Another Milestone Passed: Texas House Sold!

 Well hallelujah!  I am homeless – in a good way.  My house in Austin sold and to tell you the truth it took a village and the inhabitants of that virtual village know who they are.  I thank each and every one of you who went far beyond friendship to make this happen.  

 A little history to help you realize the importance of last this event: the time my house was on the market was the period before I left for Peace Corps. If you can imagine a more tightly wound me or environment than having a house on the market, open houses most weekends, people wandering through as you are trying to pack up for two years in a country you don’t know – for a job you don’t know – with people you don’t know – well – don’t tell me.  There were garage sales, trips to storage, myriad documents, etc. ad infinitum.   Because it didn’t sell, there began the process of getting it ready for renters in one of the worst droughts in history.  That meant installing more soaker hoses, timers, etc. and trying to anticipate care and feeding that would maintain its value and saleability later.  It all seemed pretty well planned – even amid the chaos. I realize more than ever now that these are first world problems, but they are nevertheless real when you have most of your net worth tied up in a house - and the loan is through friends.

Fast-forward two years:  time to sell.  Without going into the hoary details, suffice it to say that the universe and a LOT of friends including the US Embassy in Uganda were smiling even through some last minute drama.  But it resolved well and I am – for the first time in my adult life – without physical roots.  I have bought, renovated and sold eight houses and five of those have been as a single woman. Read my lips:  “I am done.”  I have instructed friends to do an intervention if I ever talk about buying and renovating another old house and that permission is extended to you, the reader, whether ye be friend or foe. I do love taking old things and making them beautiful again, but this has to stop.   Maybe I am the old thing that I will work on now ;-) instead of a house! In all actuality there probably WILL be another house – but lord let it be LATER.

I became philosophical about the house not selling before I left for Peace Corps - since it’s the only thing one can do in the face of things not going according to plan.  One says –“ there must be a reason” and I think I have come to know some of it at least.  One of my traits is that I have insisted on “doing it myself” a habit and character trait carved deeply into my psyche and tissues in childhood, where it was fruitless to ask for help.  Part of what I have learned and come to both embrace and allow myself to receive – is the unbelievable generosity of spirit and consequent actions of friends.  There are no words to express the beauty of that or the deep love and gratitude I feel.

Another lesson has been the active process recognizing the subtle markers and extreme fall-out of fear: fear based emotions, thoughts and actions – all of which characterized my  experience of having a house on the market and "fearing" (to use the Ugandan meaning) that if the house did not sell – all of my plans would be for nothing. So when it didn’t panic ensued.   I've  have always been pretty fearless about the BIG decisions, just not the smaller ones - i.e no fear of going to Africa, just terrified of leaving the house unsold and having to deal with it from a distance.)  And guess what –  I once again in my life –re-discovered that I am not alone, nor do I have to do it all alone.  Friends came forward with solutions. I hope this is the last time I have to be tested on that belief.   It’s both a spiritual validation and a physical one.     As things fell into place for me to leave, I realized I was effectively getting out of my own way.  I had to get far enough away from the perceived reality to focus on other things and not worry about “the house.”  And so, when it came on the market – magical things began to happen.   As obstacles came up – the old PTSD of having the house on the market for a year glared at me from a dark corner and I had to consciously talk myself out of the abyss - consciously shift my emotional energy.    Life always provides opportunities for examining oneself providing the mirror for reflecting back what needs to be examined.   So I am grateful for the opportunity, the experience, the lessons learned and the gifts offered up. But - can we please put this lesson to rest!

As the weight of this perceived threat lifts I feel lighter and less encumbered. This is the way I had PLANNED to enter Peace Corps and I'm glad to have the last 6 months without that overhead!   As we start the countdown toward end of service, more interesting things happen and more insights emerge. When we arrived in Gulu most if not all of us were overwhelmed by the dirt and dust, the filth, the difficulty of getting from one day to the next.  Yes – we’ve acclimated - we can do it - in fact have been doing it.   The other night, friends and I were sitting having a fairly intense conversation and a huge beast of a grasshopper the size of a humming bird was flying in dizzying circles a foot over head and we didn’t skip a beat until someone started laughing hysterically over the fact that this is now considered normal. On that note, I thought it might be time to share some "normal "images of Gulu.   I'm always forgetting my camera, but last weekend I helped best friends video snippets for their  Amazing Race audition tape.   So I took my camera along. Ladies and gentlemen, let me present other faces Gulu:

 These are my Boda Driver friends - all are men in the twenties who hang out under the Mango tree with their motorcycles waiting to pick (pick up) a rider.  They hassled me (yep that's me in the hat) endlessly for the first three months - angry that I wouldn't ride or give them money.  They are now fans - I pass then 4 times a day M-F and they finally got it that I'm not going to ride.   Thus - I am still here ;-) The leader of the pack is Denis (plaid shirt) who is working his way through Gulu University getting a degree in business. 

Mobile Poultry Market

And yes - those are live chickens hanging from the handlebars on that bike. It's the Gulu version of the Whole Foods poultry section.   These are ubiquitous around Uganda.  Chickens here are tough and the term tough-as-shoeleather takes on new meaning!  Eggs have whitish grey yolks. We bought a chicken for Patrick who was helping us find locations for our Amazing Race shots.  It was 10,000 shillings - around $5.00 - feathers, feet, clucking and all.

The Dump - right on main street

And in other news.... one of the dumps cleverly situated smack on the main road into town.  Great introduction to Gulu.  So the good news here is that there are occasional garbage pickups in town (a rare service here). The bad news: it's dumped in town and nothing is done with it except random burning.  In the bush, no one has money to buy stuff, so it's not quite the same issue. But the closer you get to a town, the dirtier it gets. No infrastructure.    Kids - please don't cancel your tickets...

