Working in Uganda

Going home tomorrow

2009-09-07T12:23:00.001-07:00

I am tired of writing, and so have done none over the past week. I spent last night and will spend tonight in Kampala. Here at the hotel the security is fierce. All cars are checked a block before entering the compound. When entering the compound on foot, guards check purses and backpacks and scan you just as is done at the airport. No photos are allowed of the outside area of the hotel. One must pass through magnatrometers like airports have before entering the front door. The Sheraton Kampala is surrounded by the Sheraton Kampala Gardens which is at least a block on each side. (Very beautiful). There is a sign that says the gardens are closed today through the 14th. Soldiers are at all of the doors to make certain you dont wander into the gardens. I must assume there are some mighty important people staying here. Besides me:)

Went to speak to a group of HIV/AIDS counselors this afternoon and had to take a boda back through Kampala rush hour traffic. Bodas are faster than cars and trucks because they ride BETWEEN them. Several times my legs actually brushed against cars and trucks. When one must stop, the bodas all crowd in front of the 4 wheeled type vehicles, putting themselves first to turn. When we started up again, there were always 40 to 60 motorcycles turning at once at high speed. I started off being very frightened. Half way through it became great fun. Sort of like a manic motorcycle rally in a third world country. Perhaps the exhaust fumes and the heat warped my brain.

Since I have high speed, below you will find a few photos. Even these took a couple of hours to load, but hey--I am sitting in air conditioning on a real bed, stomach full of real food and a coke WITH ICE--so the wait has been pleasant.

more pics

2009-09-07T11:29:00.001-07:00

Visiting One of our kids at Bushenyi. HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THIS FACE!

Momma Africa and her mother

Part of the Mukono Market (lower end)

2009-09-07T09:58:00.000-07:00

Isaac and I chatting Enjoying a Visit

2009-09-07T09:35:00.000-07:00

These are some of the childeren in our Bushenyi orphanage. There are two "dormitories", one for boys and one for girls. In the girls dorm, classes are held during the day for the younger children, P1 through P3. The boys dorm becomes classroom for P4 through P6. We raise funds to send the older children to secondary school during the day.

Kampala

2009-09-07T09:06:00.000-07:00

Downtown Kampala

Felix

2009-09-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

I think this boy's name is Felix. He was one of my favorites at the orphanage

2009-09-07T08:11:00.000-07:00

gearing up to leave and head to Kampala

2009-09-04T12:20:00.000-07:00

Getting ready to head to Kampala on Sunday and then home on Tuesday. The air is heavy with memories...

Hungry kids, dancing in the streets & unlucky bulls

2009-08-31T11:36:00.000-07:00

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…

Entebbe!

2009-08-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-27T22:24:00.000-07:00

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 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 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.

I just got back from taking Alice back to the clinic. The malaria is better. The bronchitis remains, so we got more packets of pills and cough medicine. Cost me 10,000ush this time (a bit under $5). I can’t imagine seeing a US doctor, being treated, and receiving prescriptions for under $5. On the other hand, I think you probably get what you pay for here.

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 Rwanda into Uganda, and from one part of Uganda to another. Enough of that sad subject.

P.S. Do chickens eat lizards? If so, I may let the next visiting chicken move in. I am tired of being surprised by lizards on my walls, on my mosquito net, in my luggage if I don’t keep it closed. I wonder if they sell lizard sprayJ

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. (We were already told it was approved but, hey! if the President wants to throw a blessing on it, that’s cool.) 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. Killing two birds with one stone…

* * *

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.

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 don’t feel well”. 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 the third injection in her butt 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. Diagnosis: malaria with secondary bronchitis.

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 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 3^rd. 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 green 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 among the Muzungus. Paul’s Scottish/British slang and my American slang, occasionally mixed with Katie’s lip reading, have also caused occasional confusion. In the end, it all works.

A bit of good news! ...and then just stuff...

2009-08-26T22:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Party update

2009-08-23T03:48:00.000-07:00

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.

Party!

2009-08-22T23:15:00.000-07:00

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.

A TINY bit of news, but it is good stuff!

2009-08-19T21:32:00.000-07:00

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.

"A Boring Update" or "All About Me and Nothing About Africa"

2009-08-17T06:39:00.000-07:00

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!

Is it Weight Watchers or Is It Malaria?

2009-08-13T09:52:00.001-07:00

Somewhere around August 13?

Miracle of miracles, the internet modum is working from home tonight! I couldnt be happier because I no longer have any books to read, and being primarily stuck in bed, I am bored out of my mind. The following is what you must suffer to appease my own personal boredom...

I wish I could say that the reason there has been no blogging is that I have been busy working in some far out interesting village, or doing something so worthwhile that I didn’t have time to write. The truth is however, that I ignored vague warnings and contracted a rip roaring case of malaria. Days one and two after diagnosis are pretty bad. On day 3 I felt an obvious improvement. By Day 4 I just felt like I had a regular case of the flu. This is Day 5 and I’m actually up and moving around a bit, having kept down a half piece of bread with honey this morning and a cup of soup this afternoon. Malaria takes 9 to14 days to incubate. This is good news because last week I was having real difficulty walking up a hill that previously had not been difficult. My heart raced and I became light headed. It was the malaria incubating! Woo Hoo! For a few days there I thought old age had finally set in.

I went to bed last Saturday afternoon with a bad headache and sick stomach but had not felt 100% for several days. I got up yesterday morning so sick that I took my wobbly legs to the road and asked a boda driver to take me to a doctor. I was freezing and dizzy and every cell in my body registered some level of pain. Bless the boda boy! (This boda boy is about 19 years old and wore a helmet—most do not. The back of his helmet says “Stoneage” so that is what I call him). Stoneage wrapped my arms around his middle and had me lean my head against his back and then drove as slowly as I’ve known a boda to do here. He took me to Sir Albert Clinic since there is no hospital between here and Kampala. As I fumbled for money to pay Stoneage, he said “sorry sorry” and drove off, refusing my money.

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 Uganda you get a maid that circles your room spraying insecticide. When she is done, she looks at your hand and says “sorry sorry” and prays for you. Sometime in the night there was a knock at the door and it was her. She wanted to know if I needed anything. Her knock awakened me and I was freezing. She let herself in and just sort of took over, trying to warm me up, changing my sheets, and saying “sorry sorry” about every 15 seconds. Talking takes energy that I didn’t really have but still I felt the need to reassure her with “okay okay” and “thank you, thank you”. She didn’t speak much English but it was still very helpful having her there.

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 Florence and she is a young teacher in Rwanda. She was here in Mukono on a one week holiday when she fell ill with malaria. I’ve been bringing her my Ipod to listen to and a book to read because six hours a day in an empty room is extremely boring. You can’t really read, but you try. You cant really sleep. You can’t really do anything. So in between trying to read, trying to sleep, trying to feel better, and barfing, Florence and I have tried talking. Anyway, Florence was released early yesterday. I tell you this because…

After Florence left a young woman opened the door and said “Muzungu!” in the same overly happy tone a frat boy might say “Party!” She then took Florence’s bed and lay down with her back to me. I waited for someone to come in and start her IV, but no one ever came. I fell asleep and awoke needing to use the bathroom. As I started to get up to go, this young woman FLEW out of bed, opened the room door and then opened the bathroom door and stood at attention. I asked her if she needed to use the toilet. She said YES! I waited. She stood there with a crazy grin on her face and continued to say YES! I finally stepped around her and entered the bathroom. When I came out, she seemed to be asleep on the bed again.

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 Florence’s bed and waited for someone. My bed could not be fixed as there are no sheets and the mattresses are all foam rubber. I then spent my day wearing clothes that smell like Eau du Crazy Young Woman Piss. For all of the wonderful things about Uganda, it is best not to get sick or injured here.

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, Alice snuck in, took my shoes and washed them. She just had to do something! . . . the neighbor man—the one who magically appeared with a cold beer last week—brought me apples and mangos. Apples are also difficult to find and expensive here…and little Diana’s mother made me an African wrap skirt.

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.

The following was written before I got sick and is just now getting posted...

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 UK, but there are also old beliefs and practices here that are ancient and highly institutional. Patients must all wear uniforms. They eat beans and matoke for every single meal regardless of the length of their stay. Most are given nothing to do during the day. One woman told him she begs for work but she is not allowed to even clean the floor. One 22 year old man has been there for six months. Paul, having worked with him for a while now, decided to take him out of the hospital and into town for lunch and caused a minor uproar over his insistence that the man be allowed to wear street clothes. Epilepsy is considered a mental disorder. Many here still believe that mental disorders are either curses or demons and send them to churches for healing, so those in Budebika are lucky. Paul has started taking his own supplies and teaching crafts. They have started making origami animals which is a big hit. Later in August Paul will do a presentation to a number of NGO’s regarding mental health awareness. Too many people here still believe all would be fine if the demons could just be cast out/beat out of the sick individual.

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 Kampala for business in the morning and was still stuck in traffic trying to return. Inasmuch as it took Paul nearly four hours to get home on Monday night—two of those hours stuck in gridlock in Kampala proper—I knew he wouldn’t make it back to Kampala anytime soon. So we rescheduled for today. Isaac has a burial to attend and so our schedule today is thrown off kilter anyway. I tried to understand but I am still uncertain if it is Isaac’s uncle or his cousin who died.

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 Uganda I’m finding the culture is often “ready, aim, aim, aim, aim…” I am trying to accommodate this culture but not doing all that well at it. Not in this case, not today.

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 US newspapers invitations to rural American children to write letters to our village kids, hopefully for an exchange. Secondarily, I will be asking for letters from American children to the children of the Northern Uganda displacement camps…these will be “one way” letters with no response. These are simply to let the children in displacement camps know that American children are thinking of them and send them best wishes for a better future. If anyone reading this is interested, let me know at geomeld@gmail.com and I will send you the letter of invitation for your school, newspaper, etc. (Note to Gabbie: You are already covered! I will send your mother our post office box number the next time I can access email)

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 Kampala with Tony. After that Paul and I are going to visit an orphanage we accidently came across waaaaay out in the boonies.

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.

2009-08-13T07:18:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-06T00:48:00.000-07:00

This little girl was at the well BoHU built. We were there that day because the drainage area had become overgrown and needed cleaning. You can see how high the dirty water is from the spiggot.

community organization...

2009-08-05T08:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Enjoy that Starbucks Coffee!

2009-08-03T06:28:00.000-07:00

George recently reported that he had been in a Boulder Starbucks that was selling crafts from Rwanda. I wondered how to get our crafts into Starbucks and found out that for us, it will be a no-go. But for the people of Rwanda it is a very cool deal. The following should make my Starbucks-loving daughter feel better every time she goes for coffee…

The market for fair trade coffee insures that the world’s coffee farmers receive a minimum price for their coffee regardless of world price fluctuations. Since the majority of the world’s coffee farmers are small landowners in developing nations, companies interested in making public good investments have signed licensing agreements with TransFair which monitors the coffee growing to make sure that fair wages and decent working conditions are in place. Starbucks has made commitments through TransFair with Rwanda and with Aceh (Indonesian tsunami location) to work with coffee farmers in those countries. Starbucks actually works on the ground with farmers in those countries to ensure high coffee bean quality; pay for attractive packaging, and then offer one of these coffees as a monthly special. So if you want to pay more per gallon for a cup of coffee at Starbucks than you do for a gallon of gas at your local station, know that at least a portion of your purchase is supporting a poor coffee farmer in a developing nation.

Today we went to the Seeta Hill College to see a child and youth competition for drumming and dance. It rained while there and the temporary tents we were under threatened to collapse under the weight of the water. Men were taking plastic chairs and hitting the edges of the tent to release water, and physically holding up the poles. A few women with children chose to stand in the rain rather than risk being under the tent if it collapsed. It felt pretty darned wonderful to be wet and sort of cold. The heat and humidity has been suffocating this week. The rain lasted for about 40 minutes. Then the competition resumed. But not until we listened to a 30 minute speech given by the head mistress about “our Dear Director”. We stayed long enough to see one singing/dancing production and left in search of food. We were starving because…

We are out of water at home. Our rain holding tank is totally dry and the women of the family all left early in the morning with Jerri cans to find a well with water. Many are dry in this village. That took them so long that breakfast was an ear of cold corn on the cob for which we were grateful. By 2PM we were starving. So…on to the Rydar Hotel, also in Seeta. (Unfortunately, Mukono did not get the downpour that Seeta did. We are still out of water).

