Elizabeth Oddy in Uganda

BEFORE WE BEGIN, SOME OF MY FAV PHOTOS FROM MY YEARS IN UGANDA

2008-01-01T13:26:00.000-05:00

PREPARING

2007-12-31T11:15:00.002-05:00

spends a sleepless night before her departure packing and unpacking, and then packing again,....

and Last supper stateside for 2.5 years. Pizza Plant Pods mmmm,...

Ahh packing!

ALL IS WELL

2007-12-30T07:43:00.000-05:00

I am here. I am safe. I am happy.

WEEK 1- WELCOME TO UGANDA

2007-12-29T02:56:00.001-05:00

Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Wakened by the sound of a donkey again followed by the repetitive rooster announcing the sunrise. Hotter day today. We started the day off with Medical staff teaching us about Malaria. After a lunch of rice, beans, seaweed, and Irish potatoes I had my first Luganda language lesson. My small group and I learned basic greetings and responses. After a quick rest a few of us walked down the red dirt path to find the small bit of Lake Victoria that is visible from here. We didn’t take the most direct path but we got there in the end. We saw families sitting on their porches and under trees. One man outside of a tiny shack of a store was refurnishing a bed frame. Half naked children followed us down the path happy and amused by our presence. Jambo! we said to each other. There is something in the simplicity of the land that illuminates the brilliant colors all around. The bright green glow of the trees, the ambers, reds, and oranges of the ground, the purest blue of the sky, the blue black shades of faces, all fed by a reposeful sun. I feel so grateful to be experiencing all of this on a daily basis.

WEEK 2- MOVE IN WITH A HOST FAMILY

2007-12-28T02:59:00.000-05:00

Sunday, March 11, 2007
We took a 2 hour bus ride to a guest house. Here we put things in storage, received our bathing buckets, pillow, blanket, and the ever important mosquito net. Then we were taken to the other side of the compound (yard) where we were introduced to our new family. I met my host mother who informed me that my host father was at home recovering from a traffic accident. Their oldest daughter was also there attending to him but they both wished they could be there to welcome me. We had lunch together and were driven to our new homes. Mine is quite far, almost on the other side of the village but it won’t be so bad by bicycle-once I get one. My host father and sister greeted me at the door and showed me to my room. Then we gathered in the living room and shared our family photographs. Since I slept so little last night because of the party we decided to have for our last night together as a big group I decided to take a nap which thankfully was ok with my family. Dinner was very good, my host mom is a great cook! We had sweet (but not the same sweet as in America) potatoes, a g-nut (ground-nut which is as close to a peanut as far as I can tell) cabbage and beans mixture, matooke (a staple here-unripened mashed bananas with no nutritional value) and rice. I am beginning to think that this is pretty much standard since I find the same items everywhere I go. After dinner I organized my room and bit and had a much needed sleep!

AN AFRICAN DAY

2007-12-27T03:00:00.000-05:00

Saturday, March 17, 2007
It was a wonderful African day! We learned how to build a brick stone oven and garden. It was great fun mixing the cement and red clay with ash, carrying the bricks, and using the wheelbarrow to transfer our materials. Then in the room where we were building the oven the Africans were chanting, singing, and dancing traditional work songs. It was so heart warming and energizing to be dancing with them in a tiny room where it was even too hot to breathe comfortably. Then they wanted us to teach them some American songs. Boy, did I struggle to think of a song that would even compare to the spirited songs we just heard. Since it is also St. Patrick’s Day we spent a good few hours at the bar and I even enjoyed a Guiness. Although it tasted nothing like the drink in Ireland! I am happy I am here in Africa surrounded by nature and amazing people!

THE NIGHT SKY

2007-12-26T03:01:00.000-05:00

Tuesday, March 20, 2007
I saw a most magnificent night sky just now filled with so many stars of different size, brightness, and even color! I came back into the house and told my host mom our sky in America is not filled with such stars. She said “Ahh, then Africa is lucky.” That it is.

THE NIGHT OF THE JACKFRUIT CALLER

2007-12-25T03:03:00.000-05:00

Monday, March 26, 2007
This is another one of those ‘only in Africa’ moments. Apparently my host mom asked a boy from far off in the village to bring a jackfruit (ffene) over so I could try it. Normal enough so far... Well, the boy brought it over, but he came unexpectedly in the middle of the night to deliver this fruit. So he stood outside, right near my window at 4:30AM calling “Maama” every 10 min or so. Finally, hours later I heard my host mom shouting to the boy through the padlocked metal door. She wouldn’t open the door because they fear the night here very much. So he left it on the doorstep and came around to the barred window at the front of the house so she could slip him the money. At breakfast she explained to me that he came so early because he needed the money to buy a new pen and get to school on time. Who delivers fruit at 4 AM to buy a pen I ask!?!? Ahh, Africa.

THE MORNING OF THE ENKOKO (CHICKEN)

2007-12-24T03:04:00.000-05:00

Tuesday, April 3, 2007
“The Morning of the Enkoko.” At breakfast my host mom asked me if the 200 plus baby chicks were keeping me awake during the night with their cheeping. I told her they weren’t bothering me at all but the “cock” (as they only call it here) starts going off right outside my window at 4:15 AM. She replied “Ahh, then we’ll eat him.” WAIT!!! I screamed, “nedda, nedda, nedda, (No) it is ok, I will get used to him.” “No,” she said “we will just kill him.” Oh my!

THE DAY OF THE BAT

2007-12-23T03:05:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, April 4, 2007
And now I present the day of the bat. After being awakened at 1:15AM by flapping and high pitched squeaks I realized something even worse. I thought it was coming from one side of my bed-the side where there is a lot of space between my bed where I lay and the wall, but it wasn’t. It was coming from the side of my bed where there is no more than an inch between my bed and the wall. So, this unknown animal is somewhere within a short distance from my face! Quickly turning on my headlamp I scour the room for the source of the noise. A half hour later I am without an answer and had it not been for the Tylenol PM I had just taken a few hours back I would not had allowed myself to fall back to sleep. 6AM, it is not yet light and I am dressing by the light of my headlamp carefully checking everywhere I step and everything I touch for the animal. Then by the window I see a motionless bat lying on the ground. I call my host sister to come with a broom and just as she touches it with the broom it disappears out of the beam of light from my small headlamp. Searching all over again and its nowhere to be found. 7PM, I walk cautiously into my room along with my host sister armed with a flashlight and a broom. No luck. Maybe its gone, after all my host sister says she hasn’t heard any noise all day. I leave and return to my room a few minutes later and I see it clinging to the side of my bed net! The bat! The bat! I scream and my host mom and sister run in as I run out. Host mom grabs it with a cloth and proceeds to take it outside where she without hesitation, whacks it against the ground with her fist. It squeaks and squeaks still. So she winds up and whams it against the concrete. I am in the house now humming as I plug my ears. She comes in, takes it out of the cloth and proudly shows it to me. Bat #1-gone.

FROG CARS

2007-12-22T03:08:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, April 18, 2007
At dinner tonight my host mom said our cars in America look like frogs...

THE WEEKEND OF THE GOAT

2007-12-21T03:02:00.000-05:00

Sunday, March 25, 2007
This past weekend shall be called “The Weekend of the Goat.” My fellow trainee, Amy and I visited a current volunteer who has been in-country for a year now. I myself have had very little practical experience with goats until this weekend. Incident #1- After meeting the current volunteer in the Capital, we rode in a matatu (taxi-bus) to her site. We stopped several times as they do to let people off and stuff even more people into the bus. At one stop there was a lot of chaos and debate. I asked the volunteer what the trouble was and she said they want to put some goats on the matatu with us. “Where?” I exclaimed, because we already had an over-packed vehicle. Well, UNDER the seats of course! So, I had 2 goats jammed under my seat. They were however, surprisingly well behaved. They only cried out when we went over a big pothole. Goats crammed in a taxi, who knew? Incident #2-the volunteer we visited has a goat-as a pet...a pet goat, in Africa. As usual, she tied it up and left it for a few hours to graze at a grassy nole just down the street. Then a neighbor girl comes over and informs us that another neighbor has taken the goat hostage and won’t give it back until she gets money. She claims the goat ate her crops. When asked to show us the eaten crops the story suddenly changes to something where the goat went into her house and either unwrapped packaged food or ate some food that was left out. Ahh, Africa. She eventually gave her money to diffuse the neighborhood dispute over the goat.

EASTER WEEKEND

2007-12-20T03:06:00.000-05:00

Monday, April 9, 2007
It was quite a wonderful long Easter weekend. To start, Saturday we took a field trip to Jjinga-the source of the River Nile. But on the way we stopped at Ssezibwe Falls which were beautiful and just enough to remind me of Niagara Falls back home. There was a cave there and with what I could gather from our guide it seems like a possessed person may come with an offering of eggs, crawl to the back of the cave and be cured. And I do have to add that on our hike down we passed a man…carrying a bag of eggs. Who knows? There was also a tiny hut there, barely big enough for a small child to fit in. One can go to this hut and ask for things. We didn’t see anyone doing that but the path did indeed look well pressed. We also stopped at Mabira Rainforest and took a 45 min tour. We didn’t see any animals but it was amazing how dense it was. So many plants, vines, and trees that there was hardly space between. The air was thick with a humid green smell
unlike anything I’ve experienced before. There were a few great big old trees. There was one that had strangled another and grew all around it. Survival of the fittest is no joke here! Then we were off to the Nile. I was surprised to see how fast the water rushed by as my group and I sat on a broken-down dock with old metal beam connecting the 3 concrete bases. So easy to slip and be carried away...

On Easter Sunday I went to church with my friend Deborah, it wasn’t that different from what I can remember in America. We went back to her host home and attempted to make hot-cross-buns which turned into scones that wouldn’t bake. Oh well, at least we tried. Then we introduced her family to the idea of decorating and hiding eggs. HA! This was quite difficult for them to understand as they find it a challenge to find the egg and take it away from the chicken in the first place! Then when we proposed the idea of a giant bunny it only got worse. Then they wanted to know about our other Holiday traditions...so there’s a fat man in a red suit, flies in a sleigh (which they had no idea how one can ride in something with no wheels), puts toys in your hanging socks, he lands on a fire pit...as we told the story we ourselves realized how strange it is! Anyway, we showed them how to decorate the eggs using crayons we brought from America but we also improvised and made a flour-water paste to glue on shapes we cut out of banana leaves! The adults shrieked with delight as they searched for the eggs we hid and when it was over they asked if we could do it again tomorrow!

THE EQUATOR

2007-12-19T03:06:00.000-05:00

Saturday, April 14, 2007
Field trip! We traveled SW through Mpigi to the equator. In Mpigi we stopped at a NGO called ‘Aidchild;’ it is by far the most amazing organization I have seen as of yet. It is run by an American man who originally only came here for 3 months with his business. It was then that he got the idea to set up an organization to support orphans living with AIDS who in most circumstances would have no hope, left to die. He has two locations because he wants to keep each setting small, with only 35 children. A doctor comes and sees every child 2x a week. The children also receive academic tutoring and mental counselling. There are “mothers” who tuck each child into bed at night and there is a 1-3 staff to child ratio so that all may have a lot of attention. This entire location, including funds stored away to support a child to go to boarding school when (s)he reaches high school age is supported by tourist attractions he has set up on and near the equator. There is a (fast!!) internet café, art gallery, gift shop, bookstore, a sandwich and frozen drink café, and bookstore all as income generating projects. The children were beautiful beings. They danced, sang, and chanted to welcome us in both English and Luganda. A little boy who clearly didn’t feel well at all climbed into my lap as if he had known me all his life and we danced a gentle dance to the music. He had an open lesion on his arm and a nose that looked like it had been running for years though he was not yet that old. He rested his tiny hands on my upward facing palms that cradled his body and began to tap out the rhythm onto my hands. I am amazed that this small sign of life in this boy could fill me with such joy, more joy than I have ever known. When the songs ended, I picked him up and placed him on his feet so that he could go back to his life, whatever the life is for a boy barely one-year-old who must fight a battle fully grown men cannot win. And so that I could go back to mine-get back on the mzungu (Bristish/white person) bus to go eat lunch at a tourist destination...One more moment before I go-a sweet baby girl comes toddling over to my newly freed arms and lap and wraps herself around any part she could. I picked her up so fast and returned the gripping plea and gave her what comfort I could. I sent her back towards her “mothers” and she cried. Usually it is the other way around but things are different here in Africa, or at least different when you are a white person living with Africans.
Onto the equator...we had lunch at the Aidchild Café and wished we could purchase the beautiful art that hung on the wall. It was for such a good cause too, but quite out of our meager income as a volunteer. We took photos together straddling the marked imaginary line, practiced our Luganda bargaining skills in the shops, and then headed for our final stop-a crocodile farm. There were hundreds, all of different sizes kept according to age in half-walled cement houses. There was also one very old male and one fully grown female kept for mating purposes. The male we were told, had killed/eaten dozens of people before he was captured. All the other crocs will be kept until they are 5 years old when they will be killed for their skins. Enjoy that purse and shoes!

A DAY OF LIVES LOST

2007-12-18T03:07:00.000-05:00

Tuesday, April 17, 2007
It is a day of lives lost. We began the day with news from home that a boy from Virginia Tech shot his girlfriend and then 2 hours later shot a classroom of 30 students before shooting himself. I can only imagine the news reports and papers in America. We are so isolated here, we would listen to the BBC but it is raining now so there is no electricity. So much grief, everyone on that campus surely knows someone that has been stolen away. School shootings are a constant now in America, how many more need to happen before something is done? It is out of control.
Next, as I lay in the front yard of the training center unable to take any more ‘training’ at the moment I hear the sound of pieces-of-metal scrapping against the pavement. I did not want to look, I did not want to look, wanted to blame it on another unfamiliar sound of Africa, one that just is. But it was not one to be ignored. A motorcycle going so fast, I remember hearing the sound of an engine going by so fast. He ran over a man on a bike carrying a woman on the back. People came so quickly, I wanted to help, but that was the last thing this situation needed-a mzungu being a distraction. Everyone stood around for what seemed like forever. Finally, they were each taken to a hospital in the back of passing-by trucks. Except as I watched I was stunned to see them take the victim who was most well first and the most critical last. Different than what I am used to. So much grief, his family and friends will be weighted down with such grief. Is life less precious here? That life is no longer, and no one even tried to keep it.
Then the news from Kampala: more riots today, only a few days after 3 people were killed including one who was stoned to death in riots over the Mabira Forest issue, now we have more. All of the international schools were closed down. There is so much grief today, so many lives needlessly lost.

SITE VISIT

2007-12-17T03:08:00.001-05:00

Tuesday, April 24, 2007
It is the first day of site visit and I find myself in an unexpected paradise with poverty just beyond the gate at the bottom of the tree-lined drive. There are tropical flowers blooming in brilliant colors and GRASS, yes grass covering the grounds! I can see Lake Victoria as well as where the edge of Lake Victoria used to be. I learned last week that a mere 2 degree rise in average temperature will kill 90% of Uganda’s biggest export and cash crop-the coffee bean. It will have a devastating effect here, I can’t even imagine. The students and the staff seem pleasant; the buildings are well constructed with ceilings, running water, and electricity too! But I must stress sometimes on the latter two. I wasn’t expecting as much but am thankful, especially for the beautiful sights all around. It will be an absolutely wonderful two years of service.
Monkeys! -->

HAPPY TESTING WEEK

2007-12-16T03:36:00.000-05:00

Friday May 4th, 2007
May already! I can hardly believe it! It was our last week at the Guest House and a stressful one at that. Good news, rather great news-we had our L.P.I. today AND I PASSED! I achieved the “Intermediate Low” level according to the American Foreign Language Association’s descriptions. But let me back up…the language simulation on Wednesday went much better than expected and was made even better by the fact that we were given Shillings to buy actual food at “the market” instead of playing pretend. On Thursday Derek and I presented our Qualifying Project and actually received a perfect score from the entire panel! Today after the L.P.I. I got a package with wonderful, wonderful clothes in it. Next was the Talent Show that Deborah and I organized and it couldn’t have gone better! We performed by lantern-light strung onto a wire above and in a half circle on the ground surrounding ‘the stage.’ It was a full moon with a cool breeze floating into “The Big Top” as we like to call our meeting shelter. All this was started by an excellent meal made by some of the other PCTs consisting of macaroni and cheese, chapattis with rice and beans, salsa, and guacamole. I wish I had the words to explain how sweet the night was. I can only say the entire room was filled with kindness, support, and joy as we all performed. We just enjoyed each others’ gifts. And to top it all off we experienced the world premiere of puppet Shakespeare as Charlie performed a Hamlet monologue! It went much better than I ever expected, especially taking into account his obvious physical limitations and mobility restrictions. So tired, what a day!

THE THANK YOU CELEBRATION

2007-12-15T03:50:00.000-05:00

Saturday, May 5th, 2007
Bill and I MC’d the “Thank You to the Homestay Families” celebration. Went just fine as well. Seriously the most unorganized event I have ever seen, but everyone seemed pleased nonetheless. It is my friends’ Wedding Day, I really wish I was there. I am finding it hard to realize it is happening. But anyway I called to wish him a happy day and I hope it was.

MY LAST DAY IN "THE TRAINING VILLAGE"

2007-12-14T03:57:00.001-05:00

Sunday, May 6th, 2007
My last day in this village. Mixed feelings. There are things I will miss here absolutely, but also glad to be going somewhere less isolated. Certainly I will miss the company; seeing my fellow PCTs everyday and my host family too. It felt really strange to pack everything again. Everything I have been experiencing has been so temporary. I didn’t want to pack again-pack up literally everything I own into 3 bags only. And I am also finding it hard to believe training for the most part is over; it was so long and yet went by so quickly. Ahhh, training village, I can never again hear Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On” without thinking of you.

