When Clouds Move

I finally took a tour of the sugarcane factory that I pass everyday.

I visited my host sister's school and taught her kids the "Sunbeam" song- they loved it!

I remember pulling into the bus station in Bangkok and seeing them. They were lined up on the street, wrapped in beads, hemp, sarongs, Chaco straps, nylon packs, unwashed sun bleached hair and a casual confidence of independence. They were backpackers. At that moment I wished to be disconnected from my mixed conservative, pre-planned group and to flirt, roam and LIVE as they do. I vowed that I would learn their style and travel as they.

Throughout the next few years I did end up in the same places and even adopted an air of backpacker style, but what I didn’t know then and what I would eventually discover is that I never really would become one of them. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I can’t enjoy many of the uninhibited activities that dominate the culture. But, in honest analysis I think I have to admit that I am horrible long-term leisure traveler. The chemical that allows your brain to decide to wake up everyday and choose what you are going to do to gain the utmost personal enjoyment for months and months is not found in my genetics. Instead, I like to get in, get deep, and come out with my hands dirty- working alongside the people in the place to find out their unique quirks. And only until I think the scale will break on the heavy side of exhaustion do I feel worthy to take a rest.

So here I am, I have finished my internship, I am staying in a hostel so tuned up for backpackers, that it is literally called “Backpackers”. I am now suppose to align myself and follow in line with them. But I am restless, I feel like I am not one of them. I have a home here and there is still work to do. I am not done with Uganda. I am finding it challenging to go from caring about if Naigaga Agnes will be able to cover the remaining $20 of her school fee balance to caring about where I can get the best wireless for Face book. I use to think exploring was the pursuit of physical adventure and seeing the sites. But somehow in the thick of Uganda, the definition of adventure came to be finding the power to work among others while being different, finding a way to make an impact with unexpected variables. The exploring seems to be far more internal and related to people than geographical.

I didn’t know it would be like this or I would have acted accordingly, I didn’t know that I would be choked up and paralyzed. I am lucky though, I have a dear friend coming to travel who is willing to allow me one more day of work in hopes of closure before we line up and march on.

Today is hello Chris, soon to be good bye Uganda.

Keep It Smart

I found it incredibly fitting that my final morning living in Kakira seemed to want to give me a hearty summary.

I woke up after a peaceful night of sleeping in a thunderstorm
As I was getting ready, I unexpectedly (yet not the first time) had to clean up and quarantine a discovered flood of ants pillaging the dead bugs that blew in my open window during the night
The gate lock was stuck so I had to climb over the wall to go on my run
The colors from the sunrise seemed to press an illumination button on everything and added a rainbow
My newly washed running shoes were instantly steeped in mud with each step I took
I came home to find my host family making chapatti’s and wanting to teach me
I showered with a jerry can of cold water and no wash basin
I saw two goats bucking horns
My host mom insisted I take a plastic container of chapattis with me
I had to refill the toilet in order to flush it
I passed out toys and candy to the neighborhood kids
The driver was late
I went through the visitor’s only front door as I left
They made me sit in the front seat so the security guards would see a white person and wave us through

Rocket Launcher

Now for my favorite part of the story. As part of my internship I was given $200, about 380,000 Ushs to spend in coordination with my project- improved cook stoves. Due to the extensive nature of the grant that initiated the pilot project, my money was not completely necessary for the institutional installation. We began looking at other options and decided, for every kid who eats one meal at school there are 7 people at home that eat 3 meals a day using the 3-stone method of cooking in a mud hut. So we decided to purchase improved household stoves and distribute them to some of the OVC caretakers. Though the money only allows for 12 stoves to be purchased, it is a step to spreading awareness of affordable technology available and a good way to test their impact. So we purchased 12 brightly colored orange cookstoves that instantly make me giddy. Then we picked 12 OVC households in a concentrated area to allow speedy delivery (it is impossible to give based on need, all of them are in need). We loaded up the truck and began.

It took 3 hard days of traveling around in the field to deliver the cook stoves. However, every foot of road that had cracks down to purgatory and every degree above HOT, was worth it to see the faces of the caretakers when we delivered the stoves completely out of surprise. Part of it might have to do with the fact that I had learned and tried to speak just enough Lusoga to introduce myself and tell them I am giving them a cook stove. But the other part of it is clear, who wouldn’t want a better made appliance that makes for less work? Every stop was a community attraction-neighbors and kids would gather around to check out the delivery.