The Ryder is as close to a nice hotel as is in these parts. I was impressed. They had a buffet and Paul and I pigged out. We were a bit disappointed that even here, the mainstay of the buffet was matoke and rice, but starving people aren’t picky. I loved the cucumber soup and poured g-nut (peanut) sauce all over the rice. Yum! We are going back tomorrow night as they are having an African Dance Troup dancing in their gardens for free (we will probably have to buy a drink or something).

Sunday!

At 5AM on this morning I awoke to hear drums and men shouting from a distance. The drums and the rhythmic shouting grew closer and closer. It sounded like something military and I wondered what the military would be doing way out here at 5AM. I looked out just in time to see about 40 young men running past us, again with the drum and rhythmic singing. They weren’t in uniform. I found out later it was the Boy Guides, or Uganda’s version of Boy Scouts. I thought Boy Guides were only in Kampala. American boys are smarter than to create a stir at 5AM on a Sunday morning! American boys would be in big trouble...

It must be payday or something because there is a sudden resurgence in food here at the house. Breakfast this morning was porridge AND samosas. Samosas are fried bread pockets with beans inside. I’ve seen them with chicken mixtures too, but these had beans and very tasty. Scovia, Alice and Viola make the best beans! I will miss them when I go back to canned beans someday…

After breakfast Paul and I took Alice to see her mother. We stopped first to buy bread, sugar, etc., to take to her and then headed over to the Colline Hotel because Paul was feeling coffee deprived. We sat outside. Alice ordered milk and after asking for it twice over a period of 30 minutes, Paul went into the restaurant to ask the problem. The milk was THAWING. Their milk is frozen. We learn, we learn…

We went all the way out to Alice’s village only to find that her mother was in the hospital in Jinja, although I could never figure out the problem. Her brother’s wife was there (they don’t have in-laws here) and we visited a bit. Alice had asked me to bring my laptop so that her mother could see the photos from last visit. In her absence I shared the pictures with her brother’s wife. Later, BrosWife (I am guessing her to be about 22 years old) offered to take us to see a farm and we went. It is about 2 km before you leave Alice’s Nothing Village and start to see some pretty areas. Our walk started across the top of the mountain and then entered a long, slow drop into a densely treed ravine. I heard what sounded like monkeys but paid no attention since the birds outside my windows imitate monkey sounds daily. Suddenly BrosWife had a thought, stopped, and asked thoughtfully, “Are you fearful of monkeys?” Heck no, we were excited to see them! We continued our walk to the bottom to view a cow watering hole and took a few pictures. There were birds on the ground and one type was about the size of a pigeon but was as bright red as Santa’s suit. We asked her what it was, and learned that it was a “bird”. She repeated the word “bird” slowly twice so that we understood that what we were asking about was a bird.

We passed some huge bulls eating in open areas and in teasing Paul, I again offered to pay for his way to Seeta later in the evening if he would kiss one of the bulls. He wasn’t actually going to but moved forward as if he was. BrosWife saw him moving toward the bull and became very upset with a long series of NO NO NO NO no no! We frightened her and felt badly. Throughout the trip she would often hold my hand as many women do once they know you. She also asked me if I would take her to America. When I told her that I could not, she turned to Paul and asked him if he would take her to the UK. She recovered quickly from both rejections and said she would come to our home on Monday.

We walked out of the wooded area (never did spot a monkey in the dense tree canopies,) across a field and back into another heavily forested area. She wanted to show us some kind of berry. The berries are high in very tall trees, were black, and about the size of a grape with a seed in the center. There was a man so high in the tree that he was difficult to spot (no wonder we couldn’t see even smaller monkeys!) and he would drop the berries to a man below who stood on the ground looking up and holding out cloth about the side of an apron. If he didn’t catch them correctly, the berries burst and would be no good for sale. I got too close and got splattered with a wad of berries, turning my orange shirt permanently dark blue splattered. That incident became the afternoon's entertainment for the men working there. The berries taste like a version of elderberries, but with a slightly bitter aftertaste. On the edge of this big stand of trees sat little children, eating berries which had fallen from the trees naturally—many of which were squashed and dried out—but they seemed to enjoy them anyway.

We left and I went to the Golden Crane to purchase my weekly shower. After I washed I dried and there was red dirt all over my towel. I washed again. And again. Finally, I got this dirt out of my skin. Made a note to myself to buy a small brush to scrub myself with next time.

At 530p Paul and I traveled to the Rydar Hotel in Seeta so that we could see the African dancers who entertain in the gardens every Sunday. These people sang and danced and played the drums for 3 hours straight and I loved every minute of it. The entertainers are Buganda Tribe as was most of the audience. Some of the audience members would occasionally sing along or get up and dance with them. Both men and women wore their goat skins which exaggerates their already exaggerated movements, but man, oh man, are these people athletic!!!! Except for Paul and I and perhaps 6 other people, everyone was a local villager.

The commentator decided to entertain the group before the dancing and singing started (and drumming! Oh man, can they drum!) by talking about people in the audience, starting with Westerners. He was so on target that Paul and I cracked up. First he did an imitation of Westerners: Stood there and then said pleadingly, “Coffee. Where can I please find coffee”? And it is true! Paul and I must have coffee and have been known to travel fair distances to get it! Then the commentator said that Westerners don’t go anywhere without their torches, and did some imitations of us with our torches. I was tempted to take mine out of my backpack and turn it on. Mine goes everywhere with me, even taking it to bed and laying it next to my pillow so that I can see creatures that invade my space at night (i.e. chickens and frogs). The rest of the show was so good that we are going back next Sunday night. It is free and free is good.

I had my first and only true scare on the way home. We boarded a taxi in Seeta and I sat in back between to men who it turned out were drunk and arguing badly. They were not only arguing between themselves, they were yelling at the driver and conductor. Everyone continued to face forward and ignore them, and I was concerned that if it got physical, I would be caught in the middle. By the time we got to Mukono they had tired of their argument. We got off early and walked a short way rather than stay on the taxi. I adore the Ugandan people but evidently they have their jerks too.

Today’s work is two-fold: Morning will be working on an organic farm BoHU helped villagers start (if I am understanding this correctly) and the afternoon will be working with the women who make crafts. Looking forward to it…

Too much time on my hands this week!

2009-07-31T13:21:00.000-07:00

I obviously have too much time on my hands. Here are a bunch of random observations and trivia
. . .Ugandan Military
People in Uganda are surprised to hear that the U.S. military stays in place even if there is a new president. In Uganda, each president must hire his own army. When I tell them that our military doesn’t change with the change of administration, they shake their heads and “tsk tsk tsk”. (The sound doesn’t imply judgment one way or the other. It means something close to ‘fancy that’.)

The ramifications of this seem interesting. Im no scholar on the subject but it seems that it greatly behooves soldiers to use whatever tactics necessary to protect their President, as he and his position is directly tied to their personal financial security. Secondly, insurgents would have to gather and have in place enough citizen soldiers (rebels) and money to pay the solders to hold their new government in the unlikely event of a successful overthrow. Finally, given the indecent level of poverty here it must be fairly easy to recruit rebels. These kids have nothing to lose, and the potential of a job to gain. I bet becoming a rebel has a whole lot more to do with hunger than with idiology.

. . .Taxi Lessons
You’ve read my rants and raves on the Ugandan taxi and taxi driver. Now envision the following: As a reminder, a taxi is an old 9 passenger van. I have counted as many as 26 in one I have been on.

In Uganda the driving is done on the left, so the sliding doors on the taxi vans open on the left rather than on the right as in the US. The seat directly behind the front seat passenger window is reserved for the conductor. The conductor rides with the door open in areas where people are gathered and as the driver slows down, the conductor yells out where the taxi is going. Mukono, Mbarara, Jinja, etc. As he does this he holds up however many fingers to indicate the number of spaces available on the vehicle. Often this is only a suggested number as he may be holding up two fingers, but if four people want a ride, he will often start making the existing passengers move around or squish together to accommodate the four.

Alternately, the taxi is parked on the street and sits until the conductor deems it full enough to make it worth going somewhere. This can take up to an hour and a half. It is better to find a taxi already moving. This is the same with large buses. There are no tickets and no ticket takers. When the vehicle is full, you go. And you sit there until it is at least full.

There are a couple of drawbacks to getting into an already traveling taxi. If I am traveling from Kampala to Mukono, I am looking for a moving vehicle with a conductor that is yelling, “Mukono” and holding up at least one finger. Assume that has happened and there is an actual seat for me. Now, envision the game Tetris. As passengers get off, everyone on the taxi changes seats, taking all of their bundles (children, chickens, bags of banana leaves) moving to towards the back so that the back seats remain full. The farther you travel, the more likely you will eventually wind up in the farthest right hand seat back. Now, you figure that you will no longer need to move since you are in the seat that must be vacated before anyone else moves. Not so.

It just may be that the taxi is actually going to Gomba, but since they travel TOWARDS Mukono they nabbed you as a passenger by saying they were going to Mukono. You get thrown off the taxi when they approach the Gomba turn off. But not before they charge you.

You stand on the road and pray for another taxi going to Mukono and when one comes, you repeat the process until you finally land in Mukono.

The alternative to this is to go to an actual taxi park. There, you search for a taxi with a cardboard placard that says “Mukono”. This taxi is actually going to Mukono, but you may sit there for 90 minutes while the vehicle fills. Still, you play the human Tetris game throughout your trip.

Now that I have figured out the system, I decided to thwart it. When I was asked to disembark because they were going to Gomba, I decided to go to Gomba. I had nothing better to do and haven’t yet been to Gomba. It didn’t work. The conductor assumed I was a Muzungu that didn’t understand, and kicked me off. (Actually it wasnt Gomba but I forget the name of the town they were dumping me for)

. . .On asking the Ugandan Government for land on which to build an orphanage, an orphan’s primary school, with a sustainable organic garden, room for a piggery, chickens and goats…and a Phase II vocational training center for the children as they age out of the orphanage…and an on-site community HIV/AIDS testing and referral counseling service, and more. I don’t want much:-) But then when was the last time you got something you never asked for?

I worked all day on the concept paper that the Minister of Gender and Social Something wants prior to submitting a full proposal. The facts alone drove the entire paper so it was fairly easy. One in 4 people who die this year will succumb to AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria or infections related to dirty water. Mukono already has over 77,000 orphans with very personal connections to the above deaths. Uganda has over 1,000,000. In every corner of the world intelligence and energy are evenly distributed, but opportunity, investment and effective governments and organizations are not. (all of this was given to me in one form or another) It is certainly not a level playing field here. And since I still believe that our common humanity is more important than our individual differences, I included a statement that our orphanage will accept children of both Christian and Muslim faiths, and Buganda and other tribes. I don’t know how well that will fly given the fact that most government officials are Christian and the churches have such strong influence on decision making. On the up side, both faiths live side by side here in total harmony. So…tomorrow I will put the finishing touches on this paper and move on to the next task.

Family
I took Scovia for coffee at the hotel today. I don’t know if she had ever been there or not. She has never been in a swimming pool but saw it and would like to try it. As a little girl she lived in Jinja with her aunt who would not let her get into the Nile because of crocs. She has wanted to try swimming ever since she was small. So next weekend I will take her and give her a lesson.

One of the greatest things about living with a local family is that you get to know them well enough to ask about and discuss cultural differences without any discomfort. She was shocked to hear of nursing homes. We discussed burial practices and I am shocked at theirs. We went on to discuss motherhood and decided that mothers are pretty much the same everywhere. We all want the same things for our children. I didn’t say so, but there is in fact a difference: In the USA the dreams we have for our children and those they have for themselves might actually happen.

Paul came home after working at the hospital today with feet blacker than our Ugandan hosts. He played soccer with the patients, barefoot, in the dirt. I had to take a picture of his feet. Later Alice, Scovia and Viola joined us on my floor as we had tea. They took one look at his feet and got the honking, snorting, crying, out of control, hysterical laughing fits.

