I'm Alive!

Don't worry, folks - I am alive.

The living conditions here are much tougher than Uganda (pit toilet is behind and downhill from a literal pig pen) but the food is better.  It's a trade off I guess.  Check out the sidebar on the right to view photos from Uganda by the way.

Just spent an amazing four days in the villages -- like hike an hour into the bush, no electricty and eat only what you plant or gather kind of village.  I learned how to make a broom :)

There is no wireless in Cameroon -- you have to go to a cafe and used the shared (read slow) computers.  Plus they use a french keyboard, so some of the keys are in different places making it hard to type.  I am still writing at home, and will post an onslaught when I figure out how.

In the meantime.. if you have not made a donation to support the well at KEFRAMA, please do so now.  These kids live at the school, so everytime they need water to drink, bathe, wash clothes or do laundry they have to walk a 1/2 mile and carry back heavy jugs.  Your gift -- no matter how small -- can make a difference.  $20 is 50,000 shillings.  $50 is 125,000.  Come on -- when else can you say you made a six figure gift?!

Please make a donation today:
http://www.rockethub.com/projects/29588-urgent-need-for-well-for-orphans-in-northern-uganda-keframa-college

Risky Business

Feeling like a Ugandan travel connoisseur, I decided to take the bus to Kampala and then on to Entebbe (where the airport is located) on the night before my flight to South Africa.  Augustine was returning from a work retreat in Kampala just the day before, and I felt it was unnecessary to ask him to immediately turn around and make a 12-15 hour drive.  After all, I had taken the bus solo before and rocked it.

And on the ride to Kampala that was true.  I even bought some things through the bus windows – like a true indigenous boss.

However, upon arriving in Kampala all of my bravado fell apart.  There are two bus stations in Kampala, and the one we pulled into did not have buses that continue on to Entebbe.  To further complicate matters, Jimmy Francis, who was supposed to meet me in Kampala to say goodbye, was delayed due to rain and was not going to make it.  I was on my own.

Well, shit. 

As soon as I disembarked the bus – with all of my luggage, mind you – I was enveloped by a throng of boda drivers and private taxis yelling “muzenga” and “Entebbe, Entebbe!”

 Knowing these were not the type of transit I wanted, I began to walk away saying NO as authoritatively as one can while also floundering with multiple pieces of luggage – which had to be mercilessly defended from their eager hands. 

Never let them get your bag, kids.  They know:  us muzengas hate chaos, especially of the poor and black variety, and the guy with the bag always wins when you hit the “Screw it – it’s $10” point.

But truthfully….I had no idea what my plan of action was.  In that moment, I just wanted to find a quiet corner to regroup, load everything onto my back appropriately and strategize.  Then the bus driver came over to me – a ray of sunlight. 

He slapped at the various grabby hands and scolded them away.   Turning to me, he gestured wildly to convey directions to the other bus park.  I can only imagine how my face looked in that moment, but it didn’t take him more than 15 seconds to register that hand gestures were not going to cut it.

He said “follow me” and crossed the street.  Not two minutes into that walk, he stopped a random in a suit jacket and spoke to him in the local language.  He then turned to me and said “You follow him.”  Lacking a better option….I did.

After a few blocks, the man turned to me and said “You want a taxi to Entebbe right?”  Ut oh.  No, I tried to explain that I wanted a BUS to Entebbe – a big bus.  [There are three types of transit in Uganda:  large coach buses, small mini buses (mini vans) and private taxis/bodas.  I had been told to avoid the small minivans if possible as they will often cram 20 people into a bus approved to carry 14.]

The man said “okay, okay” and we set off again. It was around this time that I began to get nervous.  We had been walking for a few minutes, and although we were still downtown and surrounded by the minivans, I was starting to wonder what exactly was going on here.  After all, the bus driver had told me it wasn’t far.  I stopped the man, whose name was Isaac, and tried to bluff.  “Are you sure of where we are going?  Last time I took the bus to Entebbe I took it from Horizon (the bus park we had arrived at).”  He looked at me skeptically and said “Really, let me ask.”

He stopped a woman on the street and asked her – in English for my benefit – and after incredulously questioning why I didn’t want a taxi, she finally confirmed that no, we needed City Bus.  This about the time I realized that down in Kampala, they call the minibuses “taxis” down here. 

She pointed us in the right direction and off we went.   But it was a trek.  Isaac offered repeatedly to get a boda, but I didn’t like the idea of being on a motorized transport with a stranger going to some unknown location so I insisted on hoofing it with my 40lb backpack, computer bag and purse.  All along the route, Isaac kept stopping to confirm the direction with people, in English.  I think he realized that I was slightly afraid of him and was doing this purely for my benefit.

When we finally arrived at City Bus, things did not improve.  For no apparent reason, buses weren’t running to Entebbe that day (its Africa).  Isaac turned to me and said I would have to take a taxi, and those departing for Entebbe were back the other direction and then some.  Just grand.

