Very quickly. I switched away from horrible Snapfish. Horrible Horrible. Webshots is slow, but at least I got a couple up, will try to add a couple per week, so keep checking back (I will keep re-posting the address. PICTURES. Another blog tomorrow. In fact, the blogs should post every Saturday around this time automatically so that it is a little more predictable (rather than four blogs one week, and then dry for the next couple weeks).
It is too easy for me to write using "I" and I think I mention names without any real introduction. I thought I'd introduce some of the people that make Engeye possible.
John Kalule
John is the guy on the ground that makes everything work at Engeye. His tact is key in making everything run seamlessly at Engeye in a country that is not always user friendly. There are no friendly customer service representatives, contracts are suggestions and fair prices depend on who you are. Without John's help, Becky and I would be struggling on many levels. John gives us vital cultural clues, counsels us on the various projects we work on and, above all, he is a good friend. He looks out for us.
John is also slow to unravel some of the details of his life. Besides co-founding a health clinic in his home village, John was also a professional footballer. It is obvious how much respect Ddegeya has for John. The kids will joke around and call Becky and I "muyaye's" (stubborn people), but they won't even joke that John is a "muyaye." Never is a bad word said about John.
John garners a great deal of respect from people still deeply rooted in tradition, but John can be somewhat of a non-conformist. John hangs out in Nike shorts with his laptop making everything at the clinic work and hates when he is called sir or when girls kneel down to greet him. John is an important figure and role model but part of his appeal is that he works hard and always wants to be seen as a regular guy in the village. John is constantly modest ("I have been pretending to work all day") and constantly two steps ahead of you. I'm also pretty convinced he knows more about US politics than most Americans.
Lawrence
Lawrence was the nurse at Engeye for the first three and a half months of Becky and my stay and has since moved on from the clinic. Lawrence also tried to look out for Becky and I and would come and talk to us if he sensed we were bored. Lawrence also taught us a lot about village health. He loved to learn and was an endless audience for any physics I wanted to explain (especially astronomy). Lawrence was compassionate and I think he felt reassured when I talked about my American buddies that are becoming doctors, not because they are interested in medicine, but because he liked the way I fondly recalled stories about them. Lawrence is also full of wisdom and as he complained about the cold and I told him that it reminded me of autumn (early autumn, cold here is in the 50s) and that I loved the cold. He brought up the point that "the cold is part of you. You miss it because it is a part of your place - but for me, I don't like the cold. It is not a part of me."
Hudson
Hudson is a counseling student studying in Kampala. He kindly took a month of his summer vacation to escort Becky and I down to Ddegeya and live with us for a month, helping us with work around the clinic and acclimatizing us to Uganda. Hudson was an employee of John a few years back and has acted as a translator for visiting doctors. Hudson had a great sense of humor and, like nearly all Ugandans, was incredibly kind to us all the time. Hudson also keyed us into local culture and helped acquaint us to the local primary school that has kindly allowed us to work with some of the area kids. Hopefully we will be seeing Hudson again when he makes it down to Ddegeya in December or January.
Richard
Richard is another important figure around the clinic. Richard helps manage the books and does much of the maintenance around the compound. Richard also kindly helps us with the various day-to-day tasks that we need to do - gardening, buying food staples, helping with the kids we work with, and always gives good advice.
Susan
Susan lives very close to the clinic and is officially the cook for Engeye. Unofficially Susan is always helping Becky and I out. Susan cleans up around the clinic and if I leave my laundry unattended in the wash basin, I am likely to see Susan hanging a pile of perfectly white clothes a few minutes later (a few minutes for her is a few hours for me). Susan also picks up on subtle things that transcend language barriers. In the first few days, if someone shoveled too much food onto our plates, Susan would just sense our uneasiness and fix it. Susan also has a way with the kids - she can tell them to be good and to stop causing trouble without saying a single word. Susan, Richard, and Hudson always hung out together and, despite the language barriers, it was nice to have some people around that were close to our age to play games with and hang out with.
