A GULU CELEBRATION

A GULU CELEBRATION

Friday, August 21, 2009

Six Month's and All's Well...

My favorite character defect, procrastination, has set in. I haven’t updated my Blog in two months. There always seems to be an excellent reason why right now is not a good time to sit and record my thoughts. However, I am sitting here now, so I’ll start. (It was a revelation to me when I discovered that my tendency toward procrastination was really the way I operationalize my perfectionism! It’s always something, isn’t it.)

Meanwhile…
On August 14th I celebrated my six month anniversary in Uganda. The interesting thing is that it doesn’t seem that long ago when I joined the other PCTs (Peace Corps trainees) in my group for a 4-hour orientation in Philadelphia on Friday the 13th. I remember walking down to the registration desk in the hotel and meeting two of the men in the group—one from California and one from Vermont. All three of us had that wide-eyed, glazed over stare that said, “ Holy shxx, what have I gone and done now.” But as the rest of our group began to stream in, I settled in and started to enjoy the process.

In retrospect I can’t say that I had any serious doubts about this decision. Of course, I was so busy backing out of my life in Kansas City, that I didn’t have many unused brain receptors available for that sort of introspection. Also, one of the perks of being old is that I knew I could change my mind if this life altering choice suddenly—or over time—no longer fit for me.
The other night when my brother, sister-in-law, and I were Skyping (is that a verb?), Bill asked me if I was doing what I came to do. Was I helping anyone? The answer to that question is complicated. I can’t point to a project that bears my name, or to a cluster of individuals who are in better straits today because of me. But, I have two boys in my compound whom I love, and they love me back.

Here’s What I Mean…
Victor, the four year old, and I went to the library on Wednesday and checked out four books. When we brought them home, I tried to sit him down to read, but he wasn’t interested. Reading books doesn’t happen in his house where his mother works 12 to 15 hours a day at her restaurant, and the house girl spends her day watching Gift, Victor’s two month old sister. This morning as I sit here writing, Victor is sitting on my mosquito-netted bed “reading” his book. For me that is a success.

An aside…
While I didn’t look at every book in the Tororo library that might be appropriate for a four-year-old, I did look at many. I couldn’t find one that was in Dhopadhola or Kiswahili (Victor speaks both languages as well as more English than I speak Dhopadhola). I couldn’t find one book that had pictures of things Victor knows. He doesn’t know about trains, windmills, suburbia, department stores, raccoons, washing machines, jump ropes, skyscrapers or any of the things that are familiar to children reared in a western culture. Victor knows his compound, bicycles, chickens, cows, goats, his tricycle (his only toy), motorcycles, bicycle tires-as hula-hoops, cardboard boxes, and people. And, he is a very smart, curious, active little boy.

Then There’s Precious…
Full name, Obbo Precious. Precious is a 12-year old boy who is a student in P-6 (Primary 6). Two years ago his father died of cancer. He is one of five children whose names are as creative as his own. They are: Isaac, Flavia, Prayer and Congress. Precious is right in the middle between Flavia and Prayer. His mother continues to stay in the village with his two younger siblings where she is close to her very large extended family. Meanwhile, Precious lives here in Tororo with Kezia, his aunt and my boss. He attends school at Industrial View-- about a 40-minute walk from our place. Kezia stays in the space next door to me during the week, and then leaves for the village on the weekends. I become “Mama Precious” on Saturdays and Sundays. Precious is precious. He is soft spoken, pleasant, hard working (sometimes), smart, funny, active, interested, protective, curious, and so on…But, Precious doesn’t like, and, therefore, doesn’t do well in school. (Isaac and Flavia are both very good students.)

The educational system here is interesting. Only recently was access to primary school deemed a right of the people of Uganda, and the government began paying the “school fees.” The secondary grades—S1 through S5—are being phased in one grade at a time. However, the government schools are not equal in any way to the private schools according to almost everyone who knows about the educational process here. Many of the government school teachers are not paid for several months at a time; there is a shortage of books in the government schools so students have to check out their books for each subject and return them at the end of class; and the parents continue to need to pay for school supplies, school uniforms, school lunches, and special assessments for chalk, paper and miscellaneous supplies needed by the teachers. Classrooms routinely have a census of over 50 students each, in some cases as many as 100 or more. It is not unusual for a child to have only one bona fide class in a whole day because the teachers didn’t show up. The typical school day for Precious is from 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.