OFFICIAL SWEAR-IN DAY

2007-12-13T03:59:00.000-05:00

Thursday, May 10th, 2007
Today I am an official Volunteer. We had our Swearing In at the US Ambassador’s Residence. It began with one of our trainers singing the Uganda National Anthem and then Erin, Angie, Deborah, and I sang the US Anthem. Our Training Manager said a few words followed by the Assistant Directors introducing us to some Ugandan Officials. Then our Director spoke about our large group and acknowledged we were missing one who is home on family emergency but will be back soon. We stood up and said the Volunteer Oath and changed our initials from PCT to PCV! The whole process felt so much like graduation day minus our parents. One of the volunteers in my group even had a dream where our parents were flown in as a surprise on this day! What a disappointment it must have been when she realized it was just a dream. After that, two guests, one from the Ministry of Education and the other from the Ministry of Health, accepted us as volunteers in their respectful offices. Finally, Brett and Rishi gave speeches of thanks on our behalf to the training staff and the administrators. Both did a wonderful job. We had a late, more than two hours late, lunch then said our goodbyes and parted our separate ways. Taken away to various places around Uganda by our new soon-to-become families. Riding home I looked intently as we drove excited for what will be my new life. I felt like I was just adopted and was being taken to my new home. Quite an unexpected feeling.

LOCAL ADVENTURES

2007-12-12T06:35:00.000-05:00

Sunday, May 13th, 2007
Happy Mother’s Day (we are so far apart, two more Mother’s Days apart, wow). I had an adventurous weekend. There is a group of eight Ohio students here for the next week and a half. I have been going on some of their field trips. Friday we went to the Kisubi Tombs where the last kings of the Buganda Tribe rest. Their spears and medals displayed. Women take turns staying in the hut for thirty days as their duty for being a member of the tribe. They attend the Kings so they won’t be alone and weave mats that visitors must kneel on to show respect and leaving shoes at the door. One King had over 100 “wives” although it seems like they were actually muliahs-but a King would never do a disrespectful thing like that! So they call them wives. Then we made a quick stop at the Uganda Museum. Saturday we visited a local fishing village so we could see the different ways to fish, mostly using nets. We walked through the market and watched men building canoes. Best of all, today we went to the village Kisasi, just outside of Kampala to see the N’dere Dance troupe perform traditional tribal dances from various areas around Uganda. I also ran into people I know! Can you imagine? It made me realize I am here, in this community. The dancers were fantastic, thick grass skirts and a lot of wiggle in the hips. Drumming, singing, stomping, and hopping. Beautiful.

THE BOTANICAL GARDENS

2007-12-11T01:52:00.000-05:00

May 2007
First meet-up with fellow volunteers! Jacob invited me to go with him and his friends to the Entebbe Botanical gardens. Our resident botanist Jacob showed us the different varieties of banana trees, the rare cannonball tree, coffee, cocoa, cinnamon, mango, papaya, avocado, a giant tree that hung vines as thick as a thousand snakes (which we all swung on like Tarzan of course!), a giant umbrella tree, so many birds that vary in every color possible, and two kinds of monkeys- the Vervet which I have seen before and also a larger black and white one.

AFRAID OF MEMORIES

2007-12-10T02:35:00.000-05:00

May 2007
I fear the memories in my mind. Afraid to entertain the moments of my old life and the photographs in my head of an extravagant life. Aisles and aisles of food that I can picture exactly on the shelf where it stays in familiar Wegmans and Tops, getting in my artificially scent-filled car going anywhere I want, the comfort of knowing which street goes where, the forgiving couch in my home, the easy life of the backyard…

THE GREAT WOMEN and WHAT THEY DO

2007-12-09T02:40:00.000-05:00

May 2007
Two more adventures into Uganda’s community. Yesterday we went to the home of a local woman who used to be a teacher but couldn’t stand the overcrowded rooms and lack of necessary things like simple desks and chairs (which were carelessly destroyed by soldiers during the war here in the ‘80s). We helped the women as they showed us how to make a porridge powder from cassava, wine from pineapple and passion fruit, and a moisturizer lotion from avocado, petroleum jelly, and herbs.
Today we went to a large NGO called Meeting Point International. The director of this outstanding organization Rose, used to be a nurse but saw more need here outside the constraints of four walls of a hospital (if she was lucky to have walls that is). They help people live with HIV and AIDS, really live, not just survive. At the end I sat on the floor with these women and they showed me how to make paper beads which they string together and sell for their livelihood.

A BIT OF NORMAL

2007-12-08T02:42:00.000-05:00

May 2007
Slept over at ‘my sister’s’ site with a few other girls. They were all in the same training group working for PEPFAR. We had grilled cheese and salad and shared our stories of life in Uganda and our frustrations. This afternoon I met other PCVs and we saw Wildhogs at the Garden City Movie House. Poor screenplay, directing, and acting but quite entertaining nonetheless! I fear how low my standards will become in two years.

DAILY LIFE and THE POISONWOOD BIBLE

2007-12-07T02:44:00.000-05:00

May 2007
I have just finished reading “The Poisonwood Bible.” It has been a perfect book to accompany me on the beginning of my own African adventure. It is about a family with four daughters who move to the Congo in 1959 where the father, an evangelical Baptist attempts to save Africa through Jesus. The descriptions of life in Africa for this family speak true to my life right now even with it’s almost 40 years in difference. Each day beginning with the rooster’s call quite before dawn, lifting the cage of mosquito netting that surrounds my bed, slipping on the shoes that would prevent the hookworms lying on the floor just waiting to burrow into my bare feet and finally crossing the room to press the single switch of my lonely light bulb that will tell me if there is power today. The arduous task of boiling water to drink with and cook with and wash every piece of fruit and vegetable with-to which one must also add a drop of bleach to. All to save yourself from getting the numerous diseases that the locals gained immunity to as infants; that is if they were lucky enough to have lived through it. Planting gardens into mounds of dirt that resemble small coffins that exude feelings of death and life in the very same instance. But without these coffin-mounds the precious seed, which suddenly means as much now as it did when I was a small girl and every little thing was magical, would be washed away by a single fierce rain. Women, and children just barely old enough not to be carried themselves, with babies strapped to their backs at all times with nothing more than a simple piece of plain cloth. Then there are the cloths that women wear as pagnes and wrap skirts: on these cloths are the most random items and strangely paired things I truly have ever seen in my life. For example pirate treasure chests in neon colors, heating coils for water, blue hands and feet only, the Virgin Mary, razors, cell phones, and such combinations as umbrellas and shoes, corn cobs and shoes, and brooms and combs just to name a few. On a daily basis you can see a fully grown and otherwise masculine man wearing a ladies blouse or sweater.
To conclude I came across this passage: “Hunger of the body is altogether different from the shallow, daily hunger of the belly. Those who have known this kind of hunger cannot entirely love, ever again, those who have not.” I wonder...

THE DISCOVERY OF THE BBC

2007-12-06T02:46:00.000-05:00

May 2007
I have found the BBC on my shortwave radio! And even though I have never regularly listened to it, it reminded me of home. Later, I had it on for background noise having already listened to it cycle through the same news clips two or three times and I felt like I was in my house doing the little things in life that keep us busy while the news on the TV was playing in the other room. Then there was a moment when I realized where I was, and my parents were not in the other room watching the news as they did. I am excited to be in touch with the world again. Or at least with what the BBC covers.

LITTLE SURPRISES

2007-12-05T04:49:00.002-05:00

June 2007

Bambi (sorry, sympathy)! It has been too long since I last wrote. All is well in the end. I’m not going to say everything is great all the time; it really is like being on a roller coaster here (quite literally when riding on the red dirt roads during the rainy season on the rickety matatus-taxi buses)! But there are those sweet moments that come unexpectedly while you think you are accomplishing something else. And those moments take you to a level of peace and happiness that is so great it is almost unfamiliar. Just today I was returning home (ahh, I call it home now) and I happened upon the most beautiful white flower drenched in raindrops reflecting the few remaining sunrays. Peace. Then later in the evening I am set to begin my habit of running. I don’t get far before I happen upon a boarding school for girls. The Sister is curious about the mzungu wearing pants and before I know it I am now touring the school grounds with its hundreds of chicks, hundreds of hens, a banana plantation, pig-pen with sincerely the largest pigs I have ever seen, cows, goats, and so, so many little girls. Even courageous five-year-olds away from their moms and dads for months at a time! Peace. There are rainbows stretching across Lake Victoria weekly, sunsets that look as though they are rainbows themselves, cool rain storms that beat down even as the sun shines brightly, drumming circles to hear every night. Peace. Little surprises like finding a pink banana on your plate at dinner, the smiles on faces just because you a mzungu wished them a good day as you passed. They feel good, just like that. Peace. Then there is the company of fellow volunteers. I spent time with the (newly called) second years this past week. Each one a wonder to be around. They want to do good things in the world. It is so simple and yet makes such a difference. Peace. One PCV’s organization showed us how to make baskets, weave mats, and hats. We made dinner together, we posed to replicate DaVinci’s The Last Supper, ate cake, relaxed with an apple treat, shared stories and our bits of American possessions with one another. Nice Time (as they say here as a common farewell)!

The hard and not so nice times…like when the older man on the matatu decides to review in entirety America’s military history since and including WW2 demanding explanation why this man did this and that man did that, placing his discontent with his own life in the form of blame onto you. Or finding over one hundred large black ants living happily in your small cupboard of food. The fungus now trying to breed on your arm. The giardia multiplying in your intestines. Wondering why you’re here and if you are making any difference at all. Missing important family events, knowing friends are moving on without you, the babies who won’t be babies by the time you return. The crowds that gather as you do anything and I mean anything, the drunk men who come up to you just because you have white skin demanding you give them money because they think any and all white people have money. They are always shocked when I explain that there are poor people living on the streets in America, London, Ireland, everywhere. But luckily the wonders of this continent outweigh the disheartening moments and provide enough peace to endure the difficult times.

A LUNCH OF SORROW

2007-12-04T05:17:00.000-05:00

June 2007
I have just returned from the cafeteria where I sat with the faculty of sisters and brothers all with long faces. There we sat holding back tears and choking down our lunch of potatoes, G-nut sauce, and bitter eggplants. We ate in silence mourning the loss of a first year education student. He fell sick Sunday and went to a clinic. After receiving an IV drip he was too weak to walk. And now here it is Tuesday and he is dead. The faculty briefly recounted their memories of him in their classes, how he was an eager pupil, very bright. I don’t know him but am sad to see the pain the others are in, sad to realize this will likely happen again in the coming two years and next time, it will probably be one who I will have called ‘my student.’

COMMOTION

2007-12-03T02:44:00.000-05:00

June 2007
I stand in the doorway of the bathroom rubbing exfoliating cream onto my face and Deborah laying in bed recovering from the side-effects of Mefloquine says “What are you doing?!” “Uhh, washing my face,” thinking her impatient as we were planning on watching a movie next on my portable DVD player. “What’s going on?” she says as she sits up alarmed. I stop, look around and listen for the cause of her concern. Hearing a sound similar to the tapping of raindrops on a roof I suggest the rain. “My bed is shaking” she adds. I look but don’t see it. Then I see my clothes cupboard shaking back and forth. She sees it as well. “I think it’s an earthquake,” she states matter-of-factly. “What do we do?” I say eagerly as if it was a contest to win a grand prize. Deborah replies “we should go outside” quite plainly as we both look to the door and go bounding away from the building like deer. I have to say an earthquake is not something I expected to experience during my time in Uganda.

NIGHT AT THE CASINO

2007-12-02T05:26:00.000-05:00

June 2007
Eleven o’clock at night, essawa ttaano, I find myself sitting at a slot machine listening to the sound of one-hundred-shilling coins dinging one by one against the metal collection tray below as my friends gather around. I won 60,000 shillings off less than 2,000 shillings! I move to the blackjack table where I find my other PCV friends surrounding a British man in his late 50’s exchanging creative banter. I join in taking tips from this man as I go along. A slight nod means take another card and a fraction of a head movement to the right only means stay. Ha! I guess coaching here in Uganda is allowed as he continues to assist me and my friends. I watch my pile of red chips go up and down until finally there is only the green felt of the table exposed below me. “Place your bets,” the dealer says to me as she points to my empty rectangle on the table. The other players look at me waiting…“I don’t have anymore” I sadly admit looking to our British friend who has already loaned chips to my friends. He slides one over; silently the chip moves into my rectangle. The game moves on. When all was said and done (and I repaid the man his loan plus the amount directly won of his chip) I was another 45 thousand shillings ahead. My friend and I cashed out and split the earnings. But I have to say, while I was sitting at that table surrounded by flashing lights, seemingly rich people, luxurious décor, dancing girls, and several gin and tonics at hand, this is definitely not something I thought I’d be doing as a volunteer in Africa!

WHITE WATER RAFTING

2007-12-01T04:48:00.001-05:00

June 2007

After less than two hours of sleep (but completely worth it) I count heads on the bus to go white water rafting in Jinja. On the river Amy, Megan, Natalie, Grant, and I sit anxiously as we practice drills described to us by our local guide Pallo. As he described the ones called ‘high-right’ and ‘high-left’ he explains how we can use this one to keep the raft from tipping over. He concludes his brief lecture with “all the weight’s on one side.” Seeing Amy and Natalie’s eyes widen and jaws drop I give a questioning look to them. Amy responds with “all the whites on one side!?!” “No” I explain with a laugh, “All the weight’s on one side!” Gotta love the Ugandan accent.

The rapids were awesome! It was much more dangerous at times than what I recalled rafting in Maine with my mom two summers ago. We flipped three times and one of those times my body was absorbed in a ‘washing machine.’ For a few seconds I fought with everything I had searching for the surface. Then I realized its power and my lack thereof and went limp. I submitted to the water trusting it would spit me out eventually but also fearing how long it would take and where I would end up. I no longer knew up from down or left from right. I opened my eyes under the rushing water taking the stinging pain in my eyes for the chance to see light and find which direction to hope for. No luck. It was all the same all around me. My head comes out of the water. I still can’t take the critical breath; I have to first wipe the water from my face so I can see clearly and open my eyes to check if another rapid is in front of me. Otherwise I’ll inhale deadly water into my lungs. I manage a quick breath and cough before being swallowed by another rapid. I flip through a few more rapids and make it out. A kayak rescue man comes over, I grab on coughing and processing all that’s happened. Wow, that was a lot. The rest of the waves and raft-flippings were better, easier to handle and even enjoyable.

Then we had a BBQ and partied in a tiki-style bar along the Nile and slept in camping type bunk beds. A bit sunburnt and water logged but an amazing experience!

A SAD DAY'S EVENTS

2007-11-30T06:59:00.000-05:00

July 2007
I have become unattached, to Africa, to helping people here. I have seen this same thing come and go in my fellow volunteers as we went through the various stages of culture shock and adjustment. Now it seems to be my turn.
I was sitting in the staff room at a local secondary school giving a student feedback on her lesson on writing an informal letter. Then one tall male, an aggressive shorter male, and a calmer even shorter male burst into the room. The tall one pushes the shortest to the ground. The middle-sized-aggressive one refuses and tries to hit the small one on the ground but the tall one interferes and pushes him back and hits him in the face. I ask my student teacher what is going on. She tells me the small one has insulted that one’s mother (the aggressive boy). I ask in disbelief if the tall one is their teacher. She says he is. I explain that in America we cannot lay a hand (even a gently one) on a student and if I did what this teacher is doing I would not only be fired but surely loose my teaching license. She is surprised at this. I watch the boy on the floor naively thinking the teacher must be making him do push ups or something as a consequence. As I realize that is probably not the case my student tells me the boys are going to get caned. “But that’s illegal” I say horrified in disbelief. “He can’t do that!” “It happens all the time,” she says. "That is not okay" I try to tell her for a million different reasons. Then I notice so many students gathered around peering in the windows and pushing through the door. “Send them back to their classrooms, they’re just making it worse!” “Ahh, but these ones are stubborn, they will not listen” a teacher says. “You have to make them,” I say. We go out of the room to tell them. There is a rumble in the staff room of students. The teachers didn’t even try anything (except violence) and just gave up on them. The teacher raises his stick to the boy still laying on the ground (even though he got up and was then told to lay back down several times), I dive. There, now that ceases, only once. The students are taken out of the room. The aggressive boy sits at a desk crying, his hand held by the previously absent Headmaster. I leave. Sitting in the car on the long ride home. I just want to get to my room to cry. I’m sad to see children being abused especially children who’ve already suffered so much. I don’t want to be a part of this, I look around the countryside through the car window and I don’t want it. I’m completely detached. Later, I see an image meant to recruit American donors/sponsors. It has the hallowed out silenced look of a poor African boy. It says help me! Save this boy! I’m angry now. They want us to help meanwhile here they are hurting their own children! This is not okay.

WHAT WE ASK FOR

2007-11-29T07:03:00.000-05:00

July 2007
When are we going to fully understand that we truly reap what we sew? Nothing more, nothing less. Why not plant greatness, peace, kindness?
It’s so simple: we get what we ask for. And yet we ask for violence, corruption, hatred. Why just look at the evening news! What are the headlines that sell? We ask for this.

BROCCOLI

2007-11-28T07:04:00.002-05:00

July 2007
Ooo, my first taste of broccoli in nearly five months! I can’t tell you how excited I am to see this green and flavorful vegetable in a country where there are few options when one is in need of nutritious green delectables.