Alice asked to see the picture of herself and her mother on my computer tonight. I have not yet found a place to get photos developed for her as I promised. She began by enjoying the pictures of that last visit but then homesickness took over. Paul and I offered to take her home on Sunday and she was worried about going without Scovia or Isaac because she can’t translate. We told her not to worry because she could visit with her mother and we will wander around the village and take some photos. That was good enough for her. She perked right up! I told Paul that we can each pack a loaf of bread in our backpacks to leave with her mother. I’m thinking we could carry some rice as well. My backpack is so good I could probably fit a goat in there if need be. We've put off going to Jinja until next weekend so that Katy can join us.

The “girls” (Scovia/Viola/Alice) want my hair and were pretty convinced it had something to do with my shampoo. Viola asked if she could try my shampoo. I told her that she could, but that our hair was different. She tried it and was disappointed. It is still not Muzungu hair. She thinks that maybe if she could use my conditioner… Then Paul asked to use my shampoo and loved it. He wants to know if he can buy it anywhere in London. I told him he could try the internet. I want a commission from Osmotics for international marketing. It will pay for more shampoo since everyone is using mine up. Paul by the way had his pocket picked in Kampala yesterday and lost everything but his passport. Oh man.

Tomorrow (Saturday) we are all going to the school in Seeta where the students from villages far and near are having a full day dancing and drumming competition. Alice said she couldn’t go but didn’t say why. It turns out that you must wear shoes when in school and she has none. Geez. I never noticed before, but I do think she is always barefoot. I was going to give her my sandals to wear but she must wear Size Huge. Huge. (I have often seen bare feet in some of the more remote village schools)

Met a charming new neighbor this evening. Her name is Diana and she is 13 years old. She is Buganda. She is also an incredibly bright kid. She disappeared and reappeared with a COLD beer for me and a Fanta orange for herself. Cold beer anywhere around here is like producing actual bunnies from magic hats. When I asked her where it came from, she said that her father gave it to her to give to me. I don’t know where this man found cold beer, but man…I LIKE Ugandans…anyway she had a thousand questions for me and then taught me much about the Buganda tribe. She has an uncle living in Boston who just finished his residency at some hospital there. He is coming back here to practice. Good deal. Bedtime...

2009-07-30T00:32:00.000-07:00

Two nights ago Paul and I sat outside and noticed Alice sitting in the dark crying. We both asked here why she was crying and she put her head down and refused to answer. After a while, we decided perhaps we should just leave her alone, and went to bed. At midnight Viola, who shares a bed with Alice, awoke Scovia to say that Alice had been crying for hours and wouldn’t say what was wrong. Scovia got up and tried to talk with Alice. Did I abuse you? Did Viola abuse you? Did the Paul or Melanie abuse you? Did Isaac abuse you? Alice simply shook her head and cried harder. Isaac got up from bed and tried comforting her and tried to determine the problem. Did someone die in your village? Has some bad man defiled you? FINALLY he asked Did you do something bad? Yes! Alice did something bad and was certain she would be sent home to her village. She finally choked out that she had burned the water heating pot! Isaac had purchased an electric pot to heat water for Paul and I because each time we wanted warm water to wash up in, or hot tea, Alice had previously had to light the charcoal stove, get water, heat it up, and it took forever. So he spent 40,000 Ush or about $20 US for this electric pot. Alice had forgotten and left the pot plugged in and it burned. Since she only earns 30,000 a month she was absolutely certain that Isaac and Scovia would send her away.

Isaac told her not to worry, that it was only a pot (although $20 US is a LOT of money for him!) The next day I went to Kampala and stopped on my way home to buy ice cream for Alice. (The ice cream here is an awful concoction, but Alice loves it.) When I handed it to her she said, You love me and I told her yes, I do love you. She smiled and said Scovia and Isaac too! Today my Sweet Alice-ee is all smiles once again, although her eyes are puffed out like the killer frog I found in my room last week.

It appears that hairdressing school is 6 months long and may cost as little as 400,000 Ush. I am feeling more hopeful. Alice can’t go to the school until she is 16 and will ask her mother when her birthday is. I hope her mother remembers!!!

All of the doors here are metal with a slide latch. Above the latch is a hole that is about 5” in diameter which you leave open if you are accepting guests. I had mine closed today because I was sick and had been unable to hold food or liquids. (Not to worry because I am starting to feel better). I was sleeping and Alice opened my door hole, stuck her eye in the space and started whispering my name. When I rolled over and told her to come in, she bounced in to tell me that one of her sisters had arrived and she wanted me to meet her. So I got up to meet her sister who I later learned is 17 years old. When we were introduced, her sister covered her head with her arms and giggled and wouldn’t look at me. Alice tried and tried to get her to look at me, but all she could do was laugh and cover her face. I THINK they look alike but I don’t know for certain. This is the sister she misses the most. She had another sister that died of AIDS. She doesn’t know why her father died. He just died in his sleep.

Tonight Paul came home from Bidibika—the state mental asylum in Kampala—where he is working this week with all sorts of people including children traumatized by being kidnapped from the LRA (and later escaped or recovered somehow). After an emotional day he pulls out his guitar to relax and more often than not the children from around here come to dance while he sings and plays. So we are all sitting outside when one of the tiny girls fell face down on the hard dirt and CRIES CRIES CRIES. She is not hurt except for a tiny scratch on her forehead but when they know that when they CRY around a muzungu, they generally get held and cuddled so they really CRY. I remembered that I brought from the USA a box of brightly colored fancy band aids and went and got one. Once this bright green band aid was on her little forehead she was suddenly well and thought herself very special. She was greatly admired by the other children. I hope this doesn’t cause a series of future disasters among the village children necessitating brightly colored band aids, but I predict it will!

We sat outside way after dark this evening with the children. They are trying to teach us a children’s song in Luganda that we will later use when working with little children around Uganda. Their mothers came to help. The village neighbors are now finding the muzungus pretty entertaining and no longer hesitate to come over themselves, nor do they worry when their children come over. And the children are here now whenever we are. They run to us as they see us heading home and escort us. Now that Paul has purchased a drum, he plays the guitar, I drum (badly), and the children dance. Every day.

I missed my meeting with the Minister of Gender this morning since I was ill. I hope he will see me tomorrow. I need information surrounding the need and best placement for a new orphanage. I have found only one official report—from 2007—indicating at that time this district had nearly 77,000 orphans. I know there are children on waiting lists to get into orphanages, some of whom will remain street children until additional orphanages are constructed. Still, I need updated figures so that I can put together the concept paper in preparation of a grant request for land for the orphanage. We now have a firm commitment of a few farm animals so that the orphanage can begin to be self sustaining as soon as we are built.’ We would like to get help as well beginning an organic farm on the orphanage premises.

I went back into Kampala yesterday to a “shopping mall” recommended by a travel book as THE place for westerners to shop. Like everything else here, it was a 1950 or 1960’s throwback, but there were Indian and Chinese and an attempt at a Western restaurant(s). I was excited to see hamburgers on the menu and ordered one. One bite and I had to remove the meat and just eat the bun. I don’t know what the hell kind of mystery meat they were using but it tasted like a salt lick and was wholly uncooked. Yuck! Still, there was a grocery store there that sold western items like Nivea lotion. I didn’t need any, but I bought it anyway. It now has a place of honor on my floor, along with my family photos…something to remind me of home! The trip was well worth the nasty travel (and ONCE AGAIN getting thrown out of the taxi half way home!!!) because I found small bags of whole bean African coffee. I have no way to grind beans or cook the coffee but I will when I get home! African coffee is pretty darned wonderful!

As always, trips to Kampala necessitate actual showers so I walked to the Crane Hotel and purchased one last night. In their lobby was an ancient tv playing an old American sit-com with Tom Hanks in it. I think this one was from the early 1970’s. It had all been dubbed in Lugandan. Living in Uganda is like living in a weird time warp where you can walk from the 1970s into the 1950s and in some villages, straight into the Dark Ages.

The walk home from the Golden Crane is long and dark and I couldnt find a boda. Finally one stopped and when I asked him "how much" the creep asked me for 7,000 Ush for what is normally a 1,000 Ush ride (for me. It is 500 Ush for non-muzungu). I told him I would rather walk home. He finally gave in and let me aboard his boda for 1,500 Ush. They all think they are great businessmen these boda boda guys:-)

2009-07-27T04:34:00.000-07:00

Paul and I left in the morning for Jinja. We found a taxi at 930a but once again sat there until 1030a until the taxi was full. This “full” was only 16 people in the van—not full by Ugandan standards. This leaves room to pick up others along the way. We had been warned that the trip would take two or three hours but it was only about 90 minutes from the time we left Mukono. In true Ugandan transportation form, we were asked to get off the bus just outside Jinja because the taxi decided to go elsewhere. We arrived Jinja on Bus #2. (Two weeks ago we were coming from Kampala and there were five people on the bus who decided they wanted to go to somewhere other than Mukono, the taxi’s original destination. The driver decided to throw the rest of us out on the road so that he could accommodate the group with more money. We waited in the sun for fifteen minutes until another taxi came by that could take us the rest of the way into Mukono. You can get stranded virtually anywhere here!)

On the way there we passed through Lugazi, the last town in Uganda to have had a child found beheaded in human sacrifice in order to satisfy some witch doctor. I looked closely to see if mothers were keeping their children closer and YES! It is the first time I have not seen small children wandering the streets alone. They were all within eyesight of their mother or their father. There was a picture of this Lugazi child on the front page of the paper last week, his 6 year old head laying a few feet from the body, and the villagers standing around staring, horrified. The villagers tracked down the culprit, burned his house and belongings, and nearly beat him to death before police arrived. I think this guy is toast. As he should be.

Jinja is the second largest to town in Uganda although it is certainly not a metropolis by any standards. My purpose in wanting to go was to see the source of the Nile as it flows from Lake Victoria, but was thrilled to simply be in a town that had actual sidewalks! And the streets, although primarily dirt, weren’t pocked with pot hole after pot hole.

We were starving when we arrived and so went to an outdoor restaurant attached to a hotel, thinking that hotel food is generally safer to eat. The problem was that anything we tried to order, the waitress shook her head and said it was unavailable. It turned out that there was no electricity so everything was unavailable except coffee, chappata bread and old omelets. We were excited to have a real cup of brewed coffee so we ordered that. Forty minutes later we were delivered a thermos of hot milk and a tin of instant coffee. It was actually pretty good even though it wasn’t the brewed coffee we had hoped for. Paul bought corn cakes across the street.

Jinja suffered badly during the Amin years and subsequent period of economic and political turmoil. Still, you can see that it was once beautiful. There is some really nice colonial era Asian architecture, complimented by thick and lush tropical vegetation, and surrounded by jungle. The buildings, however beautiful from a distance, are upon closer inspection bordering on slums. Nothing has been painted or cleaned in 30 years, windows are broken or missing, frames rusted, interiors are gutted, etc. Much of Uganda is this way. Nearly all of Mukono is the same. But again, my ankles and hips appreciated the sidewalks made of bricks. In the town center there was a small patch of muddy garden. In order to keep pedestrians off of it as they cross the street, they had strung barbed wire.

This is where in 1858 Stanley and Livingston argued over the exact location of the source of the Nile. (Dr. Livingston I presume?)

We took a boda to the site which has been designated the actual source of the Nile. This is a major tourist destination, although most of the tourists were from other African countries. To enter, it costs 2,000 Ush if you were Ugandan (black) and 10,000 Ush if you were not Ugandan (muzungu). We had a nice laugh over that. We get the Special Muzungu price everywhere we go.

Once off the road there is a series of steep steps down to the river, lined with merchants charging double for all of their wares. Still, it was pretty fascinating and I picked up a small wooden bowl. Paul and I hiked down to the water and took a few photos of the river. We were approached by a young black man who had a boat and offered to take us to the “exact location of the source” where the lake and the river merge. After a bit of haggling over money we got in his boat and off we went to a very small island. The young man was a wealth of information, showing us the marker in the water which is supposed to be the demarcation line between the lake and the river, telling us that it took water 3.5 months to travel from our location to the Mediterranean Sea, etc. In the distance we could see another island which houses the Ugandan federal prison. He also told us that we can take a boat from Jinja to Tanzania and enter Tanzania without a visa. It is cheap and takes 18 hours so I may do that before I leave here.