Mobile Car Wash

 And here we have a mobile car wash.  Ugandans are very inventive and have discovered amazing workarounds. These are manually moved around town - i.e. literally: one man pulling in front and another pushing from the rear.  

Below: JACK FRUIT! Huge...  The sap in the skin is so sticky you have to boil water to melt it off.  I'm not a particular fan, but part of that has to do with how much trouble it is to extract the edible part from the rest of the pulp. 

Jack Fruit Extraordinaire

And finally, below is my friend Leonard the Tailor.  He always works outside under an awning and we became friends when he saw me reading a book while waiting for someone. Uganda is not a reading culture, but Leonard s a reader and love mysteries. At first I just brought him books, but now shares his favorites with me!   It's a rare friendship.

Leonard the Tailor and Mystery Reader

And so my friends -  you now have another  view of Gulu.  

At the moment, I'm house-sitting for friends who have a niiiice place.  Actually I'm kitty sitting - the house is perfectly able to take care of itself.  The kitty however went into heat for the first time on my watch and evidently was squired by some neighborhood ruffians the result being - well - a soon to come litter of kitties. Now that she's about to download,  I am back at the scene of the crime.   Will keep you posted.   

In the meantime - Namaste. 

A Slightly Tilted Universe

2013 is a different year - the planet feels tilted a bit more than usual.  During most of my life I recall transiting the shift from one year to the next without so much as a blink.  Life merged seamlessly from one year to the next, punctuated by Christmas and New Year's Celebrations; then the calendar changed, but not much else.  This year it seems I left 2012 and walked into 2013 with the distinct feeling I'd walked onto a new movie set so to speak.   Really - it is so bizarre - seems while I was in Ethiopia, someone changed the script and most of the cast, but left the scenery in place.  Re-entry was both the same and totally different simultaneously.  Can you hear the Twilight Zone music in the background?

This altered-universe feel was heralded by the realization that my organization seems to be imploding around me - the changes too numerous to address - except to say that if feels chaotic, disorganized and in peril.  My efforts to affect productive change have been for naught - despite  doing what I was "hired" to do: be a Program Adviser and advise. I wrote a very good SWOT Analysis (Strengths, Weaknesses and Threats) and submitted it prior to our annual strategic planning conference where everything in it was validated when each point was independently voiced by staff - and dismissed by management. This is a blame-first culture and change is difficult in the face of fear.   Therefore I have turned to things over which I have at least a modicum of control. Those are - in fact moving forward: the Children's Library and Peter.  There continue to be details regarding the accident.  I have gathered my friend's belongings to get them to her in South Africa and elsewhere, cleaned out her little house and distributed items.  The trial is coming up this week so there are things happening with that.  The charges have been upgraded to manslaughter with a potential sentence of life in prison.  In Uganda, when someone goes to prison, I've been told the family has to provide food and and some essentials, so the burden of the sentencing spreads across the entire family.  Not entirely sure of this as I get mixed information,  but to say the least the income stream if there was one is interrupted and there are some concerns about reprisal.   

On a happier topic, two leadership camps (BUILD for boys, GLOW for girls), both sponsored by Peace Corps happened a couple of weeks ago in the north and another two were held last week in the south.  A strange sense of calm descended on Gulu which was essentially  "empty"  because all the other PCVs were at the camps acting as counselors.  I was able to sponsor Peter to go to one of them and he excitedly washed his clothes, got all packed and left with the group.   Here's a picture of Peter (dark shirt) with the counselors and director and three little kids who scooted in thrilled to be in the picture.  

Peter returned absolutely glowing with excitement and feeling good about himself and life.  It was a first for this former child of the streets.  In the week following camp he would have no place to sleep, study, eat, etc.  A friend of his located a small grass roofed hut where he can stay safely and study.  I've paid for it and have been giving him funds for food during the day.  Much to his credit, Peter refuses to take money without giving something back in return. He'd been a big help at the library and yesterday spent the day cleaning the floors in my house (his insistence - not mine) because I don't really have any work for him.   If he works full time, as is his custom while on break to pay for food) he can't study and falls behind in school.  My house has never been this clean  even when I moved in.  Dust and bugs are so pervasive that the patina of filth builds with such unfailing exuberance that it feels futile to hand-mop concrete floors everyday. One gets accustomed to living with a layer of grime which would take a year to develop in the states.    But TODAY, I have a clean house.

Some interesting stories have emerged as we've been working in the same space. He casually told me how - before boarding school, he would find a way to hide his school uniform before returning to the street to sleep, and hand off his books to a friend to keep overnight.  The police know Peter in town because he was able to convince a rowdy gang of street kids who'd followed him up here from Kampala to return there.  He's earned the respect of police (who helped him get an ID Card) and district officials alike and it will be interesting to see who Peter becomes.  

The library has been painted courtesy of funds from Matt Boddie (a PCV who extended a year) and his malaria organization and the almost heroic efforts of a Ugandan painter friend who called me "fearing" that I has been involved in the accident.  Shelves (some) have been moved courtesy of Peter and one of the teachers from his school and almost comically leaned against each other and walls to be sure they keep standing.  They are now loaded with what children's books there are and while it's a far cry from what we in the States grew up with in terms of libraries, it's a first for Gulu. This week I hope to get table legs cut down to convert big people tables to kiddie-size tables and find homes for more duplicate sets of 15 year old text books that keep spilling out of hidden spaces.  One small step at a time...