There are very few things I would take in exchange for a day out in the field working with these people and

Whisper Lite

The finished product

School food storage-posho makingsThis stove literally is the size of a hot tub (See plate inside for reference) I told them Ugandans use it to cook posho for 1,000 kids, Americans use it to soak in. They found this hilarious.

3-stone cook method

Typical School Kitchen

Lunch

Fuel

MGMT sings about them, Ugandans like to produce them and all I seem to do is write about them- KIDS. As a result you probably think that everything I have been doing here is related to kids and in a way it is. But there is a bit more to it. Amidst Dreamweaver, sports galas, grant writing and bursar’s offices I have been working on getting improved cook stoves installed. And finally it happened. There are now 10 improved institutional cook stoves in 8 schools in 5 districts immediately benefiting over 8,000 people and ultimately a tiny step in preserving the future of Ugandan (cheesy to say but a hope). My organization, KORD, received a large grant from an organization in Kenya to do a pilot project on energy saving technology, with the initial focus on improved institutional cook stoves. KORD had just finalized the details of the agreement when I arrived and so it was natural course for me to head it up.

The need for improved cook stoves seems a bit trivial, however, most of these schools are still using what is called the 3-stone method (see picture below). Ignoring just the poor efficiency and costs of this method, most of these schools are located in rural areas where preservation of natural resources is crucial yet are being used as fuel. Then there is the effects on the health of the cook staff, the danger to the children forced to collect firewood, and the inability to fully prepare enough for all the students in a timely manner. And those are just the primary consequences. These stoves aren’t being used to prepare gourmet meals. Ugandans students eat just beans and posho (a spongy like food made purely from white flour and water) every single day for lunch. And most students will only drink tea for breakfast and something very small for dinner.

In my work plan, all the stoves were suppose to be installed, a 4 district assessment of all schools and hospitals conducted, a workshop facilitated and finally a proposal for more funding all by the time I finished up. If the office had a few more staff and well if Uganda wasn’t Uganda this would actually be a plausible proposal. But that paired with of course unexpected variables, significantly delayed the project. However, we did get the stoves installed and even added on a bit more. However, explanations and black and white stats are boring, I much prefer colorful pictures.

Warning! A fist raiser

What would you do if you could fix everyone’s problems? Where would you start and how would you about it? Would you meet individuals one by one or would you swing a wand and let it touch all? Would you start with your family, then friends or go straight to the child on the street?

The paradox that I have come to know and love about Uganda is the numerous needs versus the constant request for more. Naturally, each feeds off the other and are sometimes hard to distinguish. Everywhere we go it seems there is someone to help while at the same time someone who is asking for more. I walk through my community and I find someone I can assist to carry something, however, while in route randomly a child will say, “You give me a 100.” We go to a school to pay fees for an OVC, and someone pulls us aside and asks us to support 20 other children. We give a school a brand new improved cook stove, they ask us for a bigger one. We visit orphan caretakers to assist with income generating projects, they also ask for healthcare. We give out over a hundred wash basins, jerry cans, blankets and tshirts, but then others want another bottle of water.

Explaining this is sensitive, I don’t blame them for needing or asking. It exposes the struggle this world has- the search for true assistance and battle for a stable perspective. Need, with no beginning and no end, is the foundation for progress and the fuel for destruction.

I have no solution to this paradox, but perhaps a strategy.
Many of you, I feel touched to say, have asked what you can do to help the lovely people here. The obvious answer is money. Not that money can fix everything, but giving it to people who know what to do with it can repair a lot of things. However, if you are like me, money is a resource that pales in comparison to capability and compassion. I have been thinking a lot about this. I still don’t think I will give a sufficient answer but I thought of a few things:

-this is an unusual request, but, I want to tell you to teach yourself and raise your children to be wise, generous, loving individuals who value being educated by the world. Realize that you can start with your own little world around you, cultivate that feeling of charity, and use it to grow out. I have many dear acquaintances who consistently amaze me with their different passions and the ways they find to help others. Do I recommend everyone should take a few months and go volunteer somewhere completely different from what they know-yes. Do I think this is feasible or plausible for everyone- no. So find what you can do in your family and in your community. And do it now. Don’t make it a resolution, make it a habit.

