There are countless times I feel completely content and happy with my life in Uganda. There are many times I don’t but let’s not talk about those right now. Many times those feelings of happiness, pride, and contentment overwhelm me when I do something that makes me feel very Ugandan.
Yesterday, I was riding on a taxi with my friend Lizzie. Lizzie loves Jack Fruit and is unable to get it at her site. She has had a craving for it and was determined to get some before going back to site. We scoured the market and all around the town we had been in. There was none to be seen. While in the taxi on the way home, we stopped to let some passengers out and I spotted Jack fruit at a small vender across the street. I tapped on the window furiously trying to get a ladies attention and then I motioned her over to us using the Ugandan come-here wave. This is the wave we use to say hello to little children in the states but in Uganda it means come here. The woman pick-up a giant Jack fruit and ran across the road to us. Lizzie then proceeded to buy the Jack fruit through the taxi door. This exchange is extremely common in Uganda and made me feel very Ugandan.
One of my favorite, and least favorite at the same time, conversations to have with Ugandans is when I ask for directions. They are incredible vague and will admit to being horrible direction givers. Earlier this week I went into the bush to drop off some letters from the Ministry of Education and invite teachers to a workshop on HIV/AIDS education. I have three schools that are relatively close together in the bush but I had only visited them once and this was my first time trying to find them again on my own. I made it to the first school and then asked the Head Mister (principal) to direct me to the next school. He walked me to the road and said, “You go that way (shakes his hand around so I am not sure which way that is) for some time. Then there is a tree somewhat far, turn there. Hmmm, there is a somewhat small path but you might get lost. O.k. o.k. Hmmm. Go that way (again shakes his hand in no apparent direction) for some more time. After the big mango tree you will look and see the school. Climb the hill and you will see. It is somewhat near.” So, I took off “that way.” The amazing part is that I followed his directions and made it to the school without any mishaps. Oh, to understand Ugandan directions. It is a talent, let me tell you.
Another Ugandan moment happened for me this week. I am working with a local health center on HIV/AIDS programs in schools. A program exists in Uganda called, “Education for Life.” I was told the program is working in Katikamu, a village an hour and a half North of where I live. I was asked to go there and find out more information. When I asked for a contact person I was told to just go there and ask around. I was assured people would know where to direct me. So, I packed up and went to Katikamu. After asking around the local trading center, visiting the health center, grilling the father’s at the Catholic parish, and trying to visit the LC1 (like the mayor of the town), I found no one had ever heard of “Education for Life.”
While this would normally frustrate me and I may make some grudging remark about it being very Ugandan, I found this experience very rewarding. I did not find the organization/program I wanted to learn about but in the process I was directed to other NGO’s and community based programs. I found a community that has an active Village Savings and Loans program, a health center that does both in-center care and outreach, and a Catholic parish that is working to promote quality education so that all their students qualify for higher education. I love learning about communities that are building themselves up and seeing how they are doing it.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Exorcisms Next Door
My dear sweet neighbor Grace, who I scared a few weeks ago, is having night terrors. Lately, I have been awoken around 3 am by her screaming, sobbing, and calling out. I even hear my name. She screams out prayers that include, “Mamma! Mamma! Mamma! (some Luganda) Yesu, my friend save me! (Luganda mixture) Yesu! Yesu! Amanda! Mamma Fred! (Luganda words) Yesu!” Then I hear claps and banging noises. Grace has dreams that men live in the corners of her room and come to abduct her and sacrifice her. Her mom, Annette, is clapping into the corners to show her there is no one there and also to ward off the evil spirits.
Lately, many of the teachers and community members have been taking about child sacrifice. It has made me so angry because they are scaring the children. Then, I found out that a little boy in the next town was abducted and sacrificed last week. So, poor Grace’s night terrors are founded.
Annette is at the end of her rope. She is very distressed and does not know what to do. She has taken Grace to the doctor, sleeps with her, and lately has brought in some Born Again’s (Pentecostal’s) to pray over Grace and the room each night. It sounds like they are having exorcisms to me.
For my part, I have given Grace Sleepy-Time tea and read, “The Berenstain Bears Bad Dream,” with her. Still, the night terrors persist.
Lately, many of the teachers and community members have been taking about child sacrifice. It has made me so angry because they are scaring the children. Then, I found out that a little boy in the next town was abducted and sacrificed last week. So, poor Grace’s night terrors are founded.
