August 31
Yesterday’s rain was a big one. While you often see plantain trees fall with the weight of the plantain bunches, this morning there were several trees down here with very small bunches on them. I have to assume this was from the hard rain.
Last night Diana and Joshua came to my door excited that I was home. During our talk I learned that while I was gone the two had been abused (don’t know if this was verbal or physical) by their father who had been drinking, and ran to their grandmother’s house. There they spent the night with Grandmother, who had no food for them. So they went back home the next day in search of food but the beautiful-but-hateful young stepmother denied them food. They then came looking for me because I generally have some crackers or rolls and a jar of jam or something else junky, but I was gone. I asked if they had since eaten and they told me that yes, they had—but only after a day and a half. This morning I compared notes with Scovia. She said that they hadn’t eaten the day of Diana’s birthday party either and she gave them some bread and tea that night after the party. She had assumed that was just a fluke and hadn’t worried about them. She said she would henceforth quietly watch and make certain they had something to eat. Bless Scovia! It isn’t like she and Isaac are rolling in money and easily able to feed extra children.
Joshua who is younger than Diana, leaves for school with his older brother today. Neither the father nor the mother has been able to come up with school fees for Diana, who because she is a girl, comes last in the pecking order. It is 750,000 USH (about $325) per year. I was pretty tempted to give her school fees myself, but then had to stop myself. Everyone here needs money. Everyone. When her brothers leave, Diana will be alone all day with her rotten stepmother and her often drunk father. Damn. At least I now know that Scovia has a watchful eye on her.
On a lighter note, I have finally figured out an area where I have had an impact here…
This family and the neighbors constantly play music. It is a cross between hip hop and reggae, and the ever present high volume on the radio gets old fast. Anyway, I dance to the music whenever I am moving through our area of the village, stopping in doorways, stooping over their pots to see what they are cooking, or walking up the hill to brush my teeth. I had never thought much about this, but the people here thought this was pretty funny. Some of them laughed while others would see me and, from a distance, would acknowledge me by doing a little fanny-shaking of their own as they waved—it started with the children and moved to the adults.
Yesterday one of the women came through singing at the top of her lungs, drawing attention to herself, and dancing while she did it. I was outside, laughed at her and told her “good job”. She nodded her head and continued dancing up the road. Then I started reflecting back on the past several weeks and noted that many neighbors now do a little dance not just for me, but for each other. I wonder if they think this is some kind of bizarre American custom that they have adopted while I am here. Nonetheless, I would note that even worthless impacts qualify as impacts. This one is mine, small as it is.
Kinda reminds me of the time I caught my husband dancing—by himself—in a Sam’s Club—arms over his head, rockin’ out solo—in the freezer section. If ya feel it folks, shake it! (Sorry to have ratted you out George!)
It isn’t surprising that there are no toys in this village given the poverty. And yet the creativity of our children knows no bounds. This morning several of the children are running screaming and laughing with pinwheels they have made from leaves and twigs. They take a very small twig and poke a hole in a large leaf. When they run, the leaf spins and they have a twirling pinwheel! They have been running with these pinwheels all morning. They make drums from discarded plastic bottles. These children can make virtually anything into a toy and they all freely share whatever they have with each other (which may explain their confusion when I refuse to let them wear my glasses). I also better understand why when I toss a bag of trash, the adult women go through it. By the time they are through, there is very little to be actually tossed. Cookie boxes, plastic food wrap and paper can be used to start their charcoal pots, thread or string can be used for everything, old ballpoint pens can be heated and re-used…the people here are the original recyclers. They still have my broken hairdryer…
Finally, this from today’s edition of Uganda’s biggest newspaper, The New Vision:
Old Taxi Park Celebrates M7 Directive
“Business halted at the Old Taxi Park as traders and taxi operators jubilated over President Yoweri Museveni’s directive to return the park’s plots to them for re-development. Taxis jammed streets in downtown Kampala as traders slaughtered a bull and turned the place into a rally, vowing to support Museveni’s fourth term presidential bid. ‘We are over 30,000 and want to assure the President that we will not put him to shame.’ . . . musicians and dancers threw the traders into prolonged cheering as they exchanged NRM slogans. The celebrants said they slaughtered the bull to cleanse the park. Most taxi operators abandoned work to join the celebrations.”
BOY AM I GLAD TO HAVE MISSED THAT!!! The Old Taxi Park is frightening enough without celebrating with butchery…
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Entebbe!
August 30
It is the afternoon, I’m back in Mukono, and I am told the electricity has been out for the past day. We’ll see how long my computer battery lasts…
I left for Entebbe on Friday, with my backpack containing a clean shirt, a rain jacket, a change of underwear, my camera, 2 bottles of water and my toothbrush and hairbrush. I had money in the bottom of my pack, in my wallet (which is wired to the inside of my pack), and in my wristband. I figured if I were robbed at the taxi park, no one would get it all unless they were in no hurry. They would have to disrobe me to find my credit card.
All of my fears of the dreaded Kampala taxi park were for nothing, because I stupidly disembarked about 6 miles prematurely in a small taxi park in Nakawa. Nakawa serves Port Bell but has few taxis daily to Entebbe. I was in luck as there was ONE about to leave for the Entebbe Airport. I figured going to the airport would be fine. The traffic was horrendous, and it took over two hours to reach Entebbe. Once in Entebbe I noticed the difference between this town and any other I have found in Uganda. It has paved streets, clean sidewalks, lots of trees, and an actual park. I knew one of the things I wanted to do in Entebbe was to visit the Botanical Gardens so when I saw the sign I called “Stage!” and they let me off. Bad move. I should have read the entire sign. The sign was an advertisement for the Imperial Hotel at Botanical Gardens. I stood there feeling stupid but then. . .boda boda to the rescue!
In five minutes I was at the Botanical Gardens. The BG is a 75 acre preserve, originally the massive grounds of a very wealthy Dutch family (and later an English family) who imported plants from all over the world. I paid the Muzungu price to get in and started walking. Soon, a man who introduced himself as James caught up with me and told me that I didn’t want to walk alone. He said that he knew the gardens, was a botany student, and besides, he could take me into the jungle where the old Tarzan movies were made. Sale! Welcome aboard, James.
James pointed out every tree, shrub, monkey, bird, termite mound, and spider in the park. He showed me things I never would have seen had I been on my own. . . Chinese cinnamon, cinnamon, mahogany, every possible type of tropical tree, ironwood, you name it, it was here. We saw many monkeys and twice encountered wild dogs--once a set of pups with Nasty Mother nearby and James took a wide path around them. We climbed hills, walked to Lake Victoria’s shores, climbed more hills, stopped and sat, and James started looking ill. I noticed he had no water and it had to be over 100 degrees. When I asked about water, he shrugged it off.
As we entered the jungle I noted several bright blue bags hanging from trees in various areas. James told me that tsetse flies which cause river blindness are attracted to blue, and there were areas in the jungle containing heavy communities of the little buggers. The bags were intended to attract them to specific areas. Since I was wearing blue jeans, he steered me far from any of the blue bags. The jungle was incredible! It felt just like walking through Tarzan movie, with screaming African Gray parrots, African eagles, 200 foot vines, streams, swampy areas, velvet and Colombo(?) monkeys who also screamed our arrival. Tarzan and Jane must have worn lots of insect repellent.
A couple hours later we had hiked a good area of shore and I was pooped, but James was totally wiped out. I gave him 20,000 Ush and said goodbye. He was polite and said goodbye. As I left, I saw him sit on the ground, slumping shoulders, head hanging between his knees, and something told me something was seriously wrong. I went back and offered him my remaining water. He took it, but then looked worse. The problem, it turned out, was that James hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours. My guide had become an impromptu guide hoping for a tip large enough to purchase himself a meal. I was hungry and so invited James to lunch. We went to a Chinese garden restaurant. He ate all of his lunch and most of mine. He looked slightly better. He also thanked me so profusely that I was embarrassed.
I then asked around town for the solar panel production plant, but no one had heard of it. George to the rescue! He looked it up on the internet for me, but by the time I had the information it was the weekend. I will visit them the morning I leave for the states. If there is any possibility I could start some sort of solar light assembly project for them with our widows I would be ecstatic. I don’t have a lot of hope for that, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I chose to stay at The Boma Guesthouse and asked a boda boda to take me there. On the way, the boda driver pointed out local sites, including a large war memorial to no particular war, built by Arabs (I guess when you want to make a gift to another country, it needn’t make any sense.)
I arrived at The Boma. The Boma is located in a pretty, leafy suburb of Entebbe. At the entrance, there is a tall wooden wall squeezed between two round slabs of concrete. On the concrete is painted “The Boma”. In the center of that wooden wall is a door of perhaps only 4 foot high. There is only that munchkin-sized door, and a doorbell. I rang the bell and an armed guard opened the door, bent over to see me while making certain that I could see the rifle on his shoulder. I also had to stoop to go through the door, and entered Muzungu Heaven!!! The Boma is a series of small buildings surrounded by exquisitely manicured grounds. The interior is furnished in a cross between African and British Colonial, the staff is warm and welcoming, had a full bar (and ICE made out of mineral water!!!) and it is clean, clean, clean. The lobby is small, but cool and exceptionally comfortable, and behind the lobby is a library with books from all over the world for visitors. Each room had its own veranda, with two chairs each. Best of all, it had running water which meant a SHOWER and a TOILET . When I got to my room I was soooo excited to see a king sized feather bed w/canopy mosquito net, screens on the windows, and an electric fan. Finally, they have a first class restaurant (for guests only). I didn’t think I was hungry, but the owner pushed her spicy pumpkin soup at me and I inhaled it. It is owned and run by a very young Finnish couple, she a serious runner, and he, just plain serious. (As an aside, President Musevini’s Entebbe home is a stone’s throw from The Boma so I felt pretty darned secure.) I rinsed out my day’s shirt, changed, drank a Bailey’s on the veranda, and hit the sack. Slept like a dead woman.
On day two I knew I hadn’t spent enough time in Entebbe and decided to stay. I grabbed my pack and headed out for town in hopes of finding a Stanbeck Bank, which is the only bank in Africa that has reliable ATM machines. On the way, I stopped at the war memorial, which like everything else in Uganda is in ruin. The fountains are dry and the statues are encrusted with bird poop. Onward…I was walking up the street and was soon joined by William…
William, was Day 2’s version of James. Poor locals latch onto foreigners and hope to show them around for a tip. William is a music student and he knew where Stanbeck Bank was. He also purported to be a local expert (aren’t they all?) on the area animal preserve. Went to the bank and then took the long walk to the shoreline and the animal preserve. On the way, I saw a sign for the Jane Goodall Research Foundation and made mental note to stop there on my way back. William, his sisters and his mother were refugees from Rwanda. His father and brothers were murdered during the war. His mother has since died. He was shocked and pleased at the music on my Ipod. He figured I must be okay.