-Consumerism is inherit in our lives but it doesn’t have to be done unconsciously, capitalism is hip on humanitarianism right now. Take advantage. Find businesses and products that operate consciously and give a little back, however small

-Be clever. Use your hobbies, use groups, use your old stuff, use your healthy bodies- identify a need, make a plan, do it. Just because an organization’s website doesn’t have it on their list of “what you can do”, propose an idea to them.

-Obviously, there are also plenty of sites where you can find an organization to give to or volunteer with. http://www.idealist.org/ http://www.kiva.org/ http://www.national.unitedway.org/
If you are inspired by the work my organization KORD is doing, I will happily give you information on how you can give.

What? Is not a question.

my host family with the cake I made Daniella for her birthday- chocolate with flowers

Outside our hostel in Kamapala
A Hindu Temple

One of hundreds of old school bikes everyone rides

You know when you have a really great trip and someone asks you how it was and all you can manage is a measly “good”, well I have no doubt that upon returning my own answer will pathetically be the same response, completely dismissing the near death experiences, the moments of air gasping laughs, and penetrating thoughts. So I will tell you know this trip is better than good, it is amazing, challenging, ridiculous and perspective altering. How? Let me share a short list of notes:

If you were thinking that bribery is being reduced or exaggerated in developing nations, I am here to tell you it is alive and well. Upon speeding back from dropping off school supplies, our taxi was flagged down by a cop. Our driver, after exchanging some words with the cop, came over and asked for 5,000 shs (about $2.50). Apparently, our cop was willing to let our 100,000shs ticket slide for a small exchange of money for lunch

Sometimes at night, when I am sitting on a coke crate watching a soccer game with a bunch of locals, commercials come on promoting South Africa as the site for the FIFA World Cup this summer. The announcer speaks, “Africa, walk tall.“ with a voice that gives me chills. I look around and want to whisper to the people surrounding me, you are African, do you know how cool you that is? Do you know that people are as fascinated and drawn to you as much as they don’t understand and are fearful? Do you realize how penetrating this country really is?

As opposed to the flurry of gas station, fountain machine, plastic bottle, Costco packaged nature of United States, a single glass bottle of soda here is a special occasion. You know it is an event when a crate of all glass bottles arrive. People don’t drink while they move and the exchange of the bottle is as valuable as the liquid. As the coldness of the bottle fights the heat of the day, there is a rare pleasure in the weight of a bottle in my hand and the thickness of the rim to my lips.

Ugandans have this odd little quirk. I had heard about it before arriving but assumed it was a long gone habit. Nope. Basically, Ugandans will throw in a “what?” as a question in the middle of their sentences, pause and then continue with the answer to their own question. It is as goofy as it sounds. However, after the first few times of you trying to answer the question before getting cut off as they continue to answer it themselves, you get use to it. So, Ugandans like do what?. . Ugandans like to add an unnecessary “what?” into their sentences. . .See its not so bad once you get use to it.

I sometimes joke that it seems here even the goats stare at me. The other day I was sitting on the porch, I turned my head to look and there it was. A large white goat just staring, right at me. A staring match was held and it won. Apparently, even the goats find my presence curious.

Kid R Us

They like to peek through the door of the bursars office
This is what we encounter at every school as we step out of the car

Duck, Duck, Goose Team
I have groupies. They scream and giggle and follow me home. They reach for my hand and hold onto my wrist. They all chant when I pass and stare as if I am from another planet. They come to my house and beg for more. They crowd my taxi and tell their friends. I tend to ignore the fact that my captive audience is actually just kids, living in rural Africa, entertained purely by the anomaly of a tall white person with blond hair in a bright blue dress walking through their backyard. They are probably as amused with me as I with them, but so far it seems to be a happy exchange. I take pictures of the hundreds of kids pouring out of a school or dancing in my yard, and they stare at me fully taking in the mental picture.

Sometimes they run from one end of the village to the other, taking short cuts just to yell “muzungu” at me all the way to gate. Sometimes they will gather in the yard and we will play a confused game of “duck, duck, goose”. Sometimes one will just hold my hand and walk with me home.