CHANGE

2007-11-27T07:05:00.000-05:00

July 2007
Today I had first instance since I arrived in Africa that prompted me to realize I have forever changed. It took me quite off guard. I’m not sure why. Logically speaking, anyone spending nearly five months in Africa would be changed. But for some reason my head only permitted me to think of and expect noticeable changes when I returned to America after my 27 months of service.
I was on the phone with someone who was feeling a great deal of stress and disruption in their life over what seemed to be to me a miniscule thing. How could they be making such a big deal about this unimportant thing! But…it is me. I have greatly altered my perception, not the other person. I shouldn’t loose patience with him/her. I am the one who has changed, I should have expected it. When I hear babies screaming with the pain malaria brings on, see a seven year-old walking skeleton who can’t even smile or laugh with her playmates because she is too weak, hear stories of girls walking for hours after school each day to hide so they won’t become victims of child-trafficking and then only to walk back again in the morning so they can go back to school, people who eat rice and beans everyday because that’s all they have, children who are wearing nothing more than a rag and no shoes because they don’t have the equivalent of 30 American cents to buy a new school uniform. These things change a person. Surely, if one wanted or needed to fell stressed, these would be the things to feel it over. And yet, unlike Americans, people here are fine. These things are ok, all part of daily life. They are doing their best, keeping smiles on their faces, and carrying on. They even have a common greeting response to “How are you?” that simply translates to “I am here.” And that is good; they feel thankful and happy for simply being here. What a wonderful way to think about life.

SOMEHOW CORN-ON-THE-COB

2007-11-26T07:06:00.000-05:00

August 2007
I got to enjoy the first bite of the summer favorite: corn-on-the-cob. Not exactly like the ones at home but a treat anyway. It was served at 7:30Am breakfast and each kernel was like a little burst of thickly packed mashed potato. Haha, a fun, unexpected surprise to start the day.

UGANDAN ROLEX

2007-11-25T07:06:00.000-05:00

August 2007
A Rolex. That word used to carry an entirely different concept before I moved to Uganda. It meant an expensive, foreign, shiny gold watch. Now my brain provides a new meaning and sense memories of an extremely different nature. Here in Uganda a Rolex is something that someone eats for very little money. It is a thick crepe-style bread made of egg, flour, and water. This is fried with oil over a flame then set aside to cool. Meanwhile more oil is heated and a freshly cracked egg is fried. Then this egg is placed on top of the bread and rolled up and placed in a clear plastic bag. Exciting toppings can also be added while the egg is frying. It can include onion, tomato, shredded cabbage, and avocado. You can purchase this on the side of the road for 500 to 1000 Shillings, equivalent to about 33 to 66 cents American. Oh, and if you want the bread only you can buy one for 200 shillings and its then called simply a chap or chapati.

GLOWING ORANGE NIGHT SKY

2007-11-24T07:08:00.000-05:00

August 2007
My eyes scan the brick pathway straining and hoping to see each brick unmarked by the shadow of a creature I want NOT to meet. It is challenging tonight; there is no power. Something in the sky catches my eye, a flash of light so strange that the quick tapping of my Croc’s against the brick path stops. A crack of lightning does not replace the tapping of my feet as I hoped it would. More flashes, slow orange bursts in the sky, one almost on top of the other. Which direction is it coming from I ask myself recalling the recent conflict with groups crossing from the DRC border. It is indeed West of here. Are they bombs? I wonder. But I don’t hear any sounds similar to what I would imagine an explosion to sound like. But this time I can’t hurry to my television to look for a special report confirming my hypothesis or a lack of one to overthrow it. There is nothing to do but wait, wait for tomorrow’s paper and wonder what it was, wonder what will happen.

TEACHING and LEARNING

2007-11-23T07:09:00.000-05:00

September 11th, 2007
Bless those victims of this day six years ago and those who continue to suffer, continue to die from the damage on their bodies.

I am teaching now at site! It is week 3 of classes and I am the professor! I’m teaching “Public Speaking and Communication,” “Drama and Theatre in English Learning and Teaching,” and co-teaching “General Aesthetics.” I also meet with the Drama Club four hours a week. Thirteen semester hours! -Quite a load for a ‘first-year teacher’ and even more so for someone new to the country itself. At this point, I’m just hanging on, planning from class to class, just getting by. Soon things will fall into place and become easier-I hope. The students are great. They are ones, with a little nudge, who are willing to try, to laugh, to fail, to learn. We are leaning from each other. There were riots today and yesterday near the taxi park. PC called me to tell me to avoid going there. I’m not sure of the story yet, much patience is required to get information here, but from what I hear it has something to do with the markets there and the government selling away their property. It’s sad that this is the most common form of expressing discontent in politics. Is this the only way the Ugandans know how? Is it the only thing that works? At what cost? How many lives will be taken in the chaos?

THE GOAT RACE

2007-11-22T08:15:00.001-05:00

September 2007

This is Uganda's equivalent of The Kentucky Derby-except on a smaller scale, especially in the matter of the competing animals. But it still has the big hats, flowers decorating everything, rich people betting, food, drink, entertainment, sunshine, and anything else you might imagine. I have never seen so many rich people all in one spot before in this county but of course I've never seen goats racing either. Weird.

BIRTHDAY

2007-11-21T07:09:00.000-05:00

September 18th, 2007
My first birthday in Uganda and a lovely one at that!

Birthday card- African style

Why does the night always end up with a mud foot!

"GUESS WHO" OUR STYLE

2007-11-19T13:15:00.002-05:00

September 2007

Being the creative volunteers we are (although its probably more due to the fact we have no electronics or games to entertain us) we made our own version of "Guess-Who" using ourselves as the characters! But the questions aren't normal "Guess-Who" questions like "Does the volunteer have red hair," no! They're more creative, philisophical, & interpretive like "Would this volunteer rather be proposed to on the top of a mountain after hiking all day or over a candlelight dinner at a facy restaurant?" What fun!

THE ELEPHANT ORPHANAGE

2007-11-18T07:01:00.001-05:00

October 2007

A Sunday trip to the park…with elephants! I visited and elephant orphanage today in the national park. And on the walk there I saw warthogs, bushbucks, & baboons! They all walk around each other without even a bother. I was surprised to see them living so well together in the wild. Anyway, the elephants were unbelievable! I had no idea how much care a young elephant needs & how they have no chance of living if the mother dies. It makes the idea of poaching that much worse. Their caretakers, all Kenyan men, live with them, sleep with them, rotating so no elephant will become too attached to one person or they’ll lack the coping skills to survive on their own. Women have difficulty being caretakers for two reasons: most women are too busy taking care of the family, the home, etc; and also the elephants tend to become aggressive towards them once a month! The young elephants have to be bottle fed a special milk formula every 3 hours, 24 hours a day. They need social, emotional, & physical attention or they’ll actually become depressed & die. Blankets have to be tied to their backs at all times or they’ll get cold & catch the flu which is deadly quite literally when you have a trunk! On the other hand they also need sunscreen rubbed on their giant ears during the day because the ears are delicate & will damage easily from sunburn. All this because they don’t have a mother to keep them warm & haven’t the shadow from a mother to walk in under the hot African sun. If the mother elephant dies another cannot adopt the orphan because she doesn’t have milk to feed him/her or if she does, it must be saved for her on single baby. They don’t have enough for two. If a mother is unlucky enough to bear twins she will leave one behind, she can only care for one. The elephants form friendships with others, prefer some to others. The oldest female will always act as a big sister and care for the smaller ones. They played in a small pool of water, kicked around a ball, rolled around in the mud with each other. It was wonderful to see, good to be able to appreciate the work people are doing to save the endangered African elephant.

A FULL CART

2007-11-17T06:58:00.000-05:00

October 2007
I’m standing in line at a supermarket holding my few precious items that have been carefully selected off the many shelves. As I casually look behind me, a wave of shock floods my body. As the shock subsides, ever-so-small tears well in my eyes. This is my reaction to seeing a regular grocery cart filled to the top with items; imagine that. It took me awhile to even understand why I reacted that way. Wow, I never would have thought such a “normal” sight would cause such a reaction.

GOATSTOCK

2007-11-16T07:19:00.000-05:00

October 2007
“Goatstock,” drugs, sex, rock-n-roll…and a goat? Yes, a goat! This is our PC tradition to celebrate Halloween, a Holiday in a country with which local people are unfamiliar with. So we gather at one of the many lakes in Uganda, or this time at Sipi Falls on Mt. Elgon, we bring out much anticipated creative costumes, we drink, laugh, play waffle ball (the first years against the second), roast a goat, & eat. And of course delight in the “well-done” costumes. What fun! After hitchhiking with Lynette from Mukono to Jinja, then catching another ride to Iganga where we were going to get out to head on a road north to Mbale we stayed in the car with these people through Tororo because as we arrived in Iganga there were torrential rains! So the last thing we wanted to do was stand in the mud and rain waiting for a car to pass by. Hello Tororo! We wait for an hour for the matatu to fill up to Mbale. We get there then get in another matatu where we find 4 other volunteers! But, we wait another hour. Finally we’re at the Twalight Guest House overlooking beautiful Sipi Falls. Its night now, so we drink and catch up on life at site. Beds are limited so Elliot, Kendra, & I all share a 3 ½ foot wide bed. The next day we enjoy hiking & play the traditional game- waffle ball! We have two long bats that our resident expert carpenter Bill carved for us. I made one run and two outs-fly balls caught with a jump and my eyes closed-as usual, from Jacob and Aaron in center field! I’m the only female to make an out! We go back & sit in the treehouse all huddled together listening to the boys play their guitars. Time to dress. The make-up, the hairstyles, the accessories. We have Mary Magdalene & Jesus well played by Chris & Olivia, God’s Gift to Women-Rishi, the Flintstones, The Blue Man Group, Rainbow Bright played by none other than Hannah, Cel-Tel & MTN (cell phone co) reps Amy & Brett, Supermans, Nile Beer bottle, Coke Lite bottle Allison style, Pippy Longstocking-Tessa, Justin Timberlake well done by Elliot, & CHOGM representative battled & torn TJ, just to name a few. And me, none other than Peter Pan! I even took a paraffin lantern to house Tinkerbell. I would turn the flame up & down according to whether or not people around me believed in Fairies. Jon & I wrapped together in the same coat for warmth began the game of points. Points we awarded through the night for various entertaining party tricks. We ended up taking first and second in this pointless game & the Flintstones won the costume contest. When morning comes we begin the long journey home again…until next year!

NIGHT IN THE CITY

2007-11-15T08:07:00.000-05:00

October 2007
The skyline of the capital at day & sunset:
One of our crazy nights in the capital city...
Phase 1: Surprising news...
Phase 2: We won the lottery!
Phase 3: but our dog died (and I somehow look like I have the mumps...ha!)

JANE IN THE JUNGLE

2007-11-14T07:21:00.000-05:00

October 2007
It's about time I swung from a vine in the jungle, after all its right next to me!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

2007-11-13T07:22:00.000-05:00

October 2007

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

There are no actual orange pumpkins here, just green. So I did my best! I even let some of the students come to my door to trick-or-treat. I explained the tradition of Halloween over and over again to the students and the other professors. And I think that some of the students were rather intrigued by the trick part of that phrase...

THANKSGIVING AT HOME

2007-11-12T07:35:00.000-05:00

November 2007

Photo
1: me cooking green beans
2: "Oops" Hannah finds some forgotten beans
3: washing dishes- yes in the shower, thats the only water tap I have
4: our lovely thanksgiving table
5: Me, my supervisor, & my counterpart ready to enjoy American food!
6: playing Catch Phrase together- awww

HOMEMADE PIZZA

2007-11-11T08:35:00.001-05:00

November 2007

We made dough, shredded cheese, & baked the pizza in our homemade oven! It tasted like real, actual pizza! And what was more amazing was that it actually worked!

CENTRAL GROUP THANKSGIVING

2007-11-10T07:37:00.000-05:00

SIPI FALLS with ALLIE

2007-11-09T07:56:00.000-05:00

DEREK'S LOCAL BREW PARTY

2007-11-08T09:02:00.000-05:00

JINJA TOWN, WHERE THE NILE BEGINS

2007-11-07T09:05:00.000-05:00

A DIFFERENT VIEW ON CHRISTMAS

2007-11-06T05:14:00.000-05:00

December 2007
This time of the year has been a bit more difficult to be here and so far away from home. I have none of the usual decorations, music, shopping, and other preparations to get me in the spirit of the season. Not to mention the snow. Somehow this dry heat does not make me think of things like Frosty the Snowman and candy canes and hot chocolate. I was spending my days thinking of what I’d be doing at home, the decorations, the Christmas cookies. It was too much. It came to me in an instant: I have to stay in the moment, here. I have only two opportunities to appreciate the Holiday season from a completely different perspective. So do it! It all became easier after that.

CHRISTMAS EVE 2007

2007-11-05T10:02:00.000-05:00

Monday, December 24th, 2007
Christmas Eve. Here in Uganda I spent the morning and early afternoon at the pool with other volunteers. I’ve never done that on Christmas Eve before! And there was even a small waterslide which made for some fun adventures. Then I returned to site to prepare Charlie for his big day. He donned his red velvet suit, hat, beard, and black boots. He practiced his “Ho,Ho,Ho, Merry Christmas!” (and attempted it in Luganda, but its just too darn long) and we were off in our sleigh (a SUV) towards the hospital children’s ward. The Elves (my counterpart, supervisor, another man, and I ) prepare plates of cookies, sweeties, cake, and juice for each patient. The nurses hurry around so excited. Its time, Charlie walks down the long hallway and pokes his head through the door and exclaims “Ho,Ho,Ho, Merry Christmas!” The adults shout and clap delighted to see Father Christmas. We go to the first child watching with wide eyes. They weren’t sure of him at first but eventually the smiles appeared and were eager to see what he’d do next. The lifeless children were now smiling surrounded by treats, a gift, and happy parents. They may not remember the Christmas Charlie-Santa came to visit, but I will. And hopefully it made life a little happier for the worried parents. Happy 1st Christmas in Uganda!

QUARTERLY REPORT ESSAY

2007-11-04T05:15:00.000-05:00

Monday, December 31st, 2007
Every three months each volunteer has to fill out a report full of numbers to report back to the government so they know they are spending their money well. I wonder does the military have to report how many people they’ve helped in order to keep receiving funding? Anyway, below is the ‘success story’ essay part of the report.
“After three long months of waiting and long is an understatement here, a month of the usual uncertainty that goes along with beginning a new job, finally in the last quarter I have both qualitative and quantitative results from my work as a volunteer. Not to mention some great memories and a Christmas moment to define the holiday in and of itself.
As my first semester lecturing at Kisubi Brother’s Centre of Uganda Martyrs University comes to an end, it is an opportune time to reflect on the progress of those I am working with and on my own as a volunteer. The accomplishments of my students in various courses over the semester have been significant not only in their marks, but their outlook on education, and in their attitude in class.
In the Public Speaking course I was overjoyed to see shy, young women who were barely audible as they gave their first speeches turn into outspoken women giving persuasive point-driven speeches on important topics such as “Let Us Solve Our Problems Without Violence,” “Abstain From Sex,” and even “The Injustices of the World Bank.” In the Ugandan culture of official ceremonies and impromptu public speaking, I have no doubt that the skills learned in class will benefit my students (and the listeners for that matter) for a lifetime.
One recent afternoon I unexpectedly met a student at the post office who went on to explain to me that since she has taken the course she finds herself critiquing speakers and readers in church on their rate, volume, tone, overall message, and the style used among other things. She also hopes to use these observations to better her own communication skills as a Sister when she is accepted into the church.
End of the semester feedback from the students includes: “I am delighted to see Madame Elizabeth walking with her students, it shows she cares,” “even though it wasn’t a teaching methods class, we learned many new methods along the way that I will use when I am a teacher,” “there are some classes or teachers you forget and don’t worry about, but then there are some that you think back on; and this is one of them. I hope that one day when I am in the field I can be a good teacher to my students like you were,” and “she was patient and ready to listen to those having difficulty and personally made sure all would succeed, and I did!”
My paramount experience as a volunteer in this quarter occurred at the very end, Christmas Eve. I and a few others from the University planned to go to the local hospital to bring a little Christmas joy to those children who were too ill to go home for the Holiday. We gathered gifts, some food, and decorations for the party. Then we had the discussion on how to handle giving out the gifts. Wanting to help, but realizing my gender limitation on playing jolly old St. Nick, I offered to use a puppet dressed in a Santa suit. “Charlie the puppet” as some of the PCV’s have come to know and love donned a red velvet suit, a beard, hat, boots, and with a little help from the local people practiced saying “Merry Christmas” in Luganda. We entered the children’s ward to find still children on small beds with a parent or auntie hovering around each. The adults laughed, shouted with joy, and clapped as they saw him. Slowly, each child smiled and reached out to touch the mini version of Santa. Even the babies watched him in wonder. The littlest ones may not remember this past Christmas but I hope the older ones and caretakers will remember the time “Santa” came to visit them in the hospital. I will certainly look back on my first Christmas as a PCV and smile.”

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2007-11-03T06:17:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, January 1st, 2008
Happy New Year from the beach in Zanzibar! We are at Ally Key’s Guest House in Matemwe, the northeast coast of Zanzibar. This is paradise. White sand, turquoise water, bright yellow sunshine, the sound of waves washing ashore, and palm trees blowing in the breeze. We spent last night at Kendwa Rocks- a huge beach party. Abu, who appointed himself as my true love was there. When I finally got him off my back for a few minutes there was another Zanzibarian trying to make a move. What the heck! Grr, sometimes its nice to talk and dance with the people you came with! But, dancing barefoot in the sand alongside the ocean with a pina colada in hand. I’ve never done that on new year’s eve before! Back in Matemwe by 4AM, its 2008! But not in America yet…

ZANZIBAR!