William led me on a 9 HOUR walking safari. True to his word, William knew every nook and cranny of the preserve, pointing out animals I never would have spotted had I been alone—like monkeys watching us from the trees. Some monkeys let us get pretty close, one momma velvet monkey with her baby hanging upside down from her belly actually threatened me. From a good distance we saw warthogs, water buffalo, lions, and rhinos (no elephants thanks to Idi Amin who managed to kill off most large animals in Uganda). Our only frightening moment came with an ostrich at the end of the day. The mammoth bird was at a distance eating. William started whistling and making noises, hoping it would lift her head so that I could get a photo. She not only lifted her head, she started running toward us, and ostriches can really move fast!! William grabbed my arm and we FLEW down a steep embankment and out of the way. The ostrich actually could have caught up with us but evidently decided the downhill was too much trouble.
We headed on down the hill to the shores of Lake Victoria and came across what I think he called a Monitor Lizard. This little monster was at least 4 foot long and perhaps 10 inches wide and moved like lightening. It crossed in front of us and moved so quickly I couldn’t grab my camera. I paid William 20,000 Ush, said goodbye, and headed back to the Jane Goodall Research Foundation. On the way I learned that I could spend the night on the preserve for $10 US. The preserve has waddle huts with grass roofs with mattresses in them, but no mosquito nets. I took a look and decided with no security, and the proximity of the lake, and the mosquitoes from the lake, that I would go back to The Boma instead. But were I 20 years old, with my own sleeping bag and mosquito net, and a bit stupid, I would have stayed there. Think of the animal sounds one could hear in those places at night!
A guard let me in at Goodall and I met some of the staff, telling them I knew a man who had been the USA director of the foundation. Whether they knew him or not (I couldn’t tell), they were most welcoming. Almost instantly I felt exhausted from the heat and the walking. I cut the visit short and headed back toward the Chinese gardens.
The walk to the Chinese gardens was hot and uphill. Sometimes I stopped in vendors’ shops simply to be able to stand in one place and cool down. About one block from the gardens a boda stopped. I told him I was only one block away from my destination and he started to leave. Then he stopped and said “get on, I will take you for free”. I must have looked like I felt. I got on, and he took me. I offered to pay him and he refused. Ya gotta love Ugandans.
As an aside, Amin’s former palace with pool, stables, landing strip, etc., is now the world’s nicest Army barracks.
Back to The Boma and Muzungu Heaven for the night. I took the worlds longest shower in the evening and then another in the morning just for good measure. This morning I took off in search of the Entebbe taxi park and after several wrong moves, found it. On the taxi I met a wonderful Ugandan woman who runs and orphanage in Gulu with 500 children. We talked all the way to Kampala and the DREADED KAMPALA OLD TAXI PARK. The woman from the bus insisted on staying with me until I was safely on a bus. Then she left.
As the taxi doors closed, a woman behind me slapped my shoulder and said “Get off”. I was startled and just looked at her. Then they all started yelling at the driver to stop and all told me to get off. It seems they were being helpful. Sometime between the time I got on and the time we left, the bus had decided not to stop in Mukono, but since I didn’t understand Luganda, I didn’t know. So I got off, wondering where in hell to find a bus to Mukono. In the end I found one and actually made it home at a reasonable hour. And I wasn’t robbed.
It started to pour down rain as soon as I arrived, and since there is no electricity I figured it must be nap time. Nothing like a good sleep in the rain provided you have an Ipod to drown out the sound of hard rain on your tin roof.
It is the afternoon, I’m back in Mukono, and I am told the electricity has been out for the past day. We’ll see how long my computer battery lasts…
I left for Entebbe on Friday, with my backpack containing a clean shirt, a rain jacket, a change of underwear, my camera, 2 bottles of water and my toothbrush and hairbrush. I had money in the bottom of my pack, in my wallet (which is wired to the inside of my pack), and in my wristband. I figured if I were robbed at the taxi park, no one would get it all unless they were in no hurry. They would have to disrobe me to find my credit card.
All of my fears of the dreaded Kampala taxi park were for nothing, because I stupidly disembarked about 6 miles prematurely in a small taxi park in Nakawa. Nakawa serves Port Bell but has few taxis daily to Entebbe. I was in luck as there was ONE about to leave for the Entebbe Airport. I figured going to the airport would be fine. The traffic was horrendous, and it took over two hours to reach Entebbe. Once in Entebbe I noticed the difference between this town and any other I have found in Uganda. It has paved streets, clean sidewalks, lots of trees, and an actual park. I knew one of the things I wanted to do in Entebbe was to visit the Botanical Gardens so when I saw the sign I called “Stage!” and they let me off. Bad move. I should have read the entire sign. The sign was an advertisement for the Imperial Hotel at Botanical Gardens. I stood there feeling stupid but then. . .boda boda to the rescue!
In five minutes I was at the Botanical Gardens. The BG is a 75 acre preserve, originally the massive grounds of a very wealthy Dutch family (and later an English family) who imported plants from all over the world. I paid the Muzungu price to get in and started walking. Soon, a man who introduced himself as James caught up with me and told me that I didn’t want to walk alone. He said that he knew the gardens, was a botany student, and besides, he could take me into the jungle where the old Tarzan movies were made. Sale! Welcome aboard, James.
James pointed out every tree, shrub, monkey, bird, termite mound, and spider in the park. He showed me things I never would have seen had I been on my own. . . Chinese cinnamon, cinnamon, mahogany, every possible type of tropical tree, ironwood, you name it, it was here. We saw many monkeys and twice encountered wild dogs--once a set of pups with Nasty Mother nearby and James took a wide path around them. We climbed hills, walked to Lake Victoria’s shores, climbed more hills, stopped and sat, and James started looking ill. I noticed he had no water and it had to be over 100 degrees. When I asked about water, he shrugged it off.
As we entered the jungle I noted several bright blue bags hanging from trees in various areas. James told me that tsetse flies which cause river blindness are attracted to blue, and there were areas in the jungle containing heavy communities of the little buggers. The bags were intended to attract them to specific areas. Since I was wearing blue jeans, he steered me far from any of the blue bags. The jungle was incredible! It felt just like walking through Tarzan movie, with screaming African Gray parrots, African eagles, 200 foot vines, streams, swampy areas, velvet and Colombo(?) monkeys who also screamed our arrival. Tarzan and Jane must have worn lots of insect repellent.
A couple hours later we had hiked a good area of shore and I was pooped, but James was totally wiped out. I gave him 20,000 Ush and said goodbye. He was polite and said goodbye. As I left, I saw him sit on the ground, slumping shoulders, head hanging between his knees, and something told me something was seriously wrong. I went back and offered him my remaining water. He took it, but then looked worse. The problem, it turned out, was that James hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours. My guide had become an impromptu guide hoping for a tip large enough to purchase himself a meal. I was hungry and so invited James to lunch. We went to a Chinese garden restaurant. He ate all of his lunch and most of mine. He looked slightly better. He also thanked me so profusely that I was embarrassed.
I then asked around town for the solar panel production plant, but no one had heard of it. George to the rescue! He looked it up on the internet for me, but by the time I had the information it was the weekend. I will visit them the morning I leave for the states. If there is any possibility I could start some sort of solar light assembly project for them with our widows I would be ecstatic. I don’t have a lot of hope for that, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I chose to stay at The Boma Guesthouse and asked a boda boda to take me there. On the way, the boda driver pointed out local sites, including a large war memorial to no particular war, built by Arabs (I guess when you want to make a gift to another country, it needn’t make any sense.)
I arrived at The Boma. The Boma is located in a pretty, leafy suburb of Entebbe. At the entrance, there is a tall wooden wall squeezed between two round slabs of concrete. On the concrete is painted “The Boma”. In the center of that wooden wall is a door of perhaps only 4 foot high. There is only that munchkin-sized door, and a doorbell. I rang the bell and an armed guard opened the door, bent over to see me while making certain that I could see the rifle on his shoulder. I also had to stoop to go through the door, and entered Muzungu Heaven!!! The Boma is a series of small buildings surrounded by exquisitely manicured grounds. The interior is furnished in a cross between African and British Colonial, the staff is warm and welcoming, had a full bar (and ICE made out of mineral water!!!) and it is clean, clean, clean. The lobby is small, but cool and exceptionally comfortable, and behind the lobby is a library with books from all over the world for visitors. Each room had its own veranda, with two chairs each. Best of all, it had running water which meant a SHOWER and a TOILET . When I got to my room I was soooo excited to see a king sized feather bed w/canopy mosquito net, screens on the windows, and an electric fan. Finally, they have a first class restaurant (for guests only). I didn’t think I was hungry, but the owner pushed her spicy pumpkin soup at me and I inhaled it. It is owned and run by a very young Finnish couple, she a serious runner, and he, just plain serious. (As an aside, President Musevini’s Entebbe home is a stone’s throw from The Boma so I felt pretty darned secure.) I rinsed out my day’s shirt, changed, drank a Bailey’s on the veranda, and hit the sack. Slept like a dead woman.
On day two I knew I hadn’t spent enough time in Entebbe and decided to stay. I grabbed my pack and headed out for town in hopes of finding a Stanbeck Bank, which is the only bank in Africa that has reliable ATM machines. On the way, I stopped at the war memorial, which like everything else in Uganda is in ruin. The fountains are dry and the statues are encrusted with bird poop. Onward…I was walking up the street and was soon joined by William…
William, was Day 2’s version of James. Poor locals latch onto foreigners and hope to show them around for a tip. William is a music student and he knew where Stanbeck Bank was. He also purported to be a local expert (aren’t they all?) on the area animal preserve. Went to the bank and then took the long walk to the shoreline and the animal preserve. On the way, I saw a sign for the Jane Goodall Research Foundation and made mental note to stop there on my way back. William, his sisters and his mother were refugees from Rwanda. His father and brothers were murdered during the war. His mother has since died. He was shocked and pleased at the music on my Ipod. He figured I must be okay.
William led me on a 9 HOUR walking safari. True to his word, William knew every nook and cranny of the preserve, pointing out animals I never would have spotted had I been alone—like monkeys watching us from the trees. Some monkeys let us get pretty close, one momma velvet monkey with her baby hanging upside down from her belly actually threatened me. From a good distance we saw warthogs, water buffalo, lions, and rhinos (no elephants thanks to Idi Amin who managed to kill off most large animals in Uganda). Our only frightening moment came with an ostrich at the end of the day. The mammoth bird was at a distance eating. William started whistling and making noises, hoping it would lift her head so that I could get a photo. She not only lifted her head, she started running toward us, and ostriches can really move fast!! William grabbed my arm and we FLEW down a steep embankment and out of the way. The ostrich actually could have caught up with us but evidently decided the downhill was too much trouble.