I am not ignorant to the fact that this is not a rare international experience. But I have never really consider myself a kid person. Don’t misinterpret me, of course, I plan to have my own troop of kids, my nephews have my weekly devotion, and I will happily baby-sit my friends adorable children, but if it comes between working in an orphanage or getting dirty in the field, my boots are on before you can say pacifier. But I will tell you this, there is something here about the kids. They seem to be handmade in factory quantities each one with nothing more than skin, bones, smiles, and a whole lot of character wrapped up in a thin cotton uniform. They never seem to cry, they dance like an MTV rap video and there is a lot perseverance. I want to package them all up and bring them home in my suitcase.

Need is a 4 Letter Word

(Grace and Sandra)

(Charles' feet)

(this is their school office and in the background is there classes)

In an effort to defy my friend, who questioned if I was actually in Africa due to the absence of myself in any of the pictures I post, I am posting this picture. Here is a picture of me in the field in a very typical bursar’s office with one of our orphans kneeling down to me. But look closely at the picture, can you see them? They are there- creases on my face. There are creases from extended smiling sprouting from simple joy. There are creases from unfixable sorrow. There are creases of helpless frustration. There are creases of settled content. It is not unusual here for me to get ready in the dark with little water, but as I look in the mirror each day some how the slightly weathered face glowing from the heat, lined with dirt from the road, a bit exhausted from work, looks pleased and alive. Each wrinkle I have acquired on my face reflects my experience here. They show the dramatic swinging of emotions that are felt as I delve into the work here. It feels like love.

This week we began handing out school supplies and paying fees for our orphan and vulnerable children program (OVC). We have identified 200 children in 16 sub-counties covering 30 km of gnarly dirt roads and 150 schools. We start early and end at dark. Like most things in Uganda, the task in theory is simple- take jerry cans to tap, fill up and bring home; work hard in school, go to college; meet someone, get married; buy ingredients, make dinner; drive around to each school, pay fees and handout supplies. But like most things in Uganda, it never ends up being easy- life is simple but emotions and unaccounted factors are complicated.

At one school, we met with this orphan named Charles, we began going through the process of fees and distribution. Then upon closer inspection we noticed his feet were slowly being eaten away by jiggers, and his limbs were skinny and dry as the parasites have began feeding on his blood and water. The image alone is sad, but you know what makes this devastating and frustrating is the fact that his caretaker is a smartly dressed man who is in fine health. So this does not mean his household is unable to take care of themselves, this means that this boy is purposefully being neglected.

On the other side, yesterday we broke our record by meeting with 28 students and finishing almost 1 whole sub-county. At one school we met a girl who was pleading to attend, but we actually were delegated to support her sister. After talking to her though, we found out that her sister, decided to get married instead (at the age of 15) and is no longer going to school. We had the money and the supplies so we decided at that moment to sponsor her instead, not only for her education but also in hopes of protecting her from early marriage as well. The girl, smart and brave, left home to get her things with her school fees paid and excited to learn. It was a beautiful accident.

Ever since you are little you are told to eat all your food because there are children in Africa starving. I don’t mean to belittle or deny this fact, it is true. But you know, African children are starving for education. I don’t want to make this into “For a dollar a day. . . “ commercial because that is not the image of Africa I feel. For all the bad here, there is equally good. For all the lazy days, there are heavy days of work. The progress is in the experience, and hopefully the reduction of a little less bad.

Gangster's Paradise

(tea fields and teaching this little girl how to use a camera)
(our campsite)

(Don't you hate when you can't fit it all on the page)

I did two things that the typical Ugandans does not do- go camping and celebrate Valentine’s Day. As part of my internship, the other interns and I get to go on a mid-term retreat. For our retreat, FSD decided to take us to Ssezibwa Falls which is about 11/2 from Jinja. Apparently, Ugandans do not like to hike or camp, and in an effort to please the mzungus the office staff agreed to do both. We arrived late at night to a campfire and kerosene lamps lighting an open, covered platform where our dinner awaited us, with the assuring sound of the falls in the background. (Bear with me, when I tell you it really did remind me of Survivor.) When I awoke in the morning I was pleasantly surprised to see that falls were literally 50 yards from our campsite. They aren’t gigantic but are beautiful and mesmerizing. As the sun rose I ran along the back roads behind the campsite. I am pretty sure I frightened some poor villagers as they sleepily began their day with a random white girl running down the path by their house. After a cold, jerry can shower, we spent the day hiking around with a guide, sleeping on the cool cement of the covered bar and eating African bbq.