Stephanie and Misty
Last, but most definitely not least. Stephanie founded Engeye with John after selflessly using an inheritance on constructing the clinic (rather than paying for mounting school fees). The incredible story of the founding of Engeye is on the Engeye website (www.engeye.com), which is an incredible story. Stephanie works with Misty to raise the $1,000 per month to keep the clinic running, along with a wide range of other responsibilities in keeping an NGO running.
I first met Stephanie and Misty at a Starbuck's outside Albany. Becky and I were immediately impressed - both had so much energy, passion, and were so supportive of any ideas we had. They were enthusiastic about any ideas to help Ddegeyans, no matter how big or small. To put this in perspective, these are two full time med school students, raising money for an NGO, while paying school fees, and trying to keep up with demanding coursework. I uncovered a news article about Stephanie hear in Uganda, stuffed in a copy of Where There is No Doctor that discusses the unfolding of Engeye. Stephanie's passion for health is so obvious and at one point she states that she is doing the same thing any Oregonian would do if in the same position. I don't know if that is true, but the results for this village are very, very important.
Hal and Tom
On the Union side of Engeye there are Hal and Tom back in the US (although Tom will be visiting us in December to make sure we are not slacking off). Professor Hal Fried was the dreamer of this program and worked hard to make all the pieces clink together. He taught our Social Entrepreneurship Course and is constantly challenging our preconceptions to help us work better for others. Dean Tom McEvoy has also been furiously working with us to make sure our flights are in line, we are safe, happy, healthy, etc. (I think he at one point he said he felt like a mother and he really does keep tabs on us pretty closely). Without either of their tireless work we would not be here.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Educational Inequalities
When we traveled to Uganda we met a volunteer in the Amsterdam airport who told us a little about the education system. She told us that education was free, good, and that most kids go to school - in line with the UN Millennium Goals. I found another story...
Attendance
Since that time I have discovered that, at least where Becky and I are in southern Uganda, most kids do not go to school. The reasons vary - many kids need to stay home to help with chores or siblings, some cannot afford a uniform, and sometimes the headmistress imposes "optional" school fees that are not all that optional. Two of the seven year old girls around the clinic are caring for children less than one year old. When I taught 6th grade in my first weeks in Uganda attendance was inconsistent as kids were filtering in and out to help with their family gardens; teacher's at Bunyere don't bother taking a role call. Many of the kids might make it to school or at least be able to, but the notebooks and pen might be beyond their family's reach. There is no building going on at the school and I suspect that the building fee is used to supply the teachers with food and bump up their salaries some (to be fair, there salaries are all but non-existent).
The Teachers
The teachers truly have a tough job. One of the lower teachers makes 83,000 per month - $1.70 per day. That would be just enough to get by, but the teachers have not been paid the last three months. So I find a sharp, understandable divide in effort among the teachers. One teacher came into school to work and I think that she had Malaria - she is always enthusiastic and committed, but most days many of the teachers don't bother to come into work. There are ten teachers, teaching class sizes of 75 kids, but most days I see five of the teachers at school. Teachers have to maintain gardens to survive and since they are not paid regularly many make gardening an occupation that is equally or more important than teaching, understandably. All teachers must be certified, but I just graded a 7th grade math practice exam and found 12 questions in the answer key (out of 42 questions) was done incorrectly. Worse, it seemed that many of the students made the same mistakes, so the teacher was teaching mathematics incorrectly.
Facilities
The primary school is a cement building lit only by the light from the windows. This is better than many schools (the school was built by Japan a couple years ago) as I just read an article about schools (I think in the northwest) that operate under the shade of trees. Reminds me of Three Cups of Tea, which I just read care of Tom, Hal, and Minerva Programs. The teachers sometimes work with student edition textbooks or no textbooks at all - the students don't have textbooks and get all their illustrations and notes from the chalkboard. The national exams and textbooks are littered with errors as are the handmade educational posters around the school. Some signs remind students "Report Sexual Abuse, PLEASE" or "Welcome, PLEASE." I think sexual abuse is limited in Ddegeya, but some of the girls have told me that the boda boda drivers harass them every morning on their walk to school, saying truly vile things. I've mentioned that the school has religious education, covering Islam and Christianity, the major religions in the region. Kids usually have one pen and a small 32 page blue book, which they carefully fill, cover to cover, with notes. The kids play in a very small field on one side of the school when there is no teacher in their classroom. The kids take time away from school to fetch all the school's water (for the teacher's tea and lunch), sweep, and maintain the school's grounds.