We headed on down the hill to the shores of Lake Victoria and came across what I think he called a Monitor Lizard. This little monster was at least 4 foot long and perhaps 10 inches wide and moved like lightening. It crossed in front of us and moved so quickly I couldn’t grab my camera. I paid William 20,000 Ush, said goodbye, and headed back to the Jane Goodall Research Foundation. On the way I learned that I could spend the night on the preserve for $10 US. The preserve has waddle huts with grass roofs with mattresses in them, but no mosquito nets. I took a look and decided with no security, and the proximity of the lake, and the mosquitoes from the lake, that I would go back to The Boma instead. But were I 20 years old, with my own sleeping bag and mosquito net, and a bit stupid, I would have stayed there. Think of the animal sounds one could hear in those places at night!
A guard let me in at Goodall and I met some of the staff, telling them I knew a man who had been the USA director of the foundation. Whether they knew him or not (I couldn’t tell), they were most welcoming. Almost instantly I felt exhausted from the heat and the walking. I cut the visit short and headed back toward the Chinese gardens.
The walk to the Chinese gardens was hot and uphill. Sometimes I stopped in vendors’ shops simply to be able to stand in one place and cool down. About one block from the gardens a boda stopped. I told him I was only one block away from my destination and he started to leave. Then he stopped and said “get on, I will take you for free”. I must have looked like I felt. I got on, and he took me. I offered to pay him and he refused. Ya gotta love Ugandans.
As an aside, Amin’s former palace with pool, stables, landing strip, etc., is now the world’s nicest Army barracks.
Back to The Boma and Muzungu Heaven for the night. I took the worlds longest shower in the evening and then another in the morning just for good measure. This morning I took off in search of the Entebbe taxi park and after several wrong moves, found it. On the taxi I met a wonderful Ugandan woman who runs and orphanage in Gulu with 500 children. We talked all the way to Kampala and the DREADED KAMPALA OLD TAXI PARK. The woman from the bus insisted on staying with me until I was safely on a bus. Then she left.
As the taxi doors closed, a woman behind me slapped my shoulder and said “Get off”. I was startled and just looked at her. Then they all started yelling at the driver to stop and all told me to get off. It seems they were being helpful. Sometime between the time I got on and the time we left, the bus had decided not to stop in Mukono, but since I didn’t understand Luganda, I didn’t know. So I got off, wondering where in hell to find a bus to Mukono. In the end I found one and actually made it home at a reasonable hour. And I wasn’t robbed.
It started to pour down rain as soon as I arrived, and since there is no electricity I figured it must be nap time. Nothing like a good sleep in the rain provided you have an Ipod to drown out the sound of hard rain on your tin roof.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Friday, August 28
It figures. I am off restriction today and can go to the internet cafe if I want to, but NOW the internet is working from home... Such is life.
Im leaving this morning and heading to Entebbe. I must go to the old taxi park in Kampala to find a taxi to Entebbe. With this in mind, I am totally prepared for the thieves and muggers. I have money in everyplace from my backpack to my underwear to my sleeves. Dont want to lose everything Ive got before I reach Entebbe.
Hotels in Entebbe are incredibly expensive ($153 to $179) for Africa. It must be because it is right on Lake Victoria and therefore a tourist resort. I have better things to do with money and will therefore look for a guest house for tonight. I plan to visit the American non profit in Entebbe that manufactures solar panels. I am hoping there is some sort of business that we could to do piggyback off of what they are doing. (Solar light assembly?). Then I will hotfoot it to do all of the touristy things, short of taking a boat to Ssese. No time for that now. But I will definitely go check out some of Uganda's big animals and hit the botanic gardens that rim the lakeshore.
Off now...
August 26
I am getting internet in 15 second increments and then it turns off. I am going to try to get this blog posted. Tomorrow I am no longer restricted and can get on taxis, buses, go to internet cafes, etc., and wont be dependent on this nearly worthless internet set up at home. I may leave early in the morning to go to
Just now I was sitting on my bed with the computer on my lap, and a chicken strolled in. Not wanting to get up, I threw paper at it. The chicken just kept snooping around. I told it to get out. It went under my bed. I finally looked under my bed and yelled “GET OUT! GET OUT!” The chicken ran toward out the door, just in time to meet Isaac who was running in. He heard me yelling at the chicken and was afraid I had an intruder. It was funny, but I will be more careful not to alarm him.
Ugandan herbalists or holistic practitioners (the new name for witch doctors who have changed their moniker since the recent high profile human sacrifices in the news) cost more, depending on the problem. Witchdoctors can cure bad marriages, money problems, ear infections…anything that ails you. They purport the ability to make you rich too. In order to get rich one must supply a human body part—most often a head—thus the prolific child trafficking from
WONDERFUL NEWS
* * *
I know it is August 25 because George told me I needed to start keeping track of the dates so that I didn’t miss my flight homeJ I am doing as told.
Robert, like most Ugandans from northern regions, is tall and skinny. Their bones are long, their faces are long, their teeth are long, they are very dark skinned, and all are naturally very thin. If I have said this earlier, forgive me. In the western regions of
As we readied to leave, Scovia’s father and Viola’s aunt put everyone in a circle holding hands for a prayer. I had expected a prayer. Nope. Margaret started singing and chanting in Luganda, Scovia’s father joined in, everyone started swaying, and Paul, Katie and I did our best to stay on our feet and not do something stupid.
Paul moved into my space yesterday because he is nearly out of money. He has changed his flight home to September 3rd. The neighbors who saw him move in here are likely talking… He jokingly suggested last night that we do each other’s hair and nails. He has a
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
A bit of good news! ...and then just stuff...
August 26
I am getting internet in 15 second increments this morning and then it turns off. I am going to try to get this blog posted. Tomorrow I am no longer restricted and can get on taxis, buses, go to internet cafes, etc., and wont be dependent on this nearly worthless internet set up at home. I may leave early in the morning to go to Entebbe. I want to see if I can get a tour of the solar panel plant, want to go to the botanical gardens, and if there is time I will go to Ssese Island. Will spend at least one night over there depending on how long it takes to see want I want to see.
Just now I was sitting on my bed writing with the computer on my lap. A chicken strolled in and was checking out my floor. I didnt want to dislodge my comfy position so I tossed some paper at it. It ignored me. I yelled "GET OUT! GET OUT!". The chicken ran out from under the bed and then out of the room, crossing paths with Isaac, who heard me yell and thought I had an intruder in my room. He saw the chicken and started to laugh. No rescue necessary:-)
August 25, 2009
WONDERFUL NEWS
Isaac was supposed to go to Gulu today but didn’t because the Minister holding the concept paper for the Hope Center asked him to come to Kampala today instead. When Isaac arrived he was shocked to be ushered directly into the office of President Museveni’s PPS (Personal Private Secretary). There he was asked to organize a conference of youth service groups in Mukono District. She said if he did this, our concept paper and proposal would definitely be approved. I asked if that meant we got the entire 5 acres or still only one, .but he said he was too shocked to ask. Either way, it is now a sure thing!!! The conference will be in 3 weeks so my last two will be helping to pull the conference together, and we will get land, courtesy of President Museveni. Isaac and I were recently discussing the need to start a coalition of Ugandan youth organizations and this would be the perfect time to do that as well.
* * *
I know it is August 25 because George told me I needed to start keeping track of the dates so that I didn’t miss my flight home I am doing as told.
I listened to Alice cough and hack all night last night. She’s been looking puny for a few days. When I asked if she was sick, she said no. When I asked why she was coughing she said, “because I’m sick”. Her English and my Luganda continue to be problematic. She sounded and looked terrible, so I took her to a medical clinic. This clinic falls somewhere between the first one and the second one I went to, in terms of size and professionalism. The first one I went to still takes the cake in the filth department. Viola came with us to translate.
Once the doc was assured that I could pay him 20,000 Ush (about $9.25) he gave her two shots and three different packets of pills. They tried injecting something directly into the vein in her hand but he said she was so dehydrated that it was too difficult. He gave her a third shot instead. So…Viola and I walked her home and then went back out to get Alice water, juice, and milk to take one of the prescriptions with. I take her back on Thursday for follow up.
Paul left this morning for Gulu to work in the displacement camps. He took boxes and boxes of clothing we (BoHU) collected from local churches and well-wishers. Yesterday we met with Robert Larubi, executive director of Youth Vision Uganda, an NGO in Gulu. His organization has a wide variety of programs for people living in the camps but Paul will be working with 13 of the boys who were previously child solders. These 13 refuse to speak. Robert explained that when these children are recovered, or escape on their own, the family and community often refuse to take them back. They are viewed as criminals/killers, even though some of these kids were kidnapped and forced into being child soldiers by the LRA as young as 5 years old. Anyway, Paul and Robert left for Gulu together this morning. Without moi. Dammit.
Robert’s group does community sensitization sessions where there is a formal apology from the recovered children and the community “forgives” them and takes them back. Still, when the parents are angry they may sometimes point fingers at the children and remind them of their sad histories, (“What else can I expect of a murderer” kind of thing), or other children often taunt them. The boys that Paul will be working with refuse to speak, whether from trauma, mental illness, fear, guilt, no one knows. I was truly tempted to push the envelope and go even tho I have a few more days of not being allowed in buses, taxis, etc., but Robert said that the sanitation and disease in the displacement camps can make even the healthiest people ill. There are also some security issues which we already knew about. . .So…I am home pouting over my bad luck. I told Robert I would be back in Uganda at some point and will come and work with him at that time.
Robert, like most Ugandans from northern regions, is tall and skinny. Their bones are long, their faces are long, their teeth are long, they are very dark skinned, and all are naturally very thin. If I have said this earlier, forgive me. In the western regions of Uganda the facial features of the people are more like Rwandans—slightly Middle Eastern looking and fair skinned. Here in the Ugandan south, the people tend to be round. The vision is one of roundness--round heads, round muscles, round bodies. Not fat, but round as if they are built from a series of balls starting from their round heads and ending with round feet. People here are also very, very dark skinned. I look at people on the roads and can almost imagine where in Uganda they come from, or their background.
The other day we traveled to Scovia’s village to meet her father, grandparents, aunt, and bunches of siblings and cousins. Her grandfather came from Rwanda and the entire family looks like him…Rwandan. We went to three family homes on the land and spent the entire afternoon there and had a wonderful time. Her aunt (Scovia and Viola’s aunt Margaret) made us tea, and I had to laugh because Margaret and Viola sound and look like twins. The family are farmers so we toured the avocados, mangos, jack fruit, potatos, etc. Viola’s father died of AIDS when she was 4, and her mother died of AIDS when she was 12. After her mother’s death, Margaret took Viola and her five siblings in to live with her and her five children. Until yesterday Viola had never mentioned that she had been orphaned at a young age, nursed her mother, took care of her brothers, etc. all at age 11 and 12.
As we went to leave, Scovia’s father and Viola’s aunt put everyone in a circle holding hands for a prayer. I had expected a prayer. Nope. Margaret started singing and chanting in Luganda, Scovia’s father joined in, everyone started swaying, and Paul, Katie and I did our best to stay on our feet and not do something stupid.