The next day being Valentine’s Day I decided to celebrate with my host family. Ever since I was a little girl and received a bag full of candy on the porch from my Aunt Peggy and a new pink and red outfit from my mom every year, I have loved Valentine’s Day. It is easy to overhype and reject this unknowing little holiday. But sometimes showing you care needs a little encouragement. So I decided, despite my family’s lack of interest in celebrating that I would do at least something small. So I made each one of them a ghetto card out of paper and crayons and then made sugar cookies with pink frosting. I ended up with enough left over that I could deliver a few to friends in the neighbourhood and take some to my co-workers. There was no lacy underwear or declarations of love by a secret lover for the holiday weekend, but Coleman tents and delivering cheesy cards seems like a pretty good way to celebrate any holiday.

Right of Way

You know you are in Africa when. . .

(apparently this cow has picked this unfinished house to live in, ironically, this house is nicer than the one most people in the village live in)

Sunday I attended a funeral service with my host brother for my host mother’s grandmother who passed away. I was told it was not a formal event and from the outside appearance of the location I agreed, until we entered the tent and found everyone in gulus (traditional Ugandan dress) and church clothes. Luckily we were able to sneak in the back row of plastic chairs. It was turning out to be a typical Catholic service until a heard of cows began crossing through the aisles and out the other end followed by a lady in a form fitting, strapless black gown and high heels shooing them along, which was then followed by a pack of screaming children running after a gathering of hens who were making their way through the other side. Everyone sat calmly through the whole escapade. Things continued on as normal until people began giving speeches. One woman got up and thanked the muzungo (me) for coming and everyone turned in their plastic chairs to look at the back of the room where I was sitting in my discrete spot and began clapping and taking pictures. I did my best to graciously accept the attention, noting to always were a skirt when attending a public event and not take the isle seat.

10 km Banana Bread

(Annette cooking dinner at the house on a standard characoal stove)
One of my favourite people in Uganda is Annette. Annette is the daughter of my host mother and the impromptu head of the household. Annette is quick with facial expressions, has no shortage of ridiculous stories, laughs from her belly, widens her eyes with excitement and tells me things as honest as they are. She is more beautiful with a shaven head, which accounts to well-set facial features and makes me incredibly envious. Her fashion sense is impeccable and her purse collection makes her cement room come alive. Even her casual houseware is brightly colored and tailored. She is the headmaster of her own school and runs her life accordingly. I love my biological sister and would never replace her, but if I could adopt another sister is just might be Annette. When I found out it was Annette’s birthday I naturally started planning a birthday treat. Though Annette and I disagree on spiciness we both have a soft spot for sweets. The first time I met Annette she offered me cake; when I gave her chocolates from America she talked about it for a week. So when I say birthday treat, I mean birthday TREAT.

I instantly became inclined to make banana bread with lots of chocolate frosting. The only problem being the fact that there is no oven in my entire village or anywhere in the surrounding 10km area. I knew I could use the oven in the FSD office in Jinja but that would require me leaving after work in rush hour, taking the taxi 10km, baking it in the office and then coming home in the dark before dinner. I was explaining this to a friend online and he said, “Well your banana bread is delicious, so I imagine banana bread that requires you having to go 10km tastes even better.” I decided to test his theory.