Language and Stigma
The village speaks Luganda. The school is supposed to work only in English. I think what actually happens is that the teachers speak enough English to make the lessons unreachable to the kids and enough Luganda to make sure that the students do not learn English. I struggle to teach English in English - how do you explain vocabulary or grammar with language they have not learned? Becky and I quickly devised some methods, but some things can be tough to convey. Some of the students have better English skills than their teachers, but the vast majority struggle with lectures in English. The only exposure to English is at the school since almost no one can speak English - so homework help with parents is likely out of the question. My accent is especially difficult for them to understand and I think only a fifth of the class has what I would consider a good understanding of what I am saying. The bottom fifth of the class has no idea what is happening or why a strange mzungu occasionally comes to their class speaking Portugese; the rest are somewhere in between. I was relieved, but sad when I found out that the same divide is true for the native teachers. When I reviewed material, a fifth knew it, a fifth had no idea, and the rest were somewhere in between. Mathematics is a little easier for me to convey - it is a sort of universal language, but it can still be tough to explain things. Why does 0.8499 round up to 0.850? Rounding is simple and I can't imagine it working in another way, but these students are likely behind with their curriculum to begin with. Ask what 6 times 6 is and students may answer 12 or 32. So we struggle with language together.
Another issue that plagues the students who recognize the value of English is that their is a stigma associated with understanding English. One of my hardest working students desperately wants to learn English and often comes to the clinic to do extra work with Becky or I, but at the cost of friends in the school. She is made fun of for speaking English with the teachers. She often will transcribe songs for Becky and I - Alicia Keyes, Pussycat Dolls, Beyonce - the American songs that are on the radio here. We will be picking up some simple books to read with her (I hope I can find some Rohald Dahl, CS Lewis, Box Car Children, or something like that). I remember being at the the bore hole one day and being told by a guy that he didn't want to learn English, because Luganda is better. I completely sympathize with that view and I often wish the school was taught in Luganda with Spanish, French or English classes, but for now, if these students want to move on with their education to secondary school or university, they need to learn English. Pross wants to be a scientist. I don't think any journals are written in regional Ugandan languages, but at the same time, professionals need to speak the language of their people.
Students
The students they have immense obstacles to climb just to get to school, which makes it difficult to succeed in school. Kids wake up at dawn to fetch water for their mud hut, 6 siblings, and, hopefully, two parents, and then trek as far as two or three miles to get to school. If there was a surplus and their parents could send food to the market they have uniforms, but it is unlikely they have shoes, unless they received a pair from Engeye. At school they hike to the bore hole to fetch water for the teachers and do work, likely with no lunch; the days are long with no lunch. School starts at 8:30 and ends at 4:30 or 5 - dinners in Uganda generally come at 8 or 9 at night, well after sunset. Some have the money to buy small nutrition-less pancakes or cassava to tie them over, but for many the decision may be whether to replace their pen or buy "lunch" during the week. The students often wait patiently in the classroom for one of the teachers who showed up for the day to enter the classroom and teach. If students are caught outside their classes while class is in session, the assistant to the headmistress has the kids lie on their stomach and administers a handful of whips with a stick. It sounds and looks very painful and the one common thread I've found from people leaving the Catholic Church is unsympathetic nuns of the 1960's armed with wooden rulers. I've seen students punished for simply not bringing in a protractor and compass, which they probably couldn't afford. The students often have to miss school to work in their gardens, but hopefully, between teacher absences and student absences, they master 80 percent of the curriculum in order to pass their exams at the end of their seventh year. When the students are in the classroom, it is a real test to see if they can learn in an English-taught classroom; the students parents probably do not speak any English. For most, school stops well before seventh grade if they ever began school. If students do make it through seven years at Bunyere and pass the challenging national exams they have the option of going to secondary school, but since almost all the people in Ddegeya are subsistence farmers they don't have the money to pay for secondary school or college. This is the life of a student in Uganda's Public Education system.