As I write, there's a cool breeze fluttering the curtains and I am - once again surrounded by a cacophony of church sounds, a calypso beat from a local pub just tuning up, a gaggle of kids one street over and a few roosters convinced there must be people who need waking.   Friday night the club in my front yard tuned up around 6 PM and starting rattling windows around 9 PM when they were joined by ear-splitting music from a club on the other side of me about a quarter-mile away.  Together they bludgeoned my ear drums until about 3:30 AM, when one of them stopped - reducing the noise to a mere 100 dB lullaby by comparison.   No wonder roosters have to try so hard: the revelers are sleeping the sleep of the dead.

Looking forward to turning another page on the calendar that hangs in my kitchen so I can mark of each day as I fix my coffee.  Just a little over a month to Zanzabar and COS conference when there will certainly be some blood-letting amongst those who will be fighting for going home when that window of opportunity opens on September 15.  It's a ridiculous process, historically (and hysterically) characterized by infighting, plotting, secret telephone calls, negotiating and excuses.  Seems leaving early because school is starting is not an adequate reason, but leaving early for some else's wedding gets approved.  It's the insanity we know as PC Uganda.  Am so glad my kids will be here in September and I will be removed from the need to get out of here at the earliest date.   I'll leave after the dust has settled and may end up staying a few weeks longer than planned to see Peter through the finals that determine whether he can go on to high school.

Onward into the day.  I have a clean house and an empty kitchen - so a trip to the cuk madit is on the list, a little laundry-doing and some giving away of stuff.  I love that part - means things are winding down ;-) even as things intensify in terms of activity. 

Namaste my friends.

The Loss of a Sweet Spirit

 Danielle Gucciardo was 23 and filled with the kind of enthusiasm and genuine sweetness that is rare at any age. I say that because there are not many people I would describe as “sweet” without that characteristic being attached to being cloying or a bit fake, but Danielle was the real deal - an old soul in a young body. I didn’t know her well - she was part of the “new” Education Sector group based at a school a bit outside of Gulu. Because of that, our paths only crossed when she was able to get into town and we usually found each other at Coffee Hut.

No doubt her parents and sisters bid her farewell to Peace Corps and celebrated a new and exciting chapter in her life fully expecting her to come home filled with that same excitement about life - only a little more seasoned.  Even at 23 she had a passion for working with the disadvantaged.

She has gone home, but not as expected. 

Saturday, as Danielle, Jennifer and Ellen left to go to Kampala for In Service Training (IST), they walked along the same route I have taken many times and dreaded every step, to catch the Post Bus that leaves at 7 AM.  We walk in the dark to get there, along a stretch of road that wends its way through town skirting one of the main bars in town.  Our biggest fear is usually getting past the bar patrons spilling out onto the streets without being hassled.  Then there’s the long stretch flanked by a Papyrus swamp. It’s really dark and pretty spooky in its own right – the salient sound being the croaking of frogs.  We tend to walk on the left because it has a wide shoulder, avoiding  the right side (against the traffic) because you can’t see people who may be in the shadows.   The roads are pretty vacant at that time of the morning, with the random person headed to work or going home from the bars that are just closing.  So we are alert to vehicles - likely to be piloted by someone “under the influence.”

It was as these three young women walked to the bus, laughing and having a good time - headed to the first benchmark of their service: In Service Training (IST) that without warning: no lights, engine noise, squealing of breaks - in mid-sentence, a truck ploughed into them, killing Danielle instantly and injuring the other two, one seriously and the other with more minor injuries. 

The aftermath is too grim to describe, but suffice it to say there’s no 911 to deliver a sparkling clean and efficient team of paramedics and medical equipment to your rescue. I received a call at about 6:15 AM from our Country Director saying the ambulance had not arrived and could I help figure out what was happening.   It took a bit for me to understand who was involved and when I did, I knew which route they would have been taking.  Knowing the man I would call to drive me to find the accident, would take too long to get there,  I left on foot to find help and 30 minutes or so and  seven people later, I found a ride, by which time the ambulance had arrived. 

Jennifer and Ellen were taken to one of the two better hospitals in Gulu, only to be transferred almost immediately (relative term) to the best.  I arrived at that hospital at least an hour and a half after I got the call and still waited a good while before the injured arrived.   I have to say that hospital, LaCor, run by the Italians was decent, but not well equipped to handle this event.

Peace Corps sent a plane and doctor to Gulu to transport the injured back to Kampala and I along with another volunteer accompanied our friends.  It was a flawless ride, well managed and we arrived at Kampala International Hospital in good time.     By 10:30 that same night the most severely injured, was on her way to South Africa via air-ambulance (AmRef).  Seeing AmFef operate was like being back in the States: fast, efficient, state-of-the art. 

The community of Gulu rallied and has been very supportive.  I’ve received calls from the post office folks who know us all, the man who fixed my windows, a tailor with whom share mystery books, the Ugandan volunteers at the library, and so many others.  I've even received a call from S,amir, my dear Indian grocer who having missed me for the week, feared the worst. Ugandans and Muzungus alike having heard the news made their way to the hospital. Locals, who seem to come out of the woodwork at the scene even though the streets were empty the preceding moment, apprehended the driver who smelled of alcohol.

A grief counsellor sent by Peace Corp D.C. has been working with the group.  A beautiful memorial service was held at the IST training site and another is being planned at Danielle’s school. The trial is Monday. I know for most of her group, this is their first brush with death and this magnitude of loss.  It’s a cruel initiation into adulthood. I hope her family can take comfort in knowing how well loved their daughter was, that the way she lived her life has already changed lives and will be a beacon for others. As a mother my deepest grief is for her parents and sisters.  

Life Gets Complicated...