There are no Nile Crocodiles or Hippos at the mouth of the river because there is also a spring there that causes a hard current and it is too much work for them. So these animals are all in town, along the river. I hope to go back next weekend and do a horseback safari for a few hours to see them.

We left the Nile and took a boda on a longish ride to Bujagali Falls, and a thrilling series of grade five rapids below the falls. Our boda driver dropped us about a mile from the falls. As we walked the muddy road in, we passed a grazing bull that was tied by some sort of vine to a nearby tree. I told Paul that if he kissed the bull I would pay for his trip back to Mukono. I was really only kidding, but Paul slowly approached the seemingly docile bull and as he got within a few feet of him, the bull reared his head up and decided to charge Paul. Paul jumped back and out of the way, but I got a photo which is pretty darned funny. We laughed the rest of the way in. (Thank goodness for strong vines attached to the bull!) Paul said I should remember that he is Scottish and they will do anything for moneyJ

The falls are also a tourist destination and there were a couple busloads of Muslim children who all wanted their pictures taken. I asked one boy what his name was and he told me “Michael Jackson”. I yelled, “HEY EVERYONE WE HAVE MICHAEL JACKSON HERE!! and asked him to dance. He got embarrassed and all of the children cracked up. Still, several of them tried to moonwalk for me.

The falls are wild and dangerous but you can get quite close. I was shocked to see two men go through the falls hanging on to only empty jerry cans. As they make it through they wave and everyone cheers. Paul has decided to go on a raft trip out of Jinja next weekend (while I horseback safari) and he wants to do the jerry can trip through the falls and subsequent rapids. Ive tried talking him out of it because of the danger of what is IN the water, not just the strength of it. Everywhere I go I am warned not to touch the sand or the water because of the parasites in it. Paul however, is 24 and still believes himself to be bullet proof.

Speaking of bullets, there were several soldiers there. I got brave and asked if I could take their picture (which is supposed to be off limits). They said yes, and struck their meanest looks. I took a picture and then told them I wanted another, but I wanted them to smile. They didn’t want to smile so I told them I wanted to show American women just how handsome Ugandan men were, but that in order to do that they would have to smile. So they let me take two more pictures and they all sort of posed like models (with rifles) with big smiles on their faces. I then showed them their photos and they were pleased. Pardon me guys, but I think that young men are the same around the world. Anything for women!

There is a grass hut there where you can buy beer AND there were toilets!!! So we each bought a beer, hit the toilets, and braved another boda back into Jinja. We found a taxi and took off for Mukono. Ten minutes later the radiator overheated, we pulled over, everyone poured out of the taxi and they bought a couple bottles of water to pour into the radiator. We were off again for another 10 minutes when the van totally died. Still, the driver’s assistant demanded that Paul and I each pay him 5,000 Ush. The entire trip was supposed to be only 4,000 Ush and we were still an hour from Mukono! We refused and each gave him 2,000. Again, a Special Muzungu price. The other passengers apologized to us. Ugandan taxi and boda drivers embarrass the general populace since they are chronic rip off artists. Again…we waited in the sun for another taxi…which didn’t take too long.

It was dark when we returned and we walked to the Colline Hotel (where I am today) to get adult beverages before we completed the walk home in the dark. I ordered a run and coke. I got a rum and hot coke. I forgot. No ice here. Gaaaak!

We have all of next week off as it is report week for Beacon of Hope Uganda and we don’t report. We met some young people working at a nearby orphanage with 850 children. They are leaving on Monday so we will go visit the orphanage next week and perhaps work there. This orphanage is served by a doctor from Denver, CO who comes down three times per year and he is supposed to be there now. Katy the deaf teacher, will come from Bushenyi to stay with us the following week so she may be able to help as well. If there is time at the end of the week I may also venture over to Entebbe via the dreaded Kampala and see if I can get a boat over to the Ssese Islands. I understand the boat and hotel (the boat leaves once a day so you must stay there) is very expensive for muzungus but Ill find out before I go. The following week I believe we work in Gomba at another orphanage BoHU had to place children when our orphanage had to close for lack of funding.

I am also writing a concept paper next week for the Minister of SOMETHING to ask for money for land. He actually asked for the paper! I think we may have another donor lined up to partially pay for the actual building construction of an orphanage for us. Then all of the children can come home to their own district where many of them have relatives, even though those relatives cant take care of them (very elderly, or too young. ) Following that, I will work on finding an engineering organization to perhaps set up a water purification system for us, beds, etc. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I need to find money to purchase some sort of a used car so we can reach the villages more cheaply, and the ever present need for school sponsorships for our orphans. What I need, is to win the lottery.

Outta here now. I came to the hotel today with my computer in hopes of being able to pull down some internet on my mobile modem but nada nada lemonada. It now appears that about 40 people are about to be baptized in the hotel swimming pool…

* *

It is now morning. Last night a man came slowly up the road in front of where I live with a bull horn, announcing something that sounded rather desperate. Scovia said that he lives in the neighboring village and is announcing that his 10 year old daughter has disappeared. With all of the kidnappings for human sacrifice that has been going on, I am sure he is terrified.

Once a week a truck drives by playing the loudest possible music. The truck sells things like charcoal and plantains that are difficult for women to carry from the market. (Sort of the Ugandan version of Schwanns). This morning I was out front watching my neighbor children—in this case all of them are boys—when the truck started down our road. Most of the children move to the road and dance to the music as the truck approaches. This morning they are all wearing just tee shirts and no pants. These little kids can really dance even though they are all very young. So there danced all of the little boys…their little dingles danglingJ
Alice I have learned, is only 15 years old. She has completed grade 5. She now considers herself too old to be with that age group, even if she had money for school. I pay her 30,000 Ush or about $15 US per month, and Isaac and Scovia give her free room and board. She works for all of us from sun up to sun down, washing clothes, babysitting, cleaning, cooking… Of her 30,000 she receives each month she is saving 20,000 per month to go to beauty school and sends 10,000 to her mother. It could take her all of her life at $10 per month to get into beauty school. Still, if she can be trained as a beautician she will someday be able to support herself and her mother. I wonder if Isaac and Scovia will be able to pay her anything after I leave. I worry about her all of the time.

the impromptu concert

2009-07-24T03:42:00.000-07:00

On our last night Paul and I sat on the steps sneaking an adult beverage (Paul bought gin at the hotel last night because you could only purchase it by the bottle) and assumed the children were all in bed. With no electricity they go to bed prior to dark. As we sat there all of the children came and lined up in front of us in the dark, saying nothing. Then an older child arrived with an African drum. She started to bang the drum and the children sang to us. Then they started to dance and let me tell you...some of those little children can really bust the moves!!! They then tried teaching Paul and I to dance to no avail except their own personal amusement. They found us pretty funny. For the next 40 minutes they sang and danced and partied until one of the women came and tried to calm them all down for bed. I used my cell phone and dialed George, Don and the Bosadas and held it up as they sang and danced so that some of you could hear it. One of the adults told them their singing was being heard in America and they sang and whooped even louder. The next night when I called George to ask if he heard them he said he couldnt tell if it was singing or if I was being murdered. That was African Orphan singing. I cant tell you how much these children have changed in our three days. I wish there were more adults who could visit more often. It would help them so very much. SOoooo very much! They have been told that there are a lot of people in America and the UK who care about them and that made them very happy!

more on our orphanage visit

2009-07-24T02:58:00.000-07:00

Our last day there, Paul went into town to purchase a ball and some art supplies (could only find a ball) and I was alone with Primah and Momma Africa. They had invited the women of the village to meet me and all arrived dressed to the African Nine's. Two elderly arrived in full headress and staffs about 1o feet tall to help them walk. I was interrogated with Primah interpretating. All cheered when asked if I had children and I responded that I did. All asked if I could stay for a month and stay with them. One of the elderly said that if it were earlier in the day she would dance for me to show me how much she appreciated my visit. I told her I wanted a dance anyway. Everyone laughed and she stood, dropped her walking stick, raised her arms and did a short traditional dance. I applauded. It was fun.

Momma Africa asked if I could come back and stay with her for a month or two. I told her my husband probably wouldnt allow it and she understood. In the evening she walked us down the road and up into the mountains to meet another family. The woman was awestruck having two white people in her home. She told Isaac that she felt she was sitting in the presence of God. Paul and I later laughed and decided that since all the photos in her house were of Jesus, who is white, she probably did:-)

Hope I told you of the children doing an impromptu song and dance for us in the evening. Ill check later and if not, Ill pass it along in another blog.

In the morning I watched the children pull branches from trees and sweep their sleeping/school quarters and pick up all of the twigs and rocks from the yard. Still, each was in the same outfit they had been wearing all week. Still dirty and vaguely hungry. We popped our heads into their classrooms as we left to say goodbye. They remembered how to blow kisses as we taught them. I left with a giant lump in my throat.

We stood on the highway and waited for a bus to come along. The one that stopped was circa about 1970 and still had some padding in the seats AND SCHOCKS!!! The ride back was so much better but longer as it stopped ih Mbarara and we sat there for over an hour waiting for the bus to fill up. In the process I had to pee and got off in search of a place in the market place to go. Finally found my first Ugandan public toilet. For 2oo Ush I got three squares of toilet paper, directions on where to go, and 6,000 Ugandans watching the muzungu head for the hole in the ground.

Got home last night, washed up in a bowl and hit the sack early. During the night I enjoyed hearing a long and heavy rain. Got up this morning, stepped outside, and sunk up to my ankles in mud! I lost my sandals in the mud and had to pull them out and squish up the hill to the loo.

Scovia has been off taking care of her sister that has gone mad and so there was no real breakfast--two ears of cold corn and a piece of bread. Her sister is pentacostal and so when she had a psychotic episode again her husband sent her to the church to have the demons exorcised. It hasnt worked and Scovia found her sister was still at the church--crazed and dirty--and has been there for a month. She spent two days trying to get her from the church and into a hospitqal and it didnt work. Scovia came home terribly upset last night.

Today i have come to the hotel and spent money on coffee and breakfast so that I can sit here and access internet. Ill now see if i can upload some photos. None will be forthcoming of the orphanage until I can get back into Kampala and try to purchase another card reader. My photos from the past five days are stuck in my camera:-(

2009-07-24T02:51:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New country!

2009-07-16T10:56:00.001-07:00

Today Tony and I were on our own. Isaac and Ronnie went to Entebbe to pick up the new guy who, it turned out, never turned up. They waited all day. He likely got stuck in Dubai, which was his connection from London. I am happy I did not choose to go thru Dubai as I have heard nothing good about that connection...

Anyhoo, Tony and I took what was my longest trip ever. I am guessing it was 30-40 miles out into Neverland (I cant recall the village name). We took a boda, then a taxi, then another boda. The last boda was by far the longest stretch and was once again over badly washed out roads. This boda driver drove like a bat out of hell and I was pretty concerned, thinking that this guy had about a 12 month supply of confidence. The road narrowed, had sharp hills, gullys, etc. At one point he jumped from road center to so far right that my right leg was getting clobbered by roadside bushes. Then I realized that this guy had done this road so many times that he could have done it blindfolded. He knew exactly what he was doing' I relaxed and then...

We drove through a huge tea plantation that was absolutely gorgeous. The plantation was at the top of a plateau and off in the distance there were forested mountains all around us. This was a far cry from the parched, pocked, dusty, godforsaken, Mars-like land that Alice came from. Also in the distance there were people carrying huge harvests on their heads, across the fields. How do you describe breathtakingly beautiful? That part of the trip was all too short. We actually got lost in our rubbernecking and wound up at a school out in the middle of nowhere and had to turn around and go back about 5 minutes to re-do a wrong turn. We finally landed at the correct school.

At each school we are asked to sign a guest book 2hen we arrive, and we were asked to do it here as well. I am often struck at the size of the books versus the number of visitors. Today we were visitors nos. 8 and 9...and this school is 4 years old. The headmaster tells us that the school started with 128 students but the scourge of AIDS has increased the number of children attending because they get a small stipend for orphans. This headmaster introduced me as being from Colorado USA and asked the kids who else in the USA did they like? In unison the answer is OBAMA. When he asked me what I think of Mr. Obama, I gave him a two thumbs up. The kids cheered and thought the two thumbs up gesture to their headmaster was pretty funny.