Paul moved into my space yesterday because he is nearly out of money. He has changed his flight home to September 3rd. The neighbors who saw him move in here are likely talking… He jokingly suggested last night that we do each other’s hair and nails. He has a LOT of stuff, including his huge drum and his guitar, clothing, bed, etc. We are packed in here to the hilt. But since he will be gone for the next 7 days it doesn’t really matter. I will in fact miss him between the time he leaves for England and I leave for home. He has been great fun and good company in the evenings. I feel the same about Katie. I hope we can keep in touch since we all hope to return at some point.
Isaac came in this morning and said he needed my gum. I looked for chewing gum and wondered why he needed it. He said “No, your GUM”. I checked my teeth. After some back-and-forth, it turned out that he needed my duct tape to seal the boxes of clothing Paul was taking to Gulu. I could write a small book on the funny misunderstandings we have had between all of us, including the Muzungus. Paul’s Scottish/British slang and my American slang, occasionally mixed with Katie’s lip reading, have also caused confusion. In the end, it all works. Coming soon to a bookstore near you.
I am getting internet in 15 second increments this morning and then it turns off. I am going to try to get this blog posted. Tomorrow I am no longer restricted and can get on taxis, buses, go to internet cafes, etc., and wont be dependent on this nearly worthless internet set up at home. I may leave early in the morning to go to Entebbe. I want to see if I can get a tour of the solar panel plant, want to go to the botanical gardens, and if there is time I will go to Ssese Island. Will spend at least one night over there depending on how long it takes to see want I want to see.
Just now I was sitting on my bed writing with the computer on my lap. A chicken strolled in and was checking out my floor. I didnt want to dislodge my comfy position so I tossed some paper at it. It ignored me. I yelled "GET OUT! GET OUT!". The chicken ran out from under the bed and then out of the room, crossing paths with Isaac, who heard me yell and thought I had an intruder in my room. He saw the chicken and started to laugh. No rescue necessary:-)
August 25, 2009
WONDERFUL NEWS
Isaac was supposed to go to Gulu today but didn’t because the Minister holding the concept paper for the Hope Center asked him to come to Kampala today instead. When Isaac arrived he was shocked to be ushered directly into the office of President Museveni’s PPS (Personal Private Secretary). There he was asked to organize a conference of youth service groups in Mukono District. She said if he did this, our concept paper and proposal would definitely be approved. I asked if that meant we got the entire 5 acres or still only one, .but he said he was too shocked to ask. Either way, it is now a sure thing!!! The conference will be in 3 weeks so my last two will be helping to pull the conference together, and we will get land, courtesy of President Museveni. Isaac and I were recently discussing the need to start a coalition of Ugandan youth organizations and this would be the perfect time to do that as well.
* * *
I know it is August 25 because George told me I needed to start keeping track of the dates so that I didn’t miss my flight home I am doing as told.
I listened to Alice cough and hack all night last night. She’s been looking puny for a few days. When I asked if she was sick, she said no. When I asked why she was coughing she said, “because I’m sick”. Her English and my Luganda continue to be problematic. She sounded and looked terrible, so I took her to a medical clinic. This clinic falls somewhere between the first one and the second one I went to, in terms of size and professionalism. The first one I went to still takes the cake in the filth department. Viola came with us to translate.
Once the doc was assured that I could pay him 20,000 Ush (about $9.25) he gave her two shots and three different packets of pills. They tried injecting something directly into the vein in her hand but he said she was so dehydrated that it was too difficult. He gave her a third shot instead. So…Viola and I walked her home and then went back out to get Alice water, juice, and milk to take one of the prescriptions with. I take her back on Thursday for follow up.
Paul left this morning for Gulu to work in the displacement camps. He took boxes and boxes of clothing we (BoHU) collected from local churches and well-wishers. Yesterday we met with Robert Larubi, executive director of Youth Vision Uganda, an NGO in Gulu. His organization has a wide variety of programs for people living in the camps but Paul will be working with 13 of the boys who were previously child solders. These 13 refuse to speak. Robert explained that when these children are recovered, or escape on their own, the family and community often refuse to take them back. They are viewed as criminals/killers, even though some of these kids were kidnapped and forced into being child soldiers by the LRA as young as 5 years old. Anyway, Paul and Robert left for Gulu together this morning. Without moi. Dammit.
Robert’s group does community sensitization sessions where there is a formal apology from the recovered children and the community “forgives” them and takes them back. Still, when the parents are angry they may sometimes point fingers at the children and remind them of their sad histories, (“What else can I expect of a murderer” kind of thing), or other children often taunt them. The boys that Paul will be working with refuse to speak, whether from trauma, mental illness, fear, guilt, no one knows. I was truly tempted to push the envelope and go even tho I have a few more days of not being allowed in buses, taxis, etc., but Robert said that the sanitation and disease in the displacement camps can make even the healthiest people ill. There are also some security issues which we already knew about. . .So…I am home pouting over my bad luck. I told Robert I would be back in Uganda at some point and will come and work with him at that time.
Robert, like most Ugandans from northern regions, is tall and skinny. Their bones are long, their faces are long, their teeth are long, they are very dark skinned, and all are naturally very thin. If I have said this earlier, forgive me. In the western regions of Uganda the facial features of the people are more like Rwandans—slightly Middle Eastern looking and fair skinned. Here in the Ugandan south, the people tend to be round. The vision is one of roundness--round heads, round muscles, round bodies. Not fat, but round as if they are built from a series of balls starting from their round heads and ending with round feet. People here are also very, very dark skinned. I look at people on the roads and can almost imagine where in Uganda they come from, or their background.
The other day we traveled to Scovia’s village to meet her father, grandparents, aunt, and bunches of siblings and cousins. Her grandfather came from Rwanda and the entire family looks like him…Rwandan. We went to three family homes on the land and spent the entire afternoon there and had a wonderful time. Her aunt (Scovia and Viola’s aunt Margaret) made us tea, and I had to laugh because Margaret and Viola sound and look like twins. The family are farmers so we toured the avocados, mangos, jack fruit, potatos, etc. Viola’s father died of AIDS when she was 4, and her mother died of AIDS when she was 12. After her mother’s death, Margaret took Viola and her five siblings in to live with her and her five children. Until yesterday Viola had never mentioned that she had been orphaned at a young age, nursed her mother, took care of her brothers, etc. all at age 11 and 12.
As we went to leave, Scovia’s father and Viola’s aunt put everyone in a circle holding hands for a prayer. I had expected a prayer. Nope. Margaret started singing and chanting in Luganda, Scovia’s father joined in, everyone started swaying, and Paul, Katie and I did our best to stay on our feet and not do something stupid.
Paul moved into my space yesterday because he is nearly out of money. He has changed his flight home to September 3rd. The neighbors who saw him move in here are likely talking… He jokingly suggested last night that we do each other’s hair and nails. He has a LOT of stuff, including his huge drum and his guitar, clothing, bed, etc. We are packed in here to the hilt. But since he will be gone for the next 7 days it doesn’t really matter. I will in fact miss him between the time he leaves for England and I leave for home. He has been great fun and good company in the evenings. I feel the same about Katie. I hope we can keep in touch since we all hope to return at some point.
Isaac came in this morning and said he needed my gum. I looked for chewing gum and wondered why he needed it. He said “No, your GUM”. I checked my teeth. After some back-and-forth, it turned out that he needed my duct tape to seal the boxes of clothing Paul was taking to Gulu. I could write a small book on the funny misunderstandings we have had between all of us, including the Muzungus. Paul’s Scottish/British slang and my American slang, occasionally mixed with Katie’s lip reading, have also caused confusion. In the end, it all works. Coming soon to a bookstore near you.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Party update
August 22
This is Sunday morning, I think it is August 22 but wouldn’t swear to it.
Last night’s party was a hit. We bought a little cake, some balloons and a small decoration for over the door. Paul made a birthday card and I made the sign. I’m so glad we did this party. Diana’s mother told her that she couldn’t visit her (and didn’t) and she was sad so she went to her grandmother’s house to invite her. Grandma couldn’t come either. Her father however, came and brought with him 9 of her girlfriends from school and 5 or 6 more nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles etc. When they heard the music, many neighbors came over as well. We ate cake, we threw balloons, drank warm soda (and a few warm beers), we danced, we played with the kids. I started to worry about mosquitoes since it had rained all day and went to my quarters at about 9PM, although it did no good. People just kept coming by for one reason or another, standing in the door, talking, with the door open. Getting malaria again would really stink and I did my best. The party was great, fear of mosquitos and all!!!
This morning Paul and Katie took off for the Rydar Hotel. I can’t go because one must get on a taxi to get there, so I went to the Colline. I bought a newspaper and was ready to read when Diana showed up. She heard that I was going to the Colline and assumed I was swimming. She showed up all ready for me to teach her to swim. Since I was unprepared to swim we had orange juice and talked. She had a terrific time last night and thanked me repeatedly. Then she started talking about Ugandan life, the LRA, bad magic, her beliefs. Mostly she spoke about how, when she grows up, she is going to be a doctor and help the Ugandan people. I would not be surprised if she did just that.
Must sign off, try to post this, and get ready to go meet Scovia’s mother.
This is Sunday morning, I think it is August 22 but wouldn’t swear to it.
Last night’s party was a hit. We bought a little cake, some balloons and a small decoration for over the door. Paul made a birthday card and I made the sign. I’m so glad we did this party. Diana’s mother told her that she couldn’t visit her (and didn’t) and she was sad so she went to her grandmother’s house to invite her. Grandma couldn’t come either. Her father however, came and brought with him 9 of her girlfriends from school and 5 or 6 more nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles etc. When they heard the music, many neighbors came over as well. We ate cake, we threw balloons, drank warm soda (and a few warm beers), we danced, we played with the kids. I started to worry about mosquitoes since it had rained all day and went to my quarters at about 9PM, although it did no good. People just kept coming by for one reason or another, standing in the door, talking, with the door open. Getting malaria again would really stink and I did my best. The party was great, fear of mosquitos and all!!!
This morning Paul and Katie took off for the Rydar Hotel. I can’t go because one must get on a taxi to get there, so I went to the Colline. I bought a newspaper and was ready to read when Diana showed up. She heard that I was going to the Colline and assumed I was swimming. She showed up all ready for me to teach her to swim. Since I was unprepared to swim we had orange juice and talked. She had a terrific time last night and thanked me repeatedly. Then she started talking about Ugandan life, the LRA, bad magic, her beliefs. Mostly she spoke about how, when she grows up, she is going to be a doctor and help the Ugandan people. I would not be surprised if she did just that.
Must sign off, try to post this, and get ready to go meet Scovia’s mother.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Party!
August 21
We were to attend an AIDS conference today. Isaac had told me it began at 8AM. So I was up and dressed by 730A. In typical Ugandan fashion, breakfast was served at 9AM. At 930A, Isaac came by to say an urgent issue had arisen and we weren’t going. As it turned out, it was one of those urgent human things that crop up but still…aaaarrrrrgh!