It's been waaaay too long since I posted, that is if you're interested in what's happening.  If you're getting bored with this - maybe not ;-)   As I've said before, the odd and unusual has become the mundane, though one never completely gets used to things.  Just about the time you think you've adapted, the universe comes along and throws something new at you.  Things got more complex and I've become less of an observer and more of a participant, which is what I had anticipated in Peace Corps.   One of my realizations about my time here had to do with the fact that the work I do with LABE - a lot of Organizational Development - is pretty "hands-off."  But the more time one spends here - the more time I spend here, the more involved I become in everyone's story and the harsh realities of life here.  Again: a combination of exhilarating, humbling, heartbreaking and breathtaking.  Want to FEEL something beyond your comfort zone - come to Africa. 

All of a sudden, things have become busy and complicated.  A while back, I was casually bemoaning the circumstance of my work being so "mental."  The library project whose failed attempt at starting in 2011, finally manifested and then along came Peter, who opened the door to more than I'd anticipated.   In the middle of all this, a friend of mine who was a PCV in Mali, put on Gulu's version of the TED Talks and was there to take pictures.

 The event took place on the grounds of Gulu University (above with other PCV friends) and it was quite the deal.  The purpose of the event was to tell a different story of Northern Uganda, to share something other what people know of the North: "as a place you go to die." That's a direct quote from a Ugandan in Kampala.  There's a great TED talk called "The Danger of a Single Story" (http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html) and it's worth watching. This TED talk was about some of the rather amazing projects operating in Gulu to move people forward. On the right, yours truly between Erin Morrison, good PCV friend living in Padjule and Natalie Grillion, the creator of the event (formerly in Mali).

The library project is moving at a snail's pace, despite my working there every Tuesday and Thursday.  The issues seem trivial in the larger scheme of things, but the everyday log-jams that interfere with forward motion continue to be daunting.  I think one of the things that happens to volunteers here is that we want to do much and when your deafened by the sound of the chinks in the machinery of progress grinding to a halt - there's some self-reservation shut-down that occurs.  So life seems to even out - but the fact is we've just put the gone into  avoidance.  Useful sometimes.  But then there's something that matters breaks through the veneer of frustration-created-apathy and we re-engage.  This time it's the library project.  Every time I tell a Ugandan that we are creating a Children's Library (the first ever for Gulu and probably Uganda) they are moved nearly to tears over the idea - the commitment - the realization that   someone from the outside is trying to do this for THEIR children - the opportunity it represents.  It's a reminder that this is not a little thing and that it matters.  That's where the frustration comes in.  To have shelves for the children's room, we have had to liberate shelves from the adult collection, such as it is - mostly textbooks, with a little pleasure reading thrown in.  That means - for me - sorting through and organizing by category - a few thousand books.   Since this has not really been done before except for obvious categories like math, it's a walloping challenge.   And we could move those shelves if we could the years worth of duplicate papers moved out of the "children's room" - if anyone would come when they say they will - if anyone would call them back and follow-up, if anyone would......  What I can say about is:  it's a great upper-body work out and it's concrete.  When you've moved - and re-moved a few hundred books and see them i place, you can say - "I did that."  Much of what we do here is "planting seeds" that - if they grow - will come to fruition long after one leaves.    On the advice of a librarian friend, I am doing it by "book store" categories as opposed to Dewey Decimal System, because almost NO ONE shelves a book here.  What I HAVE noticed is that the more organized the collection becomes, the more people are using it as a library instead of just a place to read newspapers.  One of the first things we'll do when it's done is have a few classes on "how to  use a library." NO one really knows you can actually check out a book!  The class  -  will also include things like "IFF you shelve a book, put in spine out at least somewhere in the vicinity of where you pulled it out."  This from a librarian's daughter, but books are often put back backwards if they are re-shelved...  I know - I know - it's down in the noise, but there is just so much noise!  It's taken two months t do something I could have done in the States in 2 days. Enough of that.

And Peter. This is where the universe has thrown me a curve.  Peter is lovely:  personable, open, good hearted, works hard, is polite, committed, filled with gratitude and loved by his teachers. I'm honored to work with him.  But the Head Teacher at his school is a real piece-of-work.   There have been multiple complaints filed and no-one seems to be able to kick the bastard out.  It has not occurred to them to stop paying him - I feel pretty sure he'd get the idea.  This is a man who hates: Muzungus, women and anyone who dares to fear him - anyone with a voice.  He rules by fear, threat and vengeance. Not exaggerating.

The last time I visited with Peter on school matters,  the HT and I were in "conversation" when he simply turned his back on me and walked away.  I know men like that and am done with it.  The teacher's say "he's mental." This is a man who STILL boxes kids on the ears (he's a big man and hits them hard).  Damaged one kid's vestibular system and he couldn't walk straight for a week after.  He still canes students and when I left the last time, called Peter out in front of his class mates and called him a "piece of human wast, garbage, etc.  How dare he affiliate with Muzungus - etc."  Usually, none of the teachers will stand up to him, because he has sole power to hire-and-fire. But the latest episode has them stirred up and ready to come forward.  If only there was "someone home" at the level where this has to be handled. 

I ultimately went to the Deputy Regional District Commissioner (DRDC -  the president's representative in the District) and the District Education Officer, both of whom knew about the HT and suggested I move Peter to another school, knowing that getting the HT out would take forever, if it every happens.

