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.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
"A Boring Update" or "All About Me and Nothing About Africa"
August 15, 2009
Big mistake yesterday, the 14th. I decided I was pretty much better having been released yesterday, was feeling bored, and decided to go to the Colline to sit next to the pool and stay cool. I took a boda to the hotel and knew I was in trouble almost as soon as I arrived. I suddenly felt violently sick again, was drenched in sweat, and my legs would barely support me. I got to the hotel and ordered a coffee, hoping I would feel better. Within minutes I was so dizzy and weak and wet that I couldn’t hold the cup. I went to the ladies changing room and splashed my face with water from the sink, and that is all she wrote. I then laid on the concrete floor trying to cool down. After resting for a few minutes I headed back to my outdoor table but couldn’t make it all the way—thought I would pass out. I sat down and leaned on an outside wall. There was no way I could walk back to the hotel’s security check point and beyond to the bodas. The hotel called a boda for me which took me home. (Embarrassing!) Once home, I sweat like a racehorse and slept for the next two hours. When I awoke I felt much better.
The neighbors told me what the doctor hadnt bothered to (in fact I received no follow up instructions whatsoever)…I am to stay out of the sun while I remain on the medication and for several days following. I was only in the sun for perhaps 10 minutes (the boda ride), but that was enough. The neighbor man who has self-appointed as my guardian went to town and when he returned, sent his daughter (Diana) over with a huge box of warm mango juice. It tasted and felt wonderful. That was dinner.
This morning Scovia and Alice were up early, cooking a clear soup with wild mushrooms, and rice for my breakfast. That was pretty good too, although Scovia dumped a lot of salt into it which, when I objected, insisted I needed. Now I am back to feeling sort of okay, but bored again
When Katy returned to Bushenyi, she left a wonderful book with me called In the Heart of the Canyon by Elisabeth Hyde. It is about a 12 day trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. It is an easy and often funny read. It has made me a bit homesick as I remember all the time that George and I spent on Lake Powell, and of my 10 day hike around the north rim of the Grand Canyon escorting my donors from The Wilderness Society. I can really identify with the river guide in this book and his travails with those for whom he is responsible. (I still recall my thoughts of throwing one of the women who complained about absolutely everything, right over a cliff.) Maybe this is the part that I find so funny, because he has one of these impossible-to-please people on his trip too. This book describes the area…the geology.. the topography…the rafting culture…the water so well!
Since I am once again hanging around the old bed and unable to fulfill my promise to her, Paul is taking Scovia to the pool to teach her to swim today. He is outside now teaching 13 year old Dianna and her 12 year old brother how to play his guitar and harmonica. Paul is a pretty amazing young man.
Momma Africa is traveling to Mukono next Thursday to meet with us and I am excited to see her again. (Having been on the wrong end of malaria personally, I am more determined than ever to find $$ to help with medical fees for our/her children. Treatment is not expensive, and the thought of one of our children dying of malaria because there isn’t $35 is more than I can contemplate.) Her daughter Primah called to say she heard from her mother that I had been sick. Katy told Esther who told Momma who told Primah…the gossip vine is as strong here as it is anywhere else--even though about 250 miles separate us.
August 17 I think
After a full day of “staying down” and drinking tons of water, my headache continued into this morning. Everything else feels fine…no aches or pains…no stomach problems…my appetite is returning...no sweats. Still, the intense headache concerned me so this morning I went to St Joseph Clinic. As it turns out, this is where Isaac and Scovia take Happiness when she is ill, but they only knew the name of the doctor. They had never known the clinic name. One cant fault them for this as the sign over the door is so small. Still, I wish they had sent me to their doc instead of Sir Albert Clinic when I was so sick.
The difference between St Joseph and Sir Albert clinics is like day and night (thank you my wonderful husand for finding this place online for me!!!). St Joe’s wins by a mile, starting with cleanliness and professionalism. The doc reviewed my discharge form (there is no indication what strain of malaria I was treated for) and noted that the Sir Albert doc had co-diagnosed possible food poisoning. He checked my skin and said I am still very dehydrated, and sent me to his lab office for another malaria test.
The test came back negative for malaria. Still, I have been sentenced to two more weeks primarily in bed. I say “primarily” because it is such a hard thing to do. But I will do my best, even though I will miss planned trips into Gulu, Gomba, a fun one to Entebbe, and the horseback safari in Jinja. Dammit. I really want to assist at the displacement camps next week. Dammit dammit.
This morning Scovia announced they were making chapatti bread and asked if I wanted to watch. What a production! Cooking is always a village-wide endeavor. First of all, one must first go to a kitchen (they are all outdoor so this is easy to see) where a woman already has charcoal burning and swipe a piece or two for yourself. Alice is the first up always and so it is her burning charcoal that all the women come for. They pull it out with their hands and run to their own stoves with it (ouch!!??)