Around 11A my little neighbor girl Diana came by with a small book of family photos she wanted me to see. There were very few pictures, but one of her as a baby, several of her little brother, and one of the two of them being confirmed in church. She had made me two bracelets woven out of thread which she tied on me. As we talked, I learned that tomorrow is her 13th birthday. She was sad because (her parents are divorced and she lives with her father and his girlfriend) neither parent has money to buy a cake or to celebrate her “entry into womanhood”. She then went on to tell me how much her stepmother doesn’t like children. I believe her. This woman is very young, VERY beautiful, and a thorn in everyone’s side. After she left I went into town and purchased two pieces of heavy green paper. One will be used to make an origami frog and the other will become a birthday card. I think Paul has additional paper in his room but I am unsure. When he gets home this evening Ill ask him if he wants to throw an origami animal-making birthday party for Diana tomorrow. If he supplies the paper, I will buy Fanta Orange Drink for everyone.
Diana is a beautiful and truly bright young girl. Her parents can no longer afford to pay her school fees so she is hoping that an aunt will help her stay in school, but she is uncertain if that is possible. Two years ago her 11 year old brother was attending boarding school. The children were locked in their classroom when the matron decided to go home for awhile. Evidently one of the children lit a candle in the dormitory for light and the rest was fiery history. All of the children died, locked in a room with no windows. In Diana’s words, “The fire was so hot that there wasn’t even one single bone left of him”. She thinks she would feel better if there were at least a bone to bury. Following his death, Dad started drinking, lost his job, the family fell apart…as did their finances. Oh Man. I want tomorrow to be fun for her.
Momma Africa, her daughter Primah, and her granddaughter Patience finally arrived late today. Momma is over the malaria but still battling typhoid. She told me (through Primah) that she wants me to come back to the orphanage and stay for15 months. I told her again, the she would have to speak to my husband about that! While she is here, she has placed all of the orphans in individual homes for two days. She has been having difficulty securing enough food for the children and felt good knowing that all would be receiving meals while in their two-day foster homes.
I suggested the possibility of placing volunteers at her orphanage and she loved the idea. Her home is one of the nicer ones that I have visited and volunteers should like it. When I asked her what she could have volunteers to do to assist, she immediately said that she was getting chickens and would appreciate help building a house (coop) for the chickens. Also, she would like people to teach English, perhaps do medical care, help with laundry, and of course, spend time holding, playing with, and talking to the children. In short, she would be happy with anyone doing anything. Primah said that Paul and I made such an impact on the children that they are still talking about us. That feels good, but I wonder the value of any impact beyond entertainment we may have had.
When Momma left she gave me a small plastic container of skin cream she had made. I don’t know what or how effective it is, but it at least smells good. Primah said Momma also makes shoe polish. I asked if she could sell these things for income. No. She cant afford the containers. I suggested that living where she does, perhaps she could grow mushrooms to sell which are difficult to find here but which everyone seems to love. Primah will find out what she would need to do to cultivate some mushrooms. When they left I felt like crying, knowing that Id never see Momma again.
So I have an announcement. I am coming back in a year or two.
August 22, 2009
Last night Paul was sitting on my bed as we were having tea (the bed is the only furniture in the room and serves as bed, table, computer station, visitor seating, etc.). I don’t know what happened but suddenly he screamed, jumped up, and dropped his cup, pouring tea into all of my clean clothing on the floor by the bed. He had dropped his cup of steaming tea on himself. I tried pulling his shirt away from his skin as he frantically unbuttoned his shirt to get it off, but he had a nice burn on his stomach and part of his back nonetheless. I poured a bottle of cool water on him and that seemed to help. This morning he says he is fine but I wonder how he could be??? Could be a job for Osmotics Blue Copper and antibiotic ointment if he changes his mind.
Remember the truck that comes by selling charcoal with music blaring that I referenced in an earlier blog? This morning Paul and I were sitting out front eating breakfast when the truck came by and all the children came out to dance to the music. There is always two people in the cab of the truck, and one woman riding in the back to help distribute the charcoal. This morning the Muzungus on the porch started to dance to the music and the woman in the back of the truck nearly fell out laughing. Then the adult neighbors saw us and started pointing our direction and laughing too. We are, in fact, the village idiots.
While outside we started hearing a noise that we couldn’t figure out at first. It got louder and louder until we realized that a terrific rain storm was moving our way and the sound was the rain pounding the metal roofs of the village. I ran inside, but it came so quickly that Paul and the others didn’t quite make it.
I am inside preparing for Diana’s birthday celebration while it rains. I have made a sign for my door that says
BEACON OF HOPE UGANDA
INTERNATIONAL HEADQUARTERS
VOLUNTEER DIVISION
(PARTY CENTRAL)
When the rain stops we will go buy a cake (you buy them in the store and they are like concrete, but very pretty) and hopefully be able to find some balloons. Paul is buying the cake and I am buying balloons and soda. Paul donated his origami book to Budibika Hospital and so we are unsure that we can make anything other than the frogs—and that only by taking the ones we have already made and unfolding them to see how we did it Still, we have pick up sticks, cards, bubbles that I made earlier to blow at the orphanage, and the IPod for music. We are inviting Diana’s brother, Isaac, Scovia, Alice, Viola, Happiness, Scovia II (another young woman who just moved here with her baby), and all of the neighborhood children. Katie arrives today so she will be here too. Paul is practicing playing Happy Birthday to You on his guitar and harmonica. Sounds like a party to me!
Sunday morning...
Just a quick note while I have internet. The party last night was WONDERFUL and Diana was thrilled/ More on the party later, but aqbout 40 neighbors showed up and we danced until the Muzungus dropped. The Ugandans continued dancing. Katie is here which made it even more fun. She and I are now sharing my space for a few days and then she is off to Tanzania.
Off now before I lose the internet connection.
We were to attend an AIDS conference today. Isaac had told me it began at 8AM. So I was up and dressed by 730A. In typical Ugandan fashion, breakfast was served at 9AM. At 930A, Isaac came by to say an urgent issue had arisen and we weren’t going. As it turned out, it was one of those urgent human things that crop up but still…aaaarrrrrgh!
Around 11A my little neighbor girl Diana came by with a small book of family photos she wanted me to see. There were very few pictures, but one of her as a baby, several of her little brother, and one of the two of them being confirmed in church. She had made me two bracelets woven out of thread which she tied on me. As we talked, I learned that tomorrow is her 13th birthday. She was sad because (her parents are divorced and she lives with her father and his girlfriend) neither parent has money to buy a cake or to celebrate her “entry into womanhood”. She then went on to tell me how much her stepmother doesn’t like children. I believe her. This woman is very young, VERY beautiful, and a thorn in everyone’s side. After she left I went into town and purchased two pieces of heavy green paper. One will be used to make an origami frog and the other will become a birthday card. I think Paul has additional paper in his room but I am unsure. When he gets home this evening Ill ask him if he wants to throw an origami animal-making birthday party for Diana tomorrow. If he supplies the paper, I will buy Fanta Orange Drink for everyone.
Diana is a beautiful and truly bright young girl. Her parents can no longer afford to pay her school fees so she is hoping that an aunt will help her stay in school, but she is uncertain if that is possible. Two years ago her 11 year old brother was attending boarding school. The children were locked in their classroom when the matron decided to go home for awhile. Evidently one of the children lit a candle in the dormitory for light and the rest was fiery history. All of the children died, locked in a room with no windows. In Diana’s words, “The fire was so hot that there wasn’t even one single bone left of him”. She thinks she would feel better if there were at least a bone to bury. Following his death, Dad started drinking, lost his job, the family fell apart…as did their finances. Oh Man. I want tomorrow to be fun for her.
Momma Africa, her daughter Primah, and her granddaughter Patience finally arrived late today. Momma is over the malaria but still battling typhoid. She told me (through Primah) that she wants me to come back to the orphanage and stay for15 months. I told her again, the she would have to speak to my husband about that! While she is here, she has placed all of the orphans in individual homes for two days. She has been having difficulty securing enough food for the children and felt good knowing that all would be receiving meals while in their two-day foster homes.
I suggested the possibility of placing volunteers at her orphanage and she loved the idea. Her home is one of the nicer ones that I have visited and volunteers should like it. When I asked her what she could have volunteers to do to assist, she immediately said that she was getting chickens and would appreciate help building a house (coop) for the chickens. Also, she would like people to teach English, perhaps do medical care, help with laundry, and of course, spend time holding, playing with, and talking to the children. In short, she would be happy with anyone doing anything. Primah said that Paul and I made such an impact on the children that they are still talking about us. That feels good, but I wonder the value of any impact beyond entertainment we may have had.
When Momma left she gave me a small plastic container of skin cream she had made. I don’t know what or how effective it is, but it at least smells good. Primah said Momma also makes shoe polish. I asked if she could sell these things for income. No. She cant afford the containers. I suggested that living where she does, perhaps she could grow mushrooms to sell which are difficult to find here but which everyone seems to love. Primah will find out what she would need to do to cultivate some mushrooms. When they left I felt like crying, knowing that Id never see Momma again.
So I have an announcement. I am coming back in a year or two.
August 22, 2009
Last night Paul was sitting on my bed as we were having tea (the bed is the only furniture in the room and serves as bed, table, computer station, visitor seating, etc.). I don’t know what happened but suddenly he screamed, jumped up, and dropped his cup, pouring tea into all of my clean clothing on the floor by the bed. He had dropped his cup of steaming tea on himself. I tried pulling his shirt away from his skin as he frantically unbuttoned his shirt to get it off, but he had a nice burn on his stomach and part of his back nonetheless. I poured a bottle of cool water on him and that seemed to help. This morning he says he is fine but I wonder how he could be??? Could be a job for Osmotics Blue Copper and antibiotic ointment if he changes his mind.
Remember the truck that comes by selling charcoal with music blaring that I referenced in an earlier blog? This morning Paul and I were sitting out front eating breakfast when the truck came by and all the children came out to dance to the music. There is always two people in the cab of the truck, and one woman riding in the back to help distribute the charcoal. This morning the Muzungus on the porch started to dance to the music and the woman in the back of the truck nearly fell out laughing. Then the adult neighbors saw us and started pointing our direction and laughing too. We are, in fact, the village idiots.
While outside we started hearing a noise that we couldn’t figure out at first. It got louder and louder until we realized that a terrific rain storm was moving our way and the sound was the rain pounding the metal roofs of the village. I ran inside, but it came so quickly that Paul and the others didn’t quite make it.