This has been depressing and as I was trying to find another school, buying study aids to help Peter catch up, etc something good has emerged. Peter as so angered by HT behavior, that he has taken a stand with the HT and seems to have gained some strength and self respect.  Where people often will not stand up for themselves, they will do it for others and in doing so find the "gift" that Buddhist's say is hidden in adversity. In Uganda there are many men like this and if Peter can learn some coping methods it will serve him well in the future, but that's not what school should be about.  Still I think instead of "rescuing" him and sending him to another school where he will have to build relationships all over again, it might be in his best interest for him to  stay there because the teacher's adore him and have his back. A new school might be even more disruptive. While it's hard to get rid of a bad teacher in the States, this type of behavior would get one thrown out in a heart-beat.  It was yet another eye-opener I've managed to avoid until lately. Having gone to the high-officials in Gulu, the HT is back on their radar and there is a support system. Peace Corps tell us to "stay out of it," but thre are somethings you just can't stay out of.  You just have to be smart about how it's handled.

Because of Peter's interest in helping the street kids, yet another door was blown open. When  RDC  found out I was sponsoring Peter and trying to get his Street Kids Proposal out there, I became flooded with requests to help: money, website, donate a few hours a day.  This because the RDC referred them to me.  Good grief.  As my sister says: "No good deed goes unpunished."  I have had to set some firm boundaries - there are not enough hours in the day or energy to do all of this.  Having to communicate constantly that I need evenings and weekends to regroup and do all the things needed to self-maintain is - in itself- exhausting.  I explain I don't bring money, I have no time to research and write proposals since I HAVE a full time job and two projects - and I remind them that since I do not have a WIFE (the doer of all things here) I do all of my own cooking, cleaning, shopping and laundry - therefore don't have time for a fourth project.  Having said that at least three times to the same person), who keeps coming back like he has never heard any of it - we have at last reached an understanding.  I will do some editing and add my voice - not insignificant because they believe a Muzungu voice carries more authority. The sad truth is:  it does.  We met with higher ups today to get things moving forward.  

This is all on the heels of a Human Rights conference that focused on the suicide issue here.  In the last 4 months there have been 95 suicides in the larger Gulu area - all people between 20-something and about 35.    These are the ones who - for the most part - were born in the war camps and have no mechanism for coping with the realities and responsibilities of life on the outside.   The group I'm trying to help is called Help a Child Uganda - and their focus is on getting the "new group" of street kids some help so they don't meet the same fate or dish out their misery to others.

So that's what's been keeping me busy and away from blogs as of late.  I understand how it is that volunteers decide to extend during their last half-year.  Not happening here, although I'm working my butt off to finish the library and get Peter's situation more stable before I leave.  This is a pivotal year for him and will determine IFF he gets into a senor school and which one...   All of that needs to be determined before I leave or at least some structure for managing it.  I'll not be here when he finishes P7 so I've got to set some things up.

Lordy - on the up side:  we have an "old farts" trip planned for Zanzabar before the Close of Service conference in July.  Seven of us are headed that way.   And I can't WAIT until the kids come in September!  Other good news: the library I helped my home-stay sponsor start is now active!  That one also makes my heart sing.  Going to try to get her a sign for it - right now it's just word-of-mouth - but people are coming and checking out books. Cool, huh! Most there have never even heard of a library!"

The power just "finished" and I've been discovered by mosquitoes - so I'm headed under the net.

Meet Peter

A few blogs ago I mentioned that I am helping a young man go back to school.  What started as an acquaintance on the street has turned into a pulling at the heart strings as I learn more about Peter and his story.  So I’d like to introduce you to this young man who has such a drive to go to school, improve his life and be a role model to others with the same plight.

I meet a lot of people on the street and we have brief casual conversations that consist mostly of greetings or “no, I’m sorry I don’t have any money to give you.”    With Peter, this became a dialog about what he was trying to do to get the 100 or so street kids in Gulu off the street, fed, back into school or at the least back with families.   It wasn’t until later that I realized Peter had also been a street kid, getting random help from random people, working at odd jobs and getting a meal when he could.  Yet Peter never asked for money or even implied that he was in need himself. It was only obliquely that I learned he was trying to get back into school.  The focus was always on "his" street kids.  He never mentioned that all of the money he had saved for school had been stolen (story to follow). That came to me quite by accident from another woman who was in Peter's life when it happened.

Fast forward to my deciding to help Peter get into Gulu Public Primary School (Grades 1 - 7) where he will have shelter and food as well as education.  Peter’s been on the street for a few years and has developed a level of autonomy that’s doesn’t fit too well in a school where you have to ask permission to go to the latrine!  Yet, he’s wants to do well  and is following all the rules.  So far - so good, and his teachers are noticing.

Last Sunday was Parent’s Day at the school – and I guess as his sponsor, I’m the closest thing Peter has to a parent, so I went, signed in as a "parent," was given his test results and stayed to visit.  I learned more about his history and had a fascinating conversation as Peter asked me about things he'd heard about the United States.  Sooo interesting to learn what Ugandans have heard and how it's been interpreted in the context of life in Uganda, half-truths and all. 

 The more I learn about Peter, the more amazed I am at how this young man has managed to hold on to such a single vision and motivation to be educated.  For the first few years of his life, Peter and his nine siblings were raised in a village on the outskirts of Gulu.   Evidently the mother left the picture early on and his father was left to raise the kids alone.  They struggled for food and all of the children were expected to work in the fields or otherwise contribute to family livelihood.  Peter made it to  P3 before it became evident that his father would not/could not continue to send him to school and it became a source of chronic conflict and later abuse from his older siblings.  So he went to live with another family after physical violence erupted as he became the  referee to keep his older brother from stealing food from the Peter's younger siblings.   The new "family" got him through another year of school, but that living arrangement fell apart as well.  (Nearly every family I meet here has at least a few extra kids living with them or has sent their kids to live with someone who is better equipped to handle them.  The nuclear family is nonexistant here for the most part.)