There being no cutting boards, our women cut onions into tiny pieces using their hands as a cutting board, with a dull knife. That gets thrown into a pot with oil, water, salt and flour. All is mixed with their hands. Then Alice kneads it for 30 minutes making a mess of the concrete floor which serves as our kitchen counter. Once it is ready, she forms tiny dough balls while Scovia goes from home to home looking for a rolling pin since she doesn’t own one. They roll it out and fry it one by one by one by…on the underside of a pot lid. It takes forever. Somewhere long the way, Ronnie appeared to tell the women they were frying it wrong. The women took his comments in stride and let Ronnie cook for awhile, going back to their own methods the minute he left. The entire process took over 90 minutes, after which they loaded my plate with hot chapatti bread. I could only eat one piece and that was difficult but I didn’t want to be rude. They were disappointed, as they thought I didn’t like it. I had a hard time convincing them that I did.
That is about it. The blog may be empty for awhile again unless the internet gods allow internet at home again someday. I am to stay out of the internet café and away from crowds, according to Dr. LongAfricanName, because he fears I will pick up flu or something else. What more could possibly happen????
I lied. There is more. . . two weeks ago George paid $20 to have a dress made for Alice. She has never been the first to wear a garment in her entire life. So she how has a proper African, to the ankle dress, complete with matching head piece, brand new, just for her. She was beside herself. Now...she just rushed into my quarters excited. Her mother is here!!! She came in squeeling and giggling, telling me that her mother is here and she is going to put on her new dress. I am so happy for Alice. She has missed her family! Gotta go greet the Mom!
Big mistake yesterday, the 14th. I decided I was pretty much better having been released yesterday, was feeling bored, and decided to go to the Colline to sit next to the pool and stay cool. I took a boda to the hotel and knew I was in trouble almost as soon as I arrived. I suddenly felt violently sick again, was drenched in sweat, and my legs would barely support me. I got to the hotel and ordered a coffee, hoping I would feel better. Within minutes I was so dizzy and weak and wet that I couldn’t hold the cup. I went to the ladies changing room and splashed my face with water from the sink, and that is all she wrote. I then laid on the concrete floor trying to cool down. After resting for a few minutes I headed back to my outdoor table but couldn’t make it all the way—thought I would pass out. I sat down and leaned on an outside wall. There was no way I could walk back to the hotel’s security check point and beyond to the bodas. The hotel called a boda for me which took me home. (Embarrassing!) Once home, I sweat like a racehorse and slept for the next two hours. When I awoke I felt much better.
The neighbors told me what the doctor hadnt bothered to (in fact I received no follow up instructions whatsoever)…I am to stay out of the sun while I remain on the medication and for several days following. I was only in the sun for perhaps 10 minutes (the boda ride), but that was enough. The neighbor man who has self-appointed as my guardian went to town and when he returned, sent his daughter (Diana) over with a huge box of warm mango juice. It tasted and felt wonderful. That was dinner.
This morning Scovia and Alice were up early, cooking a clear soup with wild mushrooms, and rice for my breakfast. That was pretty good too, although Scovia dumped a lot of salt into it which, when I objected, insisted I needed. Now I am back to feeling sort of okay, but bored again
When Katy returned to Bushenyi, she left a wonderful book with me called In the Heart of the Canyon by Elisabeth Hyde. It is about a 12 day trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. It is an easy and often funny read. It has made me a bit homesick as I remember all the time that George and I spent on Lake Powell, and of my 10 day hike around the north rim of the Grand Canyon escorting my donors from The Wilderness Society. I can really identify with the river guide in this book and his travails with those for whom he is responsible. (I still recall my thoughts of throwing one of the women who complained about absolutely everything, right over a cliff.) Maybe this is the part that I find so funny, because he has one of these impossible-to-please people on his trip too. This book describes the area…the geology.. the topography…the rafting culture…the water so well!
Since I am once again hanging around the old bed and unable to fulfill my promise to her, Paul is taking Scovia to the pool to teach her to swim today. He is outside now teaching 13 year old Dianna and her 12 year old brother how to play his guitar and harmonica. Paul is a pretty amazing young man.
Momma Africa is traveling to Mukono next Thursday to meet with us and I am excited to see her again. (Having been on the wrong end of malaria personally, I am more determined than ever to find $$ to help with medical fees for our/her children. Treatment is not expensive, and the thought of one of our children dying of malaria because there isn’t $35 is more than I can contemplate.) Her daughter Primah called to say she heard from her mother that I had been sick. Katy told Esther who told Momma who told Primah…the gossip vine is as strong here as it is anywhere else--even though about 250 miles separate us.
August 17 I think
After a full day of “staying down” and drinking tons of water, my headache continued into this morning. Everything else feels fine…no aches or pains…no stomach problems…my appetite is returning...no sweats. Still, the intense headache concerned me so this morning I went to St Joseph Clinic. As it turns out, this is where Isaac and Scovia take Happiness when she is ill, but they only knew the name of the doctor. They had never known the clinic name. One cant fault them for this as the sign over the door is so small. Still, I wish they had sent me to their doc instead of Sir Albert Clinic when I was so sick.
The difference between St Joseph and Sir Albert clinics is like day and night (thank you my wonderful husand for finding this place online for me!!!). St Joe’s wins by a mile, starting with cleanliness and professionalism. The doc reviewed my discharge form (there is no indication what strain of malaria I was treated for) and noted that the Sir Albert doc had co-diagnosed possible food poisoning. He checked my skin and said I am still very dehydrated, and sent me to his lab office for another malaria test.