I am inside preparing for Diana’s birthday celebration while it rains. I have made a sign for my door that says
BEACON OF HOPE UGANDA
INTERNATIONAL HEADQUARTERS
VOLUNTEER DIVISION
(PARTY CENTRAL)
When the rain stops we will go buy a cake (you buy them in the store and they are like concrete, but very pretty) and hopefully be able to find some balloons. Paul is buying the cake and I am buying balloons and soda. Paul donated his origami book to Budibika Hospital and so we are unsure that we can make anything other than the frogs—and that only by taking the ones we have already made and unfolding them to see how we did it Still, we have pick up sticks, cards, bubbles that I made earlier to blow at the orphanage, and the IPod for music. We are inviting Diana’s brother, Isaac, Scovia, Alice, Viola, Happiness, Scovia II (another young woman who just moved here with her baby), and all of the neighborhood children. Katie arrives today so she will be here too. Paul is practicing playing Happy Birthday to You on his guitar and harmonica. Sounds like a party to me!
Sunday morning...
Just a quick note while I have internet. The party last night was WONDERFUL and Diana was thrilled/ More on the party later, but aqbout 40 neighbors showed up and we danced until the Muzungus dropped. The Ugandans continued dancing. Katie is here which made it even more fun. She and I are now sharing my space for a few days and then she is off to Tanzania.
Off now before I lose the internet connection.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A TINY bit of news, but it is good stuff!
August 17?
Good News!!! The Minister of _______ in Kampala (I cant keep them straight, but he has something to do with our equivalent of Social Services) accepted my concept paper and pending a full proposal, yesterday agreed to give us one acre of land for our orphanage and training center. We really need a minimum of three acres for gardens and animal rearing to make it truly self sustainable—my paper asked for five—but with one acre in hand I feel like I have a better shot on securing the rest. Woo Hooooo!
Greg, Son-in-Law Extraordinaire, generously secured two nights at the Kampala Sheraton at his employee rate for my last two nights in Uganda. I am excited. My plan is to enjoy a genuine shower and eat food other than matoke, potatoes, sweet potatoes, and spaghetti (starch) in the evenings. As good as those things are, perhaps something green in color on my plate would be welcome. . . I plan to use those two days visiting the American and Irish Embassies to discuss their community granting process, and to put an actual “face” on any future proposals with the staff. Paul has also asked me to help him put together a paper for the Ministry of Health, on behalf of community mental health services. This is actually just one step in what needs to be a country-wide policy and attitude change toward mental illness. If that is done in time (chances are it will be since I have so much time on my hands right now), then I will try to deliver that as well while there.
Spent most of the day working on a website—or at least writing for the website. That filled up what would be an otherwise boring day. Late afternoon I thought I would scream and had to get outside. Scovia grabbed the baby and a mat and the three of us lay under a tree next to the road, and became the impromptu entertainment for anyone walking up the road. There aren’t a lot of Muzungu’s hanging around under trees in anyone’s village!
August 18
I agreed to meet John this morning for one hour at the Colline to start instructing him on how to write a business plan and Fundraising 101. (Open air…no enclosed spaces…no crowds…I continue to follow doc’s instructions.) He was there early. Good thing too, because I would have totally written him off had he not shown up today. I cant help but like this guy. He is so genuinely caring. But for all of his good intent, he doesn’t have a business bone in his body to carry him through.
When I first saw John this morning he looked ill, and he said he had a headache. Later I learned that his headache and lack of appetite had almost forced him to go home in the middle of the day yesterday. He said he had never before quit in mid day, so he stuck it out. I asked him if he thought he had malaria and he said shrugged his shoulders. I suggested he go get tested and he sort of agreed, but was pretty vague. It became obvious that he wasn’t going to get tested, but didn’t want to lie to me about it. Midway through our visit it suddenly dawned on me that he wasn’t going to get tested because he had no money! I asked him if he would get tested if I paid for it. He was embarrassed, but accepted. I gave him 15,000 (about $7.50) for testing and am waiting to hear back from him.
I am surrounded by malaria. Momma Africa was on her way here but is now stuck in a clinic in Kampala—diagnosed with malaria AND typhoid! She still thinks she will be well enough to travel here by Friday. Yeah, right. I read in the paper yesterday that 80,000 people die every year in Tanzania. I wonder what the stats are in Uganda?
The Ugandan Phone Trick
Numerous times I pick up my phone and it says I’ve missed a message from one of my Ugandan friends. Or the phone rings once and then just registers a missed call. I have finally figured out that they call my number, let it ring once, and know I will eventually call them back. This way, any conversation is charged against my phone and not theirs. I don’t mind. It is just that it took a while for me to figure this out.
Good News!!! The Minister of _______ in Kampala (I cant keep them straight, but he has something to do with our equivalent of Social Services) accepted my concept paper and pending a full proposal, yesterday agreed to give us one acre of land for our orphanage and training center. We really need a minimum of three acres for gardens and animal rearing to make it truly self sustainable—my paper asked for five—but with one acre in hand I feel like I have a better shot on securing the rest. Woo Hooooo!
Greg, Son-in-Law Extraordinaire, generously secured two nights at the Kampala Sheraton at his employee rate for my last two nights in Uganda. I am excited. My plan is to enjoy a genuine shower and eat food other than matoke, potatoes, sweet potatoes, and spaghetti (starch) in the evenings. As good as those things are, perhaps something green in color on my plate would be welcome. . . I plan to use those two days visiting the American and Irish Embassies to discuss their community granting process, and to put an actual “face” on any future proposals with the staff. Paul has also asked me to help him put together a paper for the Ministry of Health, on behalf of community mental health services. This is actually just one step in what needs to be a country-wide policy and attitude change toward mental illness. If that is done in time (chances are it will be since I have so much time on my hands right now), then I will try to deliver that as well while there.
Spent most of the day working on a website—or at least writing for the website. That filled up what would be an otherwise boring day. Late afternoon I thought I would scream and had to get outside. Scovia grabbed the baby and a mat and the three of us lay under a tree next to the road, and became the impromptu entertainment for anyone walking up the road. There aren’t a lot of Muzungu’s hanging around under trees in anyone’s village!
August 18
I agreed to meet John this morning for one hour at the Colline to start instructing him on how to write a business plan and Fundraising 101. (Open air…no enclosed spaces…no crowds…I continue to follow doc’s instructions.) He was there early. Good thing too, because I would have totally written him off had he not shown up today. I cant help but like this guy. He is so genuinely caring. But for all of his good intent, he doesn’t have a business bone in his body to carry him through.
When I first saw John this morning he looked ill, and he said he had a headache. Later I learned that his headache and lack of appetite had almost forced him to go home in the middle of the day yesterday. He said he had never before quit in mid day, so he stuck it out. I asked him if he thought he had malaria and he said shrugged his shoulders. I suggested he go get tested and he sort of agreed, but was pretty vague. It became obvious that he wasn’t going to get tested, but didn’t want to lie to me about it. Midway through our visit it suddenly dawned on me that he wasn’t going to get tested because he had no money! I asked him if he would get tested if I paid for it. He was embarrassed, but accepted. I gave him 15,000 (about $7.50) for testing and am waiting to hear back from him.
I am surrounded by malaria. Momma Africa was on her way here but is now stuck in a clinic in Kampala—diagnosed with malaria AND typhoid! She still thinks she will be well enough to travel here by Friday. Yeah, right. I read in the paper yesterday that 80,000 people die every year in Tanzania. I wonder what the stats are in Uganda?
The Ugandan Phone Trick
Numerous times I pick up my phone and it says I’ve missed a message from one of my Ugandan friends. Or the phone rings once and then just registers a missed call. I have finally figured out that they call my number, let it ring once, and know I will eventually call them back. This way, any conversation is charged against my phone and not theirs. I don’t mind. It is just that it took a while for me to figure this out.
Monday, August 17, 2009
"A Boring Update" or "All About Me and Nothing About Africa"
August 15, 2009
Big mistake yesterday, the 14th. I decided I was pretty much better having been released yesterday, was feeling bored, and decided to go to the Colline to sit next to the pool and stay cool. I took a boda to the hotel and knew I was in trouble almost as soon as I arrived. I suddenly felt violently sick again, was drenched in sweat, and my legs would barely support me. I got to the hotel and ordered a coffee, hoping I would feel better. Within minutes I was so dizzy and weak and wet that I couldn’t hold the cup. I went to the ladies changing room and splashed my face with water from the sink, and that is all she wrote. I then laid on the concrete floor trying to cool down. After resting for a few minutes I headed back to my outdoor table but couldn’t make it all the way—thought I would pass out. I sat down and leaned on an outside wall. There was no way I could walk back to the hotel’s security check point and beyond to the bodas. The hotel called a boda for me which took me home. (Embarrassing!) Once home, I sweat like a racehorse and slept for the next two hours. When I awoke I felt much better.
The neighbors told me what the doctor hadnt bothered to (in fact I received no follow up instructions whatsoever)…I am to stay out of the sun while I remain on the medication and for several days following. I was only in the sun for perhaps 10 minutes (the boda ride), but that was enough. The neighbor man who has self-appointed as my guardian went to town and when he returned, sent his daughter (Diana) over with a huge box of warm mango juice. It tasted and felt wonderful. That was dinner.
This morning Scovia and Alice were up early, cooking a clear soup with wild mushrooms, and rice for my breakfast. That was pretty good too, although Scovia dumped a lot of salt into it which, when I objected, insisted I needed. Now I am back to feeling sort of okay, but bored again
When Katy returned to Bushenyi, she left a wonderful book with me called In the Heart of the Canyon by Elisabeth Hyde. It is about a 12 day trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. It is an easy and often funny read. It has made me a bit homesick as I remember all the time that George and I spent on Lake Powell, and of my 10 day hike around the north rim of the Grand Canyon escorting my donors from The Wilderness Society. I can really identify with the river guide in this book and his travails with those for whom he is responsible. (I still recall my thoughts of throwing one of the women who complained about absolutely everything, right over a cliff.) Maybe this is the part that I find so funny, because he has one of these impossible-to-please people on his trip too. This book describes the area…the geology.. the topography…the rafting culture…the water so well!
Since I am once again hanging around the old bed and unable to fulfill my promise to her, Paul is taking Scovia to the pool to teach her to swim today. He is outside now teaching 13 year old Dianna and her 12 year old brother how to play his guitar and harmonica. Paul is a pretty amazing young man.
Momma Africa is traveling to Mukono next Thursday to meet with us and I am excited to see her again. (Having been on the wrong end of malaria personally, I am more determined than ever to find $$ to help with medical fees for our/her children. Treatment is not expensive, and the thought of one of our children dying of malaria because there isn’t $35 is more than I can contemplate.) Her daughter Primah called to say she heard from her mother that I had been sick. Katy told Esther who told Momma who told Primah…the gossip vine is as strong here as it is anywhere else--even though about 250 miles separate us.
August 17 I think
After a full day of “staying down” and drinking tons of water, my headache continued into this morning. Everything else feels fine…no aches or pains…no stomach problems…my appetite is returning...no sweats. Still, the intense headache concerned me so this morning I went to St Joseph Clinic. As it turns out, this is where Isaac and Scovia take Happiness when she is ill, but they only knew the name of the doctor. They had never known the clinic name. One cant fault them for this as the sign over the door is so small. Still, I wish they had sent me to their doc instead of Sir Albert Clinic when I was so sick.
