community organization...

Sometimes if you take clothing and shoes to a consignment shop, the shopkeeper will ask you if you want your unsold items returned to you. The shop I used in Durango said that unsold clothing was donated oversees but I never thought about it. There is LOTS of evidence of it here. Here I see old used clothing hanging in doorways in village huts, on sale. The women sell them to make money. In the streets I see many tee shirts that say Nike, University of whatever, Staff, Life Guard, etc. At the orphanages, the children often wear the tops of adult clothing as dresses. In the Bushenyi orphanage, the only outfit one little girl of about 5 years old had was the top of a long sleeved copper-colored glittery ball gown. (You will see her pictures when I get back to USA). It is not uncommon to see a woman shopping during the day wearing a long formal. It is quite common to see men wearing down jackets or long sleeved flannel shirts in this heat! I have even seen tee shirts from all over America, including one that said “I (heart) Juneau, AK”. So if you do the consignment shop thing, please tell them to donate whatever doesn’t sell.

Yesterday I got caught in a downpour and ran into a place that had a table to sit at. A youngish man named John joined me and we talked for 3 hours! He has a degree in social work. He started an organization similar to BoHU and shared with me how big a failure he thought he was. As part of his operation he opened a medical lab to do HIV/AIDS testing. It went under in less than a year. His organization does some of what we do and some of what we would LIKE to do. We do some things that HE would like to do. One of his groups is for widows from northern Uganda trying to support their children—just like ours Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves group. A few of his women have severe disabilities from war, i.e. they can’t do crafts because their hands were too badly burned, or are missing limbs. He wants me to help him identify a potential sustainable business he can help those women start. Ninety percent of deaths in African civil wars are women and children. The rest are left raising other women’s children as well as their own, or perhaps sadly instead of their own, and have no way to support them. John is trying to identify both sustainable businesses for these women and for support for his orphans. I told him about Kiva, doing a business plan, getting micro-financing, etc., and we discussed fundraising. In short, he has invited me to visit his groups and will give me a tour on August 15. He has land but no building for orphans. I am going to try to put him and Isaac together, and also spend time with him teaching Fundraising 101. This morning he sent me a text message that said “Thank you. I have hope again”’ I hope to hell I have not given this young man false hope. I will work with him as long as I am here and if he is indeed the Real Deal will perhaps help him after I return to the States.

Today I am off to work with a village group and our own group of widows who make crafts. Isaac is off to Mbalala. .

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The day was great, although tiring and blister-producing. Ronnie and I trekked to _______ (cant remember the name!) Village, the location of a community project that Isaac coordinated, helped to begin, and now oversees. Today was actually two projects: work on the village community organic farm and the Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves crafts group.

We went to the spot where the community has a seemingly Noah’s Arc of animals—chickens, two cows, two goats…even saw a cat or two that looked adequately fed. At this location, tree branches had been cut down and cows tied to the spot so that they could graze on the leaves. Once the leaves are eaten and the cows defecated in this single spot, the branches are dried, removed, and cut for shared construction or firewood. The manure (we did this part today) is gathered up, added to the chicken and goat poop, and turned into fertilizer for a nice community garden about a half mile away where they grow cabbage and potatoes. Participating villagers can then either eat or sell their portions of the crops.

I was also introduced to the next parcel of land to be cleared, prepared and planted. I’m guessing that all told there were 9 adult villagers working and 7 children moving around today. Older children were at school.

During this time three of the Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves widows group came with their crafts. We had been expected to visit them yesterday and ten of them waited for us, but had other chores today. I felt badly about missing them but we could not have gotten there because of the rain anyway. They demonstrated for me how they make their paper beads, which I think are lovely. I was shown a cup with perhaps 2 inches of beads in the bottom. I asked how long it took the woman to make those beads in the cup and she proudly told me that she had made them all in one day. That is enough beads for perhaps one long necklace or one short necklace and one matching bracelet. These sell for around $2 in the Kampala artisan’s market. In the US they sell for $8 and $10. This keeps these widows and their children alive. I asked if their hands didn’t hurt from this work and they looked at me like, “Why would our hands hurt? If you watched them you would understand my question. They twist and twist and twist and twist and. . .