About a month ago I began to pay attention to Precious’s school work. Every night we would sit down and go over his work for that day. After we did his daily review, then he could play computer games. Interestingly, Precious has taught himself ( God knows I couldn’t teach him) to find and play games on my computer. Just so you know, computers and computer games are culturally neutral. Twelve year old boys are as addicted to them in Uganda as they are in the USA. (Is that good or bad?)

A few days ago he brought home his report card for the term. Unfortunately, the marks were not good. BUT, there were signs that over the last month’s time, he was improving. I have convinced Kezia that she and I should go to his school when the new term starts, and talk to his teachers. Hopefully, we can work out a study plan that will help Precious improve scholastically. In the meantime, Precious wanted to learn to type so we found a typing tutorial online. As expected, he is excelling at it. When he is finished with the tutorial and can type, I promised him that I would help him find an American email pen-pal. Anybody interested?

So from my vantage point…
I am not certain that I make a difference in Precious’s life, but I am certain that he makes a difference in mine. And that’s why I came to Uganda…

Saturday, June 20, 2009

IT’S BEGINNING TO BE REAL…



I have been in Tororo almost two months now. I’ve been here long enough that I can move through town and some people recognize me and call me by name. I can walk to the bank and the post office without getting directions and without getting lost. I have my favorite vendors at the kisia (Dhopadhola for market), and I know where to go for paraffin (in the US we call it kerosene). My place is feeling safe and like home, and I know the neighbors in my compound and they know me. At night we often sit outside and chat as the sun sets and before the mosquitoes come out masquerading as harmless irritations. I have had a number of days when I’ve wondered why in the name of all the saints did I do this, but I’ve had more days when I was very certain that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

It is still a jolt when I walk down the street and from some recessed brain cell a thought leaps into my awareness announcing, “I’m in AFRICA! Not just for a visit, but I’m living here for the next two years!” Interestingly, my life here is very real and in focus, and my life in the US seems very far away and a bit fuzzy. I’m not sure how that works. I think because the experience here is so different in every way from my life in America, that in order to survive, I have to concentrate full-throttle on the here and now. From the rituals of getting up in the morning to the rituals of going to bed at night, nothing is the same as it was in Kansas City. The closest exception is church.

MASS UGANDA STYLE: I have been a regular church goer since arriving in Uganda. I think I began attending regularly because there is a degree of comfort and a sense of familiarity with the rituals and the surroundings. It is easy to go to Mass. I know what to expect. I know how to act. I know how the others will act. There is no guess work. BUT…there are some notable exceptions.

Sunday Mass in Uganda is at least two (2) hours long. And even more remarkable than that is that no one leaves until the last words of the last hymn are sung! I have been to several different churches and the shortest mass was 1 hour 55 minutes and the longest was over 3 hours! That was the day the Bishop came.

One Sunday I was trying to place what was missing from the Uganda experience. It was crying babies. I don’t know what the parents do to the children here, but they don’t fuss, fidget, or fight. The older children (from about 3 yrs. To 13 yrs.) are herded together inside the altar rail on either side of the altar. They sit on straw mats, and their shoes are in a pile at the far edge. There is one older woman (every church in every country has this lady) who watches them with the evil eye. She praises God when she can bustle up and yank one of the children’s arms out of its socket and slam the budding delinquent back down on the mat. Then, she casts her flint sharp gaze on the rest of the children, daring any one of them to make a move. And, they don’t!

On counterpoint is the music. The music in every church I’ve attended in Uganda is strong, joyous, and sung with a gusto that causes those little hairs on the back of my neck to stand straight up. The singers are generally accompanied by a keyboard and three or four traditional drums. When the music begins, the church actually swells with sound and everyone sings. Many of the hymns are traditional Catholic hymns that I sang when I was at Blessed Sacrament grade school, but many are in the local languages and are moved by ancient African tempos. Every time I leave Mass, I feel better than I did when I arrived.

The Offertory is the time in the Mass when the “gifts” are given and offered as a sacrifice or insurance for our pitiful souls. In American churches that always means money is collected and then a family or some other respectable looking group is asked to carry the basket up to the altar. Well, imagine my surprise when in Uganda the Offertory comes around and people begin bringing up live chickens, baskets of produce, goats, matoke, cartons of soda, and all sorts of useful, usable merchandise as well as money. When the Bishop was here, he was given a goat. I think the goat knew the drill, because he started fighting the walk to the altar from the minute he was untied, and it took three people to get the goat into the Bishop’s care. Here’s another puzzle. None of the chickens try to run off or make noise. Why is that?