Engeye has a scholarship program that sends villagers to private schools. It costs somewhere around $500 to pay for the fees, uniforms, books, etc., but this program could very well be the beginning of the future for Ddegeya. For more information on the program send me an e-mail or check out http://www.engeye.com (I think it has information about the scholarship program, but maybe not yet.
Attendance
Since that time I have discovered that, at least where Becky and I are in southern Uganda, most kids do not go to school. The reasons vary - many kids need to stay home to help with chores or siblings, some cannot afford a uniform, and sometimes the headmistress imposes "optional" school fees that are not all that optional. Two of the seven year old girls around the clinic are caring for children less than one year old. When I taught 6th grade in my first weeks in Uganda attendance was inconsistent as kids were filtering in and out to help with their family gardens; teacher's at Bunyere don't bother taking a role call. Many of the kids might make it to school or at least be able to, but the notebooks and pen might be beyond their family's reach. There is no building going on at the school and I suspect that the building fee is used to supply the teachers with food and bump up their salaries some (to be fair, there salaries are all but non-existent).
The Teachers
The teachers truly have a tough job. One of the lower teachers makes 83,000 per month - $1.70 per day. That would be just enough to get by, but the teachers have not been paid the last three months. So I find a sharp, understandable divide in effort among the teachers. One teacher came into school to work and I think that she had Malaria - she is always enthusiastic and committed, but most days many of the teachers don't bother to come into work. There are ten teachers, teaching class sizes of 75 kids, but most days I see five of the teachers at school. Teachers have to maintain gardens to survive and since they are not paid regularly many make gardening an occupation that is equally or more important than teaching, understandably. All teachers must be certified, but I just graded a 7th grade math practice exam and found 12 questions in the answer key (out of 42 questions) was done incorrectly. Worse, it seemed that many of the students made the same mistakes, so the teacher was teaching mathematics incorrectly.
Facilities
The primary school is a cement building lit only by the light from the windows. This is better than many schools (the school was built by Japan a couple years ago) as I just read an article about schools (I think in the northwest) that operate under the shade of trees. Reminds me of Three Cups of Tea, which I just read care of Tom, Hal, and Minerva Programs. The teachers sometimes work with student edition textbooks or no textbooks at all - the students don't have textbooks and get all their illustrations and notes from the chalkboard. The national exams and textbooks are littered with errors as are the handmade educational posters around the school. Some signs remind students "Report Sexual Abuse, PLEASE" or "Welcome, PLEASE." I think sexual abuse is limited in Ddegeya, but some of the girls have told me that the boda boda drivers harass them every morning on their walk to school, saying truly vile things. I've mentioned that the school has religious education, covering Islam and Christianity, the major religions in the region. Kids usually have one pen and a small 32 page blue book, which they carefully fill, cover to cover, with notes. The kids play in a very small field on one side of the school when there is no teacher in their classroom. The kids take time away from school to fetch all the school's water (for the teacher's tea and lunch), sweep, and maintain the school's grounds.
Language and Stigma
The village speaks Luganda. The school is supposed to work only in English. I think what actually happens is that the teachers speak enough English to make the lessons unreachable to the kids and enough Luganda to make sure that the students do not learn English. I struggle to teach English in English - how do you explain vocabulary or grammar with language they have not learned? Becky and I quickly devised some methods, but some things can be tough to convey. Some of the students have better English skills than their teachers, but the vast majority struggle with lectures in English. The only exposure to English is at the school since almost no one can speak English - so homework help with parents is likely out of the question. My accent is especially difficult for them to understand and I think only a fifth of the class has what I would consider a good understanding of what I am saying. The bottom fifth of the class has no idea what is happening or why a strange mzungu occasionally comes to their class speaking Portugese; the rest are somewhere in between. I was relieved, but sad when I found out that the same divide is true for the native teachers. When I reviewed material, a fifth knew it, a fifth had no idea, and the rest were somewhere in between. Mathematics is a little easier for me to convey - it is a sort of universal language, but it can still be tough to explain things. Why does 0.8499 round up to 0.850? Rounding is simple and I can't imagine it working in another way, but these students are likely behind with their curriculum to begin with. Ask what 6 times 6 is and students may answer 12 or 32. So we struggle with language together.