Once again, Peter realized if he were to have any chance of going to school, he’d have to fend for himself this time on the street and so he has – making his way through P6 with odds and ends of jobs and  “support.”  One of those “supporters” was a minister in Kampala who had the kids sleep and work on his compound, paying them the equivalent of about $40 per month out of which they would have to pay for food, medical expenses and a telephone to be at his beck and call when he needed them.   But no school….   The pastor enticed them with offers of “if you learn to drive, I’ll buy you a car”  but the pay wasn’t enough to get the training and there was no “time off.”  Again, Peter realized he had to do this on his own as the disparity between the way this man treated those under his care, and his claim of being a “man of god’ became more obvious and more disheartening.   (It's no wonder Peter became suspicious when the Church of Latter Day Saints - Mormons are prominent in Gulu - offered to pay his school fees IF he would join their church and agree to do their preaching their way and prepare to leave the country for a few years.)

Back in Gulu again, he found a bit of support from a reputable faith based organization here.  I met a Canadian woman there who knew Peter’s story and told, "Peter has had true miracles in his life,” and proceeded to tell me the story of his school money being stolen.  Seems Peter worked at digging a latrine for this organization all one school term, staying out so he could save his earnings to pay for the next term.  He put his money in the bank, an unusual thing for ANY Ugandan, much less a street kid.  On the day he went to withdraw his funds to pay for school, he discovered his account had been cleaned out by his landlady no less: filmed at the ATM.  Under the recommendation of the banker, Peter went to report the situation to the police and HE was thrown in jail, as the police assumed it HAD to be the street kid who was stealing.  After three days the banker followed a hunch and went to the police, only to find Peter in the slammer.   The fact that the banker tracked down the landlady’s crime AND followed up on Peter’s situation with the police could certainly qualify as miracle’s here in Uganda.    The money of course was gone, so there went another lost term of school. Still - Peter persists and is not an angry young man. 

Anyway, when Parent’s Day came along – unknown to me until the last minute – I had already made plans involving the library and a group of volunteers all scheduled to work.  In trying to explain to Peter that I might not make it, he stopped me and took my hand in both of his, looked into my eyes and said, “Don’t worry – all that you’ve done for me tells me you love me.”   Oh lordy – I have no words for this. 

So of course, I made it a point to get to Parent's Day and spent a little time chatting with Peter, took some treats only to discover other kids are “disturbing” his locker.  translate that “stealing” from his locker (no lock).  I've now supplied a lock...

So this is Peter’s story.  He’s working hard, has an incredible spirit and an ability to forgive that continues to inspire me.  His story is unusual only in that he continues to get up and try again, remains positive and committed against all odds, to living a life that matters.  

Hearing Aids De Ja Vu!

This morning dawned unexpectedly quiet....   Always a welcome event here - and rare.  So beautiful was the silence that i turned off the fan and reveled in it.  Constant Karaoke...  Must be a new bare somewhere, but everytime I woke up last night, there it was again.    This morning's silence was almost deafening buy comparison ;-)

My work mates are off in Kampala this week and I'm in Gulu trying to get other projects moving forward and somehow that has not proved fruitful, but the week is young.  Trudged to the library this morning all ready to sort children's books and it was totally locked.  Where IS everyone???  So I went to the market instead, found a not totally wilted bunch of cilantro and look forward to ANYTHING with cilantro on it.   There appears to be MO meat in Gulu...  "it is not ready yet."  I don't want to know what that means.   Thank goodness for foil packed tuna in my care packages!   It seems we may be getting the fallout from the Kenya elections.  we were warned of it, but supply routes are down due to Kenya's election turmoil.  No yogurt, no pickles, no meat...  odds and ends, but things that make life here a little easier.

Managed to get my power tuned back on.  Most of Gulu was without power for 3-4 days last week. everything rotted in the fridge.  When it did come back on, Umeme - the power monopoly - flippantly decided to disconnect mine.  I got the bill one day, paid same and they unplugged me the next.  No justification.  Seemed I was going to have to pay them to reconnect, but managed to find someone reasonable there and they issued the reconnect order.    Miracles never cease, they are sometimes just long in the coming.   This all happening during the week of International  Women's Day.  Did you know there was such a thing?    Me neither 'till I came here.  This is how I "celebrated" it:

My side of a  conversation with my PCV friend Erin, from Padjule: “Really?   Starkey – (the worlds largest manufacturer of hearing aids) - is coming to town?     You’re meeting with them?  How come? When?  Can I come?  How in the world are they going to fit hearing aids in Africa???   This I have to see.”

And so it began – but first a little background. 

In a former life – in my twenties – when I’d come back from Europe totally broke and on food stamps because-I-couldn’t-find-a-job-ANYWHERE-not-even-waitressing – I had to take a job placement test at the Department of Public Welfare….    If they were going to give me an emergency ration of food stamps, they were damn sure going to try to get me employed. Before I went trekking off to Europe after my first divorce, I‘d quit my job as an audiologist doing diagnostics for an ear, nose and throat clinic in Austin, caught the cattle-car-$100-Icelandic Airlines flight to Amsterdam and visited my sister in Tunisia.     Before I left, I’d humored a friend of mine and under some duress had told him my ideal version of the job I’d like.  I told him it would be a job "managing a state-funded program for delivering hearing aids and related services to indigent elderly." Where I came up with that I’m not sure – such a program did not exist at the time.   He suggested I plug in a salary, so I did and it was unreasonable for a young audiologist with no administrative experience and almost as little experience working with hearing aids and the elderly, except that  I’d tested hundreds of them.  So I plugged that order into the great job-bank-in-the-sky and left for Europe, not giving it another thought.