I found the Palm Sunday services especially compelling. Since I was a little girl, I went to church on Palm Sunday and the ushers stood at the back of the church and gave us some palm leaves as we entered. Every now and then I would wonder how these palms got to our church. Now I know! They come from the back yard of the Twegsige’s house in Wakiso, Uganda. Early on this Palm Sunday, Pamela, Anita and I got up and went out to the backyard to select the “right and perfect” palm leaves to take with us to church. As we walked to St. Jude’s, we met and joined the throngs of people arriving from every direction carrying their palm leaves. We entered the church carrying our palm leaves high. As the priest and the altar boys walked the center aisle of the church, everyone began gently shaking their palms making a swishing melody that accompanied the entourage to the altar. The spectacle was truly moving.

MOB JUSTICE: A few weeks after Palm Sunday, I saw a very disconcerting facet of life in Uganda. I still don’t know how to make sense of it. While the Ugandans I’ve met are bright, engaging, humorous, hard working, family oriented, principled, religious, smart, industrious, creative, articulate, loyal, trustworthy, polite, warm, and possess an almost endless list of positive characteristics, there is a very disturbing quality living close to the surface.

Around the middle of May, I witnessed an incident of mob justice that took place right next door to me. Kezia, Juma, Gonza (my co-workers), and I were having a meeting at the Mesage Uganda office when I heard some yelling and shouting coming from outside. I looked out and with a great deal of agitation, reported to my colleagues that there was a fight going on. They ventured out to investigate while I watched from the window.

Next door to us is a guest house—Ugandan style hotel. A young man entered the guest house, went behind the counter, and was in the process of stealing money from the cash box. He was caught. From there the story gets ugly. In less than five minutes a crowd of at least 30 people had gathered and they proceeded to beat and kick the boy. The temperament of the crowd, and the scene in general reminded me of a bad B-style movie depicting the days of Roman orgies that culminated in throwing the Christians to the lions. Even my colleagues were shouting, laughing at the spectacle, and encouraging those in front of the mob to give the boy what he deserved. I became very upset and finally convinced Juma to call the police. The police told him that they would come as soon as they could get fuel for their car!!

In the meantime, someone in the crowd decided that instead of killing the young man, it would be better to strip him naked and chase him through the streets of the town throwing rocks at him. Which they proceeded to do. Later that day, Kezia was at the hospital to see a friend, and the young man had been admitted. So, he lived.

I sometimes feel a violent current here that I haven’t felt in other places. Life in Uganda is very difficult, and there are no safety nets to protect people from falling into oblivion. If you can’t do for yourself or if your family can’t do for you, you are in a very precarious position. Police protection is spotty. Courts are for the rich. Healthcare is difficult to access. Income stabilization programs like Social Security or Unemployment Insurance are non-existent. Housing programs can’t begin to fill the need. Regulatory boards of all types are unreliable and generally impotent. NGOs (non-governmental organizations), CBOs (community based organizations) and even some of the faith based organizations are paralyzed by either a genuine lack of resources or by the siphoning off of funds by corrupt leadership. I don’t know where all of this fits yet, maybe I never will know. But people are often operating from a survival/subsistence stance. Many people don’t know when they will eat again, maybe today—maybe tomorrow--maybe not. It appears that often the prevailing attitude is get yours now, regardless of the consequences, because otherwise you won’t ever get what you need for yourself or your family. I believe it is collective rage which results from feelings of personal helplessness that promotes and fosters this particular type of violence toward strangers.

HOSPITAL VISIT: About two days after witnessing the mob justice scenario, I went with Kezia to visit Pastor’s brother. As we drove into the government hospital grounds, I noticed people having “picnics” under the trees, and I saw laundry hanging out on clothes lines strung between the buildings. The hospital compound is a collection of several low buildings, connected by walkways. Each building has a name: Maternity, Men, Children, Fractures, etc. We entered the Men’s building first. Pastor, his brother and their families live far into the village, about 20 or 25 km from Tororo. Pastor’s brother (I never did know his name, he was always referred to as Pastor’s brother) was hospitalized with a severe asthma attach. When we reached his bedside, he was gasping for air and very ill. He had an IV of some sort, and was otherwise unattended except when his family was there.

As I looked around the ward, it reminded me of the hospital scenes in movies from the civil war era. There were no screens or glass in the windows in any of the openings to the outside. No mosquito nets on any of the beds. Each bed had a different type of linen. When I inquired why, I learned that each patient has to bring their own linens, clothes, and food when they enter the hospital. This explained the picnic atmosphere on the grounds. Family members who come from long distances stay on the hospital grounds while their loved one is there. They cook, feed, bathe, and do laundry for their patient. As for medications, you must pay in cash each time the nurse gives you medicine. If you don’t have the money, you don’t get the medicine. This ward had about 40 patients. There was literally no privacy, no restrictions with regard to visitors, and no regulations to control contaminates brought in from the outside.