I asked Isaac why he was helping me, if he knew Jimmy Francis.  He said “No, but what am I going to do,   leave you stranded?  I was going that way to start and now I just want to make sure you get there safe.”

Sweet.  But Ted Bundy was sweet too.

He insisted at this point that we take a boda – even said he would pay.  After about a half hour of trekking all around town, I was sweating, exhausted and out of options.   I complied.  But I insisted we take two, and I spoke to my driver privately to repeatedly emphasis that we were going to the Entebbe taxi park.  To be honest….at this point was thinking there was a 60-70% chance of abduction.  I held a pen in my hand as a potential stabbing device.  Don’t mock – it was the best I could come up with!

But…lo and behold we pulled into a taxi/minibus station just a mere 3-5 minutes later.  I have never been so relieved.

But Isaac’s kindness did not stop there.  He asked for the name of my guest house and haggled with the minivan driver to make sure he would stop at the cross road for me, so I wouldn’t have to take a long boda ride from town center with all my stuff.  He negotiated the price and even told me what I should expect to pay for a boda “No more – they will try to ask, you say no.”

I thanked Isaac profusely and gave him back the money he had paid for the bodas.  I wasn’t sure if I should give more, or if he would be offended?  He shook my hand, wished me safe travel and was gone before I had the chance do anything.

I climbed into the minibus (ie taxi) and literally stumbled into a white teenager sitting in the back.  He turned out to be the son of a missionary who had been living in Uganda for 10 years.  We talked about our experiences for the drive, and he alerted me when my stop was coming so I could gather my things (which were all, suitcase included, piled haphazardly in my lap)

From there the trip was smooth: caught a boda, got the guest house and took a much-needed hot shower.  Afterwards, I took the owner’s recommendation and headed down to the edge of Lake Victoria for dinner and a drink on the water.

There, sitting on the sand with the lakelapping just a few feet ahead of me, I ran into my second act of Ugandan kindness.  A woman and her child, four men and a white German girl approached me and asked if they could join me.  Noticing there were no other tables, and well…I was sitting alone, I agreed.  We proceeded to share a drink and talk for awhile.  The German girl had come here to study abroad and met one of the men who she was now dating.  The men were his brothers, the woman:  wife and child of the eldest brother.  We had a pleasant conversation about travel in Uganda and my work in Lira.  Turns out the boyfriend actually helps fund orphans in school in Kampala.  We exchanged emails so I can connect him with Augustine.  The other brother and the German girl gave me their numbers.

In true Uganda fashion, food delayed and by the time it arrived it was nearing dark.  I ate quickly, apprehensive about the walk back to the guest house alone.  I have had enough adventure for the day.

When I indicated my intention to leave, the boyfriend said “Do you have a car?  You shouldn’t walk alone.  There are many bars and you stand out here.”  I said no, it was just around the corner and I would be fine.

He insisted.  No, we will come with you.  I had been fearing this moment – afraid this was some scam and I would be mugged on the return.  But the amount of contact information they had given me, the photos we took together and truthfully…the presence of the German girl…made me acquiesces.  The girl and her boyfriend walked me to the crossroad of my guest house (as far as I would allow) and then bid me farewell and safe travels. 

He insisted that I should call if I ever came back to Entebbe and I could stay at their house on the lake and eat all of the fruit they grow, which we had discussed since it does not grow in the more arid north.

This morning, I awoke to an email and a Facebook friend request.

Now some of you reading this may think I was taking too liberal a chance with my life and/or vaginal sanctity.  Truthfully, I wouldn’t disagree with you.  But sometimes you just have to read the signs, trust your judgment and believe in the good of people.  They just may surprise you.

Or hack you into tiny bits.  Either or.

Augustine's Story

When I first arrived in Uganda, I didn’t know Augustine.  In fact, we had never even spoken.  He was a stranger with an email address who I was told would be meeting me at the airport – that’s all I was going on.

But in these short weeks he has welcomed me not only into his professional life, but into his home and his family.  During the time we have spent together I have come to learn – in bits and pieces – a great deal about his life and vocation. 

More than that, I have come to truly admire him.  The world needs more people like Augustine.

 

Augustine Kezzy Okello was born in Lira District, one of twelve children to a farming family.  He talks of growing up plowing fields by hand, grinding maize to put in the family’s three granaries and of being forced to tend to his bean garden before his mother would allow him to eat breakfast. 

Augustine was a child when the LRA’s twenty-year insurgency began in 1987.  Although he was fortunate enough to escape the worst of the conflict, he spent the majority of his youth with the rebel threat looming just overhead; ravaging the District next door.  They never knew when – and it was when, not if – the rebels would come to Lira.

He talks about how he would wake in the night to the sound of people running and blindly get up and head for the woods.  The urgency of escape was so great that once his brother ended up running naked; not willing to risk the additional time to grab clothes.  He laughs about it now, but the threat was real.