When I came back to Austin, it was after Nixon’s impeachment, the first oil crisis, I  had no money, no job and no prospects for any of the aforementioned.  So I dragged myself into the exams one morning after having been out most of the preceding night and took an absolutely horrid standardized job test and did so badly I was convinced I would never be employed. 

A few weeks later, I received in the mail, a letter from the Department of Public Welfare, the gist of it being: would I like to “come interview for a n"ewly developed Title XIX (medicaid) program tasked with delivering hearing aids and related services to the indigent elderly of Texas.”  And – the salary was precisely what I’d plugged into my formula a year before as I was packing my bags for Europe.    Really – you can’t make this stuff up. 

So – somehow, I beat out several other very seasoned audiologists with administrative experience and got the job.  It was trial by fire,  but I learned a lot in the three years I ran it before leaving again – this time to live on a sailboat for a year, cruising during storm season in the Gulf of Mexico and the Bahamas.  I was beginning to suspect I had come from gypsy stock. Anyway, that was the last time I’ve had anything to do with hearing aids or audiology directly.

Bill Austin on the left

 Fast forward a few decades and a few countries... When the news about Starkey coming to Gulu found my ears, I felt history repeating itself. Of course I had to see how a fairly high-tech process requiring testing, medical screening, fitting, hearing aid batteries and counseling was going to work  in a third-world environment where virtually NONE of that could reasonably be accomplished.  Coming from the audiologist’s background where testing and “proper” fitting rules,  I first viewed this with a lot of skepticism.  I'd been told that this is the brain child and passion of Bill Austin, the founder of Starkey Hearing Foundation and that he approaches it with evangelical zeal.   He devotes most of his time and talents now to traveling around the world and dispensing hundreds of thousands of hearing aids to hearing impaired kids and adults in response to Clinton's Global Millennium Initiative.

I'm glad to report that there’s been a lot of humbling and many reality reality checks between the arrogance of my twenties and the walk along this impossibly dusty road, past the cuk-madit (main market), numerous boda stands and a slew of Ugandan’s  amused to see a Munu walking that road. When I finally arrived at Saint Monica’s orphanage and clinic, it was the scene of much going on.  There were tents set up, with hundreds of men, women and children lined up or  sitting in staging areas waiting for the next phase of what proved to be an orderly, well orchestrated process.

 
Making all this happen were about 30 Americans and at least as many Ugandan volunteers milling around with red Starkey shirts and blue Global Health Corps t-shirts. There were also a few beefy guys around sporting Pros for Africa shirts.  Quite a group.  Global Health Corps is a Barbara Bush (daughter) initiative and Pros for Africa is consists of professionals from different areas, one of which if NFL  football players.  Witness Tommie Harris working with with a couple of different women below.

The next image that came into focus was a long, skirted table with piles of  what looked vaguely like a buffet of shrimp (wishful thinking...), but upon closer examination the piles revealed themselves to be  hearing aids divided into “power groups,” from weak to mega-strong and then body-aids for those who are profoundly deaf.   

Explaining that I was a Peace Corps Volunteer and former audiologist,  I was warmly welcomed and invited to observe and be part of the process.  What I saw there was a well-oiled machine: a very streamlined, practical process that – in the states- would be scoffed at, but was a fairly brilliant adaptation to the realities of the third world.   Lack of medical care means ear infections don’t get treated and what starts as a correctable temporary hearing loss, turns into a permanent one.  The Quinine given for treatment of Malaria is ototoxic and if given in too large a dose (common) you’re malaria (that time) may be cured, but you've lost your hearing forever…  and so it goes.  Here, the mere opportunity to hear something overrides the first-world concern of “is it perfect?”   While we were there, one child considered to be retarded immediately started mimicking the fitter's vowel sounds when the hearing aid was turned on.  Instead of being an outcast, with little hope of developing speech or integrating with his community, he'll have a chance at a normal life.  Others might just be a bit more tuned in, but here, that can save your life. 

Brady Forseth, Executive Director,  doing a fitting

Without going into a lot of detail there are a few really critical elements to the process of fitting a hearing aid.  In the States you would  start with an elaborate battery of diagnostic and fitting tests to determine type and configuration of hearing loss.   These would be performed in a multi-thousand dollar sound-proof booth with the latest tests including speech discrimination, etc.  Then you would test various hearing aids, “tune” them to reflect test results, re-test, etc. etc.  Anyone not doing all this would be considered incompetent or at the least unprofessional.  It’s a snobbery I know well and a luxury not possible here. 

As with every other service delivered in the environments of  developing countries, grass roots, practical and sustainable processes rule the day.   Just training people to respond accurately to a test – if you had an even remotely quiet place to conduct said test – would take too long and your high tech results would still have to be matched to real world limitations.  So here, the process looks more like this:

• ·      A med-tech (very skilled by the way) examines the ear canal with a photographic otoscope, where the ear canal shows up on a screen.  His job was to clear the canal, check for infection and send them for meds if he found something.   This is not a task for the squeamish:  many were totally occluded with wax that looked like tar and other stuff that had stuck there while they were trying to clean it them selves. Others have active infections.   More than a few, which I did not see,  had bugs that had taken up residence in the canal.

• ·      Ear molds were – for the most part – pre-made by an advance team that had come months earlier, taken impressions and sent the impressions for manufacturer elsewhere.  Those who arrived later without having been part of the earlier process, were fitted a well as possible from a selection of stock molds.

• ·      Some interesting screening was done to determine which power-model of an aid would be optimum, based on behavioral feedback.   Even in the States – with all of the technology in the world,   fitting of a hearing aid is still an art-form because of the variations in how people perceive sound and a myriad of other factors, both technical and perceptual. Getting useable feedback from folks who’ve never had something in the ear, who may never have heard, who not only don’t speak YOUR language, but often are non-verbal can be an adventure in subtlety.  Entire conversations here can be had with raising the eyebrows, so figuring out what that means when tuning a hearing aid can be - well - confusing.