After we visited Pastor’s brother, we went to find our neighbor who had had a baby the preceding evening. It was about 2 pm and we walked right into the maternity ward. Again, no screens, no glass in the windows, and no Mosquito nets. I should point out that I sleep under a mosquito net every night. It is a Peace Corps MUST DO. Malaria is a serious problem in Uganda, and in the short time I’ve been here 11 people I know have been diagnosed with it. So, a hospital without mosquito nets is incongruous with acceptable care. The maternity ward was full, and as we walked the length of the ward I noticed a grandmother bathing an hours-old baby in a plastic basin on the floor next to the mother’s bed.

All in all, the experience made me want to go home, lock my doors, remove all sharp objects, pack myself in cotton batting, and not move until it was time to go back to the States in two years. Please God, don’t send me there for anything. It was a very depressing experience. As a side note, the medical care that Peace Corps volunteers get is excellent by all reports. If we are so ill that we need to be hospitalized, they come for us in one of the PC vehicles and take us to a surgery in Kampala or medi-vac us back to the States.

PS—Pastor’s brother survived and is back at his home.

MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS:

  • African women have beautiful posture. I haven’t seen a woman yet who slouches. And they really do carry all sorts of cargo on their heads while small babies are tied on their backs.

  • Yesterday I was in a matatu (public taxi transport). 99% of the matatu's are converted VW vans consisting of 5 rows of seats and a small luggage compartment. There were 23 people crammed into the vehicle!! AND one chicken…

  • It is against the law to punish children by caning in the schools. However, it is still a popular means of discipline which is generally supported by the parents.

  • Domestic violence is a serious problem here. In a recent research study, a majority of the men surveyed in Uganda believe that women want to be beaten by their husbands. It shows that they are loved.

  • There are mud huts with thacthed roofs throughout the country and people do live in them. In fact two weeks ago, I helped re-mud the walls of one for a senior-senior citizen.The huts pictured in National Geographic are not just in some rare, out of the way place. They are everywhere.

  • Cows come by my place almost daily and eat the grass in the vacant lot next door. I’m not sure, but maybe the owner of the lot pays the cows for lawn service.

  • I’m having my first “dinner party” on Tuesday night. I’ll be making FROM SCRATCH spaghetti sauce! There is no Ragu available here.


Saturday, May 16, 2009

So Far in Tororo...

Since my last post I have been on an emotional bobsled ride. I witnessed an incidence of mob justice, I made my first visit to an Ugandan government hospital, and I went to one of the villages with the TASO (HIV/Aids service organization) for an awareness event.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Almost a Month in Tororo!

It's hard to believe that I've been in Tororo almost a month already. I arrived here on April 22 after our "swearing-in" ceremony--at which I was asked to give remarks on behalf of our class of volunteers. A friend of mine said, "If you live long enough all your dreams come true. Bet you never thought you'd be class validictorian..." And she's right. I thought that boat had long since left the pier, but I also thought the chances of me every being in the United States Peace Corps was a dream totally out of the realm of possibilities. But, here I am.

I had to leave my Wakiso homestay family behind on April 19 and that was difficult. It was almost like leaving members of my real family. I'm not sure why I felt so close to them, but I suppose it is partly because they supported me during a critical transition. At any rate, they were very sweet and gave me gifts to remember them by--a beautiful carving of giraffes and a bark cloth purse. I have them displayed on my bookcase in my new home. Speaking of home...

MY HOUSE: I live in a building that has 7 other units. It is located about two blocks from the market and the center of town. It has electricity sometimes, and was advertised by the PC staff as having a flush toilet. That is technically true. However, in order to flush it, I have to carry a 5-gallon bucket (yes, another bucket) out to the facilities with me. What it really is, is a porcelain "throne" bolted over a pit latrine.

When we drove up to my new home and stopped, I nearly cried I was so upset. At one end of the block is a collection of "guest houses" that are attached to bars and rent by the half-hour. They attract a crowd very much like the inhabitants of the Bowery in NYC. There is a party going on day and night. At the other end is a furniture making establishment with hammering and sawing going on from 7 am til dark. In between and across the street is "Expert Motors" which is hidden behind a 40-foot wall of concrete. The street is dirt/mud/a river--depending on the weather, and the collection of individuals passing by rivals any Greyhound bus station in the US.

