There is no electricity for the next 5 days and my computer will run out of battery charge at some point. This is July 21.

Paul: Paul finally arrived a few days ago, having been stranded in Dubai for two days. He is from Scotland (via Wales and more often refers to himself as Welsh) and is an occupational therapist. He is 24, brought his guitar and harmonica and can sing and play anything. His first few days here all the village kids came to our area so that they could dance to his singing. Also…he brought far cooler kid stuff than I did. He out aces me by a mile in the child entertainment department. He just graduated from college and landed a pretty prestigious job at a hospital in London when he returns. He has introduced me to evening tea, which we take on my floor when the rest of the family has disappeared into their family core. He has also introduced me to whiskey which is done on the sly but certainly makes the evening pass more quickly.

On his second day here Isaac, Ronnie, Paul and I went to the Ugandan version of a nightclub. It was on the roof of a decrepit building in Mukono. The music was LOUD and everyone sat around tables…perhaps 15 tables. When one wants to dance you simply move your chairs back and dance at your table. Tables of women danced together. Tables of men dance together. I was the only woman dancing with men, and three at a time at that. I was the star of the show—everyone stared at the old muzungu with two young black man and a wild looking Scotsman. Paul and I had Nile beer and Isaac and Ronnie had Guinnes. I had to laugh at the turnabout in our international beers. We stayed a bit over an hour when jet lag hit Paul and he looked like he was physically folding. So…on to bodas in the dark. It was Paul’s first boda in the dark ride and he was clearly as frightened as I had been the first time. By the way, he was here all of four hours and he made the same observation I had made immediately upon arriving: “I feel so WHITE!”

Today we took the 7 hour bus ride to Bushenyi. The bus was circa 1950 and was filthy, packed with people and chickens. The ride was BUMPY. Most of the time we actually had to hold on to the handrails. I once bit my tongue badly as we hit one of a thousand potholes at 70 mph and Isaac actually flew out of his seat and hit the ceiling. And the dirt and dust and smoke was incredible!!! Add to that the smell of hot brakes. We stopped several times to let them cool down. The only tragedy however (besides my whiplash and broken butt) was that I lost my hat somewhere on the bus. Note: It is evidently legal here to pass on blind curves and drive on the wrong side of the road provided you blow your horn the entire time you do it.

Let me back up…In the morning we arrived in beautiful downtown Kampala (Yes, this is sarcasm) , population 6.5 million, at 9a.m. We walked to the bus park and were pulled this way and that by different bus drivers wanting us on their bus. Once we got on, we sat there in the heat for over an hour, breathing diesel fumes and praying to die. The ride was even worse. The constant smoke here no matter where you go is overwhelming. While we waited (I sat between Paul, another man, the guy with two big roosters, and in front of a man with 5 trays of baby chicks), We made 4 stops lasting perhaps 5 minutes each, and at each stop young vendors held up their wares to the bus windows selling: Mystery Meat on a stick, chapat tbread, corn cakes, roasted bananas, Fanta Orange drink, watches, flashlights, Preparation H, ointment for rashes, etc. Had I known the bus ride was going to be so terribly bouncy (NO SHOCKS ON THIS old bus!) I would have shelled out the 50 Ush for the Preparation H and Paul and I could have shared it! I had a large backpack that I had to carry on my lap which Paul graciously held on his lap for several hours.

Near the end of the trip we moved to the front of the bus as it was emptying to make the disembarking faster. I sat next to a man who, when he realized a muzungu was sitting next to him smiled and asked “German?” I said “No, U.S.A” With a huge grin he said “Obama!” Then he said it again with a question in his voice and with his thumb up, which I took to mean “Do you like Obama”? I returned with a nod of my head and a thumbs up. He stood and pointed to the muzungu and announced to everyone around us, “OBAMA GOOD! OBAMA GOOD!” I can’t tell you how profoundly grateful I am that George Bush is no longer president. I’d probably be dead by now.