 

• ·   After fitting, they receive some group counseling and get a bag to keep their batteries in.  This is interesting:  into each bag goes a handful of rice to absorb any excess moisture from the batteries being used.  A year’s supply is supplied by Raovac.   Once they can do everything on the checklist (put the batteries in, fit their ear-mold properly into the ear, turn it on, clean the earpiece, etc.) they are released with the contact of a local “support partner.”

The downside is, that people here – even the partners, don’t know much about hearing aids and the recipients themselves will be hard pressed to find help for the kinds of issues that routinely come up.  Two questions I was asked a few times were:

• ·        Will the hearing aid fix what is wrong with my/my child’s ear?

• ·       Are their any harmful side effects to using a hearing aid?  

The really tough questions won't show up until everyone is gone home.  So the system isn't perfect, but no system here is and this one is pretty impressive.

A few hours into the process,  the wind began to whip up a nasty dust storm followed by a grand Gulu downpour.  Chaos ensued: people scattered to move under tents, thousands of dollars of equipment had to be packed and people still ushered through the process.  And so the day ended in mud and lakes of water.  A classic early flirt with rainy season!

In a few months, I hope to help with a group being brought in from Erin/s region in the east.     Whodathunk I'd be doing this again after all these years.  You just never know where life will take you.

Children's Room Project!

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Finally – at long last – we are actually starting the project that was attempted in 2011. A burned foot, change of Town Clerk and LABE work intervened and conspired to stall the project.  And a truculent volunteer dug her heels and played the role of a power-mongering bureaucrat.  Her first question when approached in 2011 was “What will you give us?” after I’d already offered to organize the children’s collection (i.e time, expertise, all free).  Obviously that didn’t bode well.

Time passed and, as volunteers, we finally got deep enough in our projects and gained enough credibility to try again and take time away from our primary work.  Although, the library task is in line with LABE’s goals and secondary projects are encouraged, things just needed to come together.  It took a while.  Another volunteer had some university books donated  - though no funds to GET them here.  Shipping books is pricey even via the M-bag route which coast around $250 - $300 – as some of you already know!

Since getting the books here wasn't working, we put our heads together, and re-engineered the original idea - boosting literacy and reading.  We approached the library (study center) again are were lucky enough to find the real librarian there and he was very excited about the project.  He’s not requiring us to jump through administrative hoops (you have no idea how huge this is) and embraces everything we’ve suggested.  So – we have been granted permission to claim a secondary room as a children’s room, but to do that we must clear the existing chaos:  organize thousands of newspapers for several years (back to 2009!)  into title, year, date, day, getting rid of thousands of duplicates, etc. etc.    Here's a sample of what we found:

There is no storage or shelving for them so we have been creating a makeshift system using discarded grocery boxes.  There is also no money for binding the newspapers.  So witness the current solution (below) – boxes with paper separators….    Makes us realize anew how fortunate we are in the States to have funded libraries!  When life gives you boxes - make shelves...  Samir, our favorite local grocer, gave us these.  That may not sound like much, but other places wanted $7 US for a discarded box.

After the newspapers, there are rooms full of old donated books that need sorting – and hundreds of books for the adult section have to be processed and some discarded.  Some of those will go to the new library in Wakiso my homestay host is starting and others will hopefully  go  to schools and a local youth center.

There are new shelves in the adult section and they are empty.  ALL (thousands) of books must be moved from old shelves to the new ones. When that’s done, the children’s room will get the current (more child-friendly) shelves and by then we should have at least the newspapers done and the text books figured out.  THEN we can start categorizing the hundreds of children’s books into reading level categories.  Forget Dewey Decimal System, no one will ever refile a book by number and there is no such thing as a card file or inventory of books.

Since there are not children’s chairs or tables,  we’ll shorten the legs on a few adult tables and make them available for kids.  We’ll get a few mats from the market and create play and reading areas, paint when we can get paint donated….  And!  There is a  local teenager who is a budding talent and we’d like to encourage him – sooo – we’re hoping to get him to paint fun images on the walls to brighten the place up.  Here's what it looks like now:


That blue thing you see is a huge iron gate being stored.  We have no idea about how to get it out of the building since it's both taller and wider that the door. I'm thinking of painting it and calling it the "Gateway to adventure" - or some such.

Ahhh it goes on and on.  Creating the space is only Phase I.

The bigger challenge is “mobilizing” schools, parents and children to get them to USE the room.  As I’ve said before, this is not a reading culture.  In the library, there are only text/academic books, nothing for pleasure reading.  Our goal is to provide a children’s space, so children and parents will have a place to get books, come for reading-hour,  have some puzzles available,  and plan some kids activities. This means visiting schools, holding events for children, and maybe someday creating a mobile library to get books to the field.  Some of the doors have already been open by LABE as they take the books you all have donated to the field to Home Learning Centers.  

In the meantime, life goes on.  I've visited my sponsor-student, Peter, who has now been in boarding school for about a month.  so far, so good.  He's happy having a place to sleep and three meals a day. 
His challenge seems to be math, so one of our new PC education volunteers has offered to meet with him to see if see if some tutoring will help.   

OK - gotta get to work.    House-sitting for some friends with a mischievous "teenage" cat who has managed to drag in an interesting assortment of critters over night:  I've counted one large roach, a large strange moth with a long funnel looking proboscis, a big lizard and a huge grasshopper.  And that's just what I can see scattered around and need to remove before I find them in pieces when I get back.  Seems she likes things that crunch (lizard legs....)

Onward through the dust...