The test came back negative for malaria. Still, I have been sentenced to two more weeks primarily in bed. I say “primarily” because it is such a hard thing to do. But I will do my best, even though I will miss planned trips into Gulu, Gomba, a fun one to Entebbe, and the horseback safari in Jinja. Dammit. I really want to assist at the displacement camps next week. Dammit dammit.
This morning Scovia announced they were making chapatti bread and asked if I wanted to watch. What a production! Cooking is always a village-wide endeavor. First of all, one must first go to a kitchen (they are all outdoor so this is easy to see) where a woman already has charcoal burning and swipe a piece or two for yourself. Alice is the first up always and so it is her burning charcoal that all the women come for. They pull it out with their hands and run to their own stoves with it (ouch!!??)
There being no cutting boards, our women cut onions into tiny pieces using their hands as a cutting board, with a dull knife. That gets thrown into a pot with oil, water, salt and flour. All is mixed with their hands. Then Alice kneads it for 30 minutes making a mess of the concrete floor which serves as our kitchen counter. Once it is ready, she forms tiny dough balls while Scovia goes from home to home looking for a rolling pin since she doesn’t own one. They roll it out and fry it one by one by one by…on the underside of a pot lid. It takes forever. Somewhere long the way, Ronnie appeared to tell the women they were frying it wrong. The women took his comments in stride and let Ronnie cook for awhile, going back to their own methods the minute he left. The entire process took over 90 minutes, after which they loaded my plate with hot chapatti bread. I could only eat one piece and that was difficult but I didn’t want to be rude. They were disappointed, as they thought I didn’t like it. I had a hard time convincing them that I did.
That is about it. The blog may be empty for awhile again unless the internet gods allow internet at home again someday. I am to stay out of the internet café and away from crowds, according to Dr. LongAfricanName, because he fears I will pick up flu or something else. What more could possibly happen????
I lied. There is more. . . two weeks ago George paid $20 to have a dress made for Alice. She has never been the first to wear a garment in her entire life. So she how has a proper African, to the ankle dress, complete with matching head piece, brand new, just for her. She was beside herself. Now...she just rushed into my quarters excited. Her mother is here!!! She came in squeeling and giggling, telling me that her mother is here and she is going to put on her new dress. I am so happy for Alice. She has missed her family! Gotta go greet the Mom!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Is it Weight Watchers or Is It Malaria?
Somewhere around August 13?
The clinic, like everything else here, is ancient, filthy, and apparently has no running water. The doctor never touched me except to take my blood pressure, and sent me to a room next to his for blood tests for blood sugar, malaria and typhoid. I would note that the blood pressure machine was part of an old, rusty blue metal box. The room had two chairs, a microscope on a tiny beat up plastic table, and paper all over the floor where syringes have been taken out of their sealed packages and thrown there. Above my head on one wall was a picture of Musovini and on the other wall was Obama. There I had blood drawn and within 15 minutes they had their diagnosis. Along with my diagnosis I was berated for waiting so long, now presenting them with a severe case of malaria to take care of. (Had I known what the onset of malaria was supposed to feel like, believe me I would have helped all of us out by coming earlier.)
After the doctor berated me, the man who took my blood presented himself with a large smile on his face and said, “Not to worry Madam, we will fix you”. I later learned that no matter what I asked him, he smiled hugely and said the exact same thing. If I asked when I will feel better, if I ask how long it will take for my hearing to return, no matter what I asked, (big smile…) “Not to worry Madam, we will fix you.” I finally figured it out when I asked him if he had change for a 5,000 shilling, and I got “Not to worry Madam, we will fix you.” These things mess with my confidence in the medical system hereJ On the other hand, Richard Bakker may wish to use this tact when dealing with his own patients. It really cuts down on discussion time and you can see more patients.
You are given a mattress in a room in the clinic. I was freezing and the doctor asked me if I had forgotten to bring a blanket. I didn’t know I was supposed to….then he asked me if I brought water because he had pills he wanted me to take. Not having brought that either, a nurse sold me a bottle of water for 500 Ush, and the doctor took a 50,000 Ush deposit for my treatment. The nurse came back to tell me that she also sold air time for my phone if I needed that. One stop shopping. What I really wished she sold was a stinking blanket because I was freezing…for the next seven hours…it was freezing.
Treatment included a major shot in the butt (tetanus shots don’t hold a candle to the cramping this shot causes!) followed by 6 hours of IV drip. They put in two IVs which slipped out before they switched to one she said was sized for children (and white women evidently). (I repeated this 6 hours of IV drip every day for the next four days.) Finally, alone, I called Paul and woke him up. He came to the clinic immediately armed with juice and digestives and my Ipod and anything else he could think of. I forgot to ask him to bring a blanket. I cried as soon as I saw him, for no other reason than it must have been a tension reliever. I fell asleep and he left, but came back later when I woke up to escort me to the Rydar Hotel in Seeta where he swam and I slept. This day I was truly thankful to have both Stoneage and Paul in my universe.