2007-11-02T11:12:00.002-04:00

Friday, January 4th, 2008
Things I’ll remember about my trip to Zanzibar:
1. Sipping a mojito on the beach, listening to the waves tumble onto the shore just a few feet from me with the company of a warm breeze, local music, and a table of friends
2. Jessica’s attempt to exchange an empty water bottle for a Zanzibar tourist cd, but first demanding the street vendor also sing every song to her first, especially Jambo, Jambo!
3. The Aldabra tortoise who wanted to eat what I now call “my lettuce dress”
4. Entering the ocean and the amazement of the turquoise color and warmth of it
5. The lights & shadows of the narrow labyrinth alleys of the streets
6. Walking through the fields and tasting cinnamon bark fresh off the tree
7. Our muppet-man friend at Jamituri Garden fountain
8. Reading “The True & Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters” on a lounge under a straw hut on the deserted Matemwe beach
9. Dodging men at the New Year’s Eve party
10. Smelling, hearing, and seeing cows graze on the beach
11. Seeing a cobalt blue starfish while snorkeling for the first time
12. My newly created old woman character who entices people to her “Zanzibar Spice” table
13. Walking along the beach on a moonless night in awe of the entire milky way
14. Seeing grace in the great beauty of Mt. Kilimanjaro-and sadly the lack of snow on top

TYPICAL HIPPY MOMENT

2007-11-01T06:18:00.000-04:00

January 2008
HA HA! I just had a seriously typical hippie volunteer moment! 9:30 at night, I’m listening to Lynard Skynard’s “Sweet Home Alabama” singing along, high off paint fumes, painting a border of African designs in my bathroom! Feeling at peace.

THE BIRTH OF A LEOPARD TRADITION

2007-10-30T12:01:00.000-04:00

January 2008
As I stand just outside my door amazed at the intensity of the rain this afternoon a female student walks up to me and says "Do you know what they say about the rain while the sun shines at the same time?" "No" I remark "What do they say?" She answers "That a leopard is giving birth. But I don't know if thats true or not." "Could be, you never know!" I reply.

ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY

2007-10-29T11:27:00.001-04:00

March 5, 2008
Earlier last week I celebrated my one year anniversary. Can you believe it, a year has gone by already! I thought I'd take some time to reflect about this past year...

'Of the gladdest moments in human life, is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one mighty effort the fetters of Habit, the leaden weight of Routine, the cloak of many Cares and the slavery of Home, one feels once more happy. The blood flows with the fast circulation of childhood . . . A journey, in fact, appeals to Imagination, to Memory, to Hope, the three sister Graces of our moral being.'
- Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton

One year.
One year ago I departed.
One year as a resident of Uganda.

I have lived in Africa for an entire year. I add Africa because it provides more imagery of where I am and what it means than simply writing Uganda. I have come to find that people generalize the nearly 50 countries on this continent as Africa. We forget that it's the name of a continent, not a country. I have come to see the reasons for that, learned how this generalization unites the countries, and how it can hold them back. I have learned to live without electricity, to store food for weeks without a refrigerator, and wash my hands without a faucet and more importantly why we do it this way. I have gambled at a casino with a gin and tonic in hand (hey it helps keep the malaria mosquitoes away)! I have come to prefer using an outdoor pit latrine, accustomed to bathing with a bucket in a concrete closet inside or out under the stars, and to hand-wash all clothes. I lived in a village whose schools had no benches or desks because they were all burned to cook food for soldiers as they stayed to kill by the thousands. I was there as they uncovered a mass grave down the street. I lived with a woman enduring life as AIDS takes over her body and her hope. Nightly, I sit next to a Rwandan man who is the sole survivor in his village from his country's genocide. He can't go back, he can't talk about it. I have learned to eat bananas in various forms three times a day. I have listened sad to numerous lectures from strangers on how I need to be Saved. Even baked cookies with a small fire! I enjoy local radio stations that play songs by Ugandan artists Chameleon and The Obsessions. I once tasted fresh cut cinnamon bark. I wait for water to boil so I can drink. I have experienced the incredible magnitude of speaking to people in the local language. In the same day I have been deemed a rich person by one and a poor person by another. I have learned the meaning and absolute necessity of forgiveness, even when it is inconceivable to do so. I have smelled the sweetest flower of the coffee bean bush. Seen children grow and my university students learn. I have had moments that took my breath away. I have had moments where all I can do is keep breathing.

Silent voices and pleading looks of sorrow surround me. Blissful laughter and smiles of appreciation for life and its gifts penetrate my soul. It has been the most incredible instantaneous roller coaster of high highs and low lows. I am grateful for this time and wish you were here experiencing it with me. I am forever changed by it. Though I am unsure of how to return home to live in America again, I do look forward with much anticipation to sharing these wonderful gifts and stories with you. And maybe eating a salad and seeing a play would be nice as well! And with that, I thank all of you. Thank you for helping me get here in whatever way you did. I so look forward to hearing from you.

Always,
Elizabeth

HAPPY EASTER 2008

2007-10-28T11:33:00.000-04:00

March 2008

Happy Easter!
I hope you are well and are beginning to see some signs of spring popping up (even if they are under snow at the moment, bambi (sorry)!). Although I'm sure many of you are sick of winter, the changing of the seasons is a lovely thing...but easy for me to say right? Well then, at least have a happy Easter and enjoy a chocolate bunny for me.

I'm just past mid-semester at University and thankfully so. Its been a busy time. Lots of paperwork, grading, and material to cover. And questions!! I can't even tell you about all the questions concerning America I have been fielding lately. Maybe its because the students are finally comfortable with asking a mzungu (white person) seemingly simple questions or maybe its due to me co-teaching a class called 'School & Society' to 78 students, but boy am I exhausted! 'Yes, we have people with black skin in America, yes we sometimes wash some clothes by hand, no the US Government did not invent AIDS to kill Africans, yes we have run-down schools, yes women had and still have to fight for equal rights, yes our police enforce traffic rules, yes we have cows.' It never ends. There are so many misconceptions and its hard to clear them up in a polite, culturally sensitive manner! Then there are the really difficult topics like slavery and why Americans thought they could own and treat a person as such. The looks on their faces as I gently explain these kinds of things tell me this is somewhat new information or processing of it at least. But I do what I can, I just wish I had more life experience to draw upon so I could explain more definitely.

I am looking forward to another bit of a holiday. I know the last time I wrote I went on one too and these emails coincide with Holidays which coincide with my only opportunities to travel. So I do. Another PCV and I will be taking a bus to Rwanda for Easter. An appropriate time to grieve and at the same time see the resiliency and rebirth of human kind. We will spend Easter at the Hotel Des Mille Collines, a name made famous by a heroic act documented in the film Hotel Rwanda. We will visit memorials and mass graves to try to comprehend the incomprehensible tragedy. We will visit the capital city Kigali. We also hope to trek in Volcano National Park where the gorillas are, but will be restricted in viewing them as we cannot afford the permit to do so. I will write more about that on my web page when I return.

Again, I wish you the best and HAPPY EASTER!!

With Love,
Elizabeth

HOW TO DONATE

2007-10-27T11:34:00.000-04:00

Some of you expressed that you wish you could do something to help. At this point in time I'm not one for really giving out donations (clothes, food, money), but I will in your name if you wish it done.

But in the manner of education, I am completely for it. So if you want to help...
- $5 itunes gift card (I would use these to download movies, etc to explain things that my words cannot. I even hope to set up a weekly movie night with the university students. You can see how it would really help in explaining the difficult questions they ask. I also want to show Martin Luther King's 'I Have A Dream' speech to my public speaking class, a filmed play in the genre of Theatre of the Absurd to my drama students...things they may never have an opportunity to experience and understand otherwise) You can just scratch off the PIN or whatever and email me the code if you don't want to mail it.
- 6 paperback copies of the young adult novel 'Hatchet' by Gary Paulsen. I am really trying in every way I can to turn it into a reading culture here. They can read, they just don't. I have one copy of this book here and it has been so well received. And its a good fit since my students will become secondary school teachers and can read it with their future students.

For your information--------------------------------------------------------
SHIPPING/MAILING
Do it through the United States Postal Service, its the cheapest. You can estimate about $10 for shipping a pound. Use bubble envelopes (not recycled newsprint padded ones-they tear) if its not fragile, a box if it is. If it is nearly 4 pounds or more, you are better off using an 'International Flat Rate Box' available free at the post office. The set shipping rate for this box is $37 whether its filled with bricks or fluffy cotton. It takes an envelope about 15 days and a box about 30 to arrive at best.

Elizabeth Oddy
PO Box 47
Kisubi, Uganda
East Africa
(no zip)

RWANDA

2007-10-26T02:07:00.011-04:00

March 2008
I have been avoiding writing this missive. How can words portray what I have seen, felt? Maybe if I had written moment by moment it would not seem as impossible as it is now? But as I am sometimes forced to do on my travels, my hardcover journal stayed behind because of the limitations of packing. And now I have an overwhelming feeling to take my time with this entry, to describe this place where unimaginable events took place.

How do you write about the beautiful things painted with a horror fresh everywhere around you? The people, the landscapes with marked genocide memorials in every corner, society’s rebuilt buildings, the homes, people’s morals, the government and its infrastructure, the air exhaled by the remaining victims on the bus seats next to you, it was all so beautiful and so devastating in the same moment. A mere fifteen years ago my experience would have been entirely different, I imagine the people not so hallowed then. Now I travel through a country recovering from a hundred days where many of its citizens became victims and the rest murderers, and many both.

The Bus Ride
The story begins with a 2am departure from my country on a broken seat in the front of a bus. The back was not completely attached to the base. With an earnest try using a water bottle cap, folded cardboard, and a pen, I run out of local materials and resign to make do. Hopefully I won’t be conscious enough to notice. A few hours later in blinking sleep I watch the landscape change through the early dawn hours. Rolling hills of increasing size appear in shadows along the horizon. On the side of the road I see a large animal ahead! Habitually I first think it’s a deer but then I change my guess to a horse until I realize they don’t live in this country either. A moment later the bus’ headlights shine on the munching animal revealing its black and white stripes. A zebra! My first sighting of one in the wild! They mostly live in the southwest of the country and I hadn’t yet been able to visit this part. Ooo, now I am too excited to even think about sleep, though my travel partner clearly has no problem. My eyes are kept busy straining through the darkness to spot other wildlife over the next few hours. Arriving at the Rwandan border we groggily stumble off the bus to stand in line at immigration with a departure card. After a stamp we walk across the bridge to stand in another line with another color immigration card. Pushing through the walking currency exchange businesses we get to our luggage all lined up. We claim our bags and stand in line to wait for inspection. Finally in what feels like hours later we are driving on the sharply winding roads of Rwanda! Each bend at our speeding pace feels like enough to make our bus roll down each steep hill we navigated along. Not to mention curves so frequent that visibility can be no more than twenty feet! It was one hill after another and a new hill in every direction for as far as one could see. Rwanda: The Land of A Thousand Hills, though I am sure there are more than that as I can see a thousand already! The morning dew sits in the valleys between each hill and rises to fade away as we hurry along towards the capital. Amazed that we arrived in one piece we hurry off the bus, grab our luggage and look around at this new world, one so different than our own. After exchanging our money into Rwandan Francs we head to a café for a lunch of chappatis with cabbage and drink Rwandan black tea as we make our plan to tour the country. Surprisingly we feel steady enough and decide to head back to another bus for four hours to visit the northwest right away. Destination: Parc de Nationals Volcanes (Volcano National Park). Easier said than done! Lesson one: Rwandans do not understand Uganglish (Ugandan English). Lesson two: hardly anyone speaks English, darn French colony! (though later I took that curse back as I tasted delectable French cheeses!) Lesson three: my mime skills do not translate. Lesson four: my high school French classes were not practical enough to include bus transport directions. Finally, we found one person who spoke broken English and kindly showed us where to buy tickets and which bus to sit on. We’re off to hike the volcanoes! This bus brought out an equal amount of fear as we swung along, but at least this one had traditional music to distract us!

Climbing A Volcano
Just as we arrive to Rugungeri town it begins to rain. Trudging through the freezing cold and rain and being discouraged by the environment of budget hotel we managed to track down, we resolve to take a taxi down the road to a somewhat nice hotel. Upon arrival they inform us that they’ve doubled their rates since last year-or so they say. I bargain a bit and we head to the room for a necessary defrosting soak in a hot tub. Dinner at the hotel and we’re asleep by 6:30pm. We sleep hard as rocks till the alarm goes off at 4:30am. Time to hike! We layer every piece of clothing available and place an extra pair of socks in our packs in case we need them as mittens. A quick breakfast and we drive through the park. The volcanoes rise from the ground and are beautifully capped by clouds that seem stuck on their peaks. “Which one are we climbing?” I ask. Our driver points to the one most left of the visible three, a respectable 3711 meter high volcano called Visoke. This is the well trekked volcano of Dian Fossy who spent years studying and protecting these very gorillas. She rests among them now. After a briefing at the base our guide drives us to the start of our path, the most difficult one there is. Fantastic! I’m being sarcastic if you can’t tell. Unfortunately this path does not guarantee a gorilla sighting, but my friend and I can’t afford the costly $500 permit to trek them. So we hike the volcano instead…in the rainy season…which is a really bad idea as we would soon find out. Not only are we hiking a volcano on a barely etched path, we are pulling our feet and legs out of knee-high thick black swampy mud with each step! Even worse, my boots are too big on me so my foot also slips out of the boot each step. This was not just the challenge of hiking up a volcano anymore; it was an all out battle to stay above ground! The rainforest that surrounded our day’s struggle was so crowded with green I had to keep myself from stopping to stare at the vast variety of shades to stay up with the group. After many hours of hiking the dark clouds roll in. Not being near enough to the top to make the added element of drowning rain worthwhile we turn back. Our guide abandons the path to try a less muddy, less slippery but longer route. But alas, we pull away in the car just as the rains begin to pummel the earth. Back in town we take another small bus to Gesenyi, a town about two hours southwest of Ruhengeri that sits on Lake Kivu and borders the DRC.

Our Luxury Stay in Gisenyi
We walk towards the lake to our first two hotel choices in Gisenyi. We soon realized using a guide book from 2000 is not a good idea in ever changing Africa. Both hotels though supposedly new, look as if they’ve been abandoned for fifty years. Paint chipping of the walls, a gutted inside, windows so thick with dust. Tired and discouraged the Serena Hotel beckons to us from down the road. Should we stay at this five-star East African resort chain? My friend convinces me to at least go in to see if there is a room available being Easter weekend, and how much it will set us back. They welcome us and offer us a tour. Well, of course the unfamiliar and luring luxury of running hot water, carpet, fluffy towels, a television, and beds with spring mattresses win us over! Ushered back to the lobby by our new friend Francis to register where oh so pleasantly he offers us steaming face cloths and a glass of fresh squeezed mango juice on a silver platter with a doily! Now we are convinced this was a great idea. A hot shower using complimentary soap and shampoo (wow!) gets the gunk of our hike earlier in the day off. We do a little laundry in the sink (yes we’re still volunteers) and head for an early dinner so we can watch a movie before we collapse into our duvet covered cloud-like bed. A perfect ending.
Our morning begins with a champagne breakfast buffet on the veranda overlooking the hotel pool, Lake Kivu and its beach, and the mountains of the DRC, incredible. Brie, a selection of nine fresh squeezed fruit juices, a whole table of warm breads, buns and cakes, strawberries, and hot waffles all taste new and fill our stomachs in a way food hasn’t in over a year. We lay on the beach until the rain chases us away to our next bus ride. Four hours west, back to the capital city Kigali.

Kigali
We stay in a mid-range hotel’s cheapest room which is across the road in a compound with locals and a shared bathroom and shower outside. The receptionist is surprised at our choice until we explain that we live in Uganda and it is similar to our living situation. A bottle of local Primus beer and a snack for dinner in the hotel’s bar sets us into hysterics as we talk about our adventures thus far and the prospect of the cute mzungu man sitting near us. The next morning we take a taxi to The Kigali Memorial Centre opened to mark the tenth anniversary of the genocide. We walk into a few wrong doors before finding the entrance; again the language barrier makes us feel like stupid tourists.

The Kigali Memorial Centre
Inside the museum is three permanent exhibitions: the largest explaining in sequence the events of the Rwandan Genocide, the next is a children’s memorial dedicated to those who would have been the future of Rwanda, and last section teaches about other genocides that have occurred in recent history: Cambodia, Armenia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Namibia, the Holocaust. Outside there are memorial gardens and mass graves where the remains of 258,000 women, children, and men, all murdered in Kigali lie. The surviving family members come here to remember their loved ones. The graves are dressed in purple and adorned with flowers this Easter week. Soon they will be dressed again to mark the fourteenth anniversary of the tragedy.