I was impressed with these women. They are precise and extremely proud of their work. Imperfect beads are redone. They sit and twist paper for beads and then string beads day in and day out. One woman told me she was lucky to be able to do this. And she enjoys the happy chatting they all do while they work. They tried teaching me. I am a big loser. Make that Big Loser. A bead maker I will never be. In the end they said they were worried because they were nearly out of paper to make the beads and had to sell the beads and necklaces before they could afford more. Kiva and some micro-financing seems to be perfect for these women..

Participants of this community group have also built one proper latrine and were in the process of digging a second one today. Digging in this red clay isn’t easy…it is rock hard! The hole was already 20 feet deep. There was a young man in the bottom of the pit who shoveled dirt into a bucket. The bucket was attached to a hand-made vine rope and then a rough pulley (two branches as braces and one in the middle that the rope wound around). The man on top pulled the bucket up, emptied it and returned it to the bottom. Pretty simple procedure, but oh what work! (A latrine is always nicer than squatting over a hole in the ground praying there isn’t a snake in it.)

Speaking of latrines, I went to buy toilet paper in town today as I’m out of that which I brought with me. The choices are 2,500 Ush for paper that is similar to crepe paper, or 1,200 Ush for something similar to construction paper.

Enough bathroom education.

Ronnie was going to continue working but walked me part way down the mountain first to find a boda boda. I got on and experienced my first drunken boda driver. Unfortunately I was already on and we were rolling before I smelled him. He did a nice job for being looped. The moral of the story is that if you are out in the middle of nowhere and you see a motorcycle but no driver, do not walk around his property until you find him. He not be intending to drive. There was an article in today’s paper reporting the huge number of boda-related deaths each year. It was in the multiple thousands. Drivers are crazy (boda and other vehicles) and helmets are a rarity. The article focused on the Kampala bodas, where there are 40,000 drivers, only 7000 of which are registered.

Once in Mukono Town I wanted to try to find a flash drive for my computer stick and had no idea where one might be found. After wandering aimlessly for awhile, I stopped an absolutely gorgeous young woman who was about to board a taxi and asked her if she knew where I could find one. She immediately took my hand, and started walking with me over my protests that she would miss her ride. We went to four locations before she found one. I also needed shampoo but learned from her that if I want Muzungu shampoo, my best bet would be to find it in Kampala. Then I took her to tea for her graciousness and we had a nice chat. She is 19 years old and an accounting student in Kampala. School is on holiday now so she is at home in Mukono. She said she doesn’t date and has no intention of marrying a Ugandan because she doesn’t trust men to be faithful. She is terrified of AIDS. As well she should be. I asked her who she intends to marry and she replied that someday she would meet a Westerner or an Asian from another country, although she doesn’t graduate for two more years and isn’t even interested in dating until she completes here studies. She told me that with the exception of the medical lab at the main hospital in Kampala, AIDS testing is very uncertain here. People can pay the lab for a negative test result regardless of the actual outcome. They do this so that men or women who are positive can show a negative result to a prospective marriage partner, or have less difficulty gaining entrance into another country. This is a very focused young woman. I invited her to join us this weekend to watch the Bugandan dancers and she accepted.

On my way home it had rained and the roads and roadsides were again terribly muddy. As I waited to cross the road I stood next to a woman with a little girl that looked to be around two years old. The mother had her impeccably dressed in a beautiful white lace dress and shoes that looked new. I squat down to tell the tiny girl hello. She gave me eye contact, stepped toward me and then—without taking her eyes off of mine—knelt down in the mud! She is obviously Bugandan and again, Buganda women kneel in respect when they meet people. This tiny little thing was doing her job. I grabbed her as quickly as possible and lifted her u so that her white lace dress wasn’t ruined, but too late! The mother smiled and told me “sorry sorry sorry”, meaning that she wasn’t angry. My cultural blunder probably ruined the child’s dress.

August 5, 2009

There is nothing interesting to report today. I would just like to share that I finally have enough dirt under my finger and toe nails that I could probably build my own little hut.