Annette is at the end of her rope. She is very distressed and does not know what to do. She has taken Grace to the doctor, sleeps with her, and lately has brought in some Born Again’s (Pentecostal’s) to pray over Grace and the room each night. It sounds like they are having exorcisms to me.
For my part, I have given Grace Sleepy-Time tea and read, “The Berenstain Bears Bad Dream,” with her. Still, the night terrors persist.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Sseese Islands
Last weekend I traveled to the Ssesse Islands in Lake Victoria with 6 wonderful friends. We arrived at the dock in Entebbe and camped out, ready to elbow our way onto the boat and in a seat. There are little to no rules about catching the ferry. They fill it until there are no more people and many must stand for the 3 hour passage.
We managed to be some of the first passengers on the boat and secured two benches with a narrow table between them for us to play cards on and rest our tired heads. We tried to ignore the fact that they squished more people than the boat should have been able to hold, there were no visible life jackets, no life boats, and only 3 staff members (the captain, the ticket collector, and a security guard). Oh, and did I mention there were cars along with passengers on this boat and they were held in place by logs? That too.
Despite the potentially dangerous ferry crossing, we made it to Bulago Island safely. We were greeted by 15 Islanders carrying signs representing their respective resorts. Being American, we had made reservations ahead of time and found the lady carrying the “Pearl Gardens Beach Resort,” sign and followed her down the beach some 100 meters.
Let me educate you on two important facts about vacationing in Uganda. Number 1 – there is no need for reservations. They don’t mean anything. Number 2 – resort in Uganda does not mean Caribbean Resort. You still have a bucket bath, the front door has gaping holes in it, and you sleep under a tattered mosquito net. At first these differences were a little disappointing, after all, we thought we were moving up in the world by going on vacation. But as we quickly adjusted, we realized it was refreshing to be in a place that has not been “Westernized.” It wouldn’t be Uganda without the bucket bath and lack of communication.
We proceeded to have a most excellent vacation that included hitching a ride on the back of a flat bed truck to “town”, hiking a nature walk through the jungles of the island, some quality beach time, a picnic near the beach, canoeing a giant canoe through Lake Victoria and jumping in and swimming in the middle of the cove.
It was a wonderful weekend and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. But, I must admit, I never want to go back. Not because of the place but solely because of the ferry ride. 3 hours is a long time to fear for your life and I have not gotten as sea sick as I got on the return ride. There were moments where I was tempted to throw myself over board in hopes of settling my stomach.
And so, I am happy to be back on dry land and living life at site once again. I am refreshed and thankful for life. Next vacation will have to not include a ferry. Perhaps, rafting the Nile River?
We managed to be some of the first passengers on the boat and secured two benches with a narrow table between them for us to play cards on and rest our tired heads. We tried to ignore the fact that they squished more people than the boat should have been able to hold, there were no visible life jackets, no life boats, and only 3 staff members (the captain, the ticket collector, and a security guard). Oh, and did I mention there were cars along with passengers on this boat and they were held in place by logs? That too.
Despite the potentially dangerous ferry crossing, we made it to Bulago Island safely. We were greeted by 15 Islanders carrying signs representing their respective resorts. Being American, we had made reservations ahead of time and found the lady carrying the “Pearl Gardens Beach Resort,” sign and followed her down the beach some 100 meters.
Let me educate you on two important facts about vacationing in Uganda. Number 1 – there is no need for reservations. They don’t mean anything. Number 2 – resort in Uganda does not mean Caribbean Resort. You still have a bucket bath, the front door has gaping holes in it, and you sleep under a tattered mosquito net. At first these differences were a little disappointing, after all, we thought we were moving up in the world by going on vacation. But as we quickly adjusted, we realized it was refreshing to be in a place that has not been “Westernized.” It wouldn’t be Uganda without the bucket bath and lack of communication.
We proceeded to have a most excellent vacation that included hitching a ride on the back of a flat bed truck to “town”, hiking a nature walk through the jungles of the island, some quality beach time, a picnic near the beach, canoeing a giant canoe through Lake Victoria and jumping in and swimming in the middle of the cove.
It was a wonderful weekend and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. But, I must admit, I never want to go back. Not because of the place but solely because of the ferry ride. 3 hours is a long time to fear for your life and I have not gotten as sea sick as I got on the return ride. There were moments where I was tempted to throw myself over board in hopes of settling my stomach.
And so, I am happy to be back on dry land and living life at site once again. I am refreshed and thankful for life. Next vacation will have to not include a ferry. Perhaps, rafting the Nile River?
Thursday, July 16, 2009
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