History of the Genocide
I step cautious and uncertain silent into a dimly lit circular hall and am ushered into the first small room on the right. The first thing I see hung on the dark teal wall is a clear glass placard etched with a quote, hung at the height I imagine the child who said it once stood.
“If you knew me, and you really knew yourself, then you would not have killed me”
-Felicien Ntagengwa
It kept me motionless for many more seconds than I took to read it. The first displays show when Rwanda was its own country filled with one people, one language, and one history where for centuries they lived in peace. It was their Rwanda, one with laughing children, busy markets, drummers and dancers, beautiful farms among the hills and lakes, weather-appropriate traditional clothing, craftsman, and artisans.
The second room tells of the time of forced colonization. First by the Germans from 1895-1916 then from World War One it was occupied by the Belgians until Rwanda’s independence in 1962. There were some benefits to the occupation. Trade routes opened, schooling and medicine developed as did the infrastructure. The rest is hidden by history. The Catholic church influenced education and their teaching increasingly conveyed the racist ‘Hamitic’ ideology that portrayed the Tutsis as a superior group. Prior to colonization the categories Hutu, Tutsi, and Twa were exclusively socio-economic classification within clans, which could change with personal circumstances. Under colonial rule the distinctions became a racial one with the introduction of the identity card in 1932. The divide had begun. The colonial power decided anyone with ten cows (a usual determiner of wealth in Africa) is a Tutsi and anyone with less than ten, a Hutu. This invented classification was further reinforced by Europeans who came to “study” “primitive beings” and determined that the Tutsis were superior because of their larger cranial size, height, nose shape, and other physical attributes. These “scientists” created an invented race. The Tutsis were given privileged positions until 1959 when the Tutsi regime leader King Rudahigwa died. Upon his death the Hutus deemed it time to act in revenge for the years of suppression. Massacres of Tutsi were organized. At this time over 700,000 Tutsis were exiled from the country as a result of this ethnic cleansing encouraged by the Belgian colonists. Some of the exiled Tutsis and some Hutu moderates created the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) along the border countries. This group would later invade Rwanda in 1990 and then again in1994 under the leadership of a man now known as vice president Paul Kagame. Chaos ensued and in 1961 a democratic election was held for a new leader. Obviously with most of its population Hutu a Hutu leader was chosen, a man named Habyarimana. Democracy doesn’t work everywhere. Revenge for the years of unfair treatment towards the Hutus from the Belgian-supported Tutsis began under the new regime.
The next room explained life in a divided society and the rising of political extremist groups comprised of Hutus. Aid from the west reinforced the division and prosecution until finally donors demanded financial and democratic accountability. So in 1990 Habyarimana declared the establishment of the multi-party system, a change from his single-party (dictatorship) system. Most of the new parties were Hutu extremist groups. Habyarimana’s own political group, the Mouvement Revolutionnaire et National pour le Developpement (MRND) was responsible for establishing the Interahamwe, a flamboyant Hutu youth militia that was enormously popular. From this point on genocide was rehearsed with massacres carried out every year until the “Final Solution” of 1994. Four years of rehearsal time.
The following room showed how propaganda made its contribution to destruction. The local radio station and over twenty newspapers were used to incite hatred, to give instructions, and justify the killings. Worst of all this spread fear (sounds familiar) to persuade the majority of the population why they should see their neighbors, their own family, as enemies.
“We…say to the Inyenzi (cockroaches) that if they lift up their heads again, it will no longer be necessary to go fight the enemy in the bush. We will…start by eliminating the internal enemy… They will disappear.”
“Do your duty, clear the bush”
-Hassan Ngeze, editor of the Kangura newspaper, January 1994
The next room explained the international community’s role in the upcoming tragedy. The French continued to support the Habyarimana regime despite full knowledge of the propaganda and killings under Habyarimana. The Arusha Peace Accords were signed between Habyarimana and the RPF. They were to join together and disarm. This was all a big joke to Habyarimana who had no intension of doing such. These accords however did force the French troops out because of their support to ruling side and were replaced by a neutral force, the UN Assistance Mission in Rwanda (UNAMIR). Meanwhile, Habyarimana’s regime entered the largest-ever Rwandan arms deal with a French company for $12 million, with a loan guaranteed by the French government, another important step in the preparation for genocide. In January 1994 an informant code named ‘Jean-Pierre’ disappeared after informing UNAMIR that youth militia were being trained under the President’s group and registering all Tutsi in Kigali for an extermination plan which would kill up to 1,000 people every twenty minutes. Death lists were being prepared. The head of UNAMIR faxed this information to the UN Headquarters in New York and no action was taken in response to the fax. Worldwide there was intelligence that ‘Something Big’ was going to happen. But no one acted. On 6 April 1994 President Habyarimana’s helicopter also carrying Burundi’s President was shot down killing all inside on its approach into Kigali airport. The big thing happened.

The next section contains graphic details of history and should not be read by some. Young readers please skip the section below and continue after the following row of asterisks.
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The next room told of the ‘Apocalypse’. Instantly following the helicopter shooting which the Hutus were thought to be responsible for, Hutus manned roadblocks sprang up all over the city with intent to kill the rest of the Tutsis. At the same time Interahamwe began house to house searches and systematically spread to remote villages. Women were beaten, raped, humiliated, abused, and ultimately murdered in plain sight of their own families. Hutus who did not comply with the merciless killings were also eliminated and considered supporters of ‘the cockroaches’. The murderers used machetes, clubs, guns, and any blunt tool they could find to inflict as much pain on their victims as possible. It was genocide from this very day. How could the international community ignore what was going on, what was being planned for so many years? Husbands and wives woke up in bed in the following nights to see their spouses wielding a blade towards their throats. In 100 days more than 1,000,000 people were murdered. Many more lay still in fear suffering from machete cuts, bullet wounds, infection, and starvation. The women raped purposely by HIV positive soldiers were often spared the machete to suffer the longer, more painful death of AIDS. Another form of torture was to first cut tendons so the victims could not run away. They were made to watch the chaos and wait for someone to come and finish the job. People were thrown down latrine pits and the soldiers dropped rocks onto them until it was quiet. Some resisted, tried hiding, attacked the killers with bows and arrows and stones, traded food for another day of life but in the end there were just too many of them. Orphans and widows walked streets filled with the corpses of people they knew. No one came. No one helped rid the county of the stench of death or tried to prevent it. People who had hoped for safety within church walls became prisoners; some turned over by their own priests and were easy targets for the killers now able to kill 1,000 in a few minutes. Tutsis fled to the nearest UN troupes marked by their blue berets only to be abandoned when the killers approached. The UN forces were ordered to take no action including request for protection until clear guidance was given by headquarters. The UN gave no such orders; they were too busy contemplating semantics. No Tutsi was safe or exempt from the killings.
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The next room described the international response or the lack thereof as I see it. On the very day the President’s helicopter crashed the head of UNAMIR cabled New York and stated “Give me the means and I can do more.” He asked that the UN send in technology to block the airwaves of the local radio that was sending out the killing instructions. He was given an official reply that it would be too expensive. Relief efforts at the end of the hundred days ended up costing 10 times as much as it would have to block the radio. UNAMIR wasn’t given anything more to stop the impending genocide. Instead the UN Security Council reduced the amount of troupes, pulled out diplomatic staff and foreign workers. Many foreigners were evacuated against their will screaming as they left their colleagues, employees, and friends at the mercy of the killers. The world withdrew and watched as a million people were slaughtered. The Red Cross stayed and issued official statements of declaring the tremendous gravity of the genocide. The courageous efforts of hotel manager Paul Rusesabagina of The Hotel Des Mille Collines kept his guests and any who could make it to his gate alive, but he did this alone. He risked his life to alert every relief organization by phone and fax with startling details of the situation they were surviving. He pleaded for help, even from The US Peace Corps, none of which did anything until it was over. Not one additional peacekeeper or armored personnel carrier arrived in Rwanda before the RPF victory in July 1994. Now it was the Hutus turn to flee fearing the new Tutsi dominated government. Among these refugees are yesterday’s killers. They fled to border refugee camps where international aid now assisted not the victims but the perpetrators. The survivors left behind, wounded and too weary to walk to the border, were overlooked by aid agencies. The flood of money went to the killers. I cannot get that fact out of my head.
There are rooms of pierced skulls, legs and arms sitting on shelves. Another of victims’ blood stained clothing hung in a row. Another room of photograph covered walls. So many wasted lives.
The Children’s Memorial
There are fourteen windows in this large room. Each one holding an enlarged photograph of a child whose life was cut short. Many photos showed a child much younger than the said age. That’s because it is the only precious photograph the family has left of their child from of the destruction or because they were too poor to have more than one photo taken in their late child’s life. Below the photo are details of a life like that of Francine Murengezi Ingabire’s: age: 12, favorite sport: swimming, favorite food: eggs and chips (French fries), favorite drink: milk and Fanta tropical, best friend: her elder sister Claudette, cause of death: hacked by a machete. Lives wasted. Fourteen is a comprehendible number, one million is not. The human body is not able to absorb the grief of one million people; if we were we would probably be too overcome to carry on. But fourteen little souls, we can feel and comprehend that. If a visitor hadn’t shed a tear yet or been hardened to feel anything else yet it might sink in now.

Genocidal Violence Around the World
The final exhibition deals briefly with selected genocides in our world history in the same manner of the Rwandan exhibit. It tells the events that led to it, the story of the days where killing ensued, the lives lost with a begging question: why do we repeat this horrific act? Can’t we learn?
The Gardens and Mass Graves
We stager outside blinded by the harsh sun and wander through the gardens. A time of peace to take it all in, learn from our past, and pause at the cement covered mass graves to grieve once more.

Now
As I walked through the memorial I felt an increasingly strangling feeling of guilt and the lives wasted as a result of inaction. I think those standing around me did too as they read the horrifying details that were ignored for so long. I think people try to rationalize what happened by saying it was the Rwandan’s own fault, a civil war of sorts. The undeniable evidence is ignored. Rwanda didn’t manufacture the millions of cheap machetes inside the country! Habyarimana’s party imported them by the millions and no one had the courage to ask why, not the manufacturing company, not the port officials in Mombasa, not the border officials in Kenya or on either side of Tanzania. And the list goes on...We all played a role in tragic series of events starting from the very first days of colonization.

I came to the memorial to try to understand the genocide and reflect on the lives lost. I left having learned from it.

We drove away quietly ready to leave the sadness behind for a little while. We took a taxi to the craft market on the other side of town and enjoyed the familiarity of bargaining at the market. I was on the hunt for a Congolese mask (I already have a Rwandan one) and a few gifts. I did not find a Congolese one of my liking but one stall had an amazing Nigerian one! Weary from a full and trying day we take another taxi to Sole Luna, an Italian restaurant. We have the best pizzas our mouths have tasted in ages and a glass of wine to relax as we look over the beautiful moon lit city of Kigali.

The events that occurred at Nyamata church are graphic and should not be read by some. Those should skip this section and begin again after the following row of asterisks.
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Nyamata Church Memorial

The next morning, Easter morning, I head out alone to the bus park to visit a genocide memorial about two hours outside the city. The people on the seats around me are clearly amused not only to see a visitor in their country but to see one riding the public transportation. The driver stops and lets me out first and tells a bicycle taxi where to take me. I’m off on the back of a bicycle down the muddy path watching village life pass by.

10,000 people were murdered in the church and its surroundings as the victims tried to flee. In this all brick church people gathered as a place of security only to be handed over by their very own priest into the hands, rather the weapons of the killers. The bodies have been removed but their story lies in every corner. The original metal gate still hangs in the doorway where the killers bashed though to get to those seeking sanctuary. To the left is an old office that now holds piles of bloodstained clothing. On top of the alter in front of the church still lies the original cloth with both ends colored in a faded orange. In 1994 that cloth sat in an lake of blood knee high from the dead bodies of its congregation. Plastic rosaries and identification cards are the only possessions left. Sunlight steams in from a hundred holes in the tin roof from the grenades and bullets. There are bricks dented and chipped from weapons as well as a chipped Virgin Mary statue that stares hallow into an empty room. Blood stains are everywhere, particularly on the back wall where soldiers swung the congregations’ babies and small children by the ankles to bash their heads against the wall with mothers watching. Outside, my French speaking guide and I climb down a crude ladder into an open mass grave. Thousands of damaged skulls marked by their killers’ machetes and guns rest on a shelf, each one a life that no longer exists. The remaining shelves house other bones resting right there in front of my eyes.
*********************************************
It smells of dark earth and the only light streams in from where our ladder leans. What does one say? It is apparent to me that this woman lives in this town, knew these people. “I’m sorry” is not enough. I say it anyway but hope she gets more from my stillness and the sorrow in my eyes. I’m sorry we didn’t help you they say. We leave and I sign the visitor book and make a small donation. I walk through the village this time and greet the small children staring at me as I pass. Back in the taxi a small boy peaks cautiously through my window from outside. After a few minutes he determines I am not a threat and smiles and laughs with me. I greet him and he runs to his friend. They both look and giggle delighted.

Back in the city we move to our new place “The Hotel Des Mille Collines.” This is the hotel in the movie “Hotel Rwanda.” We walk around the hotel imagining all that happened here and then enjoy an early Easter dinner at the Union Trade Center at a coffee shop much like Starbucks. Standing at the desert display case a server comes over and asks what I would like. Jokingly I explain my disappointed that there is no bunny cake or anything of the sorts. He makes a serious offer to go to the kitchen and make me one! Haha, people are too sweet here sometimes. I thanked him and suggested it for next year instead. Back at the hotel we relax and watch movies and prepare for the bus ride home. The next morning we enjoy our last shower and stop at the craft market where I find my Congolese mask! Here I learned that no one utters the words Hutu or Tutsi anymore. I got this information by stumbling upon a supposedly Rwandan mask and looking uncharacteristically Rwandan I ask which clan it is from. The salesman explains that it is simply Rwandan, we don’t use those labels for anything anymore. He asks if I know what happened. I tell him I do, and that most of the world now knows what happened. He looks pleased. Back onto the bus for a similar ride home but in the very back row this time. I again admire the beauty of everything around me, understand its death, but am content and thankful to have witnessed the remarkable rebirth of a country.

A few thoughts: first, read An Ordinary Man by Paul Rusesabagina. It’s a real portrayal of what happened from the view of the hotel in his modest point of view. Don’t just watch the movie. Second, please come (or send someone) if you are a social worker, councilor, psychologist, physiatrist, or a person who can provide mental care. There are so many people walking around dead inside having witnessed family members being murdered, so many who committed murders and have never had the chance to talk about it or receive help. Most wish they would have died. They should have the right not to live like that. Third, if you are an aid organization, etc. please, please listen to people you have in country. Don’t just send money or make decisions for them. The ones on the ground know best, even if they are in a lower position than you. Eat some humble pie and listen to them, they know when help is needed and what kind. Finally, I wish I didn’t observe this but I think it’s clear to most that are able to just sit and watch, listen. It is not over. There is too much tension in the air, hostility towards each other, children engaged in fist fights not to become something more. I hope we can help this time so this beautiful country that has just been reborn can continue prospering as it is now.

CRAFT DAY

2007-10-25T02:40:00.006-04:00

April 2008
Uganda and Tanzania have a beautiful traditional craft: a basket made of banana leaves and palms. I was lucky enough to learn this craft last year at a fellow volunteer’s site under the instruction of her women’s group (see "Little Surprises" entry above.) Today, I brought the women to my students so they could learn it too. This provided an opportunity to teach outside the classroom and spend some time with my community of students. But I never thought I would be the one to bring their something from their own culture to them!
In preparation, a few helpers and I took the stem from the banana leaf, scooped out the soft center, and sliced the stem into smaller strips. Then we laid the strips in the sun to dry for two days. The product is something like hay but not as brittle and called “Bukeedo” or banana straws. This will be the “stuffing” for the coil-style basket. Next one prepares the decorative outside to wrap around the banana straws. Using leaves of palm trees, one also makes thinner strips from the whole leaf by slicing the leaf with the grain. This is also dried in the sun. It is something like we call raffia. The last step of preparation is to dye the raffia. You take a large pot and boil an inch or two of water, just enough to cover the raffia when placed into it. When the water begins to make steam, you drop a pinch or two of the powdered dye, purchased from the local market into the water. Then stirring constantly with a stick, you add the raffia. Boil it together for about five minutes. Remove the colored raffia, rinse it with cold water to set the dye and lay it on the ground to dry in the sun.
On the Craft Day thirty students, some staff and administration, and I all met outside of the classroom building. We sat on straw mats with our teachers and materials dispersed around our large circle. The women gave directions in the local language and English as they showed us how to use a large needle threaded with raffia to tie a knot in the banana straws which makes the base of the basket. After a few pricked fingers everyone had the start of their basket. We continued wrapping the raffia around the dime-sized bunch of banana straws and sewing it to the prior coil to keep the basket together every forth wrap or so. We alternated colors of raffia from natural to purple or natural to brown to create a design. I played my small short-wave radio tuned to a local radio station nearby. I was delighted as the students chatted and danced with each other and the women as they worked on their baskets. The students held up what they had done so far for approval and to hear the “well done!” they so love from each other. The wind blew and clouds came in as it is the beginning of the rainy season here. But the students stayed wrapped in their kangas and worked and worked on their small baskets. After four hours or so students started leaving one by one for study groups, meetings, or to have a siesta. No one finished their basket that day but I am glad that they now all have the skill. And the next day, I saw two of the students sitting together outside working on their baskets again!

GREETING

2007-10-24T02:43:00.000-04:00

April 2008
We greet each other. Culture and tradition has made our people faithful to this practice. We greet friends, strangers, acquaintances, every person we meet and pass by. Someone riding on a bicycle will stop with both feet on the ground to greet me before gliding by. But a smile or “hello” is not enough. You must wish each other a good day, ask how the night was, how they are, how those at home are.
In the beginning I found it daunting but obeyed blindly nonetheless knowing people would be offended if I didn’t. Later though the effort remained somewhat taxing, I learned to enjoy this seemingly unreasonable routine because of the smiles it brought to peoples’ faces. But then reason came; I understand now.
I sit at the computer in the President’s office Monday morning printing a precious page to handout to my students. My co-teacher walks in and greets the secretary. In old habit, I am ready to burst out an exclamation to get right to my point. I was mad. I had been anxious for his presence since Friday when I learned he failed to hand back the tests that he said he would return more than six weeks ago! The tests I scrambled to promptly mark for the students to have right away. Then he turns to me with a smile.
Freeze.
I remember we must greet. So I do. I ask him how he is (okay) and how the weekend was still hoping to hurry through this ritual to get to business. I watch as grief pulls the breath out of him. “Ah, it was okay. I attended the burial of a family member.”
Freeze.
Business has changed. This is what is important now. I would not have known if we had not performed this ritual. I would have expressed my anger to him directly and caused him to be even more distressed; unnecessarily so.
This is why we greet first. The state of our being be it good or bad and our family members is more important than anything else. Culture and tradition has it right: we greet each other.