The difference between St Joseph and Sir Albert clinics is like day and night (thank you my wonderful husand for finding this place online for me!!!). St Joe’s wins by a mile, starting with cleanliness and professionalism. The doc reviewed my discharge form (there is no indication what strain of malaria I was treated for) and noted that the Sir Albert doc had co-diagnosed possible food poisoning. He checked my skin and said I am still very dehydrated, and sent me to his lab office for another malaria test.
The test came back negative for malaria. Still, I have been sentenced to two more weeks primarily in bed. I say “primarily” because it is such a hard thing to do. But I will do my best, even though I will miss planned trips into Gulu, Gomba, a fun one to Entebbe, and the horseback safari in Jinja. Dammit. I really want to assist at the displacement camps next week. Dammit dammit.
This morning Scovia announced they were making chapatti bread and asked if I wanted to watch. What a production! Cooking is always a village-wide endeavor. First of all, one must first go to a kitchen (they are all outdoor so this is easy to see) where a woman already has charcoal burning and swipe a piece or two for yourself. Alice is the first up always and so it is her burning charcoal that all the women come for. They pull it out with their hands and run to their own stoves with it (ouch!!??)
There being no cutting boards, our women cut onions into tiny pieces using their hands as a cutting board, with a dull knife. That gets thrown into a pot with oil, water, salt and flour. All is mixed with their hands. Then Alice kneads it for 30 minutes making a mess of the concrete floor which serves as our kitchen counter. Once it is ready, she forms tiny dough balls while Scovia goes from home to home looking for a rolling pin since she doesn’t own one. They roll it out and fry it one by one by one by…on the underside of a pot lid. It takes forever. Somewhere long the way, Ronnie appeared to tell the women they were frying it wrong. The women took his comments in stride and let Ronnie cook for awhile, going back to their own methods the minute he left. The entire process took over 90 minutes, after which they loaded my plate with hot chapatti bread. I could only eat one piece and that was difficult but I didn’t want to be rude. They were disappointed, as they thought I didn’t like it. I had a hard time convincing them that I did.
That is about it. The blog may be empty for awhile again unless the internet gods allow internet at home again someday. I am to stay out of the internet café and away from crowds, according to Dr. LongAfricanName, because he fears I will pick up flu or something else. What more could possibly happen????
I lied. There is more. . . two weeks ago George paid $20 to have a dress made for Alice. She has never been the first to wear a garment in her entire life. So she how has a proper African, to the ankle dress, complete with matching head piece, brand new, just for her. She was beside herself. Now...she just rushed into my quarters excited. Her mother is here!!! She came in squeeling and giggling, telling me that her mother is here and she is going to put on her new dress. I am so happy for Alice. She has missed her family! Gotta go greet the Mom!
Big mistake yesterday, the 14th. I decided I was pretty much better having been released yesterday, was feeling bored, and decided to go to the Colline to sit next to the pool and stay cool. I took a boda to the hotel and knew I was in trouble almost as soon as I arrived. I suddenly felt violently sick again, was drenched in sweat, and my legs would barely support me. I got to the hotel and ordered a coffee, hoping I would feel better. Within minutes I was so dizzy and weak and wet that I couldn’t hold the cup. I went to the ladies changing room and splashed my face with water from the sink, and that is all she wrote. I then laid on the concrete floor trying to cool down. After resting for a few minutes I headed back to my outdoor table but couldn’t make it all the way—thought I would pass out. I sat down and leaned on an outside wall. There was no way I could walk back to the hotel’s security check point and beyond to the bodas. The hotel called a boda for me which took me home. (Embarrassing!) Once home, I sweat like a racehorse and slept for the next two hours. When I awoke I felt much better.
The neighbors told me what the doctor hadnt bothered to (in fact I received no follow up instructions whatsoever)…I am to stay out of the sun while I remain on the medication and for several days following. I was only in the sun for perhaps 10 minutes (the boda ride), but that was enough. The neighbor man who has self-appointed as my guardian went to town and when he returned, sent his daughter (Diana) over with a huge box of warm mango juice. It tasted and felt wonderful. That was dinner.
This morning Scovia and Alice were up early, cooking a clear soup with wild mushrooms, and rice for my breakfast. That was pretty good too, although Scovia dumped a lot of salt into it which, when I objected, insisted I needed. Now I am back to feeling sort of okay, but bored again
When Katy returned to Bushenyi, she left a wonderful book with me called In the Heart of the Canyon by Elisabeth Hyde. It is about a 12 day trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. It is an easy and often funny read. It has made me a bit homesick as I remember all the time that George and I spent on Lake Powell, and of my 10 day hike around the north rim of the Grand Canyon escorting my donors from The Wilderness Society. I can really identify with the river guide in this book and his travails with those for whom he is responsible. (I still recall my thoughts of throwing one of the women who complained about absolutely everything, right over a cliff.) Maybe this is the part that I find so funny, because he has one of these impossible-to-please people on his trip too. This book describes the area…the geology.. the topography…the rafting culture…the water so well!
Since I am once again hanging around the old bed and unable to fulfill my promise to her, Paul is taking Scovia to the pool to teach her to swim today. He is outside now teaching 13 year old Dianna and her 12 year old brother how to play his guitar and harmonica. Paul is a pretty amazing young man.
Momma Africa is traveling to Mukono next Thursday to meet with us and I am excited to see her again. (Having been on the wrong end of malaria personally, I am more determined than ever to find $$ to help with medical fees for our/her children. Treatment is not expensive, and the thought of one of our children dying of malaria because there isn’t $35 is more than I can contemplate.) Her daughter Primah called to say she heard from her mother that I had been sick. Katy told Esther who told Momma who told Primah…the gossip vine is as strong here as it is anywhere else--even though about 250 miles separate us.
August 17 I think
After a full day of “staying down” and drinking tons of water, my headache continued into this morning. Everything else feels fine…no aches or pains…no stomach problems…my appetite is returning...no sweats. Still, the intense headache concerned me so this morning I went to St Joseph Clinic. As it turns out, this is where Isaac and Scovia take Happiness when she is ill, but they only knew the name of the doctor. They had never known the clinic name. One cant fault them for this as the sign over the door is so small. Still, I wish they had sent me to their doc instead of Sir Albert Clinic when I was so sick.
The difference between St Joseph and Sir Albert clinics is like day and night (thank you my wonderful husand for finding this place online for me!!!). St Joe’s wins by a mile, starting with cleanliness and professionalism. The doc reviewed my discharge form (there is no indication what strain of malaria I was treated for) and noted that the Sir Albert doc had co-diagnosed possible food poisoning. He checked my skin and said I am still very dehydrated, and sent me to his lab office for another malaria test.
The test came back negative for malaria. Still, I have been sentenced to two more weeks primarily in bed. I say “primarily” because it is such a hard thing to do. But I will do my best, even though I will miss planned trips into Gulu, Gomba, a fun one to Entebbe, and the horseback safari in Jinja. Dammit. I really want to assist at the displacement camps next week. Dammit dammit.
This morning Scovia announced they were making chapatti bread and asked if I wanted to watch. What a production! Cooking is always a village-wide endeavor. First of all, one must first go to a kitchen (they are all outdoor so this is easy to see) where a woman already has charcoal burning and swipe a piece or two for yourself. Alice is the first up always and so it is her burning charcoal that all the women come for. They pull it out with their hands and run to their own stoves with it (ouch!!??)
There being no cutting boards, our women cut onions into tiny pieces using their hands as a cutting board, with a dull knife. That gets thrown into a pot with oil, water, salt and flour. All is mixed with their hands. Then Alice kneads it for 30 minutes making a mess of the concrete floor which serves as our kitchen counter. Once it is ready, she forms tiny dough balls while Scovia goes from home to home looking for a rolling pin since she doesn’t own one. They roll it out and fry it one by one by one by…on the underside of a pot lid. It takes forever. Somewhere long the way, Ronnie appeared to tell the women they were frying it wrong. The women took his comments in stride and let Ronnie cook for awhile, going back to their own methods the minute he left. The entire process took over 90 minutes, after which they loaded my plate with hot chapatti bread. I could only eat one piece and that was difficult but I didn’t want to be rude. They were disappointed, as they thought I didn’t like it. I had a hard time convincing them that I did.
That is about it. The blog may be empty for awhile again unless the internet gods allow internet at home again someday. I am to stay out of the internet café and away from crowds, according to Dr. LongAfricanName, because he fears I will pick up flu or something else. What more could possibly happen????
I lied. There is more. . . two weeks ago George paid $20 to have a dress made for Alice. She has never been the first to wear a garment in her entire life. So she how has a proper African, to the ankle dress, complete with matching head piece, brand new, just for her. She was beside herself. Now...she just rushed into my quarters excited. Her mother is here!!! She came in squeeling and giggling, telling me that her mother is here and she is going to put on her new dress. I am so happy for Alice. She has missed her family! Gotta go greet the Mom!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Is it Weight Watchers or Is It Malaria?
Somewhere around August 13?
The clinic, like everything else here, is ancient, filthy, and apparently has no running water. The doctor never touched me except to take my blood pressure, and sent me to a room next to his for blood tests for blood sugar, malaria and typhoid. I would note that the blood pressure machine was part of an old, rusty blue metal box. The room had two chairs, a microscope on a tiny beat up plastic table, and paper all over the floor where syringes have been taken out of their sealed packages and thrown there. Above my head on one wall was a picture of Musovini and on the other wall was Obama. There I had blood drawn and within 15 minutes they had their diagnosis. Along with my diagnosis I was berated for waiting so long, now presenting them with a severe case of malaria to take care of. (Had I known what the onset of malaria was supposed to feel like, believe me I would have helped all of us out by coming earlier.)
After the doctor berated me, the man who took my blood presented himself with a large smile on his face and said, “Not to worry Madam, we will fix you”. I later learned that no matter what I asked him, he smiled hugely and said the exact same thing. If I asked when I will feel better, if I ask how long it will take for my hearing to return, no matter what I asked, (big smile…) “Not to worry Madam, we will fix you.” I finally figured it out when I asked him if he had change for a 5,000 shilling, and I got “Not to worry Madam, we will fix you.” These things mess with my confidence in the medical system hereJ On the other hand, Richard Bakker may wish to use this tact when dealing with his own patients. It really cuts down on discussion time and you can see more patients.
You are given a mattress in a room in the clinic. I was freezing and the doctor asked me if I had forgotten to bring a blanket. I didn’t know I was supposed to….then he asked me if I brought water because he had pills he wanted me to take. Not having brought that either, a nurse sold me a bottle of water for 500 Ush, and the doctor took a 50,000 Ush deposit for my treatment. The nurse came back to tell me that she also sold air time for my phone if I needed that. One stop shopping. What I really wished she sold was a stinking blanket because I was freezing…for the next seven hours…it was freezing.