Augustine and his family spent entire days hiding in the bushes without food and water.  The closest he came to abduction was while attending his aunt’s funeral.  The sound of a quickly approaching truck sent the family scattering into the brush, leaving the aunt’s body not even in her grave – a fact you can tell still pains him.  However, they all knew what capture would mean.  Death.  Conscription.  Or worse -- they be forced to kill their own family members; a favored practice of the LRA.

And Augustine is not alone in these stories.  His brother, Jimmy Francis, talks of a time he was returning from the local well when he heard the voices of two soldiers nearby.  His dog, Mandela, began to bark incessantly and Jimmy Francis dove into the bushes and began to run.  The dog attacked the two pursuers, holding them off long enough for Jimmy to escape.  He credits his life to that dog.

Another time Jimmy came home from school for the weekend to help with the family chores.  When he returned, he discovered his roommate had been abducted the very night Jimmy had left.

Even Susan, although less forthcoming, tells of the horrors of the LRA.  Her school was raided and all the children forced to flee.  As a female, her situation was especially perilous.  Women, especially young girls, were sought after targets for the LRA.  These girls would be turned over as “brides” to rebel leaders and subjected to brutal and repeated rapings.  The HIV/AIDS epidemic grew rampant.

 Although the government claims to have sent soldiers to counteract the rebels, many were fearful for their lives and bailed before they reached the far north of the country.  Others would lay down their arms and flee themselves upon sight of the LRA.  Worse still, many participated in the same atrocities as the rebels.  Despite international encouragement, the President refused to declare Northern Uganda a disaster zone so no external help arrived.  Many here feel this decision makes him implicit in the resultant atrocities.

 When the rebels arrived in Lira, they came all the way to the very edge of town.  In fact, they set up camp just on the other side of the police station from the internally displaced persons (IDP) camp that 350,000 people would come to call home.  At times, they would fire indiscriminately into the camp. 

 No one was safe.  Rebels, and even government soldiers, would pose as security guards or escorts…only to abduct and rape women on their way to the wells. LRA spies were frequently captured and arrested in town. A strict 6pm curfew was implemented, and people were forbidden to make any noise at night.  Even still, a young boy living just a few doors down from Augustine was abducted and never seen again.

 Augustine’s family was forced to leave their farm, and lived in a rented garage in the middle of town for 5 years.  Without their farm, they had no income or food.  Augustine talks of his mother preparing a tray full of beans, with each child rotating taking one bite.  At best, they would get 2-3 before it was gone.

 In an effort to fight back, local militias were formed – militias Augustine credits with ending the war.  His cousin joined such a group, and was shot defending Lira.  The rebels captured his body, cut off his privates and threw the mutilated corpse back into town.

 In 2001, Augustine was lucky enough to escape to the capital of Kampala.  He had scored in the very highest percentile on the National Exams and was given a very rare government scholarship to attend Makere University – THE most prestigious school in Uganda.

 Despite his impressive credentials, work was tough to come by.  Augustine applied first for a government position, but one of his references turned out to be a political opponent of someone in the organization and he was denied the job.  A cousin secured him an interview for a job in a prison but he refused to pay the necessary bribe, believing he should be hired on his own merit.  Being from the North added an additional challenge – there is stigma associated with that part of country and many people assumed he must be an LRA rebel.

 Augustine returned home to Lira in 2004, just a few years before the close of the war.  He accepted temporary work with a humanitarian organization, conducting a survey in the IDP camps to determine the level of malnutrition in children under five.  When that position ended, he started with a relief organization doing HIV/AIDs education in the camps.  It is through that work that his true vocation began to take shape.

 He came across a woman who was ravaged by AIDS.  Most of her family had abandoned her, leaving her alone with her two sons. Unfortunately, she did not survive – leaving the two children stranded.  Affected by their plight, Augustine personally adopted the youngest of the children and brought him to live with his family.  It was then he realized the desperate need to provide educational opportunities to these kids.  Without affordable schooling, many of these traumatized children would be forced to resort to a life of crime….and likely end up involved in gangs and drugs.  This is not the future Augustine wanted for these children or for Uganda.

 Augustine joined forces with a colleague from his work in the camps, his brother and other members of the community to launch KEFRAMA College in 2009.  The initial funding for the school came out of their own pockets, and they continue to supplement the school to this day.

 Augustine describes KEFRAMA as his calling.  He is truly passionate about importance of education and rehabilitation for these children – he wants to make them into “changemakers” who can rebuild Uganda.  When you see him on campus, he knows each student by name, knows where they came from and isn’t afraid to lovingly call them out on any recent indiscretions.

 The reason he is so well acquainted with the student body: many of them have, at one time or another, lived with Augustine or his family members.  Oftentimes, these children have nowhere to go on breaks or are afraid that if they leave they will not be allowed to return to school.  In fact, Augustine built additional space into his home to accommodate them. He welcomes them, as he did me, and provides for them for as long as they need. 

 Augustine dreams of the day he can quit his other job and focus exclusively on KEFRAMA, but the funding is not there yet.  He needs to keep working so he can provide for not only his family – but for school in general and the students he takes in.