On Day one I left the clinic at 5PM and went to the Ryder Hotel in Seeta instead of home because the idea of a quiet room and clean bed sounded like the ticket to faster healing. My home is tremendously busy and noisy late into in the night. My VISA card wouldn’t work at the hotel because of the slow telephone lines there but the manager took one look at my hand which still has the IV candula (is that the word? How about “buffalo plug”?) in it, and told me I could pay him in the morning. A nice young bellman carried my backpack upstairs and let me in. Both manager and receptionist and nice young bellman continually said, “sorry sorry Madam sorry”.
My head had just hit the pillow when there was a knock at the door. It was a maid. Instead of turn down service and a chocolate for your pillow, in
The “Sorry sorry” thing that all Ugandans do is endearing. All Ugandans say it regardless of whether someone trips or says they are tired…should anyone experience anything vaguely negative, even strangers say “sorry, sorry”. Getting on the taxi for the trip back to Mukono the second morning, the usually crusty conductor saw my hand and said “sorry Madam sorry” and actually helped me on. Thisis very un-conductor like. And he didn’t throw me off prior to my destination. I’m thinking the thing to do from now on is to wear a fake candula on my hand whenever I must take a taxi.
I lost about 85% of my hearing on day 2 and it felt like I was living alone in my head. This is temporary, caused by the medicine. My hearing returned and then was lost again each of these 4 days. The doctor said it is because I am not drinking enough water, that I must consume 3 liters a day. So I am drinking and drinking, and barfing and barfing water, and drinking, and I remained primarily deaf, through yesterday, my last day of “the drip”. Katy, our deaf teaching friend, arrives tomorrow from Bushenyi. Perhaps she can give me some tips on being properly deaf. When I left yesterday I went directly to the Colline Hotel for some clear soup. Just the thought of more water was more than I could stand at that moment.
Yesterday, my daytime roommate at the clinic was released after only half of her iv drip was used. Her name is
After
Later when my IV bag was finally empty I sat up in anticipation of someone coming to disconnect me. Crazy Young Woman heard me move, FLEW out of bed again and grabbed my hand, attempting to remove the candela out of my hand. I pushed her back gently and told her I would let a nurse do it. She pounded a fist on her chest and said “NURSE!” I knew that she was no nurse. She took another grab at my arm, this time really knocking me backwards. I gave her a hard shove, grabbed my IV bag and ran into the hallway and up to the front where I found the doctor. I told him what happened and he walked back to my room. Crazy Young Woman appeared to be asleep again. He said something to her, walked out, and disconnected my IV line from the hallway. He never said a word about who she was or what the hell she was doing there.
As I left the clinic yesterday there were, as always, 30 or 40 boda boys all yelling and vying for my attention (money) to get on their boda. I stood looking for Stoneage and finally found his helmet sitting on the back of an empty boda. I pointed and asked where he was, and an old man started yelling for him. Stoneage popped out of a store. When he recognized me and realized the Muzungu had actually ASKED for him, he threw around a lot of bravado to the other boda drivers, telling them that the Muzungu was his friend and HIS customer. I am, too. He will be my boda boda as often as I can find him.
The last morning of my treatment I was sent back to my room, I lay on my bed, and SOMEONE HAD PISSED ALL OVER MY BED. I believe yesterday’s Crazy Young Woman did this in retaliation for getting her in trouble. I got onto
P.S. One more endearing thing about my Ugandan family and neighbors. When I finally returned home after being gone for two days, the women I live with and members of four of our closest neighbor families came to greet me. As ill as I felt, their Ugandan Body Slams felt great. Everyone tried to do something for me, even tho I just wanted to go to bed. When I awoke I noticed that while I slept,
Thursday, August 13
Last night Isaac awakened me at about 9PM and demanded I get up so that we could speak. The neighbors had come to him very angry that he allowed Paul and I (only Paul actually) to roam the streets at night. Three nights ago three people were robbed and murdered with iron bars on Mukono Streets and everyone has been warned not to be on the streets after dark. Isaac hadn’t previously heard this news but it seems all the neighbors had and they were worried for the Muzungus being targets. I thought of our deaf friend Katie who is staying at the Golden Crane Hotel, who goes for her 5 mile runs alone every night after dark because it is too hot during the day. She was out running the back roads somewhere as we spoke. In the end, Paul and Katie both made it back safely and have heeded the warnings, but we are all now on lockdown after dark. This is not a problem for yours truly who has resolved that since the mosquitoes hit after dark, she won’t be out there after dark anyway. Ever.
Thursday, August 6?
Acceptance!
Although the children continue to call me Muzungu, many of the adults have started to address me differently. When I am in villages where people recognize me—whether they know me or simply recognize me—I am now starting to hear “How ah you today Sistah?” or “How ah you today Deeya?” (as in How are you today Sister /How are you today Dear?) I mentioned this to Paul and he said that in the hospital among colleagues he insists on being called Paul instead of Muzungu. One of the nurses who doesn’t care much for him was talking to another nurse and he heard the word “Muzungu”. Paul turned to her and said “My name is PAUL”. He said several of the younger nurses started to giggle and applaud. The older nurse has addressed him as Paul ever since.