I have a "sitting room," a kitchen area, and a bedroom. There are big metal doors with impressive locks both front and back. My two windows are barred. The place came furnished with a table, three chairs and a bed frame. Floors are concrete. In the US when there is an old dilapidated building in a rundown, iffy part of town like this, investors come in and install an elevator and some metal doors just like mine; throw in a stool and a shower, sub-divide the space, call it a loft, and charge $500,000 for each unit. So, I've decided that I'm living in a loft in Africa.

Funny thing is, I've built shelves, had curtains made, bought pots/pans/dishes, etc. and now I call this place home. It even feels cozy and I'm on speaking terms with many of the characters who pass by.

Some of the logistics of living here are:
  • I pay John 200 Schillings per 20-liter Jeri Can to bring me water from the tap which is about two blocks away. (About 2000 Schillings to each US dollar so 200 Sch is about 10-cents) He brings 3 cans every two or three days--depending on whether it rains or not. I use the rain water I collect in some of my infamous buckets for mopping floors, flushing the toilet, laundry, etc.

  • I have a two burner gas cook top. I also have a dorm-size refrigerator that works when I have electricity. It really works out well, because I can't regulate the temperature in the fridge, so everything sort of freezes. BUT, the power goes off often enough that things stay about the perfect temperature all the time.

  • I bathe using cold water in my private cement stall that locks and is located out back with the "flush" toilet.

  • I go to the market about everyday. Yesterday I made beans and rice for myself for the first time. I have a few things to learn about cleaning the stones out of the rice, and picking both stones and bad beans out of the beans. Another Ugandan skill I need to learn.

  • Out my back door is a walled in area that all 7 tenants here use to cook, do and hang laundry, chat, and traverse to and from the latrine/bathing room/and the alley. At night the back gate is bolted an no one can enter the compound.

  • PCVs cannot ride boda bodas so I walk most places. I'm seriously thinking about getting a bike.

OK--that's enough for now. I'll try to write more this evening about my job, the people here, mob justice, and the health care system.

Love you all, and miss you everyday--mbj

Thursday, April 30, 2009

I'VE LANDED

I have just finished my first full week at my new address. I'm in Tororo which is a 40,000-ish town very close to the Uganda/Kenya border. The town is big enough to have a decent internet cafe, but small enough that there is NO movie theater. It is a nice little place with most everything I need. My new house has electricity, but not water....more about Tororo later. So much has happened in the last month!

OK, I'll get this out of the way right now. I did NOT pass my language test, BUT I did improve. I went from Novice Intermediate to Novice-High (high meaning above intermediate, not high HIGH). But I was sworn in as an official United States Peace Corps Volunteer anyway. I have to re-take the test in 3-months, and at that time I need to be at Intermediate-Low. So, there you have it.

I have decided that Uganda is a land of B's--Bikes, Babies, Birds, Boda bodas, Blisters, and BUCKETS. Now about bikes. If you are going to get from point A to point B, you ride a bike--or walk (see BLISTERS below). In Tororo there are bike boda-bodas, BUT as a Peace Corps volunteer, I must wear my bike helmet if I ride on one. It's not like I stand out at all as it is--one white face among 40,000 dark Ugandans--but to wear a bike helmet as I sit on the rear fender of a barely-in-one-piece bicycle is the last straw. I haven't ridden one yet. I do intend to get a bike before too long, so stay tuned for my personal bike tales.

BABIES: All babies are cute. But the babies of Uganda are heartbreakingly cute. Everyday when I would walk to our training site in Wakiso, there would be at least 25 little ones from 12 months to three or four years who would run out of their houses an holler, "Hi, Mazungu, I see you." I was sort of like the "Today Show," I came on at the same time every morning and they never missed watching me go by. I made it my mission to teach them my name. So, at the end of my time in Wakiso when I walked by, they would holler, "Hi Maria, I see you!" I was very flattered until I found out that they were calling all of the white female Volunteers who walked by "Maria," thereby substituting Maria for Mazungu! Oh well, I find my humility lessons in the oddest places. But they were certainly cute, and they had the most beautiful smiles. They never failed to make me laugh, even on the roughest days.

BIRDS: Uganda has over 1200 different species of birds--more species than any other country in the world. In Wakiso I would sit out on the front porch early in the morning and at night, and study my language (fat lot of good that DID--but I digress). On many ocassions there would be at least 15 different types of birds in the yard at the same time. On the way to Raco Conference Center, the location of our training, there was a large tree--at least 50-feet high--that was home to a colony of weaver birds. The male weaver would build a nest shaped like a basket, and work on improving it very day (sort of like my brother, Bill). The males with the best nests got the best females (sort of like my brother, Bill). Every night the males and females would come home from wherever they'd been all day, and the party would begin. There were literally hundreds of birds visiting, rehashing their day, and preening for the opposite sex. Quite a spectical. Maybe we have them in the US, but I have never seen them.