Treatment included a major shot in the butt (tetanus shots don’t hold a candle to the cramping this shot causes!) followed by 6 hours of IV drip. They put in two IVs which slipped out before they switched to one she said was sized for children (and white women evidently). (I repeated this 6 hours of IV drip every day for the next four days.) Finally, alone, I called Paul and woke him up. He came to the clinic immediately armed with juice and digestives and my Ipod and anything else he could think of. I forgot to ask him to bring a blanket. I cried as soon as I saw him, for no other reason than it must have been a tension reliever. I fell asleep and he left, but came back later when I woke up to escort me to the Rydar Hotel in Seeta where he swam and I slept. This day I was truly thankful to have both Stoneage and Paul in my universe.
On Day one I left the clinic at 5PM and went to the Ryder Hotel in Seeta instead of home because the idea of a quiet room and clean bed sounded like the ticket to faster healing. My home is tremendously busy and noisy late into in the night. My VISA card wouldn’t work at the hotel because of the slow telephone lines there but the manager took one look at my hand which still has the IV candula (is that the word? How about “buffalo plug”?) in it, and told me I could pay him in the morning. A nice young bellman carried my backpack upstairs and let me in. Both manager and receptionist and nice young bellman continually said, “sorry sorry Madam sorry”.
My head had just hit the pillow when there was a knock at the door. It was a maid. Instead of turn down service and a chocolate for your pillow, in
The “Sorry sorry” thing that all Ugandans do is endearing. All Ugandans say it regardless of whether someone trips or says they are tired…should anyone experience anything vaguely negative, even strangers say “sorry, sorry”. Getting on the taxi for the trip back to Mukono the second morning, the usually crusty conductor saw my hand and said “sorry Madam sorry” and actually helped me on. Thisis very un-conductor like. And he didn’t throw me off prior to my destination. I’m thinking the thing to do from now on is to wear a fake candula on my hand whenever I must take a taxi.
I lost about 85% of my hearing on day 2 and it felt like I was living alone in my head. This is temporary, caused by the medicine. My hearing returned and then was lost again each of these 4 days. The doctor said it is because I am not drinking enough water, that I must consume 3 liters a day. So I am drinking and drinking, and barfing and barfing water, and drinking, and I remained primarily deaf, through yesterday, my last day of “the drip”. Katy, our deaf teaching friend, arrives tomorrow from Bushenyi. Perhaps she can give me some tips on being properly deaf. When I left yesterday I went directly to the Colline Hotel for some clear soup. Just the thought of more water was more than I could stand at that moment.
Yesterday, my daytime roommate at the clinic was released after only half of her iv drip was used. Her name is
After
Later when my IV bag was finally empty I sat up in anticipation of someone coming to disconnect me. Crazy Young Woman heard me move, FLEW out of bed again and grabbed my hand, attempting to remove the candela out of my hand. I pushed her back gently and told her I would let a nurse do it. She pounded a fist on her chest and said “NURSE!” I knew that she was no nurse. She took another grab at my arm, this time really knocking me backwards. I gave her a hard shove, grabbed my IV bag and ran into the hallway and up to the front where I found the doctor. I told him what happened and he walked back to my room. Crazy Young Woman appeared to be asleep again. He said something to her, walked out, and disconnected my IV line from the hallway. He never said a word about who she was or what the hell she was doing there.
As I left the clinic yesterday there were, as always, 30 or 40 boda boys all yelling and vying for my attention (money) to get on their boda. I stood looking for Stoneage and finally found his helmet sitting on the back of an empty boda. I pointed and asked where he was, and an old man started yelling for him. Stoneage popped out of a store. When he recognized me and realized the Muzungu had actually ASKED for him, he threw around a lot of bravado to the other boda drivers, telling them that the Muzungu was his friend and HIS customer. I am, too. He will be my boda boda as often as I can find him.
The last morning of my treatment I was sent back to my room, I lay on my bed, and SOMEONE HAD PISSED ALL OVER MY BED. I believe yesterday’s Crazy Young Woman did this in retaliation for getting her in trouble. I got onto
P.S. One more endearing thing about my Ugandan family and neighbors. When I finally returned home after being gone for two days, the women I live with and members of four of our closest neighbor families came to greet me. As ill as I felt, their Ugandan Body Slams felt great. Everyone tried to do something for me, even tho I just wanted to go to bed. When I awoke I noticed that while I slept,
Thursday, August 13
Last night Isaac awakened me at about 9PM and demanded I get up so that we could speak. The neighbors had come to him very angry that he allowed Paul and I (only Paul actually) to roam the streets at night. Three nights ago three people were robbed and murdered with iron bars on Mukono Streets and everyone has been warned not to be on the streets after dark. Isaac hadn’t previously heard this news but it seems all the neighbors had and they were worried for the Muzungus being targets. I thought of our deaf friend Katie who is staying at the Golden Crane Hotel, who goes for her 5 mile runs alone every night after dark because it is too hot during the day. She was out running the back roads somewhere as we spoke. In the end, Paul and Katie both made it back safely and have heeded the warnings, but we are all now on lockdown after dark. This is not a problem for yours truly who has resolved that since the mosquitoes hit after dark, she won’t be out there after dark anyway. Ever.
Thursday, August 6?
Acceptance!
Although the children continue to call me Muzungu, many of the adults have started to address me differently. When I am in villages where people recognize me—whether they know me or simply recognize me—I am now starting to hear “How ah you today Sistah?” or “How ah you today Deeya?” (as in How are you today Sister /How are you today Dear?) I mentioned this to Paul and he said that in the hospital among colleagues he insists on being called Paul instead of Muzungu. One of the nurses who doesn’t care much for him was talking to another nurse and he heard the word “Muzungu”. Paul turned to her and said “My name is PAUL”. He said several of the younger nurses started to giggle and applaud. The older nurse has addressed him as Paul ever since.
I know the real names of very few adults in this village. When they address each other they address them by either Momma or Daddy, followed by their eldest child’s name. Isaac and Scovia’s baby is named Happiness. Therefore, children and adults address Isaac and Scovia as “Momma Happiness” or “Daddy Happiness”. I finally put two and two together and now understand why Ahanna—who runs the Bushenyi orphanage—is called “Momma Africa”. There are too many children to assign her just one name.
Paul is finding work in Budebika, the state mental asylum, interesting and will be writing a paper when he returns. At the end of every day we have tea and bring each up on our individual days. He says that much of the treatments for mental health are the same here as in the
Yesterday I went to meet John to begin our business training. When he was 15 minutes late I called him and learned that he had gone to
Today I walked into town to meet John again and AGAIN he was a no show. I waited 20 minutes and left and went home. I was home about 50 minutes after our appointed meeting and he called to say he was now ready to meet. I told him I may be able to see him after I return from Gomba. He was disappointed. I’m still a little frosted. My American style is “ready, aim, fire” or occasionally more personally, “ready, fire, aim”. In
I’m in a bad mood, likely because of the heat and dust from walking into town and back—three times today! The roads are absolutely swimming in caloric heat. I envision that if you looked at me from a distance my head, arms, body, legs and feet would be radiating little heat waves too. Add that at to the dust today. The dust suffuses every rhinal cavity, permeating my very insides…I feel my gizzards sizzling.. Aarrrgggghh!! I’m done bitching now. Im home and gradually cooling off (literally).
August 7, 2009
Success in finally getting a post office box!!! I have been trying for two weeks but the Ugandan government does not make it easy. In order to secure a postal box one must fill out a long security form, provide two original passport photos for each director, provide a copy of your organization’s governmental approval certificate and then…wait…and wait…I finally have a post office box! We wont have a key to the box until one is made—about six weeks wait—but they gave me a form to present if I want to check my mail prior to that. They will keep our mail in a filing cabinet until they can give us a key. I am learning that anything to do with the government here takes a long time and a lot of paper. Tomorrow I will send several
I was officially out of shampoo and finally found some to buy. It cost approximately fifty cents for one full liter, attractively presented in a thick plastic jerrican. I am sure it is only the finest shampoo and my beauty will know no limits once used.
Tomorrow is Saturday and I am in desperate need of something Western. Therefore, I am going to go to Seeta and check into the Ryder Hotel, which has quiet rooms which I think are air conditioned. They also have televisions and a pool. The plan is to buy a book, check in, swim, shower and then collapse on a real bed in an air conditioned room. Later I will toddle down to their real restaurant and see if I can find something on the menu in addition to matoke, posho, rice and beans. I would give my left arm for a chicken breast or a dinner roll! Mostly I just want to sleep!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Our planned trip to Gomba next week has been postponed for God-knows-what reason. My best guess is either lack of planning or something better came up for Isaac. At any rate we have yet another week to entertain ourselves. On Tuesday we are going to meet with social counselors in
Today I took my computer to the Colline Hotel swimming pool once again. I can sometimes pick up internet there, but not today. Paul was there with a young Ugandan woman named Rachel who I believe is in hope of nabbing a white husband. We were sitting having coffee and chatting when two soldiers rushed in with their AK-47’s and in full bush uniform, and hurried around the pool. One went in to the men’s locker room and the other into the women’s. Let me tell you how happy I am that I wasn’t in there putting on a bathing suit! In the short time they were in the locker rooms—perhaps 20 seconds--the pool area cleared entirely of black people--they evaporated--with the exception of the young woman with us. We all sat perfectly still. They came out and left—walking slowly with their rifles pointing down this time--but it does give one pause for thought. It is one thing to see soldiers on the streets. It is different to see them rushing into hotel areas, assault rifles in tow, looking for God Knows Who or What. Maybe I’m just a sensitive Muzungu.
Aug 13: George here...Melanie's husband. Some of you following this blog have noticed her absence for about the past week now, and have inquired of me or expressed concern for her. Much appreciated, and I want to take this opportunity to assure everyone that she's fine, but it has been a tough week for her. She started feeling a bit 'off her game' last Friday, and had planned to spend the weekend at a nearby hotel, where they have air conditioning and a restaurant with more western style food choices, hoping this would help restore her energy level. But by Saturday, she had become very ill, and decided to go to a clinic and see a doctor. She was promptly diagnosed with malaria, and began a very intense treatment. Four consecutive days of a 6 hour IV drip, and an 8 day course of pills. The IV treatments were at least in part to help keep her hydrated, as malaria throws off the body's sense of temperature, making you feel chills even in the hottest environments. She had to keep herself wrapped in blankets to fight the chills, while sweating out all the fluids. She was very sick for the first couple of days, and then began to improve. I could tell the difference in her voice each day as she got stronger. The doctor advised her to take it easy for awhile, that it would likely take a couple of weeks to regain her full strength. She can't blog from where she's staying, and must still do the walk (or boda) across town to the internet cafe, so it may be a few more days before she gets back into blog mode. So, please be patient, don't worry, and check back in a couple of days.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
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. .
* * *
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.
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. .
* * *
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