I know the real names of very few adults in this village. When they address each other they address them by either Momma or Daddy, followed by their eldest child’s name. Isaac and Scovia’s baby is named Happiness. Therefore, children and adults address Isaac and Scovia as “Momma Happiness” or “Daddy Happiness”. I finally put two and two together and now understand why Ahanna—who runs the Bushenyi orphanage—is called “Momma Africa”. There are too many children to assign her just one name.
Paul is finding work in Budebika, the state mental asylum, interesting and will be writing a paper when he returns. At the end of every day we have tea and bring each up on our individual days. He says that much of the treatments for mental health are the same here as in the
Yesterday I went to meet John to begin our business training. When he was 15 minutes late I called him and learned that he had gone to
Today I walked into town to meet John again and AGAIN he was a no show. I waited 20 minutes and left and went home. I was home about 50 minutes after our appointed meeting and he called to say he was now ready to meet. I told him I may be able to see him after I return from Gomba. He was disappointed. I’m still a little frosted. My American style is “ready, aim, fire” or occasionally more personally, “ready, fire, aim”. In
I’m in a bad mood, likely because of the heat and dust from walking into town and back—three times today! The roads are absolutely swimming in caloric heat. I envision that if you looked at me from a distance my head, arms, body, legs and feet would be radiating little heat waves too. Add that at to the dust today. The dust suffuses every rhinal cavity, permeating my very insides…I feel my gizzards sizzling.. Aarrrgggghh!! I’m done bitching now. Im home and gradually cooling off (literally).
August 7, 2009
Success in finally getting a post office box!!! I have been trying for two weeks but the Ugandan government does not make it easy. In order to secure a postal box one must fill out a long security form, provide two original passport photos for each director, provide a copy of your organization’s governmental approval certificate and then…wait…and wait…I finally have a post office box! We wont have a key to the box until one is made—about six weeks wait—but they gave me a form to present if I want to check my mail prior to that. They will keep our mail in a filing cabinet until they can give us a key. I am learning that anything to do with the government here takes a long time and a lot of paper. Tomorrow I will send several
I was officially out of shampoo and finally found some to buy. It cost approximately fifty cents for one full liter, attractively presented in a thick plastic jerrican. I am sure it is only the finest shampoo and my beauty will know no limits once used.
Tomorrow is Saturday and I am in desperate need of something Western. Therefore, I am going to go to Seeta and check into the Ryder Hotel, which has quiet rooms which I think are air conditioned. They also have televisions and a pool. The plan is to buy a book, check in, swim, shower and then collapse on a real bed in an air conditioned room. Later I will toddle down to their real restaurant and see if I can find something on the menu in addition to matoke, posho, rice and beans. I would give my left arm for a chicken breast or a dinner roll! Mostly I just want to sleep!
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Our planned trip to Gomba next week has been postponed for God-knows-what reason. My best guess is either lack of planning or something better came up for Isaac. At any rate we have yet another week to entertain ourselves. On Tuesday we are going to meet with social counselors in
Today I took my computer to the Colline Hotel swimming pool once again. I can sometimes pick up internet there, but not today. Paul was there with a young Ugandan woman named Rachel who I believe is in hope of nabbing a white husband. We were sitting having coffee and chatting when two soldiers rushed in with their AK-47’s and in full bush uniform, and hurried around the pool. One went in to the men’s locker room and the other into the women’s. Let me tell you how happy I am that I wasn’t in there putting on a bathing suit! In the short time they were in the locker rooms—perhaps 20 seconds--the pool area cleared entirely of black people--they evaporated--with the exception of the young woman with us. We all sat perfectly still. They came out and left—walking slowly with their rifles pointing down this time--but it does give one pause for thought. It is one thing to see soldiers on the streets. It is different to see them rushing into hotel areas, assault rifles in tow, looking for God Knows Who or What. Maybe I’m just a sensitive Muzungu.
Aug 13: George here...Melanie's husband. Some of you following this blog have noticed her absence for about the past week now, and have inquired of me or expressed concern for her. Much appreciated, and I want to take this opportunity to assure everyone that she's fine, but it has been a tough week for her. She started feeling a bit 'off her game' last Friday, and had planned to spend the weekend at a nearby hotel, where they have air conditioning and a restaurant with more western style food choices, hoping this would help restore her energy level. But by Saturday, she had become very ill, and decided to go to a clinic and see a doctor. She was promptly diagnosed with malaria, and began a very intense treatment. Four consecutive days of a 6 hour IV drip, and an 8 day course of pills. The IV treatments were at least in part to help keep her hydrated, as malaria throws off the body's sense of temperature, making you feel chills even in the hottest environments. She had to keep herself wrapped in blankets to fight the chills, while sweating out all the fluids. She was very sick for the first couple of days, and then began to improve. I could tell the difference in her voice each day as she got stronger. The doctor advised her to take it easy for awhile, that it would likely take a couple of weeks to regain her full strength. She can't blog from where she's staying, and must still do the walk (or boda) across town to the internet cafe, so it may be a few more days before she gets back into blog mode. So, please be patient, don't worry, and check back in a couple of days.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
community organization...