Boda-Bodas: Well, I've written about these before. Boda Bodas are motorcycle taxis that whiz in and out of traffic faster than a speeding bullet. They don't stop for stop lights--those are just for motor-cars; they have never seen a lane that they couldn't breach; no truck is too big or too small to cut in front of; AND they are the most popular form of transport in many of the cities and towns I've been to. I am sooo happy that the Peace Corps forbids us to ride them. This is one rule that I'll obey!

BLISTERS: Gone are the days of grabbing an armload of whatever and jumping in the car. Now, wherever I go I walk. It is very interesting to observe how this one change in lifestyle can effect the whole. For one thing, I see my surroundings. I notice the people, and speak to them and they speak back. (an aside: Ugandans are very big on greeting each other. A young man sitting next to me in the I-cafe just now asked me for the time in America. I told him, and then he apologized for not greeting me.) I buy only the amount of stuff I can carry. I try to go early to wherever when it isn't so hot, and come back from wherever when it's cool. I walk to meet friends, to work, to shop, to go to church, etc. AND, sisters and brothers, that can cause blisters on a "tender-foot's" feet.

BUCKETS: This is truly the land of buckets. My list of bucket uses has expanded since I first observed this Ugandan phenomenom. Now I've told you about my bathing buckets (2), and my dishwashing buckets (2). I also personally own a footbath bucket (because I'm very rich and a princess-strike that--Queen), a garbage bucket, and a night "short call" bucket (when it's dark and raining and NO I WON'T GO TO THE PIT LATRINE NOW).

My favorite bucket has to be the Holy Water bucket Father used on Palm Sunday to bless us all. It was a light blue plastic bucket with a handle--sort of like my night bucket. In the US I have only seen sterling silver buckets with sterling silver sprinkler thingys for Holy Water. The sprinkler thingy was a grass handheld broom available in all the markets for 200 Schillings. I would like to report that it worked just fine!

OK-now that I have better access to the internet, I plan to add more to this soon. I'll tell you more about our training, our trip to Jinga and the source of the Nile, and about my new job and home.

Be well, email me, know that I love you and miss you like crazy! mbj-

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Quick Trip to Kampala

So, there is a very good reason why I had nightmares about learning an African language. It's HARD and I am not good at it. I really hate to do things I'm not good at. We had our Language Simulation on Thursday and our Language Proficiency Assessment on Friday. There were native speakers of Dhopadola (Dope-a-dole-a) on hand to have real live conversations with us one-on-one as if we had encountered them at the market, in a work setting, or at home. In a nutshell--they might as well have been speaking Maritian as far as I was concerned. Then on Friday, we had one on one conversations with our instructors which were taped and graded. It didn't kill me, but I did almost cry. I received my rating yesterday and I am a "Novice-Intermediate." The lowest is Novice-Beginner.

Today we all came to Kampala to visit the Ugandan National Museum and the Tomb of the Kings. Both very interesting. Some of us went shopping--see, some things NEVER change--and what an experience. The mobs, the merchandise, the smells, the noise, the dust, the taxis, the boda bodas, the animals (I almost stepped on a chicken while buying my used Teva's for $12), the music, the blue, blue sky and the hot, hot sun combine to provide an experience that can't be described in a million words, but I'm confident will leave an indelible imprint on my soul.

I so appreciate your emails and comments on this blog. I would also love to get text messages from you. Mike and Steve have my Ugandan cell #. I miss you all and I'm having a wonderful time--most of the time. Pray that I can get my language up to Intermediate-low in the next five weeks. That will be a jump of two categories between now and then...And that's what I need in order to get sworn into the PC. Cross your fingers--my house is rented out until May 2011 so I would have to live with you if I came back early due to a lack of language proficiency!

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

The First 30-Days

I left Phildelphia on Friday the 13th and travelled to the Entebbe, Uganda airport. We were met at the airport by Peace Corps staff and whisked away to a training site not too far from the airport. We had roommates (mine was Hellen) and we settled in for a four day acclaimation to our new surroundings. The orientation training site was something between a cement block motel in Indiana and a Boy Scout camp--but it had running water, flush sit-down toilets AND electricity. Today I would call accomodations like that quite posh.