Another issue that plagues the students who recognize the value of English is that their is a stigma associated with understanding English. One of my hardest working students desperately wants to learn English and often comes to the clinic to do extra work with Becky or I, but at the cost of friends in the school. She is made fun of for speaking English with the teachers. She often will transcribe songs for Becky and I - Alicia Keyes, Pussycat Dolls, Beyonce - the American songs that are on the radio here. We will be picking up some simple books to read with her (I hope I can find some Rohald Dahl, CS Lewis, Box Car Children, or something like that). I remember being at the the bore hole one day and being told by a guy that he didn't want to learn English, because Luganda is better. I completely sympathize with that view and I often wish the school was taught in Luganda with Spanish, French or English classes, but for now, if these students want to move on with their education to secondary school or university, they need to learn English. Pross wants to be a scientist. I don't think any journals are written in regional Ugandan languages, but at the same time, professionals need to speak the language of their people.
Students
The students they have immense obstacles to climb just to get to school, which makes it difficult to succeed in school. Kids wake up at dawn to fetch water for their mud hut, 6 siblings, and, hopefully, two parents, and then trek as far as two or three miles to get to school. If there was a surplus and their parents could send food to the market they have uniforms, but it is unlikely they have shoes, unless they received a pair from Engeye. At school they hike to the bore hole to fetch water for the teachers and do work, likely with no lunch; the days are long with no lunch. School starts at 8:30 and ends at 4:30 or 5 - dinners in Uganda generally come at 8 or 9 at night, well after sunset. Some have the money to buy small nutrition-less pancakes or cassava to tie them over, but for many the decision may be whether to replace their pen or buy "lunch" during the week. The students often wait patiently in the classroom for one of the teachers who showed up for the day to enter the classroom and teach. If students are caught outside their classes while class is in session, the assistant to the headmistress has the kids lie on their stomach and administers a handful of whips with a stick. It sounds and looks very painful and the one common thread I've found from people leaving the Catholic Church is unsympathetic nuns of the 1960's armed with wooden rulers. I've seen students punished for simply not bringing in a protractor and compass, which they probably couldn't afford. The students often have to miss school to work in their gardens, but hopefully, between teacher absences and student absences, they master 80 percent of the curriculum in order to pass their exams at the end of their seventh year. When the students are in the classroom, it is a real test to see if they can learn in an English-taught classroom; the students parents probably do not speak any English. For most, school stops well before seventh grade if they ever began school. If students do make it through seven years at Bunyere and pass the challenging national exams they have the option of going to secondary school, but since almost all the people in Ddegeya are subsistence farmers they don't have the money to pay for secondary school or college. This is the life of a student in Uganda's Public Education system.
Engeye has a scholarship program that sends villagers to private schools. It costs somewhere around $500 to pay for the fees, uniforms, books, etc., but this program could very well be the beginning of the future for Ddegeya. For more information on the program send me an e-mail or check out http://www.engeye.com (I think it has information about the scholarship program, but maybe not yet.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Engeye Update
Becky and I are in Kampala/Jinja for the weekend to see a Cranes Soccer match versus Benin. Below is an update about the kids back at Engeye.