Sometimes if you take clothing and shoes to a consignment shop, the shopkeeper will ask you if you want your unsold items returned to you. The shop I used in Durango said that unsold clothing was donated oversees but I never thought about it. There is LOTS of evidence of it here. Here I see old used clothing hanging in doorways in village huts, on sale. The women sell them to make money. In the streets I see many tee shirts that say Nike, University of whatever, Staff, Life Guard, etc. At the orphanages, the children often wear the tops of adult clothing as dresses. In the Bushenyi orphanage, the only outfit one little girl of about 5 years old had was the top of a long sleeved copper-colored glittery ball gown. (You will see her pictures when I get back to USA). It is not uncommon to see a woman shopping during the day wearing a long formal. It is quite common to see men wearing down jackets or long sleeved flannel shirts in this heat! I have even seen tee shirts from all over America, including one that said “I (heart) Juneau, AK”. So if you do the consignment shop thing, please tell them to donate whatever doesn’t sell.
Yesterday I got caught in a downpour and ran into a place that had a table to sit at. A youngish man named John joined me and we talked for 3 hours! He has a degree in social work. He started an organization similar to BoHU and shared with me how big a failure he thought he was. As part of his operation he opened a medical lab to do HIV/AIDS testing. It went under in less than a year. His organization does some of what we do and some of what we would LIKE to do. We do some things that HE would like to do. One of his groups is for widows from northern Uganda trying to support their children—just like ours Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves group. A few of his women have severe disabilities from war, i.e. they can’t do crafts because their hands were too badly burned, or are missing limbs. He wants me to help him identify a potential sustainable business he can help those women start. Ninety percent of deaths in African civil wars are women and children. The rest are left raising other women’s children as well as their own, or perhaps sadly instead of their own, and have no way to support them. John is trying to identify both sustainable businesses for these women and for support for his orphans. I told him about Kiva, doing a business plan, getting micro-financing, etc., and we discussed fundraising. In short, he has invited me to visit his groups and will give me a tour on August 15. He has land but no building for orphans. I am going to try to put him and Isaac together, and also spend time with him teaching Fundraising 101. This morning he sent me a text message that said “Thank you. I have hope again”’ I hope to hell I have not given this young man false hope. I will work with him as long as I am here and if he is indeed the Real Deal will perhaps help him after I return to the States.
Today I am off to work with a village group and our own group of widows who make crafts. Isaac is off to Mbalala. .
* * *
The day was great, although tiring and blister-producing. Ronnie and I trekked to _______ (cant remember the name!) Village, the location of a community project that Isaac coordinated, helped to begin, and now oversees. Today was actually two projects: work on the village community organic farm and the Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves crafts group.
We went to the spot where the community has a seemingly Noah’s Arc of animals—chickens, two cows, two goats…even saw a cat or two that looked adequately fed. At this location, tree branches had been cut down and cows tied to the spot so that they could graze on the leaves. Once the leaves are eaten and the cows defecated in this single spot, the branches are dried, removed, and cut for shared construction or firewood. The manure (we did this part today) is gathered up, added to the chicken and goat poop, and turned into fertilizer for a nice community garden about a half mile away where they grow cabbage and potatoes. Participating villagers can then either eat or sell their portions of the crops.
I was also introduced to the next parcel of land to be cleared, prepared and planted. I’m guessing that all told there were 9 adult villagers working and 7 children moving around today. Older children were at school.
During this time three of the Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves widows group came with their crafts. We had been expected to visit them yesterday and ten of them waited for us, but had other chores today. I felt badly about missing them but we could not have gotten there because of the rain anyway. They demonstrated for me how they make their paper beads, which I think are lovely. I was shown a cup with perhaps 2 inches of beads in the bottom. I asked how long it took the woman to make those beads in the cup and she proudly told me that she had made them all in one day. That is enough beads for perhaps one long necklace or one short necklace and one matching bracelet. These sell for around $2 in the Kampala artisan’s market. In the US they sell for $8 and $10. This keeps these widows and their children alive. I asked if their hands didn’t hurt from this work and they looked at me like, “Why would our hands hurt? If you watched them you would understand my question. They twist and twist and twist and twist and. . .
I was impressed with these women. They are precise and extremely proud of their work. Imperfect beads are redone. They sit and twist paper for beads and then string beads day in and day out. One woman told me she was lucky to be able to do this. And she enjoys the happy chatting they all do while they work. They tried teaching me. I am a big loser. Make that Big Loser. A bead maker I will never be. In the end they said they were worried because they were nearly out of paper to make the beads and had to sell the beads and necklaces before they could afford more. Kiva and some micro-financing seems to be perfect for these women..
Participants of this community group have also built one proper latrine and were in the process of digging a second one today. Digging in this red clay isn’t easy…it is rock hard! The hole was already 20 feet deep. There was a young man in the bottom of the pit who shoveled dirt into a bucket. The bucket was attached to a hand-made vine rope and then a rough pulley (two branches as braces and one in the middle that the rope wound around). The man on top pulled the bucket up, emptied it and returned it to the bottom. Pretty simple procedure, but oh what work! (A latrine is always nicer than squatting over a hole in the ground praying there isn’t a snake in it.)