From the orientation site we travelled another hour to meet our "homestay" families and start our Peace Corps training. My family consists of a Mom, Irene; a Dad, Steven; two children, Anita, 9 yrs., and Jethro, 2 yrs. Also living at the house are a maid, a cook, a nanny and a young man who cares for the cow--which lives in the backyard. We have electricity-sort of, a TV-sort of, a refrigerator-sort of. The house is very nice, however, and sits up atop a hill about 3 miles from our training site, and a mile from town. The area around here is beautiful. Lots of trees, many birds, and livestock from chickens rooting around with their chicks for grubs to bulls tied by the roadside sporting two foot horns. From my front porch, I can see a beautiful hillside covered with green trees, a house of someone who is probably very rich, and hundreds of birds going about their daily chores. I have my own room and my own bathing room which also features a private indoor pit latrine. I take bucket baths, wash my clothes on Sunday by hand in two more buckets, and store all the potions and creams I brought from America in yet another bucket. I have a cell phone and can send and receive text messages AND in person telephone calls. We will be staying with our families until the middle of April which is when we will be sworn in, if all goes well.

I am very impressed by how smoothly the logistical side of the training has worked. We have a class of 30 trainees, from 30 different US cities, staying with 30 different Ugandan families, and who all need an 8-5 training schedule M-F and 8-12 on Sat. for a two and a half month time period. It is obvious that the Peace Corps has done this a time or two before and worked out the bugs. A typical day goes something like this:
6:30 Get up, bucket bath, dress, breakfast
7:30 Leave the house for walk to training site
8-10 Language training
10-12:30 Lecture--health, HIV-Aids, security, culture, etc.
12:30-1:30 Lunch
1:30-5 Groups--I'm in the Community Health/Econmic Development group
5-6 Study Language
6-6:30 Walk home-or to town-or to Choice Hotel (bar/meeting place)
7-7:30 Tea at the house consisting of--tea, fruit, popcorn, g-nuts (small peanuts),
biscuits/cookies
8-9 Dinner
9:30 Go to my room and crash!

Some of the topics covered have included: rabies, malarie, building a compost pit using goat dung and vegatation, culture, HIV-AIDS, saftey and security, and other illnesses we might be exposed to like various skin problems. In my Community Health/Econmic Development track we have covered marketing, feasibility studies, SWOT analysis, business plans, pricing and budgeting, and more. And then there is the language training! I am afraid I'm probably at the bottom of my class! It is as difficult for me as I feared....BUT, other volunteers say they had difficulty as well and were able to pass the test and move on. Keep your fingers crossed that that will happen for me.

Below are some of my impressions to date--these are all subject to change without notice.

FOOD: OK, I like most of the Ugandan food I've been served, but it is obvious that Ugandans eat to survive, not for pleasure like we do in the US. We have a combination of the following for every meal--except breakfast: beans, rice, Matoke (steamed plantains wrapped in banana leaves), meat (chicken, beef, goat, fish) stew, greens, eggplant, millet (really don't like this), posha (not sure what this is, but no taste), irish potatoes, green beans, and carrots. We also get hard boiled eggs. So, most everything is good, but I'm really tired of the same line up every day.

TV: My homestay family has a TV but the reception is ghastly. That does not stop them from watching it, however. There is one show in particular that we must watch every Thurs thru Sunday at 8 pm. It's Second Chance. This is a dubbed soap opera from Spain (I think) that is about as corny as anything I've ever seen, and I don't miss even one eposide! It seems that all of the Central Region of Uganda watches and if you want to converse, you better be up on your Second Chance story line!

PEOPLE: The Ugandan people have a reputation for being warm, happy, industrious, and spiritual. The people I'm in contact with--from the Ugandan Peace Corps trainers to the trades people I meet at the market--certainly fit that discription. Of course, there is also extreme poverity here. There are many people who live in mud dwellings with dirt floors and thatched roofs, poorly clothed, and struggling to make enough to feed themselves and their children.

UNEMPLOYMENT: The unemployment rate in the country is 60%. That should make all my US friends feel better. However, there are not 60% of the population who are starving. It seems that many people here have their own businesses--chipati stands, vegtable stand in the central market, beauty salon (pronounced saloon), used clothes purchased in Kampala and re-sold in my town, carpenter, egg provider, boda boda (small motorcycles that transport people in lieu of taxis) drivers, and many more. It seems that almost everyone is an entrepenure (sp?) of some sort.