The Man with a Big Hole
The kids back in Ddegeya are good. I constantly make mental notes of things that I should write about, but I have absolutely no memory for anything other than numbers, so here are a couple things I tried to remember about the kids (I will try to get pictures of kids up soon). I can be THE MAN to the kids at times. All I need to do is punt the ball and I am instantly a hero. Although soccer is the most popular sport, the best ball they can come up with is a bunch of plastic bags thatched together with a banana leaf - so their motor skills and soccer skills are not as developed as the American kids I coached back home. After 22 seasons as a backup goalie I never quite mastered stopping the ball from going in the goal (I was nicknamed "the wall with the really big hole in it" and I think I have a record for most goals allowed in a single game at Hamburg High School), but I did learn to kick it really, really high (and sometimes far, too). So the kids will chase me around and have invented the word "banga," which they shout at me to try to compel me to endlessly punt the ball. So I think above anything else Becky and I do as volunteers the kids most thoroughly enjoy being given a ball to play with.
Progress and the Kids
The kids are taking on some distinct personalities and we are beginning to see many of them change before our eyes. Aksom is a three year old and one of the big characters. He doesn't get enough protein, constantly has snot running down to his mouth, and two fingers are always hanging out of his mouth. His family did not think he would develop and that he might have some serious learning disabilities. I couldn't have been more proud the day that I asked "Ani ayagala kusomesa numbers?!" (Who wants to teach numbers?) Aksam pulled his fingers out of his mouth long enough to raise his hand, ran up and recited one through ten in Luganda (after putting his fingers back in his mouth). I couldn't have been more proud. I had been wondering if the kids were getting anything out of the two mzungus. I sheepishly asked John if he thought Aksam had learned the numbers at home. My confidence in what I was doing was significantly bolstered when he told me that he had learned numbers at Engeye.
Mercy, pronounced Mase, is another kid that is coming along very quickly. She started out too shy to speak to us at all and ran away from us (she is 2 or 3 years old). Mercy is now getting the numbers down and is playing with all the other kids (she used to just trail her brother around).
Peter is Mercy's brother. He is the one in the photos page with the "Happy Boy" shirt. He never really smiles (this is listed as a symptom of kwashiokor) and has a big stomach. Lately he seems happier, though. He is a great student in the morning, even though he has never been to school and helps to look out for the kids. He is one of many that likes hanging around the clinic (a clinic rat).
Nabuuma and Shamira are two sevenish year old girls that constantly have infants tied to their backs (a seven year old taking care of a 2 month old. Incredible.). They also, along with Oliva, another girl keep the peace among the other kids, by force if necessary. They are a great help and they also love hanging around the clinic. They should be in school and we always push them to go to school, but a lot of their writing practice comes from blue books Becky and I bought last month.
A Difference? Perhaps the Beginning of a Ripple
A lot of people seemed to sense that I was having trouble with the extent of the work I was doing here. A couple e-mails were remarkably perceptive and well timed to make me feel a little better:
I know it probably isn't going as well as you hoped it would, and the conditions are probably worse than you expected (I'm really hoping it's not, and they're not. But I think that might be wishful thinking) but I bet your doing such a great job and making a big difference to everyone around you.
and
You may not always think you are making a big difference, but you are making a huge difference on the personal level. I keep thinking when I read your blog how lucky we are to be not poor white american males, but then I realize how much more lucky we are that we are achieving what we feel like we were meant to do. It may be a little selfish, I am not sure, but I know that each of us have independently discovered that the thing that we have a passion for, and because we are the luckiest, our passion ultimately coincides with making life better for others, and not psychopathic murdering.
And those really summarized my feelings better than I could have written. Becky and I work with 30 kids for four long hours in the morning, and 150 kids on any given afternoon. If we can help a couple of the 7th graders make it to secondary school or give another kid the skills to make it past his or her village or empower one of the many kids that wants to be a nurse, doctor, or teacher it is a job well done. I think we're on that track.
Hopefully we're enhancing the education for all the kids we work with and improving their lives just a little. The families definitely appreciate it. It is likely that this is the first time their kids have had any kind of constructive daycare (which we have been told is too expensive even for well-off families). Most of the kids after the age of 2 are left to wander by themselves, which is remarkable to me. The field of peanuts and the field of vegetables might help a handful families properly nourish themselves, but that is much better than no fields. So every morning I find myself more than happy to water the nursery bed (I am getting a little obsessed with the progress of my cabbage patch kids, just short of naming them individually) and even though the impact may be negligible on a large scale, I know that it will make a huge difference for a few families. Working with the little kids is exhausting for me, but both the 2-7 year olds and the primary students have been making great strides in academics which makes the work very rewarding.