After some persuasion I was able to recruit my host brother as my co-pilot. So Thursday after work I rushed to the post office, waited 20 minutes for Steven who had a million other things to do especially considering the electricity and water in the entire village had gone out again, waited 15 minutes for the bus, then decided to take boda bodas to the main road, then waited 15 minutes for the taxi to fill up and leave, then manoeuvred through town to buy the remaining ingredients for the bread, then finally walking to the office. The office, luckily, was quiet and the baking went very smooth thanks to Steven’s mixing skills. Finally the smell of two pans of warm banana bread filled the room. Steven and I wrapped it up, leaving a little bit for the office staff and then headed home. At home, we told Annette of the surprise, so she decided to buy sodas for all the kids (very rare treat) and everyone all sat around to the table to eat and celebrate (another rare occurrence, usually the children eat in the kitchen or on the floor). Annette’s anticipation for the treat was gratifying but it was little Daniella who blessed the cake in the dinner prayer, that made me think all the hassle might be worth it. After dinner, I handed out birthday gifts, following Aunt Peggy’s tradition, everyone got an "unbirthday gift" in the form of a bracelet special for each person. As I handed each person their bracelet, everyone clapped. Such appreciation for little round items. Then it was time. I unveiled the banana bread and prepared to frost. As I pulled out the frosting the kids began to ask me what it was. At that point, I experienced cultural shock. Give me squirters instead of toilet paper, fried terminates as treats, overstuffed cattle cars as taxis and marriage proposals at bus stops and I will be fine. But an ignorance of frosting is simply shocking and disheartening. As a frosting connoisseur I was happy to introduce them to this delight of fluffy, spreadable, delicious cream. I added an extra layer of chocolate, cut the cake into pieces and put it on squares of tin foil to be passed around. In Uganda, if the food is good you do not talk while you eat, so as silence descended and all that was heard was the crinkling of foil, I realized that travelling 10km really does make banana bread taste better.

Role Call

(shoe repair)
(the market in my village)

(typical construction in Kampala)

(backyard, route to work)

I realized in talking with my dad the other night that either he is not reading my blog or I have not been very descriptive about my everyday living environment. So I thought I would just give a quick account of my so called life.
I begin waking up around 5:45 with the prayer call broadcasted from the Muslim mosque three plots (houses or grouping of huts) down from my house. Then I completely awoken by the sounds of the kids in my family opening up the metal gate and doors and bringing in the jerry cans of water from the tap about ¼ a mile from our house.
At 6:00am I am up and out of my house to go running. It is still fairly dark but the eyes are quick to adjust and the moon is usually enough. It also allows for an amazing sunrise view. I walk down an eroded dirt road past a field, row shacks, cows, trash dumpsters, and others going to the tap. My runs take me through the sugar cane fields, around the factory, down the main road, up the hill, anywhere I feel like. On the way back I occasional will help someone coming back from the tap with the jerry can.
I come home to the house busy with cooking and people getting ready for school.
My house has no running water, but several large wash basins in each room. I shower in the bathtub using my wash basin and cut out jerry can as a pourer. Sometimes I am given a quart of hot water to use as well.
Our house does have electricity; most of the village does not. But the power goes out probably 3 days a week. We do have solar power that we use as a backup that works fairly well.
We have no house phone and the 10” TV works sometimes to show an Indian station.
As I explain in the other posts, we don’t have an oven, standard stove, washing machine or any modern appliance. This is very common in most villages.
My clothes are washed by hand every weekend, I thought this wouldn’t be necessary, I don’t wash my clothes that much in US but with all the dirt and heat and rain it really is pertinent. They string all the clothes in the courtyard behind our house.
For work, I walk the 1 ½ mile through the main market part of the village and then by the center roundabout that connects the village to the main road, factory and Indian property, and then along the sidewalk to the factory and up around. The walk is routine but never boring, there are people everywhere, babies, factory workers, boda drivers, school kids, market workers, cows, goats, and plenty of my neighbors to greet.
At night, any number of family members will usually play cards, sit around and talk, prepare food, occasionally watch a movie with my tiny laptop, read, walk around, play with kids, nap.
We eat dinner about 9-10pm which is typical for Uganda. After which I usually go to bed. Usually the entire village is quiet about 11pm, but up till then it is full of life, in the house and outside.
Meals are kind of interesting. Usually one or two people will eat with me at the table, the younger kids usually sit in the floor in the dish room or family room or outside. No one really eats all at the same time unless it is a special occasion.
On Sunday evenings we go to the local “hotel” where they project the European premiere soccer league games on the side of a large wall. (European soccer is HUGE here, to the point where they watched a league game over the African Cup championship game) Everyone sits around in the dark on coke crates or plastic chairs and cheers for their favorite team. Mine being Manchester United.
Basically, wherever I go there are people, kids and animals. Privacy is nonexistent. My bedroom is suppose to be my own space, but my window faces the back courtyard of the house where everyone hangs out so I am always fully aware of what is going on. If my light is on, then I am free game. Even while I am bathing people are always yelling things to me through the window or door. For someone who comes from a big family I find a level of comfort in it all. I think when it comes time I am really going to miss all the little quirks that have become my African life.