SCHOOLS: In the last few years, Uganda has instituted universal schools so that all Ugandan children can go to school. Prior to this, if children did not have school fees, then they could not attend. This is no longer the case. However, I visited three schools this week with the Peace Corps Volunteer I am shadowing, and many children come to school at 7 am and leave at 5 pm and have nothing to eat during that time. It cost about 1000-shillings to purchase lunch for the term (that's about 50-cents US). Families with many children in school cannot afford to pay, and, therefore, the children go without. Some of the PC trainees are teaching teachers to teach, and they report that class sizes in excess of 100-students is not unusual. The practice of caning children as a means of discipline is now outlawed in Uganda, but we saw it being used yesterday by the teachers and by the older students who appeared to have some responsibility for keeping order.

KAMPALA: Well, I knew I wasn't in Kansas any more when I first hit the Kampala taxi park. I'm not in possession of adequate adjectives to describe the activity, the mobs of people and taxis, the noise, the obstacles both on the ground (like giant holes and cracked cement) and above the ground (like taxis coming literally within inches of each other and ME). I will take my camera there sometime and try to give you a pictorial glimpse. In the meantime, trust me, it is quite something and makes NYC look like a day in the park!

TAXIS, BODA BODAS, BIKES: Transportation in Uganda, as far as I can tell, is primarily achieved by taking taxis which are converted VW buses. They are licensed to hold 14 passengers, but the ones I've been in so far routinely have 16 and up. They have no seatbelts, but sometimes they have brakes--but not always :>} They go like a bat outta hell, honk to warn bike riders to get out of the way, and cheat the mazungo (that's the white folks) if they can, because everyone knows we're rich and can afford it.

Boda Bodas are small, quiet motorcycles that will carry passengers to and from the taxi parks, and bring home big/heavy items purchased at the market. They are also unbelievably fast, in and out of traffic like a hummingbird to nectar. I saw a Mom carrying groceries and three small children on a boda boda last week! No car seat lobby here for children under 90-pounds! PC volunteers are not allowed to ride on the boda bodas...thank GOD!

Many people ride their bikes in Unganda. Now, as many know, I love to ride my bike. HOWEVER, I don't ride it on small loose gravel roads that are not wide enough for two cars but that routinely carry a truck, a car, a boda boda, and two bikes--all trying to occupy the same piece of highway at the same time. Some of the trainees in my class have been riding their bikes, and there have been some spills--nothing awful, but I haven't gotten into the bicycle fray yet.

Well, dear ones, I guess I'll post this now. I hope I can get to an internet cafe again soon. This is a very interesting undertaking. I have had some rough days, but on the whole, things are good. As my mother used to say: It's a great life if you don't weaken!

Goodbye for now--

Monday, February 9, 2009

The Final Hours...

Soon, very soon, I will be headed to Uganda! Yikes!


I'm allowed to take two bags totaling 80 lbs. Now, that seems like a lot. But it boils down to three days worth of clothes, two sheets, one rain pancho, and a partridge in a pear tree. I now have more stuff in the "absolutely too heavy to take" pile, than I have in the absolutely goes in the bag pile! Good news is, the Peace Corps supplies dental floss, so thank God, I don't have to take up space packing that!


Most of you have heard the African proverb, "It takes a village to raise a child," well, it is taking a village to get me out of town and to Africa!. Today, Leslie helped me pack again, while Helen got my car washed, Joe uploaded some books to a media storage unit, my accountant was doing my taxes, and Karen was teaching me to needlepoint.


Tomorrow is my last day in KC. Very odd to think about. How can it be that this time next week I'll be in Uganda?

Saturday, January 10, 2009

In the Beginning...

January 9, 2009: This is my first attempt at creating a blog of my own, but I thought it might be a good way to stay in touch as my life unfolds over the next two years. So please bear with me as I learn the finer points of this new-for-me medium.

This story begins about 18-months ago when I saw an article in the Kansas City Star announcing a Peace Corps recruitment meeting at UMKC's Linda Hall Library that evening. The article went on to say that the Peace Corps was actively recruiting senior level people (which I decided I was) as volunteers because they had a wealth of experience, were mature and reliable, and people with a few years on them are held in esteem in most countries around the world. At this point I really hadn't made a decision to give up my job at the ATTC and "transition" into something new, but there was something that attracted me to this meeting.

As I listened that night, I could visualize myself as a Peace Corps Volunteer somewhere in the world doing the work that JFK called young Americans to do when he first instituted the PC in the early 60's. Peace Corps work was intriguing to me then, and it still is today.

So, that was step one in a process that has taken over a year, reams of paperwork, doctors' appointments, recommendation letters, and finally retirement from the University and the ATTC. I heard on Wednesday that I will be leaving on Feb. 13th--that's FRIDAY the 13th--for my two years of volunteer service in Uganda!

Stay tuned! The fun is about to begin...

8:05:00 PM
by Mary Beth Johnson
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