THE LIMITS OF CHANGE

2007-10-23T02:44:00.002-04:00

April 2008
This semester I co-taught a class entitled “School & Society” with a published professor from the southwest. All 78 students in this class will be this country’s future secondary school teachers. The aim of this course is to explore the relationship that society has with school and visa versa and the results of this relationship. Each week we tackled a different topic such as HIV/AIDS, poverty, legal and ethical issues, domestic violence, religion, mass media, etc. At the moment local schools have very little to do with society and nor does society with schools; the relationship is almost nonexistent. My co-teacher and I struggled each week to demonstrate the importance of this relationship and how to be an instrument of change for the better in these areas. Each day I was thrilled to see their minds opening to accept the knowledge we put forth. I thought they were getting it. Then in this last week of classes my co-teacher and I decided to do a practical exercise with the students. I designed a game called “The Card You Are Dealt.” The goal of this game is to have students apply the topics covered in class in practice with the challenge of a different identity; being sensitive to this identity. Just as we live with “the card” we are given: we are born the sex we are, to the family we have, in the nation we live in, and the color skin we have; here in this game you also get “The Card You Are Dealt.”

The Game
To begin everyone gets a card from the deck at random. I predetermined what each card means to apply best to this course of study (though it should be adjusted for relevancy):

Characteristic #1
red card-you are female
black card-you are male

Characteristic #2

spades-you are a teacher
hearts-you are a teacher
diamonds-you are a student
clubs-you are a student
Now half of the class is composed of male and female “teachers” and the other half male and female “students.”

Characteristic #3

Ace, King, Queen, or Jack-you are HIV positive
10,9,8- you are a foreigner living in this country
7,6,5-you are a survivor of child abduction
4,3,2-you have a physical disability
Now everyone has a distinctive trait.

On one side of the room the teachers form a small group; on the other side, the students. For the next twenty minutes the students have two jobs. First, to come up with his/her story: what your name is, what your family is like, how old you are, when you contracted HIV or became disabled, etc. Second, write a list of accommodations you need or would like to have in order to learn at your best. Explain to the teachers that they are a group of friends who want to open a new and ideal school based on their current knowledge of education. Money is not an issue. They have to come up with everything: policies, rules, logistics, facilities, etc.
After twenty minutes call order and bring one student into the group of teachers. The student requests entry into the new school, tells his/her story, answers questions from the teachers, and asks for his/her list of necessary accommodations. At this point the student leaves and the teachers discuss their policies or add new ones to properly address the given situation. They must decide to accept or reject the student and provide reasons. The teachers give their answer and explanation to the student in person so to put a face with their policies. Go through all the students and take notes on what the teachers and students say, the good and the bad. Note stereotypes, illegal practices, insensitive and sensitive comments, model practices, etc. Process these notes and their reactions to this game afterwards or the following day.

It was an incredible and at times disheartening series of events for me to observe as their Lecturer. Not only did their true personalities come through as they debated their course of action, but it was as clear as day as to who internalized the content and who did not, who may remain stagnant and use “it’s just our culture” as a scapegoat for continuing to excuse unjust practices in schools. Having the first group which happens to be first-year university students, utterly fail at this practical exercise I walked out of the classroom deflated. “Is it possible that not a single person in the class learned anything we taught this entire semester? Did I fail?” I asked myself. I spent the day recalling the semester and though they seemed to grasp the individual concepts during class, I was truly saddened to see that when given a practical exercise these ideas did not transmit. Luckily, I directed this game to another classroom of my students later that day. As I played the game with this group of mostly third-year students, I was thrilled to observe as they displayed themselves pinnacle examples of responsible, sensitive, dedicated teachers who want to make our schools a better place for all children. They have understood! I thought. There are some who will benefit!
There are two many variables in this account to determine the cause of their behavior: age, level of schooling, time of day, the mob theory, possible exposure of the exercise from one class to the other, etc. But in the end I decided to use what happened earlier in the day not to feel like a failure, but to remind myself that change is slow. We can only do what we can a little at a time, affect those we can at this time. And that is okay.
Even more, I saw the bigger picture of this program. No longer do I think two years is too long as I did at times before I left America. And though I am teaching a high number of students each quarter, likely some of the same people for my entire two years of service, it will not be enough. We need volunteers at our sites before us, after us to make a large enough impact to benefit this society. Change is slow but as I saw in my second group of students, it does happen.

CANOE TREKKING

2007-10-22T06:23:00.004-04:00

The landscape as you travel southwest from the capital is absolutely incredible. Each hour appears as though you have traveled to a new part of the world. At one moment you are passing through a flat trading center and the next you are in the grasslands with zebras grazing and next beautiful rolling green hills undulate all around you. Ten hours of riding in the back of a fume filled bus we arrive in the land of the Bakiga, the people of Kabale. We eat a nutritious dinner of Indian food and beer to prepare for our upcoming three day canoe and hiking adventure. We set out the next morning in a dugout canoe (a hand dug hollowed out log) paddling a little to fast in all our excitement. We race each other towards our first stop, a small island. After a drizzling rain eco hike, a few “meetings” with our guide Moses, a glass of passion juice, a makeshift crayfish puppet, and a close call of my friend falling backwards off a tree house and a quick save, we’re back in our dugouts. We stop at another island and visit an empty secondary boarding school, the children being on break at the moment. The island is Sharpe’s island. Here, a Scottish missionary established a leprosy treatment center. Patients from all over East Africa were sent here and at its peak the hospital had 5000 patients. It was not until the 1980’s when a drug for leprosy was issued were the surviving patients were allowed to return to their homes. The headmaster first asks for money and then takes us on a tour expecting us to hand over money in great sympathy of its poor conditions. I think a fellow volunteer put our sentiments of the moment best when he said that this school is in far better condition than the ones that are around him. As we reach the cooking area we see “NO FOOD TODAY YOU WILL SUFFER” in white chalk on the entrance. We don’t know how to take that, is it a joke, a shameful ploy to get donations, or the truth? Most of us laugh it off but we are however disgusted at the rape scene etched on the dining room wall likely by a student. We try not to get angry at this remembering that the student probably witnessed such a thing and was trying to deal with it. But that’s no reason to leave it there on the wall as decoration. We try to make the headmaster promise to use our donations to buy paint and cover up that degrading drawing. Back in the canoe we row past “Punishment Island.” According to our guide it was law to leave all unmarried pregnant young woman on the island, to die of starvation. Since most people fear the water and don’t know how to swim it was a harsh death sentence and they usually choose to starve rather than enter the water. The only way one of these young girls could live was if a man decided to rescue her but then she had to become his wife. Imagine returning to your village with a random man after your father and others left you for dead? This was practiced until the 1950’s. Moses asks us to observe a moment of silence for the victims. Next we take lunch at a small resort with a man who resembles Santa Claus if I’ve even seen one. From here it was straight paddling to the southern end of Lake Bunyonyi to Mama Bena’s house where we would set up camp. Her children run to welcome us as we tie our canoes to the bottom of the hill. They are eager to help us carry our gear up the seriously steep hill. After the tents are set we join her family at the bonfire and eat local food: rice, beans, cabbage, and goat’s meat. We talk of the day’s events and after hiking and five miles of paddling we fall into our tents layering ourselves with wool blankets against the freezing cold.

The next morning we paddle for a short time to the other side of the lake and we begin our nine hour hike up an 8130 foot “hill.” On the way up we meet Pygmies who show us how to shoot a bow & arrow and dance and sing their traditional songs, all this for a donation of course. They have recently been removed from their forest home by the government who now claims ownership of it as a National Park. They were given no reparations and are suddenly forced to live with civilization. Sadly, many have turned to alcohol to help with the adjustment. Yes friends, I know you are wondering and yes, I am the same height as them. But might I add, their average height has increased over the past few generations from integrating with other tribes. More hiking until finally we arrive at the top. My friend’s dad needed assistance however and paid a small boy to help push him up the hill. I have to admit I was tempted… Bit alas, we set out a picnic of peanut butter, cheese, bread, olives, tuna fish, Pringles and had a little rest. On the climb down we stop at a small village and they perform their traditional tribal dances for us. Finally finished at dusk we stumble back into our dugouts for a painstaking yet extremely short paddle to “Tom’s place” where we set up our tents. A nice cool swim/bath in the lake, dinner, and a few rounds of cards and we all collapse into bed. Our final day is much easier. We sleep in, take a casual walk around Tom’s land and climb back into the dugouts. We row pass “Upside Down Island” fighting the current and shouting over the gusty wind and drizzling rain. Moses shouts to explain how the island became this way. The legend says that it was a common place for men to brew and drink local sorghum beer here free from women and their families’ watch. One evening an old woman was passing by and asked if she could come and rest there and drink with the men. They refused and told her to go away. But she was lost her way so the men choose the youngest there to guide her to the mainland. The young man was returning to the island after dropping off the woman and he saw the island turned upside down, killing all on the island. The only survivor was a chicken who managed to fly away. Or so it goes… We finally escape the current and row our way towards a picturesque island awaiting us with a lunch buffet. One last swim in the lake and we have row back to base camp. Quite an adventure!

SECOND YEAR

2007-10-21T07:08:00.001-04:00

10 May 2008
I am an official Second-Year! We are the experts now, on culture, on work, on my orginization, on shopping, on traveling. It has a feeling similar to that of becoming a senior in high school all over again but on a completely different level of knowledge and life experience.

WHEN ARE THE VULTURES GOING TO LEARN?

2007-10-20T07:20:00.000-04:00

12 May 2008
When are the vultures of society going to learn that they can’t rip off mzungus, that they can’t just make up whatever price they feel like to charge us! I have lived here for a year and travel the same route almost every day and the conductor of the taxi bus tries to charge me triple the set rate! AGGGGHHH, it makes me so mad. I live here; I am not stupid; I know how much things cost. And what is worse that the unfairness is based solely on the color of my skin. What if I came back to America now in 2008 opened a taxi service and exclusively overcharged every African American for no other reason than the color of their skin! There are so many preposterous practices over here that are “acceptable” by society.
When I refused to pay his invented rate he shut the door on me trapping my hair and pinching my hand. I exchange words with him in the local language explaining that I live here and know the fair price. He locks the door. Trapped. I knock his arm away from the door. He shoves me towards the back. I yell at him and reach for the door handle and he further blocks my exit. Trapped. The driver is yelling “let her go” and the other passengers are trying in various ways to keep the situation quelled. I make one more attempt to get out and now I have no choice. Trapped. I hit him so I can unlock the door and run. As I jump out he grabs the arm that holds my purse. I turn around and hit him hard enough for him to release my arm. I run away through the pouring rain and when I’m far enough I turn to look back. The taxi bus is still there so I raise my arm and take a hurried step in their direction and the vehicle speeds off. It makes me weary to fight everyday against this and such “acceptable” practices. One day they will learn: Don’t mess with mzungus! We will fight back.

EGYPT: The Camel Ride

2007-10-19T07:27:00.001-04:00

19 May 2008

As everyday is an adventure here in Egypt I give you one day in which was a grand, bumpy adventure. Cairo, Egypt. Destination: The Pyramids of Giza. A late start to the day making many mistakes along the way which surely helped the locals view us as “stupid Americans.” But people withheld crucial information every step of the way! Also though, we are as much to blame not knowing a bit of Arabic & needing locals to communicate in English-only.
Finally, we have what we need and we race the streets of Cairo to just outside the southwest part of the city in a cab with a man named Mohamed-of course, though he asks us to call him Robi (pronounced Ruby). Our first stop is in Saqqara at the pyramid of Zoser. This is the oldest pyramid in Egypt. This first pyramid is built in a step design. The next pyramid built was nearby and called the rhomboid pyramid. They hoped it would not crumble as the edge of the first style was doing. Back into the cab with Ruby and we stop at ‘The Nile School for Countryside Carpet.’ Here, children make silk, cotton, and mixed fiber handmade carpets loved around the world. “Children are the best at it” our guide explains “since their fingers are small & quick and can easily fit between the threads of the loom. Also they can sit there for a long time without feeling the pains that an adult would.” Wonderful, huh? These children go to school at least, I imagine some carpet children in other countries aren’t so lucky. When the factory tour is complete they offer us a cool hibiscus tea as we look around the showroom. Lunch time! We stop at a local restaurant where there is one thing on the menu-Kushari. We’ll take it! Though at this point we haven’t any idea what it is beyond that it is vegetarian. We gobble it up as the heat has taken every bit of energy from us. Quite delicious actually: rice at the bottom of a soup bowl, then a layer of lentils, a layer of diced penne noodles with dried onions. All topped with a homemade red sauce. We share some rice pudding and we’re on our way again. Onto the Papyrus “Museum.” Notice the museum part in quotes because, well, it was nothing of the sorts. After a quick two minute demo of how to make the paper, we are encouraged with tea in hand again to relax, look around the showroom and buy something. We got it now-this driver is commissioned to take tourists to various stores. Lastly, with a bit of coaxing about the ‘long hike in the desert to the pyramids’ (which it wasn’t) we’re off on camel and horseback into the edge of the great Sahara desert. The tip of the great pyramid comes into view over a dune of sand as we struggle to stay on out bumpy transport. Our three camels are tied together with mine in front. However, our line of camels is hard to keep because the one just behind me wouldn’t stop running up alongside me to poke its large nostrils into me. So now I have a camel, a camel in Egypt with a crush on me. Or maybe he sensed the horse I had in my pack? We got to get off the giant camels with great effort on their part and touch the pyramid of Menkaure. Just for a moment before the ‘tourist police’ race over looking for a bribe as they did every five minutes. The sun begins to set as we reach the Sphinx with its great pyramid of Cheops as a backdrop. We make our way back into the town extremely sore from being tossed around on a cruelly wide saddle. A wonderful iconic day in Cairo ending at the Giza train station where our overnight sleeper car train departs to the city of Luxor.

LUXOR, EGYPT

2007-10-18T06:30:00.003-04:00

May 2008

Luxor, Egypt. Destination: Karnak Temple via donkey cart. We enter the temple through one end of the Avenue of the Sphinxes that once stretched two km to Luxor Temple. After you pass the great façade, you are lost among the forest of 134 columns as big as redwood trees. There are obelisks covered in Hieroglyphics, pylons, chapels, granaries, and office rooms. At the back of the temple, the ruins are over 3,000 years old! Also near the back of the temple is a sacred lake where pharaohs and their offerings to the gods were purified. That was centuries ago, now I would not touch it with a ten foot pole!
Luxor town is a lovely and of god there is a McDonalds. Mom is kind to let us indulge in some ancient things of our own. Like the taste of French fries, the caramel sundae, and my classic burger-less cheeseburger.
We take an evening horse n buggy ride through the town and see the colorful spices for sale on the street, the Luxor Temple all lit up, the narrow streets with locals milling about.

Finally, oh finally a hot air balloon ride! A 5am pick-up from the hotel, a bit of breakfast as we ride in a boat to the west bank, and we arrive just in time to see our balloon filling. We see the village below as we rise into the air and it is not long before we are high enough to see the entire Valley of the Kings and in the distance the Valley of the Queens. We see more temple ruins, the line where the town ends and the desert begins. We float above the villagers in their rice fields and then come to a sharp halt on the other side of town. Local men run towards us to control the balloon so they can pack it. A celebratory dance, a certificate (what else!) and back to the hotel just as the heat of the day starts to bake the land.
Yesterday we visited the Valley of the Kings and saw three burial chambers adorned with hieroglyphics picturing scenes of protection and offerings to the gods. We did not go in the tomb of Tut-Ankh-Amun (The famous Boy King) because it costs extra (you gotta draw the line somewhere when it is one tourist trap after another!). Then we traveled down the road a bit and saw Queen Hatshepsut’s burial preparation temple. She ordered the temple that used to stand there destroyed so she could use the stones. Here, they prepared her body for mummification for 90 days before entombing her at the Valley of the Queens. Her image is painted and in statues everywhere! Now a few minutes drive again and we are at the Valley of the Queens. This was empty compared to the other tourist stops. What aren’t the Queens important?! After a good rest back at the hotel we walk across the street to visit the Luxor Temple (ipet resyt). Built by Amenhotep III and later expanded by Ramses the Great – apparent by the imposing statues of him everywhere. The architecture is a fine example of Egyptian style and it was a wondrous thing to walk through and ponder. There are carved images of the Festival of Opet – a celebratory parade in honor of fertility. In fact, we were pleased to see Kings, sitting pleasantly with their Queens and men and women holding hands. Usually the men are the only ones worshipped in this country. A local dinner and a cute waiter, perfect!

ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT

2007-10-17T06:31:00.001-04:00

May 2008
Alexandria is beautiful! This Mediterranean city is the perfect break from the hot and sandy places and culture of rude, rude men found elsewhere in Egypt. We even stayed at an inexpensive hotel that could not be anything less than perfect. High ceilings, grand old French doors that open to our seaside balcony, big beds with white duvet covers slightly damp with the sea air, and a mini fridge that would later be used to keep cold the treats beyond my imagination. In addition, the best part of the hotel is the hyperactive old man who owns the place and offers anything on earth! A room for 1, 2, 3, 4, with a bathroom, without, with a sea view, without a sea view, a bigger one, a smaller one, and the list does on as long as you can keep up with what he’s saying and with him as he shows you everything!
Anyway, after settling in mom and I are off to explore the city named after the Greek conqueror Alexandria the Great who founded it in 334 BC. The first thing to delight my eyes is a café with fruit exploding out of its doors. Beautiful orange oranges (in Uganda oranges are green and sour), red apples, green grapes, fresh cantaloupe, pineapple, bananas, and watermelon (three we have in Uganda) but oh the orange oranges! Crateful and crateful! And white Christmas lights all around to contrast the brilliant colours of the fruits. The second thing to delight my eyes, the most wonderful pastry shop I have seen since I was in Greece. Display cases with cakes, pastries, homemade chocolates, tarts. Colours and textures I forgot existed in baked goods.
The port is beautiful at night. I know I have used the word beautiful about ten times already, but it just is! Small wooden fishing boats anchored in the middle of the bay as if by magic painted different colours, cupped by the lighted buildings of the Cornish and the breeze glazing it all as it passes by.
The beach, the one for locals of course, is another experience. Everyone staring okay nothing new there. But men in tighty-whities jumping in and out of the water and women covered from head to toe in black polyester layers that become sails threatening as they try to swim free. A little shopping where I find the most beautiful silver Egyptian goddess dress and jeweled charm to wear once I live in America again. Lunch at a castle where we see a camel with two fallen humps and a quick (not actually quick, but quick in relation to the size) visit to the Library of Alexandria before heading back to Cairo. The Library was the largest library of the ancient world and place where great philosophers and scientists of the ancient came to seek knowledge. It was destroyed in various wars and battles. It is rebuilt now and huge! I kept getting lost on the different floors. Finally I found the theatre section but it has a lot of shelving without books. Maybe that means they are intending on adding more. So much to learn…

THE BEAUTIFUL OPEN NOWHERE: Murchison Falls Safari

2007-10-16T07:29:00.003-04:00

May 2008
Five AM start. Seven climb formless into the white safari vehicle with a push open roof. We hear the sound of snorting warthogs grazing around our feet. We hurry to get our vehicle onto the first ferry that crosses through a foaming river to an uninhabited area where the animals roam. This land was deserted by humans during the great sleeping-sickness outbreak in 1910. It was left for sixty years where the elephant population reached the densest on the continent; herds of 500 were a common sight with a total population of 14,500 among many other populations of animals. Then the chaos of the Idi Amin regime devastated the population and continued through the 80’s. By 1990 fewer than 250 elephants remained. The conservation efforts were reinstated in the early 90’s and today there are roughly 1000 elephants in the park protected from commercial and subsistence poachers. As our vehicle roars aboard the ferry crossing to the game area we have our first animal sighting, softly a hippo erupts through the water with her baby beside her. Behind us the sun boils up to wash everything in bright orange. On the other side we race down a dusty red dirt path until we reach a bridge. There we find a large group of baboons standing guard like trolls along the bridge we must cross. Are we not welcome? I wonder. They hold strong until the engine grumbles and then they dash to the safety of the trees. For the next half hour we race through the beautiful open nowhere. In the savannah there is nothing but tall grasses, a few acacia trees, and sky in every direction. I have never felt such simple openness with so much room to breath in my life. Soon we notice the small patches of tan that speckle the landscape and one head from each group of antelope raises to protect its group as we pass. Traveling deeper into the savannah those small dots of tan grow into tall spotted giraffes perched for a few moments at the delicious acacia tree. They stand in pairs so tall and graceful only momentarily distracted by our presence. Nearer to the river we find a water buffalo with enormous horns curled away from his head like a little girl’s pigtails and a beautiful African fishing eagle considers the water from the tree next to him. Suddenly a lone male elephant stampedes into our path. We come to a halt and wait carefully to see if he will pass without confrontation. He stares as he stomps pass kicking up a cloud of red dust as he goes to the shrubs on the other side. He gives us his backside and stands among the bushes feeding and we pose for photos with him now that the threat is over. We jump out of the safari vehicle onto a boat to move up the river to Murchison Falls, the cavernous waterfalls for with the national park and game reserve is named. On the way we find pods and pods of hippos, gigantic crocodiles, water buffalo, herons, eagles, and an elderly elephant. We are only fifteen feet from him and can see the sun scorched thickly creased skin that covers him. Our engine struggles against the current as we reach the falls that according to legend have doubled in size since the year of the great rains causing the Nile to flood in 1962. We finally reach a tiny island to tie anchor on after being rejected three times. We stop for photos and stare at the thunderous water that is crushed through a narrow cleft in the Rift Valley Escarpment. We will return the next morning to hike these falls. An eight am journey from the top of the falls down and back up again is one dusted in mist from the falls. The hike is slippery and steep but once we reach the bottom we are welcomed by a rainbow that ends on the cliff right beside us. We watch as the wide water of the Victoria Nile is divided in two and funneled into a cleft and spit out the other end. We help each other one by one climb over the rocks and up the steep misty incline. Back in the stifling car we are warned against opening our windows. As we drive away from the falls we learn why through no fault of our own. A burst of wind and flies rush forward through the vehicle as we all turn around in confusion sputtering at the air. The back door of the vehicle unlatched and let a hundred tsetse flies swarm us as if we had disturbed a bee’s nest. Lucky for us they don’t carry sleeping sickness anymore! We stop the car, shut the back door and open the windows to shoo the rest of the flies back outside while new ones enter in. Phew, now I see why people in the early 1900 left this beautiful land! Tired from the adventure of the days past and giddy from the attack of the tsetse flies we all collapse in our seats for the five hour drive back to the capital.

MOMBASA, KENYA

2007-10-15T07:30:00.002-04:00

June 2008
A posh few nights at the beautiful Mombasa Serena Beach Hotel begins with cool face cloths and glasses of mango juice presented to us on a silver platter at reception. We make our way to our Swahili styled room on the quiet side of the hotel compound. Its low season so there isn’t many other guests around anyway. In our room we open the sliding glass doors and let a warm salty breeze penetrate our room and admire our intricate patterned wooden balcony with an ocean-view. I flop onto the white down comforter and marveled at the spring mattress ringing under me. Everything was so clean and refreshing all around. We take a rest tired after a middle of the night flight. Mom and I freshen up with a shower, my word a shower with hot water coming from the tap! and explore the hotel, the neighboring village, and walk the beach dodging the salespeople. We benefit from a cool swim and time to feel the sunshine by the pool before dinner. We dress for dinner and enjoy as much as we can from an inclusive five course meal. Luckily, I am an “East African Resident” and my guest and I can receive local rates. To end the day we go upstairs to the bar for a gin & tonic and listen to a local band that is performing. The next day is all rain so we mostly stay in the room and visit the sports building to play table tennis. We also make our way to the butterfly conservatory on the hotel grounds in between gusts of rain. The next day is very hot as we travel to Mombasa town for a tour and shopping. We walk to the giant elephant tusk archway erected for Queen Elizabeth on her visit in 1952 and Fort Jesus that was owned by the Portuguese and others as countries stole this port, the largest in east Africa from the locals. We stopped in the local’s shoppes to buy a few gifts then we moved onto Haller Park. This area was quarried for its coral to make lime for a local cement factory. A Swiss agronomist transformed the crater into a lush tropical forest in the 1970’s. His reclamation scheme gained world wide attention for being way ahead of it’s time. This same park drew the world’s attention once again in 2001 soon after the deadly Tsunami. When the waters receded a baby hippo was stranded alone in a river far from his home. Locals rescued the hippo and “Owen” was taken to H aller Park. There he became friends with an old recluse tortoise named “Mzee” (‘wise old man’ in Kiswahili). The unlikely pair was together night and day until recent. Owen has found another companion now, a hippo named Cleopatra. Though they are both too young to mate they roam the park side by side. The park ranger adds “Owen doesn’t have time for Mzee anymore.” Over in the giraffe area I hold out a pellet to the reaching purple tongue. Cob webs of saliva fly about and cover my hand from the munching animal. We fight off the vervet monkeys who are bold enough to run up and snatch the pellet right out of your hand! Next we stop at the park’s tilapia farm. The containers separate the fish into each stage of life. These fish are grown to sell as an income generating project to support financial demands of the park. There is a relatively large sanctuary for albino crocodiles since they are unable to survive in the wild. Their lack of camouflage quickly gives them away to predators. After our long day we return to the hotel for another wonderful dinner. The next morning we set out after breakfast on a glass bottom boat to explore the coral reefs and go snorkeling. We have a hoot putting on the flippers and trying to jump out of the boat. Mom and I searched the water hand in hand pointing out the different fish swimming around us. A little more relaxing at the hotel and along the beach and we’re off to the airport once again.

THE ANCIENT CYCAD PLANT

2007-10-14T05:15:00.001-04:00

June 2008
A lone backpacker from Israel and I travel west to find a plant. We know our journey will be one filled with confusion and mishaps as it is almost unknown to tourists and we have to rely on public transport to get there. In other words, its going to be hard because no one goes there. We seek a plant species that flourished 300 to 200 million years ago, the closest thing among trees we have to a living fossil. The profusion of the cycad Encephalartos whitelockii is endemic to this single location in a cover of spray forest at the top of Mpanga falls which flows into Lake George. After a full day of travel we arrive at a gate the next morning. The men won’t let us pass, they say it is not safe because of the construction. People from India are here building on a dam near the falls. We explain we have journeyed a long way to see the very old cycad. They state that their boss’ have told them to let no one pass. Knowing how some things work here I realize they are looking for a bribe. Being nearly out of money I use a local strategy and say that his boss is the one who has sent me. Which one? he asks. The man from India! I say knowingly. He accepts this but only if we use one of his friends as a guide, and pay that friend. We accept this and move on. After the gate we see plastic bags filled with baby cycads. At least the foreigners aren’t just destroying the area. As we move along the footpath we see the ancient plants everywhere! They have a prehistoric appearance of an overgrown fern perched on top of a palm stem up to 32 feet high. It’s classified as endangered partly because of its very slow life cycle. The female plants have a red tone to the underside of their leaves and the males back. We reach the top of the falls climb and jump onto rocks to reach the small patch of land in the middle of the rushing water. The rocks are so smooth they look like glass. We look down over the falls into Lake George and Queen Elizabeth Park. It’s amazing to think there are monkeys, hyena, lion, leopard, buffalo, and elephant wandering just out of sight in the growth below us. Africa is so rich with natural beauty. I hope one day people stop seeing it as “the dark continent” and see it as it really is…

FORTH OF JULY

2007-10-13T07:49:00.003-04:00

4 July 2008

Ultimate Frisbee, a late lunch (where my friend Kendra threatens anyone who comes too close), and a night out on the town...Happy Forth of July.

MENU FUNNIES

2007-10-12T06:09:00.001-04:00

Ongoing…
“Devils on horse back, Cheese crapped in air cured bacon & gratinated. 3,500/=”
I really wonder what that could possibly look, rather taste like. But hey, that’s a lot for a little more than two dollars!

“Selection of cakes. R18. Ask your waitron.” I’m afraid to, some robot waiter might come…

"CHICKEN BURGER. Rounder chicken and garlic, shampoo and parsley with chips. 11,000 UGS." Whats better than a round chicken and a shower?

BLUE BULLS RUGBY GAME

2007-10-11T08:33:00.001-04:00

July 2008

Fancy a rugby game? Why not? So I went; what else are you gonna do on med-evac? It was the Blue Bulls (nickname: Blue Balls) vs. the Cheetahs. Both are teams of South Africa, different districts I suppose. CRAZINESS! People painted all blue, all orange, paraphernalia everywhere, even on the children. Dear god, the children! And whats a good rugby game without rain? Now, at this point most of the fans, even the hard core colored ones made their way to the balcony overhang. Us? No, we’ll just sit, it will pass. Clearly, we have been hippy volunteers way too long. It was quite a spectacle and rugby is a very interesting game. Not gonna be popular in America until the people get over being uptight and homophobic, but all goes here.

FANCY AN OSTRICH?

2007-10-10T08:42:00.002-04:00

July 2008

Fancy and ostrich? Why not? So I let one do a mating dance for me; what else are you gonna do on med-evac? It was at the National Zoological Gardens of South Africa. And I will never feel the same way about ostriches again…
It was a brisk mid-July winter afternoon and Carolyn, Marcy, and I had not been having good luck with the animals. With a few other tourists in the zoo besides us the birds squawked angry and ran to the back of their cages, the chimps hid from us and tried to ignore us. When we didn’t go, one grabbed a branch in his mouth and made grunting sounds while he drew an imaginary boundary line between his friends and us. Back and forth. But then it all changed when we happened upon the antelope/large bird open habitat.
Wow! Look at the ostrich over there! we exclaim. It’s so big, I hope it comes closer! That it did. That it did. In the distance, the ostrich is munching on some shrubbery and then its large eye turns my way. Its massive body followed with knees bent backwards as if he (or she, we did not know at this point) was starting on an Olympic sprint. Yea! He’s coming closer we say as he comes

nearer and nearer, all along his eye remains focused on me. We begin to fear as we size up the side of the ostrich, us, him and the speed at which he is running. I grab Carolyn by the back of the shirt because she was too busy filming to notice the danger. Just before the fence he stops, thrusts his giant eye towards me and again we shriek back in fear. But then he turns to face us, bends his neck backward, spreads his massive wings and starts undulating side to side fluffing his shiny whimsical feathers. Wow, what is he doing? This goes on for minutes before he springs up again right into my face and looks at me like “so…interested?” I am not an ostrich I yell! He starts pacing back and forth with the eye locked on me the whole time. Stops in my face, waits, paces and wiggles his feathers. We pose for photos with him, he watches. After 15 minutes of nothing happening I think he gets my “no.” Though it would have been useful to say no in ostrich.
Since this day I find myself having an unusual fondness for the ostrich…

This is an Okapi, a rare thought to be extinct animal deep in the jungles of Congo. It is related to the giraffe, but looks more like a horse zebra to me...

THE EXTREMES

2007-10-09T08:43:00.007-04:00

July 2008
South Africa is a strange place. Maybe part of it is me, coming from the village and all; not used to the white people, extravagance, or socioeconomic differences. I was excited to go to McDonalds, Subway, and the three malls nearby, two of them in walking distance from the guesthouse where I was staying. I went to the mall the second day I arrived but then found myself unable to sleep for the first time since coming to Africa. My mind raced comparing and contrasting, this life to my current one, to my old one, thinking of the good and bad of all of them, how I have changed, see things differently now. And I just could not get over the sickening uneasy felling I had in my core. I did not sleep all night. This does not feel right- this life. Over the past few days, I have tried to adjust, fall back into things, but I usually just stop and stare. Do I want to be a part of this? But there’s another dimension to all this, apartheid. Its officially over, but its everywhere. The manager at McDonalds is white, all the employees are black. In the guesthouse the owner and manager are white and all the people working there in the kitchen, in the yard, the ones cleaning, repairing, delivering, etc are all black and dressed in a colonial back with white apron maid’s outfit. What!?!?! People see me walk on the street and assume I speak the oppressive white language Afrikaans. It seems that if I were black they would have spoke English to me. English is the language back South Africans want. It’s the one children like Hector Peterson died fighting for. Shot dead by police in the Children’s March of 1976. He and his classmates were resisting the proposal to change the language used in schools from English to Afrikaans. So I am white they see, I must speak Afrikaans. No, I speak English I reply. It was a strange role-reversal.

JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA

2007-10-08T08:43:00.005-04:00

July 2008

Today four of us on med-evac took a tour of Johannesburg. Out first stop was Nelson Mandel's or Tata Madiba’s current residence. Then as we drove on the thruway towards the city centre the crowded sky scrapers came into view. One building that stood out is the DeBeers building. It is designed to look like a 24 carot diamond. We saw an old mill, an old tiny train used to transport gold out of the mines, a Kwa zulu muti- a local medicine shoppe filled with petrified animals and their parts, herbs, voodoo dolls. Right next to the store was a wholesale shop where the sign “Non-white shop” still hangs outside the door. No longer enforced but still remains… Our next journey was to the Apartheid Museum. Apartheid is exactly where it belongs- in a museum. It takes you through South Africa’s dark years to understand, learn the importance of freedom, and fight for equality. Favorite quotes from the museum:

“You cannot grow beyond
your thoughts.”
-Marcus Garvey

“Humanity was born in Africa.
All people, ultimately, are African.”

Then we saw the soccer stadium being built for the 2010 World Cup, the “gold dust” piles left over from the mining days, the SOWETO township where black South Africans were forced to relocate to (SOuth WEstern TOwnship). Corrigated sheets acted as the four walls and roof of many of the box homes. We drove past Nelson Mandela’s childhood home, the place where Hector Peterson was shot, Mandela’s current village home there in SOWETO. We stopped for lunch in a local’s home and ate “the beggar.” It’s a large piece of bread with a rectangle cut at the top with fries, cheese, (and meat), placed in that cut open section. Believe it or not, it was really good! Our last stop was The Children’s Museum, dedicated to those who lost their short lives fighting for equality.

GOLD REEF CITY

2007-10-07T08:43:00.001-04:00

July 2008

Fancy an amusement park? Why not? So I went, what else are you gonna do on med-evac? It was fun, but again strangeness coated all the metal structures, the sidewalks, the plastic scenery. I found myself uneasy but joyous in disbelief as I fell from the sky on the Tower of Terror- a drop ride, propelled through space on the various roller coasters, soaring with the wind on what has been a lifetime favorite, the swings. I ate fresh chocolate covered marshmallows on a stick and laughed with wonderful people as we found amusement in all the seemingly strange things that surrounded us: plastic fish sculptures, 3-D movie glasses, constant electricity, strollers, and painted cows. It was a fun, tiring, cold winter day spent at South Africa’s version of Disneyland.

MATATUS (mini-van taxi)

2007-10-06T07:54:00.000-04:00

August 2008 (care of co-volunteer, Amy)
A little bit on transport in Uganda...The taxis don't leave until they are full. And full to our standards is a bit different than full to Ugandan standards. For instance, leaving the taxi park in Kampala where rules are regulated, the taxi looks like this:

The pink man is the driver. The purple is the conductor (the one who collects money), the blue are the passengers, the red dots are babies scattered amongst the taxi, in the back there is a chicken in olive green and 2 goats in brown. I haven't included the luggage each person brings...really awkwardly shaped plastic items that don't fit anywhere except on your lap. But adding this would make the picture all muddled.Now, when leaving Kampala and the taxi is filled to this capacity there is not much point in thinking about strategy on where to sit unless you are really tall and then the back is not the seat of choice. BUT the problem is is that the taxi never stays this way. Although the rule says a 14 passenger maximum is allowed, that is slightly changed outside of Kampala to a 14 passenger minimum. Here is a pretty common scene for a taxi after leaving the city:

Additions to this from the last are the lime green extra passengers picked up on the outskirts of kampala, the red circles are small children. This is still considerably comfortable if you have planned it out well. By planning I mean...Get the front seat and if that doesn't work, you assess the situation:

1. The size and shape of the other passengers and which rows are they sitting in - women have some big booties and there for big hips that can be painful if put between 2 large women.