Speaking of latrines, I went to buy toilet paper in town today as I’m out of that which I brought with me. The choices are 2,500 Ush for paper that is similar to crepe paper, or 1,200 Ush for something similar to construction paper.
Enough bathroom education.
Ronnie was going to continue working but walked me part way down the mountain first to find a boda boda. I got on and experienced my first drunken boda driver. Unfortunately I was already on and we were rolling before I smelled him. He did a nice job for being looped. The moral of the story is that if you are out in the middle of nowhere and you see a motorcycle but no driver, do not walk around his property until you find him. He not be intending to drive. There was an article in today’s paper reporting the huge number of boda-related deaths each year. It was in the multiple thousands. Drivers are crazy (boda and other vehicles) and helmets are a rarity. The article focused on the Kampala bodas, where there are 40,000 drivers, only 7000 of which are registered.
Once in Mukono Town I wanted to try to find a flash drive for my computer stick and had no idea where one might be found. After wandering aimlessly for awhile, I stopped an absolutely gorgeous young woman who was about to board a taxi and asked her if she knew where I could find one. She immediately took my hand, and started walking with me over my protests that she would miss her ride. We went to four locations before she found one. I also needed shampoo but learned from her that if I want Muzungu shampoo, my best bet would be to find it in Kampala. Then I took her to tea for her graciousness and we had a nice chat. She is 19 years old and an accounting student in Kampala. School is on holiday now so she is at home in Mukono. She said she doesn’t date and has no intention of marrying a Ugandan because she doesn’t trust men to be faithful. She is terrified of AIDS. As well she should be. I asked her who she intends to marry and she replied that someday she would meet a Westerner or an Asian from another country, although she doesn’t graduate for two more years and isn’t even interested in dating until she completes here studies. She told me that with the exception of the medical lab at the main hospital in Kampala, AIDS testing is very uncertain here. People can pay the lab for a negative test result regardless of the actual outcome. They do this so that men or women who are positive can show a negative result to a prospective marriage partner, or have less difficulty gaining entrance into another country. This is a very focused young woman. I invited her to join us this weekend to watch the Bugandan dancers and she accepted.
On my way home it had rained and the roads and roadsides were again terribly muddy. As I waited to cross the road I stood next to a woman with a little girl that looked to be around two years old. The mother had her impeccably dressed in a beautiful white lace dress and shoes that looked new. I squat down to tell the tiny girl hello. She gave me eye contact, stepped toward me and then—without taking her eyes off of mine—knelt down in the mud! She is obviously Bugandan and again, Buganda women kneel in respect when they meet people. This tiny little thing was doing her job. I grabbed her as quickly as possible and lifted her u so that her white lace dress wasn’t ruined, but too late! The mother smiled and told me “sorry sorry sorry”, meaning that she wasn’t angry. My cultural blunder probably ruined the child’s dress.
August 5, 2009
There is nothing interesting to report today. I would just like to share that I finally have enough dirt under my finger and toe nails that I could probably build my own little hut.
Yesterday I got caught in a downpour and ran into a place that had a table to sit at. A youngish man named John joined me and we talked for 3 hours! He has a degree in social work. He started an organization similar to BoHU and shared with me how big a failure he thought he was. As part of his operation he opened a medical lab to do HIV/AIDS testing. It went under in less than a year. His organization does some of what we do and some of what we would LIKE to do. We do some things that HE would like to do. One of his groups is for widows from northern Uganda trying to support their children—just like ours Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves group. A few of his women have severe disabilities from war, i.e. they can’t do crafts because their hands were too badly burned, or are missing limbs. He wants me to help him identify a potential sustainable business he can help those women start. Ninety percent of deaths in African civil wars are women and children. The rest are left raising other women’s children as well as their own, or perhaps sadly instead of their own, and have no way to support them. John is trying to identify both sustainable businesses for these women and for support for his orphans. I told him about Kiva, doing a business plan, getting micro-financing, etc., and we discussed fundraising. In short, he has invited me to visit his groups and will give me a tour on August 15. He has land but no building for orphans. I am going to try to put him and Isaac together, and also spend time with him teaching Fundraising 101. This morning he sent me a text message that said “Thank you. I have hope again”’ I hope to hell I have not given this young man false hope. I will work with him as long as I am here and if he is indeed the Real Deal will perhaps help him after I return to the States.
Today I am off to work with a village group and our own group of widows who make crafts. Isaac is off to Mbalala. .
* * *
The day was great, although tiring and blister-producing. Ronnie and I trekked to _______ (cant remember the name!) Village, the location of a community project that Isaac coordinated, helped to begin, and now oversees. Today was actually two projects: work on the village community organic farm and the Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves crafts group.
We went to the spot where the community has a seemingly Noah’s Arc of animals—chickens, two cows, two goats…even saw a cat or two that looked adequately fed. At this location, tree branches had been cut down and cows tied to the spot so that they could graze on the leaves. Once the leaves are eaten and the cows defecated in this single spot, the branches are dried, removed, and cut for shared construction or firewood. The manure (we did this part today) is gathered up, added to the chicken and goat poop, and turned into fertilizer for a nice community garden about a half mile away where they grow cabbage and potatoes. Participating villagers can then either eat or sell their portions of the crops.