This school had painted on the outside walls of one of the buildings things like AIDS KILLS and BOTH BOYS AND GIRLS SHOULD REMAIN VIRGINS and DONT ACCEPT GIFTS IN EXCHANGE FOR SEX. We also talked to the children about these things since the headmaster told us previously that he had a high drop out rate from the girls. The girls meet sugardaddys (exchanging gifts for sex) and find themselves HIV positive...and drop out.

After the school visit the headmaster walked us the first 2 miles back to that crazy road. As we passed the houses with grass roofs he told me that the homes with grass roofs stay so cool they can be used like refrigerators. Then he pointed to all of the homes that were missing their roofs. These are homes where the people have died of AIDS and the homes turn to ruin. There were too many of them.

I liked this headmaster a lot. This one obviously loves teaching and cares deeply about the kids in this village.

There are things I wont discuss in my blogs of a political nature until I am out of here. But there is a lot happening here. The best hope for information might be BBC.

On the crazy road, six men stopped their truck in the middle of the road and stood around the truck, essentially blocking the road. I thought perhaps they needed help. Our boda driver didnt trust them evidently. He gunned the bike, pulled over to a thin strip of dirt on the far left and threatened to run down anyone in the way. The men moved aside and we kept on truckin'.

Had a meeting with Isaac and his "board" (Scovia, Ronnie, Helen and Tonny). I had completed my needs assessment and told them I would like it if they could spend some time doing some initial prioritizing. It is going to take some time. The needs are so great and the decision tree here is so full of branches, twigs, sapsuckers and leaves, it is going to take some time to weed thruogh. I know, having spent a few weeks here, that transportation will likely be a number 1 or 2 need. In order to get anywhere one must spend money on a boda or a taxi...or spend an afternoon walking.

A visit to Alice's mother

2009-07-16T10:54:00.000-07:00

After three aborted trips, we finally took Alice (they pronounce it Alice-say because there is an “e” at the end of her name and e’s are pronounced “a”) to visit her mother. This village was a fair distance from where we stay, on the outskirts of Mukono District and took us about a half hour by boda. Alice and Scovia took one boda and both rode sidesaddle (which I refuse to try again because I don’t want to die here). Isaac, Happiness and I were on a second boda—me riding again like a “man” and leaving little butt space for the guy riding farthest back. That being me, the half hour ride included my butt hanging off the back of the boda, banging and flopping each time we hit a wash out in the road (every 4 seconds) and praying I didn’t fall off the back.. As it turned out, the discomfort was a welcomed distraction from the sights we passed as we were entering Alice’s village.

The people in Alice’s village have Nothing. My definition of Nothing has drastically changed since arriving here. There is USA-nothing, and then there is Nothing. The people in Alice’s village have Nothing.

We arrived in and through the dirt to a dirt hut approximately 10’ x 14’. This is where Alice and her 10 brothers and sisters were raised and this is where her mother still lives since her father has died. Her mother was not home so she left to find her as the rest of us found a shady place to sit and wait. Within 20 minutes Alice returned with her mother who greeted us profusely, but spared us the Ugandan Body Slam. She of course spoke no English but was still very clear on some of what she was saying. She pointed to an area about 20 feet from the house where her husband and some of her children were buried and her sadness was palpable. She pointed to an area over the hill where she worked (and from where Alice had retrieved her) in the rock quarry. And she was thrilled that Alice was living somewhere safe.

I remembered that I had a loaf of bread in my backpack. She was overjoyed to receive it, but to me this single loaf of bread simply made the “Nothing” feel even larger. Nothing is a noun here and there is a lot of it.
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Two days ago when this visit was first scheduled and it appeared that I would be unable to go with her to visit her mother, I gave Alice 4,000 Ush (about $2.00) for her boda trip to and from her mother’s village. When we actually made the trip it included Scovia, baby, Isaac, Alice and me, and Isaac paid for all of us on the trip there. During our visit, I saw Alice quietly slip the 4,000 Ush into her mother’s hand. I was sorely tempted to give her the 25,000 Ush I had on me—just as I am tempted to give money away every day to the children and adults I meet as we work. I could give away everything I owned and it would make not one iota of difference. Still I am tempted.

We left and walked Alice’s mother back to the rock quarry. I quickly grasped why Scovia cries every time she speaks of someone she knows who works in a rock quarry. Now, like my new definition of the word “nothing”, I have a new definition for the word “Hell”. It is indescribable from the heat, to the faces—young and old—of the people working there, to the ancient starving ox that stands among them for some reason. In this case “hopelessness” and “acceptance” seem to be the same thing. Alice’s mother stands bent over at the waist all day long, with metal mallot, chipping away at rock to make gravel. For the rest of her life.

Alice and her mother shook hands as they parted. I guess it is okay to hug strangers but not people you know? Come to think of it, I have seen no shows of affection anywhere since arriving…

As is always the case there was no boda ride out of the village. Although we can usually find them to take us IN, they are never that far out to take us OUT. So we again walked a fair distance before we eventually find a boda and get ourselves back home…

Late last night Alice and I were sitting outside and she said “I want to go to America with you”. Her accent is so heavy that I hoped that I had misunderstood. I looked at her and asked her to repeat herself. I had not misunderstood. When I told her I could not take her back with me I could see the disappointment on her face but she tried to cover it. She didn’t cry until I left for my sleeping space and I could hear her then. Made me cry too. I can cry just re-thinking it. I cant even tell her how much I would LOVE to take her with me so that she understands that I am not rejecting her, because that would give her hope. Alice is the fourth person to ask me to take them to America, but Alice is the only one I feel truly badly about.

Yesterday as we left the village we passed a woman selling long stalks of sugar cane. Isaac bought one and chopped it into short stalks about 10 inches long. Today (just now!) Scovia came by with a full bowl of moist sugarcane for me. YUMMIE!!! I remember chewing sugar cane growing up in Florida. It used to grow down by the river where the Mallorys eventually built their house.

Life after Kampala...back to work

2009-07-16T10:52:00.000-07:00

July 15.
Started back to work yesterday after 3 days off. Isaac went into Kampala (poor Isaac!) to get more internet information and Ronnie picked me up. We took a boda to Seeta and then walked a couple miles to a village where BoHU had previously dug a well so that the villagers had clean water. Tonny soon joined us. The well was far even from the village. The drainage for the well water had become overgrown with dense foliage, backing up the water and causing a muddy mess. While there, a little girl climbed down into the mud and stood there up to her thighs holding her little g-can partially in the mud in order to get to the clean water a bit higher. If left the way it was, it would be a matter of days before the muddy water reached the open spigot. It was a mess.

Tonny had thought that he organized villagers to come and help clean, but no one arrived. Tonny left and came back with two machetes and he and Ronny started hacking the roots and foliage out of the water themselves. Meanwhile, 12 school children arrived with cans to collect water for their teachers. There were three women and two men working in a distant field who could see us but didn’t know what we were doing with all of the children, so they came to check us out. Since they also had machetes, they took turns hacking the foliage and then pulling the muddy mess out as well. The entire process took about two hours, but it looked wonderful when we left.

Later in the afternoon we went to a very poor Muslim secondary school just outside of Mukono. We actually had to climb on a rock to enter the stone building housing the classroom. The classroom was huge and open-air with a dirt floor.

Mothers here don’t talk to their daughters about sex. In fact, the entire subject is a non-word. But Tonny works in AIDS prevention and also works with girls and women who have been “raped or defiled”. All three of our guys distrust the police and Tonny is the guy for miles around to call if you have been raped or are being molested at home. He picks the woman or girls (sometimes boys) up and takes them directly to the Kampala hospital. From there he takes the case to court, totally bypassing the police (whom he doesn’t trust to do anything without a payoff). And he asks the kids to call him if they need counseling of any kind.

So when the guys start gently talking about sex in this Muslim school there is classroom “twittering” but they sure have these older kids attention. The teachers are pretty darned interested too and ask the students for “Maximum Silence” when we speak. We don’t leave the classroom without the students seeing us leave as we have done with the rest. We hear a Muslim prayer and then the students queue up to thank us, bowing and each shaking our hands.

As we left the schoolyard there was an old woman with one leg laying against a building with a cane. She started yelling at me and banging her cane on the ground. I could not understand her so Isaac told me what to say to her. She angrily told Isaac to not give me answers. She seemed very angry that I didn’t speak the language. So she lay there and continued to pointedly yell at me. Isaac and the boys are standing back laughing now as are several other people. I took off my sunglasses and crouched down in front of her, took her hand, and looked her closely in the eye. I used one finger near her face and told her slowly in English “break it out for me” and she understood. She made her sentence in tiny increments and I repeated it back, ending with “Bulungi, Nnyabo” (Fine, Madam) She got a wide grin, took me by the hand, and let me know that I was excused.

My days as the only muzungu around are coming to an end on Thursday. We received word yesterday that a psychiatrist from Great Britain is coming to help us for awhile. I am overjoyed. I am looking forward to speaking with someone who speaks a form of English that I can understand. Even though many people speak English, it is still very, VERY difficult to understand and I welcome a conversation that is easy on the ears.

Yesterday was Isaac’s birthday. We had lots of small children over last night and they sang Happy Birthday to him in English. It was good fun. Viola cooked all day for the party and the food was finally served at 10PM. I was FLOORED when I saw how much those tiny kids ate. I thought Scovia was putting far too much food in the bowls for them as she prepared. She filled the bowls with more than even I could eat. But when the kids finished, the bowls were all clean. When someone offers you food here, you EAT.

July 12

2009-07-14T09:46:00.000-07:00

July 12
Scovia, Happiness, Viola and I went to Kampala yesterday. Scovia told me the night before that we would leave right after breakfast. In true Ugandan style however, she, Viola and Alica started washing clothes at about 9:30AM and finished at 1230PM. At 145PM they were dressed and ready to go. There seems to be no sense of time in this culture. There is certainly no sense of urgency.

The ride to Kampala was once again awful. The dust and dirt that came through the windows was overwhelming. At times I just closed my eyes and held my breath. Once in Kampala there is less dust and dirt, but the air is black/yellow. Even Scovia commented that she was “worried about her nose” and kept the baby’s head covered whenever possible.

Kampala is a giant stinking mass of humanity. A human gumball. A gum wad that smells of body odor, diesel fuel, pollution and dust. There were times that I literally could not move on the sidewalk. No stoplights, no street or traffic signs, gazillions of cars and bikes and motorcycles and humans. Once or twice I felt myself start to panic in the gridlock of humanity. In one place there was space 3 feet wide that ran for about a block. One side was lined with sheets of tin where a wall had once been. On the other side was a tall brick wall that looked as tho it could have crumbled any minute (and it was here that I thought of Isaac saying so many buildings in Kampala have fallen down!) We walked through this long, dusty passageway in the heat with people coming the other direction AND the ever present surprise 3-foot deep holes in the ground to jump over). I started to panic but got myself under control. There was no getting out of this human quagmire anywhere in Kampala. My backpack was opened twice (sorry fellas, the money is in a money belt ON me!). I was grabbed and pulled and screamed at by what Scovia referred to as “a mad woman”. Scovia finally grabbed my other arm and pulled me behind a truck until the woman wandered off (more likely she was pushed some direction).

There are posters on every telephone pole and building side. Two of my favorites were plentiful: “Get an American Sponsor (followed by a telephone number)” and “Shape Your Bum”.

To get back to Mukono one must go to the Taxi Park and find a taxi . The taxi park is 200+ vans parked in no particular order, in a tiny area, with little space between vehicles. The vans aren’t even parked in rows. They are just in there any way they can fit themselves. After squeezing ourselves between vehicles and rows for 20 minutes we found one going to Mukono. Once the van is at LEAST full, one sits there until the driver can pull out. The driver pulls out by honking, threatening, cutting off other vans and people between the vans. Our driver starts singing the Ugandan national anthem and everyone laughs.

Once on the road we see a military blockade ahead and the driver pulled a quick right to a detour around them. Whenever one sees a sign that says “No Stopping, No Parking, No Photographs” you know the military is nearby somewhere and steer clear. More dust and smoke on the long ride home. The scene on both sides of the road are an unending parade of babies, toddlers, smoke, poverty, dirt, trash, babies, toddlers, more toddlers, horrendous poverty…I blew my nose and it blew black snot.