 I am proud to consider this man a colleague and a friend.  I think we could all learn a lot from his dedication.

 If you want to help, please consider making a gift to support the digging of a new well at KEFRAMA College.  Click here to learn more about this project, or to make a gift today.

 

http://www.rockethub.com/projects/29588-urgent-need-for-well-for-orphans-in-northern-uganda-keframa-college

Chatting It Up

On my first day at KEFRAMA, we walked up to 226 students lined up in the courtyard and stood there gawkily as Augustine introduced us and told them to “be nice” to us. 

These children are much older now and I didn’t really know how they would receive me or what I could expect my relationship with them to be like.  After all, I wasn’t there to teach or really work with them directly.

What I found was typical of everyone I have encountered in Uganda - general curiosity about the ‘monos’ (read staring), incessant questions about the weather and true warmth and hospitality.  Every day multiple children find an excuse to come into the office and say hello, ask a question or just touch my electronics.  Okay...so maybe they are just after the electronics, but I’ll take what I can get.

When I sit outside in the afternoons, as I customarily do when my computer battery dies, you can always count one of four boys to break the ice and be the first to come over and say something.  Then slowly, one by one, more and more will come over until suddenly I am in front of a herd.  For some reason, they always stand behind you.

The conversations are usually painfully repetitive:

o   How do you find the climate?

o   It is very cold where you come from, no?

o   How do you like the food here?

o   What is the education like at home?

o   How much does it cost to fly to the United States?

o   Can I play with that [my Kindle]?

o   …why does your kindle not have pictures?  This is not as cool as Chelsea’s iPad.

o   Do you have something that will take my picture?

 As the students grow more and more familiar with me they also grow bolder and bolder.  Below are some of my favorite interactions to date:

Student:  Does Chris Brown go to church?    
Me:  In the US religion is very private and personal, so I don’t know if he goes to church.
Student:  But he lives in America and you must know him.

Me:  No, America is very big.  I don’t know Chris Brown.

 Student:  But you must read the websites.  You must know if he goes to church
Me:   No dude, I really don’t.  [paraphrasing by bumbling response]
Student:  Ah, I don’t believe you.

Student:  Someone told us that you burn old people. 

Me:  You mean when they die?  Yes, that’s called cremating them.

Student:  No, when they are alive but no longer useful.

Me:  Oh….Uh, no. 

Student:  Are you married?

Me:  No, I am not

Student:  You are very old.  You should be married by now.

[Related:  Student to Chelsea:  You should bring home a black man and marry him.]

But not all of these conversations have been as lighthearted.  There is still tragedy and abuse in many of their backgrounds; issues they are still struggling to deal with today.  One such student, Judith, sticks out in my mind.

When Judith’s parents died as a result of AIDS contracted in the IDP camps, she and her four siblings were left utterly alone. Judith went to live with a relative who ended up abusing her and said “she wouldn’t waste money on educating a girl child.”  When KEFRAMA staff learned of Judith’s situation, Jimmy Francis personally convinced the family to let Judith attend KEFRAMA on scholarship.   Today, Judith is a bright and smiling young girl who talks incessantly about how much she loves it here and how everyone is her friend.  She even sang me her favorite song as we sat in the office (it was awkward, she was tone deaf).  She says, “I feel very lucky to be at KEFRAMA – without it I would have had to drop out of school.  It changed my life and helped me see the possibility of a new future.”  She now wants to be a doctor so she can help other orphans like herself.

What has surprised me the most about KEFRAMA is how dedicated these kids are – how much they WANT this.  In the US, we take education for granted.  We complain about having to go; some of us even have to be dragged. 

But these kids, who attend school from 7-5pm for 283 days a year, are GRATEFUL.  Even on their breaks, you find them scattered around the campus with their papers out.  When asked what could improve KEFRAMA, they talk about more candles so they can study at night.  Honestly…at first I thought it was an act.  But if it is…it’s a damn good one.

And the sad part is, despite how much they want to learn….they still will never be able to compete in a global market.  The lab materials are nonexistent.  I have yet to see a calculator.  There are no books for them to read -- even text books must be hand copied by the teacher.

Not to mention that these kids have never seen a computer.  One of the first times I sat outside with mine (a mistake I learned not to make again), I was mobbed by kids who waited 15 minutes just for the chance to type their name.  They had never touched one before.

This was the first round -- it grew....

Needs are great everywhere.  And just by being at KEFRAMA these kids are getting further ahead than they would have.  Because for them the alternative was crime, abuse and poverty.  It doesn’t change the fact that great work is being done here. 

Again I have no great summation on the inequalities of education in the world, more just a mere rumination on what it is like to see the other side of things. 