The morning paper had reported that the Bwindi National Forest was on fire and the mountain gorilla have split into families…some of them migrating over into Rwanda and some farther south in Uganda. There was speculation that the fire also sent Rwandan rebels hiding in the forest into hiding in Uganda and the DRC. As our bus pressed farther and farther toward the Congo border I noticed a good number of Ugandan soldiers moving the highway with us. Last evening I asked Prima (the daughter of the woman who runs this orphanage) if she knew why there were so many soldiers. She told me that there was a big military base five miles from the border and that they moved constantly back and forth from the area. So…what we saw was normal movement. Makes sense to me.

There are a few additional difficulties in western Uganda starting with the language. They speak neither English nor Luganda so everything Id learned of Luganda is for naught. They are not Bugandan here.

This orphanage is run by an older woman named Ahnna but everyone in the district calls her Momma Africa. Until recently she had 350 orphans but has recently had to move several children to another location because of space. She and her husband used to run this orphanage together but he died in November. She is now on her own and determined to keep the orphanage going. She runs a school on the premises for the orphans. Actually the children’s sleeping areas double for classrooms. There are two rooms (dormitories)—one for boys and one for girls. Everything is a dirt floor. There are a couple of rough wood beds but mostly mats on the floor. Each morning the bed mats are picked up and the children bring in straw mats to sit on for the class. The children sleep in their clothes and then wear them again the next day. Ive taken pictures. To try to describe this unimaginable set up would be an exercise in futility. I will post the pictures when I return if I cant somehow get them up while I am here.

The orphans are also very different children. None of them smile or wave. If I smile or wave they return my overtures with dead stares. Paul tried playing soccer with them when we arrived and only one little boy went for the ball. All the others stood there expressionless and vaguely frightened. I don’t believe most if any of them have ever heard of or seen muzungus. One of the tinier boys of perhaps 3 years old was obviously frightened of us. He just cried. To break the ice, I pulled out my magic camera and took a photo of them and showed them. They were at least interested but not at all excited like the children of Mukono District. I learned later that since none of them had ever seen themselves, they only recognized the other children in the photo and I confused them.

It was fairly late in the evening by now. Momma Africa had prepared a nice spread of rice, greens, beans and pineapple for us (we were starving). Later Prima prepared tea and hot milk for Paul and I which we drank by lantern. As we drank our tea she heated some water and poured it in a bowl for us to clean up with (also by lantern. I was treated to an evening’s sleep on a real mattress. The mattress was quite old and sagged terribly but still, it felt wonderful to my ancient, tired old American ass and I slept like a log.

This morning we all slept in until about 7a.m. Prima had already set out breakfast (bread, margarine, hot milk and peanuts) and warmed some water for us to wash our faces with. This too was wonderful since Ive been cleaning my face with Baby Wipes that I purchased in Kampala. It struck me that since food for the children is so hard to come by, that Momma Africa and Primah had gone way out on a financial limb (especially for milk and beans!) to be hospitable to us in buying this food for our visit. They also offered us soap and toothpaste, but we had already brought our own.

Primah and Momma then took us to the dormitories/classrooms and introduced us to a young 21 year old woman who is their teacher. I have asked her name three times and still don’t understand but it sounds sort of like Esther. We then continued the tour with Esther going with us to view their two pigs and their endless plantain trees (which is what the kids primarily eat). Esther is a very sweet young woman. She asked if I could find a “pen” to write to her. Is anyone out there interested in writing her? Let me know!

We left the orphanage and walked up the road to a tea plantation that Esther proudly told us she had grown up on. It is owned by her grandfather who raised her after Esther’s father died. We asked about the mother and everyone went silent, so we don’t know why Esther was orphaned. At any rate she and her grandfather are very close and she wanted to take us to his house so that he could meet her muzungu friends.

