifests.    As I said, it's a good meditation.

And - as if to prove a point - as I had a repair man scheduled to come at 10:00 AM and settled down with a good book and a cup of coffee feeling it will be completely OK if he didn't show up until - when?  Having forgotten about the time (i.e became unattached to it) I startled to a knock at the door.  It was straight up 10:00 and there was my repairman!    He confessed to being such an anomaly in his culture that friends call him the Black Mzungu.  So today, the White Acholi and the Black Mzungu met, each quite delighted by this twilight zone shift of identities.    Each of us had to let go of an attachment to custom to get there.  It's going to be one attachment at a time I think.  Eighteen more months of lessons/discoveries to go - and counting.  Oops - that's another attachment.

The River of Ants

Raining….  Glorious long, slow rain foretold by black skies and great gusts of wind, accompanied by rolling thunder.   We’ve had a lot of this and at some point I will tire of it, but it takes me back to the excited anticipation of hurricanes in Louisiana and the quickening of my pulse when the wind began to kick up on the boat.    Actually, that trip was so  defined by storms and incredible winds, it took years for me to stop getting nauseated when the wind blew.  I was the one who did all the foredeck work and on a sailboat without fancy rigging, that’s the “gorilla work.’  i.e it takes the strength of one to haul anchors, reef sails, hoist the mainsail sometimes…   When we would peek out of a protected anchorage, Bob - having wanted to throw on as much sail area as we had - would deftly guide us out of the harbour, and immediately we'd get knocked down when we ventured out of the lee of the land into  real water. Since I did the sail changes, almost always getting sea sick, that soon wired a Pavlovian circuit: wind = nausea.   Years after we'd settled onto dry land, I got nauseated every time the wind blew – lasted about two years.   Old neural networks die hard.   Long after that stopped happening, if the wind changed at night I would sense it and stagger out of bed to  do “take compass bearings” to see if we’d pulled anchor in the night, only to realize I was safe and secure on the second floor of a house in the hills.   I was probably an Oregonian in another life.  As Brett’s girl-friend Molly mentioned, a true Oregonian runs outside when it starts to rain.  The rest of the world runs inside.   My heart sings when it rains.

In Gulu, with the start of the rains, non-Oregonian creatures  head inside.  A few nights ago, when I work up at 4:30AM AGAIN, I saw a wide-ish undulating snake like pattern moving from the closed window down the wall next to my bed.  Scrambled to find my glasses to see what this moving mass might be and it was ANTS - fortunately not a Black Mamba though.  Giant ants, not little sugar ants and they were traveling in a colony.   Eeeeuuuuwww.   These ants were easily ½ inch long.  And – as prone to exaggeration as I can be, that particular fact is actual fact. You can look it up. There is no insect repellent – we’ve used it all on the white-ant-zap-fest a week ago.  Still, BOP just blows things out of the way, instead of killing them.  So I spent the next 10 minutes whacking ants with my shoes. 

All I could think of as I am frantically slaughtering ants, was the river-of-ants scene in the Poisonwood Bible, where a literal river of ants would creep in a descimmate every living creature in their path: as in whole cows,  goats, people….   Pulled my bed away from the wall and tried to get back to sleep, but spent the next hour ruminating on a list of things I could set the legs of my bed in to keep ants from winding their way up the legs and into my bed…  There has not been a return, but I spent the next day further terrorizing myself researching Soldier Ants, giant ants in Uganda, etc.  When I got to the part about the mandible being so big they can't actually feed themselves, so have to depend on the colony shredding the victim, I stopped.  This is too much to think about…  Got a can of KILLZ the next days – hoping it does what it says and sprayed the window, the wall – you name it.  I’m happy to report that I am still alive and able to tell the tale. 

Last week held a small victory.  I have finally, after two months, been able to extract a report of sorts from the Gulu Town Police.  I can now submit this to my travel insurance. Now this would seem a straight forward matter, but even the Ugandans were horrified at the process.  It took a total of nine trips and talking to/pleading with to six different people to get this done. 

“Hello, my name is…. And I was burglarized….. and I’d like a copy of the report….”

“Oh no madam, we must first investigate. (It’s been 6 weeks – the trail is cold). And then we must type the report, and then we must…… and it must be stamped. It is not valid until it is stamped.”

“You first wait and we will come make some diagrams.” (This never happens)

A month later:  “Hello – remember me?  I MUST get a copy of ….”  "A stamped report is not necessary, just the original statement on your letterhead will do." 

“Oh no madam.  That is not possible.  We must….”

The Ugandans at my office suggested I talk to the DPC: District Police Commander.  He’s lovely, they all are… But they are very literal, and things are just done the way they are done.  That is all. I explain that charging me 60,000 shilling is equivalent to robbing me again, after I have already been robbed, it makes noimpression. Certainly this charge is not true.    This is the way it’s done.  Truly, everyone has been sympathethic,  but this Mzungu just cannot understand about Official Stamps?    All of the Ugandans I met waiting there are kind and smile and we shake hands.  And NO ONE ever questions or gets impatient.   This is an amazing trait – and is, at once, both ingratiating and infuriating. 

‘You comeback later and….”

I met Komaketch (a name meaning unlucky in Acholi) This doesn’t bode well.  I know the name because someone has suggested,  I be named Komaketch Nancy, because of my many mis-haps in Gulu.  I decline – but here’s that name again.  Komaketch is very nice and assures me he will deal with it.

Since I am now returning  to the Police Station multiple times during the day, they realize I’m serious.  Now the OC (Officer in Charge of Crimes) “requires to talk with you.” He  explains  - again -why this is “not done," and is quite put-out  with me but finally  relents and lest me know there is a middle ground that is FREE.   If  “you just first meet the DPC.”  Here we go again.  I feel like I am playing a game of Shutes and Ladders and keep getting dumped back down at the bottom of the game again.

This goes on, multiple trips, my LABE friends telling me this is bribery and that I should go see the REGIONAL Police Commander – which I do.   He listens to my story and says: “Madam let me explain ... Blah – blah  - blah. And for the official report with a stamp  you must first pay the bank 60,000 shillings and bring the STAMPED RECEIPT.  It is written.  There are no exceptions.”

I remind him I am a VOLUNTEER, not a rich Mzungu.  He is not moved, but he finally also offers the middle ground.

I return to the Police Station, feeling fully defeated, but  - in fact – someone has finally written the “To WHOM…” letter as it is called, saying that I have reported the crime to the police and the reference number is… and the best part is:

It Is STAMPED!”

I obviously need a STAMP - for something.  Then I will be officially - what?  But today, I have moved beyond getting a Police Report and have started transcribing wall charts used in Acoli Language classes  into  online modules.  It’s all in Acoli  and I’m understanding most of it and am amazed.    Gee this is one post I wouldn’t mind the CD reading.  Loucine, if you’re out there.  I AM using Acoli!  But – the most interesting thing is that I recall having dreamed this many years ago and actually telling someone I had the most bizarre dream about making charts in a language I don’t know…. 

I needed that – a little something meta-physical in my life.  How I have missed that here, but the culture itself is alive with tales of witch doctors, witchcraft and spells and mind-control.  I’m giving all that a wide berth…   Life is complicated enough with man eating ants and such.   By the way – the White Ants have arrived inside despite closed windows…  and the KILLZ sort of works!   Diana Gardens is blaring at full tilt.   And today, the Marching Band played a new piece: The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Again - only four measures.   life is - well - not GOOD exactly, but improving.