The Catholic Church as big here, as is the Morman Church and about 20 others.. The Morman Church is in fact the only building around that has grass on the property rather than red dirt and mud. Here is my message for the Catholic and Morman churches (I don’t know what the Muslims are saying), and all other churches who come to Africa spread the Good Word: Until you are ready to commit to living here FOREVER, have yourselves entire litters of children, and live on a Ugandan’s salary, stop denouncing family planning and telling these people that children are a gift from God. Twelve children and no way to feed them is no gift. Of course missionaries will always be welcome everywhere that abject poverty is prevalent. If I were a Ugandan living in what can only be described as dehumanizing conditions, I too would embrace any concept that allowed me to believe that there was a better life waiting for me somewhere. In fact I would be in a hurry for it.

We got off the taxi in Mukono and I hired two boda bodas to take us to the village. Viola and I were on one, and Scovia and the baby on the other. Viola and I passed by a truck that had men standing on top throwing shovelfuls of oiled dirt to the street below, to fill potholes. As our boda drove alongside, we were treated to a shovel full of oily dirt over our heads. That truly capped off the day.

If I didn’t have to go back through Kampala to get to Entebbe and the airport tonight, I would go home.

* * *

By the way, it is morning now and I have bathed and blown the black snot out of my nose. My hair is still full of dirt but having had a rest, I am no longer ready to come homeJ

July 9??

2009-07-14T09:30:00.000-07:00

July Something. Maybe the 9th.

I left early this morning for the Golden Crane Hotel (Read: six rooms) to purchase a shower. The sky was overcast but I could never have imagined it held the amount of moisture I was to witness later.

I have a new advertisement for Osmotics Shampoo that the company should consider marketing to western women traveling in third world nations:
“Ladies, has your hair recently been treated with a fistful of axel grease intended for African hair and you find it less than appealing? After 8 days and four washings, does your hair still catch thoughtless insects in its waxy web? Does your hair feel like the floor looks after a tent revival? Then try Osmotics Shampoo! Osmotics Shampoo leaves your hair looking and feeling vaguely like it did before you left home. A bargain at any price!!!”

Every time I am at the Golden Crane Hotel I wish I had been placed there instead of my current abode. Even though it is rudimentary by most anyone’s standards, it has a shower and it is quiet. It also has a small “office” where I can buy a coke….which is what I did after my shower. When I turned off the shower water I heard a tremendous noise that turned out to be Biblical Style Rain pounding down on the tin roof. I got dressed and stood on the veranda and watched absolute sheets of rain pour for the next 40 minutes. I hot footed it through the rain to the “office” and asked if they had coffee. Nope. Coke? Always. Did I want my Coke warm or cold?

This picture above is the outcome of the combination of Biblical Rain and Hellish Heat.

This is Nabitaka Jowanita who attends Nsambwe Village Primary School. She is 10 years old and asked if I could find an American girl friend to write to her. Nabitake has no paper so any new friend will need to send both paper and self addressed stamped envelope.

This is Happiness being bathed by Scovia. The beaded belt around her center was put on her shortly after birth and is intended to make her grow a waist. If it works I am going to make a beaded belt for myself and hope my waist returns…

This evening (evening means anything after about 2PM) we went to Lwanyonyi Primary School. These children are among the poorest, their parents being “peasant farmers.” We first walked enough uphill miles that I wished I hadn’t wasted my highly infrequent shower at the Golden Crane on this particular day. We then waited in the sun for a taxi for 15 minutes, followed by some hard bargaining with two boda boda drivers for the last 3 miles of the trip which were too rough for a car. FINALLY, I rode one boda boda with Ronnie, and Isaac and Tony were on the other. Our particular driver was, I think, bent on bouncing me off the back. He never once braked for pot holes or deep ruts. Debbie Sorenson, if you are reading this take heed: I will not only ride your dirt bike when I get back, I’ll race you and I’ll beat you!

We lost Isaac and Tony only to find out later that their boda boda couldn’t climb the hill with three of them so Tony had to run up the hill next to the motorcycle. He got back on at the top of the hill, but the driver gave them no discount for the inconvenience. This place cracks me up.

This school is so far out that the parents hand-built this schools themselves with a small bit of government money. They are trying now to raise money to build facilities for the teachers to sleep in during the week. It is difficult and expensive for teachers to get to the school and therefore difficult to find teachers able and willing to teach out there.

Once at school we met Headmaster Wilson Bokenya. With Michael Jackson safely buried, the question I am always asked now is “How is Mr. Obama doing?” and Mr. Bokenya asked immediately. Later he wanted to know if George Bush knew how many innocent people his wars cost, and if I thought he cared. (I laughingly think that now I am truly among my people). After a brief discussion I told him that next to my husband, Obama was my man. Wilson grinned and high-fived me.

In the classroom Isaac asked how everyone was doing and got little response. Further questioning led to the admission that many of the children didn’t feel well because they hadn’t eaten in a full day. Interestingly, Ugandan children must bring food to feed the teachers even when some of them haven’t eaten. (As terrible as this is, it isn’t nearly as bad as in northern and eastern Uganda where there is now famine, whether the government wants to formally admit it or not. Floods two years ago followed by drought has killed all crops. People are dying of starvation and pictures of the starving and the dead are often on the front pages of newspapers here).
This little girl answered the question of the day correctly and won our 25,000 Ush school scholarship. We give one to each school we visit. This equates to $10 US and pays for 1/3 of the school year. It does not pay for uniform, shoes, food or supplies. She was thrilled. She was also hungry.

Making bricks in Lwanyonyi

We were far enough out that there were no boda bodas to help us get back to the road. When we finally reached the road, police were everywhere even though we were quite far out of town. Isaac said we needed to be invisible because on Friday nights the police “made the weekend”. “Making the weekend” means stopping drivers and pedestrians and extorting money from them. If you don’t pay them off, or don’t have enough money to pay them off, you can go to jail on trumped up charges. I was told that the police chief often sends his officers out on Friday afternoon and tells them how much money to bring back. I read recently that Kenya is more corrupt than Uganda. Uganda is proud not to be number 1.

Sure enough, the police were stopping people and vehicles. We knew we would have trouble getting a ride back to town because all taxis and cars and boda bodas were afraid to stop near the police and we needed to be sort of invisible. We had to get past the police and down the road to a point that a taxi would stop for us. FINALLY a taxi that was completely full slowed down and the side man held up one finger, indicating they could take one person. Isaac waived him down and talked him into taking all four of us. Picture a nine passenger taxi with 16 people in it. I was in the middle somewhere with a huge bag of something that smelled like hay or grass sharing my lap. Luckily it was only about a 15 minute rideJ

(As I’m writing this Isaac is singing “Billy Sheans Tha’s My Son”, his own version of Michael Jackson’s song “Billy Jean”. George, you and Isaac should get together on your creative musical renditions.)

A house in Lwanyonyi

My old travel hairdryer died several days ago. I put it in a grocery sack and later put other trash on top of it. Yesterday I tied the bag shut and tossed the bag into the bucket where we put all of our trash. This morning Viola told me she was sorry that my hair dryer broke. Now I know the women of this family check all of my trash to see if there is anything salvageable that they can use. I find this a bit disconcerting but I don’t know why it should be. Again, cultural differences.

More photos

2009-07-09T03:12:00.001-07:00

This is Scovia's kitchen. As you can see, we remove our shoes before we stand up in the area near the pots.
They all love to see themselves on the digital camera! These kids
are from the village where the well was built. We brought sugar and rice which made us pretty popular.

Uploading takes 9 minutes per pic. There's gotta be a better way!

2009-07-09T02:58:00.001-07:00

Scovia and Happiness (age 3 months)

After a boda boda ride in the rain...

2009-07-09T02:41:00.000-07:00

Alice

Mukono Town

Kids and getting around on my own!

2009-07-09T02:32:00.000-07:00

July 6

This missive may or may not accompany pictures. I am having computer adventures when it comes to sending pictures.

Today I am working on setting up a fundraising plan for BoHU. I am altering what I would normally do in a plan in order to fit the cultural and country differences of which I am aware. Once complete it can be discussed between Isaac, Ronnie, Tony and Helen to make changes and decide upon. This alone is a real adventure for me, and I am enjoying it.

The more I know of Isaac and the more I HEAR about Isaac, the more impressed I become. I’ve heard several stories of how he has visited schools, medical clinics, etc., only to find that the services that are supposed to be free from the government become available to rural villagers only for a fee. Most villagers can’t afford services or medicine. For instance, there was to be money to repair school buildings that have not been repaired. There is supposed to be money for free AIDS medicine, doxycycline for malaria, etc., but the people are charged for it. Again, they have no money so receive no medicine. Corruption is rampant. So Isaac goes to these places occasionally and pretends to be a villager asking for a free service or medicine. He never confronts the individual asking him for the money. Instead he quietly leaves and then goes directly to the Minister of Health or the Minister of Education and asks why these things are not being done or why medications are no longer free. When the Ministers inquire down the line to the person who asked Isaac for the money, they of course deny having asked for a fee. It seems one of the people so identified by a Minister tracked Isaac down and asked why--if he already knew that asking for money was a scam--he didn’t just ask the scammer for “quiet money”. Isaac told him he was an NGO doing charitable work, not a criminal. People in this village and surrounding villages adore him. (Do we need to be reminded that he is only 22 years old?)

Hair. I need to wash my hair more than every 4^th day, especially given the ever present red dust from the roads. I do not exaggerate when I say that my pillow has red dust on it each morning. So…my choices are going to the salon for a shampoo or going to a hotel to purchase a shower. Time being short today I went to the salon in Mukono only to find Hadisha, my earlier hairdresser gone, and a young woman I had never seen there. She agreed to shampoo my hair. I didn’t have my own shampoo and conditioner with me this time so she used her own. I knew I was in trouble as soon as she applied the conditioner. Clearly this conditioner belongs on African hair, not Muzungu hair. Still, I didn’t want to be rude so I said nothing. She wanted to do a nice job so she insisted on drying it and styling it. I told her no curlers (which they love!). So she dried my hair and before I knew what was happening, she had a fist full of the grease/oil they put on their own hair to hold it down. She rubbed it all over my head and then lovingly sculpted my hair into something resembling a plastic helmet. She was delighted with the outcome. I gave her a nice tip and left with more oil in my hair than I had arrived with.

Alice. Sixteen year old Alice is an Eating Machine. She has spent a lifetime not knowing when she gets to eat next so she is catching up now while she is living here. Alice FILLS her plate at least twice at each of our three daily meals and out eats all of us.

Each time I am in Mukono I stop at the grocery store and buy something Isaac and Scovia would never buy for themselves, like yogurt or biscuits. In the evenings I always share whatever I have purchased during the day with Isaac, Scovia, Alice, and Viola. Alice greets me at the road every time I return and slyly checks the bag to see what I have purchased. Last night Alice came to my house and sat down and ate a small bag of Chinese noodles and then hinted that she would like to try my bottled water. During this time we managed to piece together some information about her (remember she doesn’t speak much English and I don’t speak much Luganda). She told me that she has no money for school but that if she did she would want to become a nurse. She has no boyfriend (this makes her blush) and that she wants to be “happy with George someday”. She points at my wedding ring and says “George”. She means that she would like to be “happy with a marriage someday”. So George, if you are reading this, you are now a new American word to be used by hopeful young girls in Nassuuti VillageJ

Today I stopped and purchased Alice her very own roll of biscuits that have chocolate icing on the inside. When I gave them to her she squealed and grinned and held them to her chest as though someone had handed her a gold mine. The biscuits disappeared into the space she shares with Viola at night. I adore Alice and wish I could bottle her up and take her back home with me.

She wants to visit her mother and siblings but it costs more to get to her village even by boda boda than she will earn for a long time. She would like Scovia and I to go with her so that her mother can meet us. She has started calling Scovia “Auntie”. I remain Muzungu or May-Lan. I am certain that she knows that by inviting me, she will get there faster because the muzungu will pay for it.