Clearing House

Sorry for the slew of mundane posts lately, but I am kind of clearing house on a bunch of miscellaneous items.   In that vein, here’s a few more items for the random details file:

• In my admittedly limited experience, I have found people to be very cognizant of how far behind their country is.  But instead of talking about with jealousy or remorse, I see more of an acceptance.  It is not a complacency, they want to get where we are.  But its almost awkward how frank they can discuss the difference - for us its taboo to discuss poverty and I struggle sometimes with the line between honest and insulting.  My random guess as to why this is -- less access to our exported culture.  They do see celebrities and things like that, but they aren't confronted with our movies, TV, restaurants, and tourists with gadgets quite as much.  The general population doesn't know what they are "missing" in quite the same way as some of the more connected regions of the world do.  That is in no way based on any real information - just me speculating.
• Longo people (the tribe here in Lira) are all very tall and thin with high cheekbones and slim hips.  They made out well in the gene pool.  The tribes here are noticeably different, despite their geographic proximity.

• You frequently see men holding hands here (and women too).  It is a sign of affection and camaraderie.  In a country infamous for their intolerance of homosexuality, this surprised me.

• Surnames are chosen, not given.  They are usually the names are usually the name of someone else in the family or something from the Bible.  There is no outside way of knowing if people are related – only if they state their clan, which they will do as part of large or formal introductions.
• Uganda has over 50 native languages.  Given the logistical nightmare that is for a country the size of Oregon, English was named the official language and is taught in schools.  In an effort to assimilate, I have endeavored to learn at the least the basics of Longo.  It has been a losing battle.  Primarily because every time I try…people erupt into laughter.  Here’s what I know
  
  

  English	Longo	My Pronunciation Attempt
  Good Morning	Ibuto aber	eh-boot  /  a- beh-air
  Good Afternoon	Irio aber	ah-re-oh  /  a-beh-air
  I greet you	Amoti ba	a-moe-tea  /   a-beh air
  How Are You?	Itye ningo?	eh-tea-ah   /  nin-go
  I am well	Atye aber	ah-tea-ah   /  nin-go
  Hello / Thank You	Apwoyo bear	a-poy-yo   /  beh-air
  Thank You Very Much	Apwoya matek	a-poy-ya  /  ma-teck
  Thank you for the food	Apwoyo dek	a-poy-yo    /  deck
  You are welcome	Apwoyo bino	a-poy-yo    /  bean-no
  What is your name?	Nying nga?	Ning-ying-knee / nah   (I cannot say this at all)
  My name is ____	Nyinga ____	Ning-ying-nah_____
  How much does this cost?	Ciling adi?	Shilling ah-dee
  Where is the toilet?	Cangat tye kwene?	Chang-got /  tea  / qwen-a
  Where are you going?	Iwot kwene?	Eh-wat  /  qwen-a
  I am going….	Atye awot….	ah-tea-ah   /  a-wat
  Safe journey	Wot aber	Wort  /  a-beh-air
  Yes	Eh	eeehhhh
  No	Pe	ppeeehhh
  Sleep Well	But aber	Boot  / a –beh-air

• Speed bumps are everywhere!  There is usually one road that runs between towns, so whenever you approach the town center you run into a least 2-3 on either end of the main strip.  This, coupled with the already crap road conditions, makes all travel arduous and jarring.

 

• In addition to saying sorry every time you do something stupid, in the north they also say “you’re welcome” all the time – even before you thank them.  Also, they seriously overuse the word seriously.

• They don’t use traditional locks here.  Instead, they have metal doors with a little round hole and swinging metal flap inside.  On the inside of the door are bars that slide into holes in the rock.  To lock from the outside, you put your hand through the hole, slide over the bars hen close the flap with a padlock. They are incredibly loud and the bars never slide easily.  Pinching your fingers will result in immediate and severe bruising.  I would know.

 

A Taste of Uganda

Despite the nearly constant references (ahem complaints) about the food in my posts to date, I still do not feel I have adequately covered the subject.  What can I say…I am a fat kid at heart.

Starchy Staples:  AKA things I never want to eat again

·         Millet – A grainy brown flour commonly served as a thick sludge referred to as “porridge” or in a gelatinous slab.   It is truly pure evil.

Millet Porridge.  My arch nemesis

·         Posho --  White or yellow, it is made of flour mixed with hot water.  That’s it.  It is dry, tasteless and the consistency of a sponge.  They eat it with everything and its ruining my life.

Standard KEFRAMA Lunch - Beans & Posho

·         Cassava -- white, starchy root vegetable that often replaces posho.  It is also tasteless and either served boiled, or once fried.  This is the most tolerable of the local starches, particularly when hot sauce is procured from the locked cabinet.

·         Beans -- the cornerstone of every meal.  Sometimes black but usually kidney and always served in sauce.  Never a fan of them back home they have become my reluctant savior here.

Decepti-cons:  These are foods you think you know, but you have no idea…

·         Fruit:  Lemons are actually melon-sized, green, bumpy things.  Oranges are green, but approximately the same size.  Avacados are larger, smooth and round.  All taste about the same, although the avacados are a bit sweeter.

·         Corn -- Called maize and usually served boiled or grilled -- no butter or salt.  It is incredibly tough; at home we call it cow corn.  This was a huge disappointment to me.

Not pleased...