2. How many children are in each woman's possession - ineveitably almost every women in the taxi will have children along for the ride, but sometimes they can be hiding and you sit down...next thing you know they are sitting on your lap the whole ride. Or babies who cry a lot, never fun to be stuck there. And taxi rides are a great time to breast feed so if you are uncomfortable with topless women around it's best not to take public transport.

3. Which jump seats are broken - this can be rough if caught in a bad seat. The seats at times won't hold themselves up or won't have a back to them so you have to them.

4. Look for the ones who like to talk - no matter how good the conversation starts, it almost always turns into a conversation of trying to convert you to another religion or trying to get a sponsor from America or whatever country you tell them you're from.

5. How many sacks of whatever are under which seat - it is already a pretty cramped space so you must look on the floor to see how much stuff is there. Foot freedom is key.

6. Whose next to the window - Ugandan women tend to refuse to open the window creating a hot box for the rest of the passengers, whereas men always open the window to allow body odor out, fresh air in.

There are many more, but the rest are mostly individual preferences. I think I got all the main ones that most everyone looks at.

WAR DANCE

2007-10-05T08:08:00.000-04:00

August 2008
An Oscar-nominated documentary about violence, children, dance, and hope in Northern Uganda:

Note:
The film was made a few years ago, and things are slowly improving in Northern Uganda, at least in terms of the security situation. The US Embassy still does not allow me to travel to that region due to safety concerns, but I hope that perhaps by the end of my Peace Corps service, I will be able to see this part of Uganda. Today, the general feeling in my part of the country is one of tentative hope for lasting peace in the North.

THE SIESTA

2007-10-03T08:48:00.000-04:00

September 2008
Often times I open my eyes from a cat nap (which by the way, one is allowed and expected to do at some point every day) feeling like I had only tread somewhere near the warm wrap that is sleep. Given that it seems that I have heard every sound and had conscious thoughts throughout, I have come to think of these as indulgent periods of relaxation instead of naps. But after some of these periods I open my eyes and for a few moments feel like I have awakened in an entirely different location than that of where I went to sleep. It is a confusing experience and moments later I recognize I must have been sleeping deeper than I thought all along. Either that or my light dreams are taking me somewhere far away yet so realistic that my body was convinced it was there. The last thing it expected was to wake up on a foam mattress under a web of mosquito netting in

Uganda

. It is a startling realization and sets my mind into a quiet period of questioning on what I am really doing here and so far away from all that was familiar to my body and mind. Perhaps this is the plight of the long-away adventurer. But I have to say I have never had a disconcerting and yet lucid experience ever before like that of those first few minutes of wakening after the siesta.

GRADUATION

2007-10-02T09:44:00.002-04:00

3 October 2008
Today we had the official graduation ceremony at University. How wonderful strange it was to be on the other side of the ceremony. I, dressed in my gown from America with all its adornments, stood proud as I watched my students, MY students receive their degrees. Now filled with knowledge and hopefully some ideas of positive change instilled from class, these unique youth are off to teach in every corner of the country. I could see it in their eyes, their whole life just beginning. It is a considerable matter to have a degree in this country, few can afford the fees and fewer are able to grow out of a failing primary and secondary system based on memorization and over stuffed classrooms. But these ones did, and I am proud to have helped them.

LIFE LESSONS

2007-10-01T08:53:00.000-04:00

30 October 2008

I realized again today that life holds valuable lessons for us each day. Here are two lessons I have learned today.

1. If an ant falls into your eye, it can still manage to bite onto it, and it will.

2. It is dangerous to pour boiling water out of a kettle while sneezing.

THANK GOD ALMIGHTY WE ARE FREE AT LAST

2007-09-30T08:54:00.000-04:00

5 November 2008

I wake up to the joyous noise of women’s high-pitched shrills typical of local celebrations. “Iggh, iggh, iggh, iggh, iggh.” Realizing what this might mean I jump to my feet, struggle through the veil of netting, run to my small radio to tune into the BBC world service. However, the BBC is broadcasting the “Focus on Africa” program. For the first time since coming here I thought, please focus on America! A moment later, a reporter interrupts with breaking news. “Right now McCain is on the phone giving his congratulations to Barack Obama as the new president of the United States.” I dropped into my chair and a wail unearthed itself from deep within and turned into a blissful sob.

"Finally."

Finally - a word that describes so many things. However, this is my only word, my only thought.

I sit unmoving, stunned as I listen live to McCain’s concession speech. I sit unmoving, still stunned as I listen to Obama’s victory speech. I regain my sense of reality only when Obama says “…to those of you who are huddled around your radios in the forgotten parts of the world…” and for a split second I think, yes.

It is time to celebrate. That is my single next thought. I walk to my wardrobe to look at my few options. I see my local traditional batik wear. This is what we wear when we celebrate. But wait, it’s already too hot out to wear that. Only when I look again do I realize I should wear what I used to wear in America for such occasions. I put on my red top, jean skirt, and a white necklace. I should show the students that we do this in America. Even though I have worn such attire in the past, it is altogether different this time. In this moment, for the first time in my life, I am proud as I put on these colors. I want to celebrate more. But what can I do? I have class at 8:30 a.m., not much time, not many resources. I go to my desk to get a piece of paper and my blue and red markers to make a sign for my door. Then my students and the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. come to mind. “Free at last. Free at last. Thank god almighty we are (finally) free at last.” I write these words on the sign and add some local language.

I have played a recording of “I Have a Dream” for the students in my Public Speaking course over the years as an exemplary persuasive speech. And this semester afterward hearing it, a student made a extraordinary comment. She said “If Obama becomes President in America, then King’s dream will be.” Yes, finally I thought, and yes, we will be free. We, all of us, will be a little freer from the chains of discrimination and hate. Yes King, your little children will live in a world where a presidential candidate is not judged by the color of his skin, but the content of his character.

I add a balloon, draw blue stars and red stripes on it, and tape it to my door next to the sign. After all, adding balloons is one of Ugandan’s favorite ways to celebrate, even when decorating a Christmas tree. We cannot simply move on without celebrating with each other, without acknowledging this historic day, without congratulating each other on this good news. I head off to class and alter my lesson plan in my head. I bring my recording of “I Have a Dream” to my upperclassmen philosophy class. We talk about history. We talk about possibilities. We talk about change. We talk about reality. We talk about the future. We finally end on though change is slow, it is there, we all must work towards it, and it does happen, eventually. Eventually there are small signs of improvement, justice, hope.

My friends were in the capital city staying awake all night, waiting to watch as each state turned blue or red, waiting to hear what we would come home to. Prior to this morning, I was upset about my workload restricting me from being able to join the party. But now I can honestly say I would not have rather been anywhere else in the world but here; here, waking to the traditional shrieks of joy, listening to the news live to my small radio, hugging my students, learning from each other, celebrating our freedom and hopes together, American and East African, the same.

FACILITATING LIFE SKILLS WORKSHOPS

2007-09-29T09:46:00.000-04:00

12 December 2008
Lately I have had two jobs, my normal one lecturing at the University and the other on behalf of the organization that brought me here facilitating workshops and trainings for new volunteers and their local counterparts. I have done many in the past few months alone. This is the second time I have done the 8am-6pm weeklong workshop for something we do here called Life Skills. It is a week of learning how to educate the country’s youth on many of the skills Americans learned and take for granted in knowing as we grew. This week I led fifty people to explore topics like self-esteem, assertiveness, gender roles, culture, women & HIV, rape, peer pressure, the role each of these play in this country and the attitudes towards them, and finally ways to approach change by educating the youth through games and activities.
This time I had a particularly difficult local man to reconcile with and all the while remaining as a neutral facilitator, though at times I wanted to crawl out of my skin in disgust. You see, the last thing we as a foreigners can do is to come across as me against you, we’re right and you’re wrong, or anything that suggests that mzungus are better than Africans. Once you do that you are exiled and seen as an enemy. Anyway, the point of this workshop is not to change their culture, but to look at it and listen to other’s points of view and have an open dialogue about the kind of society we want now and for our children. He is the counterpart of a sweet young married volunteer from America and I give her a lot of credit for finding a way to work with him. When we discussing a woman’s right not be raped whether she’s single or married he responded with a comment on how he purchases a woman by paying bride price to her father so now she must perform her wifely duties whether she wants to or not. Later when we discussing the widespread cultural acceptance of a man having many wives/women and then questioning why is it not accepted for a woman to have more than one husband/man, his response again tested my tact and skills as a facilitator. He said she it is just like cattle, you have to keep a whole ranch with many heifers and only one bull for all of them. It is not the way to keep one female cow with many bulls. That is not the way things work. So after quelling the hidden uproar in the room, with a impartial face I thanked him for his contribution and posed questions to refute that comparison and help him see the negative effects of modeling after cows. Though thankfully this story has a happy ending. On Friday, we had each participant say something they learned/changed their mind about/saw from a new perspective. This exigent man stood up and said I will now treat my wife with respect. As they departed back to their villages I thought about how I can’t possibly know if he will, but what I do know is the gravitas for him to stand up and say that in the public and that maybe for the first time in his life he thought about a woman as a person just the same, with rights.
It would be unfair of me to mention the inspirational attitudes other participants had. They were great, they are the hope for this country and I was glad I could be part of training them to do something about it and have fun while doing it!

THANKSGIVING IN THE SOUTHWEST

2007-09-28T09:45:00.000-04:00

22 November 2008
A three-hour delay and we’re off to the southwest in style. I grabbed a few groceries in the capital and joined another volunteer in his private hired car for the seven hour trip. But not before stopping at the equator for some photo ops, the market deep in the village for homegrown tropical fruit and vegetable goodness and local language practice, and picking up a couple more volunteers from the street as we pass by their village. We finally arrive and this volunteers house, and wow! He has a refrigerator with a freezer, oven and stove, a sink and counters, a bread maker, couches, and a front porch! It was the house of an old lady British missionary but she left years ago because of illness. A far cry from the normal volunteer’s housing. We all cram ourselves into various sleeping locations and Jenn and I, too gity to sleep stay up talking for hours. We wake up early the next morning to the sound of local men outside our room discussing a turkey. He must be bargained for, brought here from that man’s house, killed and plucked. Then we must do the rest. The arrangements are made and we grab a few more winks of sleep before the smell of artichoke dip in the oven brought by an American visitor and the turkey’s cries saturate our room. Even after all this, it was still ridiculously early. So I head to the kitchen as the haze of morning light angles through the window to ready the Caesar Green Beans before the oven is taken over by the bird eaters. A elder and wise volunteer makes Bloody Marys to order as we prep the appetizers: cheese & crackers, hummus and pita and veggies, and the meal we are homesick for: mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, stuffing, cranberries, salads, fruit salad, cakes, and pies. Unbelievable. We laugh and eat like the hungry and flavor-deprived volunteers we are, play a little catchphrase, nap and enjoy the feeling of fullness as we share our village stories with one another. Another long night with Jenn, this time scared to the point of clutching onto each other by the noises we hear around the sleeping house and the hurried footsteps we hear just outside our window. The thing is that noises in the night have an altogether different meaning here, and we both know that. A few hours later we finally fall asleep in delusion. In the morning, some friends walk me to catch the morning bus back to the capital. The ride is beautiful, rolling hills, crisp cold air, people wrapped in kangas and blankets for shawls go about their day buying, selling, moving, hauling water, building their cooking fires, waiting. I love the people in this part of the country, they look so humble, tall, beautiful, strong, and knowing all wrapped in colorful cloths hiking the green hills. I finally arrive back in the capital and board one more public transport vehicle to get to my site. It was a weekend full of thanks, for the food grown in the earth, the friends once unknown all brought together for peace, the safety of a well built house, and a life with stories to tell. Happy Thanksgiving.

THE MOON'S FAMILIAR SMILE

2007-09-27T09:55:00.001-04:00

1 December 2008
Right now in this African Equatorial sky, there are two planets large and glowing, clearly seen in close proximity to the moon, one on each side. The past few nights they have been lowering in position from high dimples in the cheek of the low smile of the moon to earrings suspended beautifully on a dark laughing woman.

QUEEN ELIZABETH NATIONAL PARK

2007-09-26T10:11:00.002-04:00

15 December 2008
A long journey by cratered road ends at first moon with a fantastic meal at a small resort on a cliff overlooking the 2000 square mile park bordered by the Ruwenzori Mountains to the north and Lake Edward to the west. In the morning we relax by the pool and play on a makeshift tiled slide with local children who are about to be stolen from their country (they were being adopted by a woman who did not even know the name of their first language was and therefore there is nothing else to call it besides stealing). In the afternoon, we hike through the dense and steep Kyambura Gorge in search of my favorite primate, the chimpanzee. Though we didn’t find any we saw giant elephant tracks sunk in the wet mud and stared in wonder at how such a large animal could press on through the bush and down the steep path that we could barely manage.
At daybreak, we set off in our four-wheel drive with a guide through the great park. The first animal sighting is a waterbuck alone in the straw tipped grass. Next, we see a baby elephant but its mother is out of view as she grazes behind a giant tree where spiked cactus shoots grow instead of branches out of a bark-covered trunk. After that, we see a small herd of African Buffalo. I much prefer this variety to the type in my hometown that bears the same name. The African Buffalo has horns that grow out and curve up like Pippy – Longstocking braids. The weight makes them carry themselves differently, more like a tortoise than an ox. As we move into the dry lands, we run into hundreds of Impala with their unique lyre – shaped horns. As we stalk a lion that is stalking the impala we stop at a crater lake used by local people to harvest salt. Each person purchases a patch of lake and sells the salt that collects in that patch though it is not for human consumption and all is exported. We never saw the lion, but we do see its fresh kill from earlier that morning. A carcass of a waterbuck lies on its side with ribs bloody protruding into the air and not much else. We finally run near a herd of elephants with babies! They are only 20 paces from our car so the guide will not let us out. Nevertheless, it was amazing to watch them so closely!
The next day we have a nice lunch at the expensive lodge and go on a boat cruise safari, or as the funny Brit sitting behind us calls it, the graveyard tour. We find a few more victims from cheetahs, crocs, and lions floating near the edge of the water. There was a large array of birds much to the amusement of the world’s largest group of bird-watchers that happen to be on the same boat as us. Some screamed in delight as the guide pointed out the rare red-throated bee-eater. I didn’t see it, but I think one man said it best when he exclaimed “I’ve waited 40 years to see that bird!” I guess I missed my chance. We saw egrets, a shoebill (also rare), fish eagles, pelicans, the goliath heron, the hamerkop, a monitor lizard, Nile crocodiles, hippos, African buffalos, and elephants. I even got that National Geographic shot- a white bird on a brown animal. That’s right folks, white bird atop a brown animal.
On the hours and hours long dirt path to Ishasha where we hope to find the rare tree-climbing lion, we meet warthogs, more elephant families, and swarms of baboons. We also drove through one of the most beautiful sights I have ever experienced in my life. Surrounded by bush on both sides, small white butterflies drift through the air so thick and harmoniously with the breeze. It was if they were all strung on spider threads dancing around each other as if it were choreographed. Then much later in the darkness (we got quite lost no thanks to my friends and poor labeling!) our headlights meet the red glow of the eyes of a lioness hiding is the grass just beside the path. However, that was a lot less frightening than what we had just come from. Minutes before, we ran into the green metal gate for the border crossing into the DRC where 10,000 refugees entered just two weeks back. On the Congo side, we could easily see the many kilometer wide rings of fire that protect the Congolese civilians from the rebels, But the rebels are ours, the LRA has moved from Northern Uganda into Congo as of late to kill and enlarge their group of child soldiers. Finally, we find lodging in a nearby town from a Muslim man because the UN workers, there to assist the refugees who managed to escape the madness booked everything else. We set out a few hours later just before dawn to find gasoline and enter the park. Two trips and many hours later we find two lions lazing about in the strong and ancient acacia tree. We also saw a baby elephant who wandered towards our vehicle in innocent curiosity only to be cut off by its mother and veered in the other direction. All mothers are the same; protecting small ones from the fun they seek in the unknown! We use the rest of the day to travel to another park, Bwindi Impenetrable Forest where we will go gorilla trekking in the morning.

GORILLA TREKKING

2007-09-25T10:17:00.003-04:00

16 December 2008 Bwindi Impenetrable Forest is regarded to be one of the most biologically diverse forests in all of Africa due to its antiquity. It dates back before the Pleistocene Ice Age, making it over 25,000 years old! Our group of twelve or so trekked the Rushegura Family of gorillas. They are a family of seventeen with two babies and six teenagers. We did not trek for long. We find the family crossing a big stream in the damp green rainforest. We turn off our flashes and take photos wildly as the baby tumbles and plays with the young male they call “The Babysitter” in front of the silverback carefully monitoring. He lies with ease as he calls to gather the gorillas that have fallen behind. He will sit in front of the path that they use to cross the stream until all the others have made it successfully. I wish I could describe how it was to be with them, how it felt to look into their eyes and communicate understanding with someone so similar and so different to yourself. There are just no words in our language. Once they all cross we race back to use the human bridge and find them eating figs from a tree and sliding up and down the vines to reach the ripe fruits. We can only spend a limited time with them so they can remain wild and free from human disease. Back at main camp we are presented with our certificates, a Ugandan tradition earned for anything one does. How lucky the guides are to see these wonderful apes every day and watch the little ones grow, live, die and grieve for each other.

VICTORIA FALLS, ZAMBIA

2007-09-24T10:18:00.002-04:00

23 December 2008
Tues

A NEW YEAR?

2007-09-23T10:20:00.001-04:00

31 December 2008

THE FAMILY VISITS

2007-09-22T10:50:00.001-04:00

5 February 2007

HAIR PLAITING

2007-09-21T10:21:00.002-04:00

7 February 2009