As an aside, one always takes shoes off at the door in Africa because of the red dirt. Even if the interior floor of the house is dirt, it is usually well swept and walking on it in shoes pulverizes the hard dirt into dust. So…shoes always off. You may take them on and off 30 times each day. I just purchased a pair of zorries like they wear here to step into and out of the house. I tell you this because Esther’s grandfather was so happy to have us as guests he insisted that we leave our shoes on to visit inside his house.

Grandfather is a big man in the village. He is a reverend and his congregation sometimes offers food to Momma Africa’s children. Grandpa spoke on and on in his language and Paul and I sat there like two idiots grinning and nodding like a couple of bobble-head dolls. Esther knows a bit of English and translated when she could. I asked her to tell her grandfather that we were honored to be in his home. He grabbed my hands, looked into my eyes, smiled, and kept talking. I understood completely. Some conversations truly don’t need translation.

We left there and went to Momma Africa’s mother’s house. Her mother gave me the elderly’s version of the Ugandan Body Slam and again, we were not allowed to take off our shoes. We repeated the bobble head theme. Then we took a hike that incredibly beautiful though it was, I hope never to have to replicate…

Momma Africa’s orphanage has two fish ponds at the bottom of a very deep ravine that helps to feed the children. The fish ponds are actually two muddy water pits that she drags a net through and pulls out mud fish. The climb down is extremely steep and often dark and slippery with jungle foliage, and I noted Momma grinning every time she saw me struggle a bit. She wasn’t grinning because she thought it funny. She was embarrassed. These folks seem to embarrass easily and she didn’t want me to be uncomfortable. So I would struggle with the steepness, and she would grin. There were also goats strewn here and there, all tied by the leg to trees and vines. These are hers as well. I want to underscore that I am no weenie. And having climbed steep red dirt hills here since I arrived, I am probably stronger than I have been in a while. But all I could think of on the hot, wet, steep trek out, was that I would never again take a hike any more strenuous than the People Mover at the airport. And then it got tougher…

We arrived back at the top of the mountain, at Momma’s Momma’s house. MM had had someone cut a HUGE bunch of plantains and pulled a HUGE basked of avocados…as a gift for us!! We had to haul these things back to the orphanage and smile as we did it. Okay. I am grateful. I also confess to being more of a weenie than I like. I lasted about one block with those avocados as Paul struggled with the bananas across his shoulders. Once back up at the road Paul was huffing and puffing with the plantains, when we passed a man struggling to push a bicycle loaded down with plantains up a hill. He laughed at us weak, sweaty muzungus.

At about 4 we decided to go into Ishaka, about 10 miles east of here. Isaac said he wanted to meet a friend at the Crane Hotel there at 7pm. He said HIS name was Cat. We left early so that we could do some shopping. We stood on the road but no bodas came so we started to walk. Eventually a finally a taxi stopped. This was more like a real taxi, as it was a car and not a van. But there were 10 people in the car including us! There was a fat guy sitting on the drivers lap. The driver had his left hand on the steering wheel and the right side of his body was hanging out the door.

I bought a new hat in Ishaka and we found yet another slow internet spot. Isaac was still online when Paul and I decided to take a boda to the Crane Hotel—perhaps 5 miles west—to wait for him. We also figured a nice hotel may have a barJ As we got off the boda there was a young white woman also getting off a boda in the same place. We hit the bar and took our drinks outside to this wonderful stone plaza overlooking the most beautiful valley imaginable! In a few minutes this young white woman approached us saying that she had been alone in Bushenye for three weeks and was desperate to talk to someone…and did we speak English? We invited her to sit with us and told her we were waiting for someone. She said she was waiting for someone too, but would join us until one of our meeting partners showed up. Her name was Katy.

Katy is deaf but can speak. She came here to teach sign language to deaf children but the parents are angry that she could speak and accused her of not being deaf. (The deaf here are not taught to speak) Her organization has given her no support and she is just sort of stranded here. She is also teaching her first online college course (she teaches English at George Washington University) beginning in two weeks so she has passed the time preparing for that.