·         Meat -- usually goat, chicken or sometimes pork.  Sadly, the butchering here is catastrophic so the cuts are usually tough and filled with gristle.  Inexplicably and to my chagrin, they do not serve the white meat of the chicken. They also use all parts of the animal, so chunk selection is crucial. 

Just a man and his chickens....

·         Fish -- served in a variety of stews with the head included.  Be warned: they do not debone their fish and you may choke.

·         Bread --  It is always stale and usually served with a butter clone called “medium fat spread.”  If offered a more delicious looking roll, be even more wary.  These grease-monsters are usually filled with surprise bites of sand.

·         Bananas -- Despite appearances, no two banana dishes are alike.  When possible, opt for the small ones in peels as those are the most consistent bet.  More commonly they are served boiled; some are sweet, some taste like gross applesauce and some are starchy potato-hybrids.  I still can’t tell which is which. It’s banana roulette.

·         Ground nut paste--  This is a paste made of water, onions and ground up g-nuts, which are like peanuts.  Oddly purplish in tint, the paste is actually weirdly sweet.  I have no idea how…  This is commonly served over fish (??)

·         Wheetablix --  Available in a variety of other countries, this was presented to us as our western option for breakfast.  It’s basically gross, dry fiber cereal pressed into square tablets.  Contrary to the laws of science, these immediately become unrecognizably soggy the second it touches milk but have the capacity to turn your mouth into the Sahara Desert if eaten dry.

Notable Highlights: 

·         Cabbage! -- served sautéed in oil with onions and tomatoes, this dish has the power to single-handedly improve any of my worst days here.

·         Chapati -- a thick pita-type bread, usually coated in grease.  These are made on the road side on a large skillet. 

·         Rolex –Chapatti wrapped around fried eggs with peppers, onions and tomatos.  Aka heaven.

·         Rice -- sometimes it is oddly creamy, which makes me think it is occasionally prepared with milk.  At this time, that remains speculation.

·         Eggs –  A scrambled mash prepared with onions, tomatoes, carrots and cabbage.  It rules.  Also come hard boiled, although we have encountered that less frequently.

·         Peas – these are actually more brown than green and are not as pungent in taste.  They come in a sauce of sorts, which I have seen prepared but enjoy immensely.

·         Fruit – pineapple and guava mostly.  The children have been spotted eating mangos and passion fruit, but we are arrived at the tail end of that season.  Susan makes a lot of juice, but I am nervous about the water (even more so after the tea incident) so I have avoided it to date.

·         Tea – Although occasionally served black (be warned!), more commonly we take our tea in the form of a thermos of hot milk.  Occasionally we get our own tea bags, sometimes it is mixed in.  Ugandans drink their tea very light – basically off white -- and with more sugar than should be allowed.  I am talking 3 tablespoons in a tiny tea cup.  And they drink it about 2-4 times a day.

·         Spaghetti – called “macron” and imported from Saudi Arabia.  I think this was purchased specifically for us but it still made my day.

Drama at KEFRAMA

Now that you are all familiar with KEFRAMA (support the well!), I figured I should fill you in on some of the juicy office gossip.

 Recently a student asked to borrow a phone under the guise of calling her parents about a new medicine she was taking.  In fact, she was about to attempt a risky con.

She told her mother that Joseph Kony and his rebel army had returned from hiding and were raiding villages and schools in the areas surrounding Lira.  Scandalous! 

The girl asked for money so she could return home, but more likely she probably intended to spend on…well actually, food.  These are underprivileged African kids after all.

Her mom, far away in the eastern part of the country, not surprisingly freaked out and called what I can only assume is her entire phonebook.  With Kony being such a recent and painful figure, the rumor spread quickly throughout KEFRAMA.  Soon other students were worried about abduction.  Rumors spiraled out of control.

Once the teachers identified the instigator, they hauled her into the staff office for discipline.  At KEFRAMA, we all share one small office that’s about 12 feet long and 5 feet wide.  With everyone piling in, that left me trapped at my desk against the back wall - AKA with front row seats.  Popcorn, please?

Chilling in the staff office

The girl was verbally rebuked and questioned at length.  Why would you say that?  Why would the rebels bypass all the other towns to our north and come right to KEFRAMA?  Why would you worry your parents and the other students like this?  Do you not realize you could be arrested for spreading false information about Kony?  

The girl…didn’t give even one shit-iota.  She stood the entire time staring blankly out the door, murmuring grunts in response to questions and generally blowing it all off.  When asked what she planned to do with the money, she replied “keep it.”  Note:  children are assholes all over the world.

She was sent away so they could discuss an appropriate punishment.  In the meantime, we had to get a handle on the rumors.  One by one the students were called into the office and asked if they had heard the gossip, called their parents or knew of anyone who had.   Living by the incontrovertible code of the playground, no one said a word.  Student solidarity.

Just a few short days later, I found myself held hostage by yet another disciplinary show – this time with a teacher.