I took my first and second boda boda ride side-saddle today because I was wearing a dress and could not ride like a man. YeeeeeHAAaaaaa! Side Saddle Motorcycle Woman!!! (I hope not to have to do that again any time soon. I have even higher admiration for all the women I see doing it side-saddle while carrying a baby and a bundle of banana leaves, flying over pot holes at 45MPH!!!) My driver started laughing as he heard me continuously say “Mpola mpola mpola mpola”. Finally, he reached back, took my right arm, wrapped it around his middle…and drove as carefully around pot holes as I ever could have asked for.

Schedule: I will be working in Bushenyi in Western Uganda from Monday July 20 through Friday July 24^th, assisting with a needs assessment on an orphanage over there. Isaac had to close his orphanages due to lack of funds and has placed several of his children with an orphanage in Bushenyi. BoHU continues to pay for and support the orphans there and in Gomba until such time as we can build another facility here. Anyway, we are going over to do a needs assessment on the children. I suspect he also wants to make certain they are all being fed and treated well. I don’t know the state of phone or email communications in Bushenyi so don’t panic if Im not in contact that week.

We will be doing a similar trip August 10 through 14 to Gomba in Central Uganda.

We will do a third trip August 24 through 26^th to Gulu. This trip we will be delivering food and clothing to the people in displacement camps. I may need to beg off of this trip depending on the situation at that time between the Uganda army and a supposed new rebel group based in Acholi called the Uganda People’s Front. The UG government recently found documents on Gulu’s Chairman indicating this new group (the UPF) plans to overthrow the Museveni government. President Museveni is still quietly assessing the threat and considering the response. Hopefully he will let it slide but if he decides to send in the Army to take care of the rebels, then I wont go. As a side note, one of the rebels captured--and one of the principal organizers--has a residence in San Diego. He is Ugandan, received a PhD in political science from the university, and appears to be one of the master minds.

Final quick story: One of my neighbor children returned home from school. He is I am guessing about 8 years old and is learning English and only knows very basic phrases like hello, thank you, good bye. Today I asked him what he learned in school and he gave me this sentence: Science is the study of everything human and all living things. Pretty big jump from hello, good bye, and thank you!

July 7, 2009

Hair again. I have washed it twice now since visiting the salon. It still looks and feels like I have polished my head with WD-40.

Village School. We went to Takajjunge Village for a presentation to the primary school. There were several signs placed in various places around the school yard saying things like “Warning! Anyone can sexually abuse you” and “Sex CAN wait until marriage”. The school yard is very nice with large trees and three school buildings. The school buildings are red clay brick with two large glassless windows on each side. Inside there are early 100 students in each building (we may put 25 in the same space) sitting shoulder to shoulder, feet crossed at the ankle, hands folded in front of them, posture perfect. The desks are about 11” wide and perhaps 5 feet long., each stamped “Hamburg Germany" and crowd 6-9 children to a desk. The kids were from 5^th to 7^th grade.

I am told that Uganda is in such desperate need for teachers that college is free for those becoming teachers. What this policy has produced are a lot of teachers who don’t like children or teaching, are bored, angry, or apathetic. All are highly regimented. Enter Isaac, Ronnie and Tony…all 22 to 24 years old…bent on teaching important subjects not available in the schools and making learning fun. Ronnie teaches personal hygiene, nutrition and malaria prevention—all in the space of about 40 minutes. Isaac teaches life skills--different skills for different age groups, and Ronnie teaches HIV/AIDS prevention.

As I am introduced to the class, they all clap—five hand claps all done in unison. As I stand to introduce myself, the entire class stands. It is difficult for them to stand given their crowded condition. All are in blue uniforms and all have their heads shaved making it difficult to tell girls from boys until they stand, exposing either trousers or skirt. I ask them to sit, talk to them about what I am doing with Beacon of Hope, and sit down. Again…five hand claps all in unison.

Ronnie begins his presentation and the students are all attentive, backs straight/hands folded/ankles crossed. Ronnie asks the class who knows what causes malaria. Obviously a few know but no one raises their hands out of shyness in front of these strangers. From the corner Tony (our AIDS prevention instructor) raises his hand, and Ronnie calls on him. Tony stands, pretends to be shy, and in a falsetto voice answers, “mosquitos”. The class giggles a bit. They loosened up slightly from there and interacted with Ronnie a bit more.

Next it is Isaac’s turn. If Isaac and Tony weren’t doing what they do now, they would have to be comedians. Although all was in Luganda with tiny bits of English thrown in, I could tell by his body language, the faces he made, voice intonations, etc. that he was making a lot of jokes as he taught. The kids are now all jumping up to answer questions and laughing out loud. Isaac tore a single piece of notebook paper into 20 small pieces and gave the pieces to 20 of the children. (That single sheet of paper at had to be accounted for at the BoHU office!) The kids were asked to write down something they would like to have someone else in the room to do for them, and then fold the paper and hand their request to Isaac. As he silently read through the requests he started to make faces and laugh, and the classroom laughed back because some knew what others had secretly written. He then called the authors up one by one to stand in the front of the class. The trick was on the kids…They had to do for the entire class what they had intended to ask someone to do for them. (This is Isaac’s lesson of the day…don’t ask anyone to do anything that you would not do yourself either in school or in work). What most of them had written was, “I want the muzungu to sing and dance for us.” With the tables turned, they had to sing and dance for me in front of the class and it was hysterical. Some just shook their bums at the class, some did their 12 year old version of rap music. The class was screaming and laughing. Very un-school like in Uganda and exactly what these three young men had intended.

Tony was third with his AIDS presentation talk which was also highly interactive. Isaac ended our visit with a group prayer and then instructed them all to stand and face away from us and concentrate on a spot on the roof. Once they were all looking the other way, the four of us ducked and ran from the classroom. When the kids saw us outside they realized they had been tricked and crowded to the windows to wave and yell goodbye.

There is an innocence here that would never be found in American schools or American children. Innocence, a deep regard for authority, and an overwhelming desire to learn. For the most part, American children are lacking those things on one level or another.

Girls stuff. Scovia came over yesterday to deliver my clean clothes and noticed all of the paraphernalia I have sitting on top of my suitcase. (I use my suitcase as a table for lack of any furniture). In truth, what is sitting out is my soap, toothbush, moisturizer, vitamins, etc. But Scovia asked, “your makeup?” I told her no, and pulled out the little bag of make up I brought with me but had not yet opened. Scovia sat down for a visit and asked to see what I have—eye shadow, eye pencil, lipstick, brushes, and face powder. We put the eye shadow on her and she liked it. Then she took the powder brush and ran it all over her face. I handed her the powder and told her it would be too light but that she was welcome to try it. The cover to the powder is clear plastic. Scovia proceeded to dab the brush on the plastic cover and then run the brush over her face. When I opened the cover for her she was slightly embarrassed. She said she would like to wear my makeup when the two of us go shopping in Kampala, and she would like to apply it herself. (I told her previously that she and I would go to Kampala and I will buy her a pair of sunglasses. She has so much trouble with dust in her eyes that I have already given her my eye wash and eye moisturizer. I think wearing glasses while on the road will help her a lot. Then we will have lunch in a restaurant.) Anyway, in coming weeks there will be a newly glamorized Scovia going to Kampala. I may even wear makeup myself

July 8

I am walking into Mukono by myself today…my first solo venture! Isaac is gone, Scovia has stomach pains, and Alice is afraid the boys will tease her if she is be seen with the Muzungu. I’ve made the trip often enough now that I know how to do this. So….Hasta la bye-bye amigos!

My solo flight: My first solo trip into town was uneventful with a couple of exceptions. The locals--especially the boda boda guys-- try to charge me double or triple because being white, I am obviously rich to them. When I am with Scovia I sometimes pay the higher fee so that there is no trouble. When I am with Isaac, they rarely try to charge more money. The one time a boda boda man tried charging too much, Isaac seemed to physically grow in size. Isaac told him no and when the man protested, he simply stared him down as if to say “don’t even think of causing trouble’” So after I did my shopping I decided to bargain with a driver before I hopped on. I knew that the trip should cost about 50 Ush, but the drivers all wanted 2,000. I started to walk home. Finally several started yelling “okay okay okay” which I assumed meant someone would take my 1,000 Ush offer. The driver was happy with his 1000 Ush rider. He should be. I still paid at least double.

I went to buy phone time and one of the young men in the store told me he was going to America. When I asked when, he said he didn’t know. When I asked him where in America he was visiting, he said he was going with me to wherever I live. I told him my husband would not be happy. He said he understood and asked for my husband’s telephone number. Don’t worry George, I didn’t give it to him.

I guess the moral of the story is that if a female muzungu is moving about alone in Uganda she should be prepared to stand her ground with boda boda drivers and telephone phone card salesmen.

Here is the best: I bought an old, used Danielle Steel book to read in the evenings. The others all get together and gossip in Luganda and I have nothing to do for several hours each evening. I am tired of the newspaper as it is all political threats and name calling. So tonight I will climb into bed with my headlamp and read my love story published in 1991J

We left at 2p to talk with a group of about 120 children at Nsambwe Village Primary School which was held in the Nsambwe Village Church of Uganda chapel—about 6 miles away. The team rewards the children for getting some of the answers right and since there is so little to reward them with…one of the children won a dinner with the Muzungu and another won attendance at Isaac’s birthday party next Wednesday. One little girl asked how she could get an American friend. I have her name (Nabitaka Jowanita), age (10), and village, but there is no mail delivery to the village. If I can match her with an American girl perhaps we can use BoHU postal address for delivery. Ill ask.

Each visit to a school concludes with our team sneaking out. This visit was difficult as we were in a chapel and the exit was at the back of the room. Isaac said a closing prayer with the kids and then told them to keep their eyes closed and send good thoughts to the family of Michael Jackson. All had their eyes closed and we nearly made it out of the church before we were caught. Mayhem! Once outside we met with some of the children who’s school fees are paid by BoHU.

We left the church and hiked low into the valley to deliver a bag containing some rice and sugar to a young mother with AIDS. This woman saw us coming and met us at the road in front of her hut. She gave us all a giant hug (Ugandan style) and then led us into her yard.. She went inside and brought out a small straw mat for us to sit on. My heart hurts for her and her children. She has six tiny children who were all cuter than Cute! Tony works to get her drugs and Isaac works to keep them in food, but there are never enough of either. Isaac chatted with her for awhile and then she walked with us to the water well that BoHU had dug for the village. Everyone walked slowly so that she could keep up…followed by her six little children. It was only about two blocks to the well but we were worried about her getting back home. Again, giant hugs from her as we left her.

The walk back home was all uphill out of the valley and long and dark. Arrived home truly tired. Alice brought me a cup of hot porridge and a dinner roll smeared with g-nut sauce, all topped with her ever present grin. After I ate she placed a small bowl of warmish water, complete with a cup so that I can pour the water over my head, at the top of the hill so that I could bathe. I can think of no better pick-me-up after a long day. Between the water and the breeze I was cooling down. My stomach was full of Scovia’s hot porridge, and I was standing naked in the dark somewhere in the middle of Africa with chickens at my feet. I felt like laughing out loud.

Tony won’t be with us tomorrow. One of his young AIDS clients died this afternoon. He will go retrieve the body, rent a car, and drive it to the young man’s village.

First week in Uganda

2009-07-05T02:58:00.001-07:00

Let me start by saying that Im working on a mini computer which is a pain in the butt to key on. So you wont be seeing things like apostrophes or other things my fat fingers don’t want to hit. I also forgot the flash drive containing my photos so there won't be any photos with this either. Sorry

Next, I want to say that I feel very, very white. All that being said...

The trip here can be summed up as simply LONG. The flight to Amsterdam wasn’t bad except that we landed late and figuring out where to go to catch the flight to Entebbe was interesting. I finally just followed the singing…about 30 kids going to Uganda with their youth group to work for two weeks. I developed a deep and abiding dislike for these kids by the time Id spent nearly 10 hours with them. Noisy bunch that over a period of 8.5 hours NEVER SAT DOWN OR SHUT UP.