I should point out that although my blog is written in the I form, Becky was the brains behind the morning program with the little kids. (I was skeptical about my abilities to work with the kids) and Becky's infinite patience with the kids is making it all work out very well. So, even though this is an iBlog, remember the we.
The Man with a Big Hole
The kids back in Ddegeya are good. I constantly make mental notes of things that I should write about, but I have absolutely no memory for anything other than numbers, so here are a couple things I tried to remember about the kids (I will try to get pictures of kids up soon). I can be THE MAN to the kids at times. All I need to do is punt the ball and I am instantly a hero. Although soccer is the most popular sport, the best ball they can come up with is a bunch of plastic bags thatched together with a banana leaf - so their motor skills and soccer skills are not as developed as the American kids I coached back home. After 22 seasons as a backup goalie I never quite mastered stopping the ball from going in the goal (I was nicknamed "the wall with the really big hole in it" and I think I have a record for most goals allowed in a single game at Hamburg High School), but I did learn to kick it really, really high (and sometimes far, too). So the kids will chase me around and have invented the word "banga," which they shout at me to try to compel me to endlessly punt the ball. So I think above anything else Becky and I do as volunteers the kids most thoroughly enjoy being given a ball to play with.
Progress and the Kids
The kids are taking on some distinct personalities and we are beginning to see many of them change before our eyes. Aksom is a three year old and one of the big characters. He doesn't get enough protein, constantly has snot running down to his mouth, and two fingers are always hanging out of his mouth. His family did not think he would develop and that he might have some serious learning disabilities. I couldn't have been more proud the day that I asked "Ani ayagala kusomesa numbers?!" (Who wants to teach numbers?) Aksam pulled his fingers out of his mouth long enough to raise his hand, ran up and recited one through ten in Luganda (after putting his fingers back in his mouth). I couldn't have been more proud. I had been wondering if the kids were getting anything out of the two mzungus. I sheepishly asked John if he thought Aksam had learned the numbers at home. My confidence in what I was doing was significantly bolstered when he told me that he had learned numbers at Engeye.
Mercy, pronounced Mase, is another kid that is coming along very quickly. She started out too shy to speak to us at all and ran away from us (she is 2 or 3 years old). Mercy is now getting the numbers down and is playing with all the other kids (she used to just trail her brother around).
Peter is Mercy's brother. He is the one in the photos page with the "Happy Boy" shirt. He never really smiles (this is listed as a symptom of kwashiokor) and has a big stomach. Lately he seems happier, though. He is a great student in the morning, even though he has never been to school and helps to look out for the kids. He is one of many that likes hanging around the clinic (a clinic rat).
Nabuuma and Shamira are two sevenish year old girls that constantly have infants tied to their backs (a seven year old taking care of a 2 month old. Incredible.). They also, along with Oliva, another girl keep the peace among the other kids, by force if necessary. They are a great help and they also love hanging around the clinic. They should be in school and we always push them to go to school, but a lot of their writing practice comes from blue books Becky and I bought last month.
A Difference? Perhaps the Beginning of a Ripple
A lot of people seemed to sense that I was having trouble with the extent of the work I was doing here. A couple e-mails were remarkably perceptive and well timed to make me feel a little better:
I know it probably isn't going as well as you hoped it would, and the conditions are probably worse than you expected (I'm really hoping it's not, and they're not. But I think that might be wishful thinking) but I bet your doing such a great job and making a big difference to everyone around you.
and
You may not always think you are making a big difference, but you are making a huge difference on the personal level. I keep thinking when I read your blog how lucky we are to be not poor white american males, but then I realize how much more lucky we are that we are achieving what we feel like we were meant to do. It may be a little selfish, I am not sure, but I know that each of us have independently discovered that the thing that we have a passion for, and because we are the luckiest, our passion ultimately coincides with making life better for others, and not psychopathic murdering.