At mid-term reviews children are asked to give feedback on the classes and the teachers.  One teacher in particular had received poor reviews, with accusations of providing inadequate notes and being too strict a disciplinarian.  There was even one report that he had shown up drunk to class – something headmistress Milly adamantly dismissed as fallacy (and I have not witnessed to date). 

So there I am, quietly writing fundraising proposals like a boss, when all of a sudden I find myself an unprepared pseudo-participant in a disciplinary hearing.  Hooray…

To her credit, Milly was more positive than critical.  She spoke to him about how important it was to set an example for these students, particularly given their backgrounds.  That it is their job not just to teach these children, but to fill them with positivity, support and encouragement. 

However, the awkwardness of sitting two feet from him during this process was paralyzing.  At home this is a private matter and I felt both intrusive and ineffective.

And the drama continues!  The following week, hard at work in the office, we suddenly heard a loud thudding sound.  After we desperately scanned the room for the rat we assumed had fallen from the ceiling, we noticed a gaggle of students in front of the door.  Curious as to why they were not in class, we went to check it out.

There we found a scene straight out of the 1960s.  Students were assembled in a large circle, with others laying in the middle.  Classmates were taking turns swatting each other with a small stick.  Horrified, I searched out Milly for an explanation.  She told me the majority of the class had been caught skipping and as punishment each child was to both receive and then administer three whacks.

Now, I am not much of a child person.  I will confess to wishing I could smack a kid at least once in my life….ahem in the last week.  And the fear of retribution meant the kids were hitting like pansies.  But still, something about this shocked me.  I couldn’t help but flinch every time I heard it. 

The children on the other hand…were laughing like maniacs.  Again…kids are assholes. 

Ouch...

At 3am this morning, I discovered that hot tea does not mean boiled tea -- which means it is not safe to drink.

Down for the count today, folks.

MONKEYS!

After a farewell banquet of heroic proportions (rolex, spaghetti, cabbage, pork, beans AND fried chips), Chelsea and I set off on the long voyage to Kibale National Park to fulfill one of my longest standing childhood dreams: to hang out with chimpanzees in the wild. 

Now, when I envisioned this as a naïve twelve-year old, writing “animals and reading” as hobbies in my elementary school yearbook, I envisioned myself as the next Jane Goodall.  I was going to be a zoologist -- teaching sign language, finger painting and basically being awesome with all my sweet monkey friends. 

Although those dreams are yet unfulfilled, Kibale still one of the coolest things I have done in awhile.  Besides ya know…moving to Africa in the first place.

However, getting there was no easy feat.  First, we had to take bus down to Kampala, the capital of Uganda.  On a good day this trip should take about 6 hours.  Factoring in stops to purchase goodies through the bus windows and the road conditions, it took us about 8 hours of painful jostling.  Highlights from this prolonged journey:

• Guy in front of us purchasing two LIVE CHICKENS through the bus window from a vendor
• Strange lady throwing her purse at Chelsea outside the pit toilet, saying “hold this”
• Chelsea having to jump back on the bus as it lurched forward to avoid being left a rest stop

Arriving in Kampala, we were told to exit the bus at a place that turned out not to be the main bus station and were promptly greeted by a literal herd of men yelling “muzenga” (white person).  Considering we had Chelsea’s luggage, we were perfectly happy to accept a grossly over-priced taxi ride from the first (and most persistent) guy with a real car – one whose locks turned out to turn on and off continuously. 

After a stop for the driver to go grocery shopping, we went a little ways outside of town and turned down a very narrow dirt load lined with traditional village homes (read: scary shacks).  Given some of the “hotels” we have seen before, Chelsea and I exchanged glances of utter panic.

But then we turned into a palace: The Nexus Resorts.  Commence one of the most epic showers I have ever taken.  This was not only hot water; it was STEADY and CONSISTENT hot water.  The last running water shower we had was back in Gulu, and that was more an alternating trickle of scalding and freezing water.  Although that was mesmerizingly wonderful at the time, this real hotel quality shower alone was enough to warrant the trek down here.

Later, sitting on the hotel patio, we had the pleasure of overhearing a number of calls from a southern church group.   They were all excited to share their day’s experiences “in the slums.”  In their two hours there, they decided to start feeding some of the people – presumably from their Costco sized bags of M&Ms and potato chips – which turned into a “hairy situation” where they had to be “scooted away by the guide”  because it is just “so unsafe in Uganda.” 

[Soapbox alert]  Listening to the voyeuristic disgust in their voices as they spoke of “the slums,” reminded me how grateful I am for the opportunity to be more than a tourist here.  To me, the slums these people spoke of are not a line item on my printed itinerary; they are what our many of students call home.  Now, I do realize I have certainly been sheltered in my own way.   I have in no way experienced the true hardships Ugandan people face.  But I am grateful for the chance I have to know these people as more than just a string of sights to see.  The students and faculty have been generous enough to let me experience their varied lives with and through them.  And in that time, I have had a chance to glimpse past the dirty hovels and see the hope in these children – the desire they have to improve.  It makes me thankful for the chance I have been given to offer whatever help I can.  (And you can help too!) 