I was also introduced to the next parcel of land to be cleared, prepared and planted. I’m guessing that all told there were 9 adult villagers working and 7 children moving around today. Older children were at school.
During this time three of the Ladies Let Us Help Ourselves widows group came with their crafts. We had been expected to visit them yesterday and ten of them waited for us, but had other chores today. I felt badly about missing them but we could not have gotten there because of the rain anyway. They demonstrated for me how they make their paper beads, which I think are lovely. I was shown a cup with perhaps 2 inches of beads in the bottom. I asked how long it took the woman to make those beads in the cup and she proudly told me that she had made them all in one day. That is enough beads for perhaps one long necklace or one short necklace and one matching bracelet. These sell for around $2 in the Kampala artisan’s market. In the US they sell for $8 and $10. This keeps these widows and their children alive. I asked if their hands didn’t hurt from this work and they looked at me like, “Why would our hands hurt? If you watched them you would understand my question. They twist and twist and twist and twist and. . .
I was impressed with these women. They are precise and extremely proud of their work. Imperfect beads are redone. They sit and twist paper for beads and then string beads day in and day out. One woman told me she was lucky to be able to do this. And she enjoys the happy chatting they all do while they work. They tried teaching me. I am a big loser. Make that Big Loser. A bead maker I will never be. In the end they said they were worried because they were nearly out of paper to make the beads and had to sell the beads and necklaces before they could afford more. Kiva and some micro-financing seems to be perfect for these women..
Participants of this community group have also built one proper latrine and were in the process of digging a second one today. Digging in this red clay isn’t easy…it is rock hard! The hole was already 20 feet deep. There was a young man in the bottom of the pit who shoveled dirt into a bucket. The bucket was attached to a hand-made vine rope and then a rough pulley (two branches as braces and one in the middle that the rope wound around). The man on top pulled the bucket up, emptied it and returned it to the bottom. Pretty simple procedure, but oh what work! (A latrine is always nicer than squatting over a hole in the ground praying there isn’t a snake in it.)
Speaking of latrines, I went to buy toilet paper in town today as I’m out of that which I brought with me. The choices are 2,500 Ush for paper that is similar to crepe paper, or 1,200 Ush for something similar to construction paper.
Enough bathroom education.
Ronnie was going to continue working but walked me part way down the mountain first to find a boda boda. I got on and experienced my first drunken boda driver. Unfortunately I was already on and we were rolling before I smelled him. He did a nice job for being looped. The moral of the story is that if you are out in the middle of nowhere and you see a motorcycle but no driver, do not walk around his property until you find him. He not be intending to drive. There was an article in today’s paper reporting the huge number of boda-related deaths each year. It was in the multiple thousands. Drivers are crazy (boda and other vehicles) and helmets are a rarity. The article focused on the Kampala bodas, where there are 40,000 drivers, only 7000 of which are registered.
Once in Mukono Town I wanted to try to find a flash drive for my computer stick and had no idea where one might be found. After wandering aimlessly for awhile, I stopped an absolutely gorgeous young woman who was about to board a taxi and asked her if she knew where I could find one. She immediately took my hand, and started walking with me over my protests that she would miss her ride. We went to four locations before she found one. I also needed shampoo but learned from her that if I want Muzungu shampoo, my best bet would be to find it in Kampala. Then I took her to tea for her graciousness and we had a nice chat. She is 19 years old and an accounting student in Kampala. School is on holiday now so she is at home in Mukono. She said she doesn’t date and has no intention of marrying a Ugandan because she doesn’t trust men to be faithful. She is terrified of AIDS. As well she should be. I asked her who she intends to marry and she replied that someday she would meet a Westerner or an Asian from another country, although she doesn’t graduate for two more years and isn’t even interested in dating until she completes here studies. She told me that with the exception of the medical lab at the main hospital in Kampala, AIDS testing is very uncertain here. People can pay the lab for a negative test result regardless of the actual outcome. They do this so that men or women who are positive can show a negative result to a prospective marriage partner, or have less difficulty gaining entrance into another country. This is a very focused young woman. I invited her to join us this weekend to watch the Bugandan dancers and she accepted.
On my way home it had rained and the roads and roadsides were again terribly muddy. As I waited to cross the road I stood next to a woman with a little girl that looked to be around two years old. The mother had her impeccably dressed in a beautiful white lace dress and shoes that looked new. I squat down to tell the tiny girl hello. She gave me eye contact, stepped toward me and then—without taking her eyes off of mine—knelt down in the mud! She is obviously Bugandan and again, Buganda women kneel in respect when they meet people. This tiny little thing was doing her job. I grabbed her as quickly as possible and lifted her u so that her white lace dress wasn’t ruined, but too late! The mother smiled and told me “sorry sorry sorry”, meaning that she wasn’t angry. My cultural blunder probably ruined the child’s dress.
August 5, 2009
There is nothing interesting to report today. I would just like to share that I finally have enough dirt under my finger and toe nails that I could probably build my own little hut.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Enjoy that Starbucks Coffee!
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…
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…
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