Landed in Entebbe at 815p and we were met by surgical masked people handing each of us a medical declaration form. No instructions…just handed us a form. So like lost sheep all filled out the form and then stood in line only to find it was the wrong line. We should have noted the women in the corner also wearing surgical masks and tiny little nurses caps--they stamped our medical declaration forms and sent us to get our visas.. So…off to stand in another line…followed by finding luggage…followed by being waived through Customs and into the airport waiting area.

I was scanning the crowd for a sign with my name and just about the time I found it, Isaac recognized me and rushed to give me a giant hug. It seems all Ugandans are into big, long, hugging. Scovia nearly knocked me down when we met. This morning we went to a school and I was hugged mightily by the kids. Ugandans are huggers. I like that about them.

I digress…Isaac had a special hire (private taxi) waiting and off we headed to Kampala. I held my breath the entire time. They all drive fast and there are people walking all over the dark road. We dodge cars, army trucks and motorcycles. And I must get accustomed to soldiers. There were soldiers at some intersections forcing us to go very slowly. Often when we stopped people would see me in the back of the car and approach to inspect the muzungu. We drove through Kampala , through Seeta and into Mukono, where the driver stopped and Isaac got out to go into a store. He came out with a bottle of water for me and groceries for Scovia.

Once home Scovia gave me the tour. My room is a separate concrete structure about 10x10 foot. There are padlocks inside and out. She points me to the ‘latrine” at the top of the hill and tells me not to go there late at night because of wild dogs and bad people. At 1230a.m. we ate the dinner that Scovia had prepared…cabbage, rice, spaghetti pasta and beef soup. At 130a I noted Scovia heating a bucket of water. She thought Id want a bath. Told her I was too tired. Scovia has a 3 month old baby named Happiness. Where does she get her energy? Went to my room, climbed under the net and slept hard for about 2 hours. Then the dogs started barking/howling, and continued all night. At some point I went back to sleep because I was awakened by roosters. And more dogs. Then the cows chimed in. Goats are relatively quiet compared to all the others. There are birds that sound like screaming monkeys.

This morning Isaac, Ronnie and I were off to buy a phone with a stop at the school. At school. there were older children--perhaps 6 to 10 years old--and they were excited to see the white lady (muzungu). All rushed for hugs and wanted to hold my hand. I took a couple pictures of them and then took some time showing them all their picture. They do love to have their pictures taken. As a side note, even Ugandan village children know to say “cheese” when it is picture time.

On through to the village shopping area which is perhaps a 2 mile walk through the outer area of Mukono. Envision red dirt roads broken up by earlier rains, and banana trees everywhere and either wood or bricks made of red clay structures. We went to the bank, to the phone store. I use the terms bank and store broadly. Both are better described as open cubby holes along a row of what we might consider shacks.. Later we went to purchase an adapter for the computer I brought for Isaac. A woman tried selling him an adapter that had to be forced onto the plug and still didn’t fit properly. When I said no we would not purchase it, she became angry and declared the store closed. Then on to the vegetable market, back to get water and then home.

Crossing the street in downtown Mukono is a dangerous proposition. It is absolute chaos on wheels of both the 4 wheel , the 2 wheel, and 2 legged kind. Each time we had to cross, either Ronnie or Isaac took my hand. That’s another thing. Ugandans are big hand holders. Everywhere men hold hands with men as they walk and talk , as do women, as do the children. This is a very affectionate people.

I spent 4,000 Ush and went to a hotel to purchase a shower today. It wasn’t a shower like I am accustomed to but it certainly did the trick! In the process of trying to wash my hair, I accidentally soaked all of my clothing and my towel. I didn’t care. It felt great.

When I returned home at 730p some of the children from the school recognized me and accompanied me home, offering me kernels of corn torn from cobs they held, and squished grapes. Mostly they just want to hold my hands. By the time I reached home, the number of kids gathered was about 10. Scovia came out and shooed them away so that I could enter my space.

Tonight’s dinner came at 1130pm.

Isaac is ecstatic over the computer and the digital camera. His friend Ronnie thanked me for the camera several times and wants to do the official thank you email to the donors (Ed and Amy), But important donors deserve a note from important people (Isaac). Additionally everyone loves the Ipod. Isaac asked if he could take the Ipod with him to the office late yesterday afternoon, and then later to his monthly Rotary Club meeting. He came in late last night feeling like a big doggie. He said that the computer worked at the hotel where the meeting was held, and everyone admired the Ipod.

July 2

As I write this I hear Scovia singing again. She sings all of the time and I love her voice.

Isaac went to a village far away today. He was afraid I could not walk the distance yet because of jet lag, so has left me at home. He is visiting an AIDS patient who is totally out of rice. So off he went with his bags of rice and tea…and my Ipod. No matter how hot it is, Isaac is dressed in black dress pants, dress shoes and a white shirt. So is Ronnie.

Today I am home with Scovia, Helen and Alice. Scovia is Isaac’s wife. Helen is a woman who works at Beacon of Hope and seems to be here a lot and Alice is a girl I have hired. I asked if there was someone who I could hire to wash my clothes, and so…here is Alice to take care of me. Alice is a big girl--maybe 15 or 16 years old.. She comes from a family of 11 kids and her father died, leaving her mother to work in the rock quarry. I pay Alice 30,000 Ush a month and she will clean and assist me in any way I need. Scovia will teach her how to cook and clean. Alice will teach me Luganda. I will teach Alice English. If she can ever get over her shyness.

Late note: Alice is over her shyness. We were outside this afternoon and two little boys of perhaps 6 years old kept peeking around the corner and when I would look up and wave, they would laugh and scream and run, and then come back and do it again. Alice took me by the hand and we stood behind the wall and waited for them to come back. When they did, we jumped out and really gave them a start! They REALLY screamed. They gathered forces and came back with two more boys. (This group became my first pick-up stick players.)

Scovia and I had an interesting talk about women here, having lots of children with no way to support them She and Isaac teach family planning but says it is difficult for a couple of reasons. First,. Ugandans don’t plan. They look at today only. Second, their churches tell them each child is a gift from God and they are lucky to have so many children. Scovia tells them that she too loves God, but believes that women need to work with God in having fewer children.

A few random thoughts…

*Pictures of Michael Jackson were hung on several walls in the airport

*In an older newspaper I found a picture of Obama and his daughters. The article referenced his Fathers day speech

*Today while on the phone with George a military truck came by announcing something on a loudspeaker. Scovia said they were announcing a village meeting this Sunday. The practice of human sacrifice still exists here, encouraged by witch doctors who promise wealth or fame if they are delivered a head. This causes child abductions and the government is doing the best it can to abolish the practice. She says that every meeting gives lessons on keeping your children safe from abductors, ie, don’t let them gather water alone…don’t let them walk alone. I don’t think this program is working. Daily I see children barely old enough to walk, waddling up the streets alone.

*The game of pick up sticks I brought is a big hit with children, although given a choice they would prefer to have their pictures taken. I lay out the sticks and they take a stick and are excited whether or not they moved other sticks in the taking. I guess this beats playing with seed pods…

*One of the gifts I brought was a bag of Starbucks chocolate covered coffee beans. I explained what they were. The next morning Isaac and Scovia had them out at breakfast, ready to be dropped into hot water to drink. I think they were disappointed that they would not make coffee. This morning the bag was sitting next to the eggs and occasionally Isaac would reach over and eat one.

*The Rocky Mountain Chocolate I brought was tasted and determined to be too sweet. I think it is all mine…the entire case…so if any of you thought Id lose weight here you were mistaken

*I brought a pair of gold covered aspen leaf earrings for Scovia only to see that she didn’t have her ears pierced. She said she had been afraid because she saw some girls whos piercing had made their ears big. She decided however that she wants now to pierce her ears so that she can wear them. She told Isaac she was doing it this week. I told her I would have the earrings made with clips but she is now convinced she wants pierced ears.

July 4

Happy 4^th everyone! Hope everyone stayed safe and enjoyed the fireworks!!

Last night I went to a beauty salon (referred to as a saloon) with Scovia. She was having her hair done and needed help with Happy, and I desperately needed a shampoo. Here’s the way it went…We walked the washed out road about 3 miles to another row of “shops”. The shop was up an alley and measured approximately 5x12 feet. There is an old shampoo bowl in front of which sit’s a plastic lawn chair. The operator (a really nice woman) uses a cup to pour water over your head and the water then runs directly through the sink into a plastic bowl sitting on the floor below. When the bowl is full of water, it gets recycled and used on you, via cup, again. Once it is time to rinse, new water is used. What ever one may think, it worked. .I had clean hair for a mere 3,000 Ush.

It took so long to do Scovia’s hair, that it was dark by the time we left. Instead of walking the dark road we hired two boda bodas. Boda bodas are motorcycle taxis driven by men who appear to be crazy for driving as fast as they do on roads that seem to be a continuous pot hole, but seem to know what to do. I questioned my own sanity riding on one of these things in total darkness and high speed knowing how bumpy and washed out the road was. I pulled out my camera and tried taking a video of the ride but it was so dark that nothing picked up. The only near misses we had was a couple of goats which my driver deftly maneuvered around without batting an eye.

So today Isaac and I decided to make the trip to Kampala in search of internet. We took a taxi. A taxi here is a 9 passenger van which is packed with up to 20 people. Isaac and I lucked out and got the front seats so no one was sitting on top of us. Unfortunately it was hotter than hell and with traffic our journey into Kampala took two hours. (The return trip took three!) The roads are PACKED with cars, buses, trucks, taxis, bicycles, people, goats, and MORE cars, people darting between cars, buses, transport trucks and goats, chickens, babys, etc. Astonishingly nowhere--not even in the city of Kampala (2 million people) there is not a single stop sign or traffic light. Total mayhem. I’m learning to navigate though. Today Isaac allowed me to cross a street in Kampala by myself without holding my hand.

Once in Kampala we searched for a store that may sell printers as Beacon of Hope Uganda had none. I had intended to learn the price of a printer/scanner/copier and list it on a wish list for donors. The price was ridiculously low so I went ahead and purchased it. Without a printer or copier it had been necessary for Isaac or Ronnie to walk all the way into Mukono to use the expensive services there, assuming the woman was even there with the store open once they arrived. He and Ronnie are out of their heads happy with the printer. They are at Isaac and Scovias playing with it now.

The next most crucial item they need is internet. It can be brought to the village (satellite internet) for $500 which happens to be about ¼ the cost of a home here. I ask everyone to keep your ears and eyes open to opportunities for me on this one!

Back to Kampala. At some point we decided to take boda bodas to the other side of the city in search of internet. I have learned to say “Mpola, mpola, kale”which means “Go Slowly, please” to the boda boda drivers. They truly seem to appreciate muzungu’s trying to speak Luganda, so I thought it helpful to learn that phrase. Evidently my driver was hard of hearing. At one point we were traveling about 45mph and I could have reached out and touched the truck next to us and we wove in and out of traffic. For all of you who had been worried about my safety in Uganda, you are correct to worry about transportation here!

We went to Parliament and asked the guard permission to photograph it. He allowed it. Lots of caution and either armed guards or soldiers everywhere. It appears that most gas stations come equipped with its own well armed guard. Soldiers and guards appear from out of nowhere nearly everywhere, but especially in Kampala. Isaac told me that in the past 3 years six tall buildings have collapsed in downtown Kampala, killing many, many people. I would guess that the soldiers would be helpful in a situation like that.

Saw my second and third non-muzungus today at the Golf View Hotel. They were asian.

Off to bed now. Was frightened by the sudden appearance of one of the “bad” dogs on my way back from washing up this evening. My heart still pounds. These dogs are so dangerous that they must be locked up in the houses during the day but the people turn them loose at night. I hear them snarling and tearing around outside my door at night so when I actually came across one on my way back down the hill in the dark, my heart stopped. I wont be washing up in the dark in the future.

I hope you are all well. Will send pics the next time I can find internet. Love, Mel/Mom

Getting Ready to Go... June 16, 2009

2009-06-16T13:51:00.000-07:00

Every time I think I'm set to go I find that I'm not. Today I met with the executive director of a foundation that distributes mosquito nets, only to learn that the one I have won't be good enough even after I spray it with Deet. Ah well. Only one shot to go and that will happen on 6/25. Met a young man in Barnes & Noble today who is leaving for Uganda on 7/7 with Engineers Without Borders. We exchanged information, but I fully expect never to hear from him again:-)