Isaac showed up and guess what???? It was KATY that he was there to meet! She had written him and explained her situation and had inquired if he needed anyone who could teach children sign language. (She had spent a month in Kampala learning Luganda and learning to sign in Luganda). So the four of us chatted it up far into the night. Katy drank away her boda money so I loaned her money to get home. Whether she joins us in Mukono or not, she will join Paul and I on our trip to Jinja and perhaps a raft trip on the Nile the weekend after next.

We decided that due to cold, distance and safety we needed a taxi home rather than a boda. We flagged down the first car out of the hotel parking lot, assuming it was a taxi. The man told us to get in. We did and there seemed to be some confusion as to where we were staying (since it is so far out). It turned out that the driver of the car was the owner of the very nice Crane Hotel and he knew Momma Africa. So he drove us all the way home…for free.

This morning (is this the 22 or 23?) I got up and the children were putting their mats away and sweeping their dormitories out with tree branches. One of the boys had a rather hard ball the size of a softball that had been made of plastic trash sacks. He was trying to play soccer with it. He purposely hit me with the ball and I kicked it back. This was the very first overture I had received from any of the children, although by late yesterday afternoon they laughed at me when I went to kick the orphanage’s real rubber ball and missed. Paul has done a bit better with ingratiating himself with a few of the children than I have because he is such a clown. But this morning’s ball-at-my-feet felt wonderful. Wonderful! It is slow but I am getting somewhere with at least a few of these dead-eyed children. There is one tiny boy of about 2 or 3 years who appears nearly catatonic. He doesn’t move his body nor his eyes, although he will silently follow the other children. The children in turn, seem to take special care of him. When I touch him there is no physical response. His muscles don’t move one iota. Paul is going to start doing some special therapy with him today while the older children are in class.

There is a man who comes here at night and serves as a night watchman for our house and the children’s dorms. He tries to talk to Paul and I each evening. I swear, Ugandans are the sweetest, most hospitable humans I have ever known. Anyway, he has offered to take us on a ride through the forest today on his motorcycle. I am uncertain what he wants us to see because of language differences, but I will find out later today.

We opted not to go to Queen Victoria National Park due to the expense. We could probably afford it, but not able to afford it and leave any kind of meaningful donation with Momma Africa. So we will do the motorcycle ride instead. I am just fine with this.

Success! On their class break—I guess our elementary school rendition of recess—Paul and I rounded up the children and taught them the Hokey Pokey although in Scotland it is called the Hokey Something Else, but close enough. They got that we were playing with them anyway and when it came to the “shake it all about” part, nearly all of them kicked in and behaved like children. They loved shaking it all about, and started smiling. From there I taught them how to play “duck, duck, goose” which they really loved. This game them.

We were interrupted at 1130 so that the children could eat breakfast which was one cup of porridge each. At this time we were joined by orphans who had been placed with guardians who come only to eat. Isaac had purchased a small book of paper and a pencil for each of them. I handed them out and about half of the children bowed to receive their paper and pencil. The first children to get them were the children who lived with guardians and who had school sponsorships. They were all in uniform and looking pretty clean. The last children to get them were the children who live here all of the time. I ran out of pencils for these children and we could tell how disappointed they were. Paul is gone now back into Bushenyi to buy more pencils. I gave him 10,000 Ush to purchase some art supplies (more paper, some crayons, etc) if possible. I hope he can find some art supplies.

Katy whom we met last night was supposed to visit us here this morning. She went to the wrong orphanage and it was so far out that there were no boda drivers to help her back this direction. We received a text message that she didn’t know where she was but that she was walking on a road somewhere, and would text again whenever a boda came along. We waited about a half hour and started worrying about her in the sun, alone, and decided to find a boda and start a search for her. As we made this plan, Katie walked in looking like just this side of being totally fried. She will join us in Mukono in August. She hopes to teach deaf children, but is also qualified to work with blind kids. I hope we can find those children before she arrives.

Im off in a few minutes with Esther whose grandfather has extended an invitation to tour a “tea factory” which must be where they process the tea he grows.