Okay, enough prosthelytizing.  Back to the monkeys!

Our driver arrived the next morning on African time (an hour late) and we set off on the five-hour drive to Kibale – after a quick stop at the Barclay Bank in a real, multi-story, modern MALL.  We’re not in Lira anymore…

Some notes on the trip to Kibale:

• The landscape in the southwest is much different:  lush green with hills galore.  Perks of being on the equator I guess.
• There is a much higher standard of living down here.  The houses have actual glass in the windows, walls are painted and there are power lines stringing the road.  The clothes are nicer, and usually match (a trend not observed in Lira).  This is a result of being closer to the economic capital of Kampala, but also because this region of the country was nowhere near has heavily impacted by the twenty-year conflict with the LRA.
• We saw many burning piles along the way, which turned out to be the locals making charcoal.  When I asked our driver how you made charcoal, he replied “deforestation.”    …..?

Road to Kibale

Turning down the narrow road to our hotel, we stumbled up on a gorgeous lake.  Turns out it is a crater lake, and our hotel in fact was situated right on the rim.  

The view at sunset

Standing on the porch

The views were amazing as we leisurely enjoyed tea on the porch of our thatched hut – complete with a toilet, lukewarm trickle shower and one lamp that was powered for about 4 hours a night.  The reprieve was made even nicer by the lack of stray children floating around -- the only other patrons were an Israeli father and son.

Our hotel room

Inside the room.  Awesome roof.  No other furniture.

Tea without stray children = heaven

The next morning, we arose at 5:45 am and set out for Kibale National Forest.    Kibale is a national park, and they only allow three groups of six people in at a time to see the chimps.  After a quick exchange with a park ranger, our driver literally sprinted to our van and rushed us inside.  We were relieved when a female park ranger – with a large gun – climbed in beside him.  Off to the forest we went!

The van dropped us off and we began a hiking into the Ugandan forest.  There was a passable trail, but nothing I would want to navigate alone.  And then the monkeys started yelling.  Here we are, standing in the middle of the dense African wilderness with unseen chimpanzees are screaming like banshees.  It was both terrifying and absolutely incredible.  

At first, we only saw the chimps way up in the trees.  It was a bit colder that morning, so they were hiding in their nest.  Although cool to see them swinging around, this wasn’t quite the face to face experience I had hoped for.

Then our guide started yelling “he’s coming down!” and we took off running through the brush.  Forget trails, we were getting whipped by stray branches as we chased a giant chimpanzee through the woods.  AWESOME.

One of the males came to a halt just a few feet ahead of us.  Our guide encouraged us to creep closer and closer until we were about 5-6 feet away.  And there he sat, just chilling looking around…watching us…looking up at the trees.  I have never seen a monkey up that close.  Eventually he sauntered way and we pursued another family, including a female with a baby on her back.  Each time they paused we were able to see them up close and personal.  It was truly incredible.

Yeah...I can't figure out how to flip these.  Bite me.  It's still cool.

As many of you know, I am a sucker for animal facts.  Here are a few more to add to my always popular party repertoire (I was serious in that yearbook):

• As you probably know, chimpanzees fight wars against rival groups – sometimes using sticks and rocks as weapons.  They also take prisoners of war and have been known to cut off the privates of the dead males to prove they weren’t strong enough.  They have also been known to practice cannibalism during times of war.  
• Older monkeys participate in war by checking that the fallen enemies are actually dead.  They kick, scream and prod them.  If the rival isn’t dead, they will break ribs and stab the rival in the heart with a stick.
• When chimpanzees from the same group have gone two or more days without seeing one another, they will often greet each other with hugs, kisses and handshakes.
• Chimpanzees have been known to raid the nearby gardens, particularly sugar cane.  They know they are stealing so they remain absolutely quiet, even the children.  They will also often leave a lookout to alert them before the farmers come.
• When a male monkey wants to mate with a female, he will tear leaves into pieces.  The female can decide if she is interested or not.  Sometimes, they will arrange a trade:  sex for meat.
• Mothers raise their young until they are 12 years old and babies live off breast milk alone until they are 3.  If a mother dies, the child is often adopted by others in the group.
• In Kibale, there are about 1,400 monkeys but only 250 are open for tourist visitation at any given time.  When they first introduce the monkeys to tourists, many of them are afraid of white people and will run away.  Monkeys are racist.

We returned from Kibale on Friday and the next morning was Chelsea’s departure day.  I lived in denial until the absolute last moment possible. 

I was, and remain, incredibly grateful to my best friend for coming to Uganda with me.  She had only six months to spend with her boyfriend in Ireland, and she chose to volunteer a good portion of that to helping KEFRAMA organize their financial records and implement a fee collection system.  Plus, she made me laugh daily.

Mosquito Net Fail -- You're Welcome Cote....

As I sat on the bus for two hours waiting for it actually to depart, the reality hit.  I am now…alone in Africa.    Well…until I meet my parents on safari!