And those really summarized my feelings better than I could have written. Becky and I work with 30 kids for four long hours in the morning, and 150 kids on any given afternoon. If we can help a couple of the 7th graders make it to secondary school or give another kid the skills to make it past his or her village or empower one of the many kids that wants to be a nurse, doctor, or teacher it is a job well done. I think we're on that track.
Hopefully we're enhancing the education for all the kids we work with and improving their lives just a little. The families definitely appreciate it. It is likely that this is the first time their kids have had any kind of constructive daycare (which we have been told is too expensive even for well-off families). Most of the kids after the age of 2 are left to wander by themselves, which is remarkable to me. The field of peanuts and the field of vegetables might help a handful families properly nourish themselves, but that is much better than no fields. So every morning I find myself more than happy to water the nursery bed (I am getting a little obsessed with the progress of my cabbage patch kids, just short of naming them individually) and even though the impact may be negligible on a large scale, I know that it will make a huge difference for a few families. Working with the little kids is exhausting for me, but both the 2-7 year olds and the primary students have been making great strides in academics which makes the work very rewarding.
I should point out that although my blog is written in the I form, Becky was the brains behind the morning program with the little kids. (I was skeptical about my abilities to work with the kids) and Becky's infinite patience with the kids is making it all work out very well. So, even though this is an iBlog, remember the we.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Photos and Soccer
Snapfish is impossible. Sorry for the false advertisements. Photos to come in a few weeks.
The Uganda Cranes game on Sunday October 12 was amazing. The Cranes took on the Benin Squirrels (I kid you not). Becky and I got there in a taxi two hours before the game and arrived at a pretty much empty parking lot. Unlike American sporting events where miles of parking lots are filled, Mandela stadium had a very small parking lot since few people in Uganda can afford a car.
Becky and I quickly bought our $20,000 shilling tickets (the expensive ones - the Ugandans bought the 10,000 tickets). The tickets were in the shade and our small section had shade for the entire game. I was excited to see police in riot gear march out an hour before the game, but the stadium only filled up about half way (the people crowded around the shady, fenced in mzungu section. Benin was favored to win and Uganda was all but eliminated from the Africa's Cup of Nations and the World Cup, so people didn't want to waste their money.
It was a good game, though. Benin scored first and looked obviously better. Uganda scored two early second half goals to pull ahead and win, though. It was my first professional outdoor soccer match, so I was just excited to see the pros play and the atmosphere was pretty good. The sections all around me were packed and there was a good amount of noise. The officiating seemed to favor Uganda and I think I saw a coach (assistant coach) ejected for the first time. The fourth official got pushed by the coach and he then stopped play, which seemed unconventional, but the coach deserved to go.
The Uganda Cranes game on Sunday October 12 was amazing. The Cranes took on the Benin Squirrels (I kid you not). Becky and I got there in a taxi two hours before the game and arrived at a pretty much empty parking lot. Unlike American sporting events where miles of parking lots are filled, Mandela stadium had a very small parking lot since few people in Uganda can afford a car.
Becky and I quickly bought our $20,000 shilling tickets (the expensive ones - the Ugandans bought the 10,000 tickets). The tickets were in the shade and our small section had shade for the entire game. I was excited to see police in riot gear march out an hour before the game, but the stadium only filled up about half way (the people crowded around the shady, fenced in mzungu section. Benin was favored to win and Uganda was all but eliminated from the Africa's Cup of Nations and the World Cup, so people didn't want to waste their money.
It was a good game, though. Benin scored first and looked obviously better. Uganda scored two early second half goals to pull ahead and win, though. It was my first professional outdoor soccer match, so I was just excited to see the pros play and the atmosphere was pretty good. The sections all around me were packed and there was a good amount of noise. The officiating seemed to favor Uganda and I think I saw a coach (assistant coach) ejected for the first time. The fourth official got pushed by the coach and he then stopped play, which seemed unconventional, but the coach deserved to go.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Random Thoughts in Jinja, Uganda [The Source of the Nile!]
This blog might be a little disorganized - it was mostly written in Jinja, partially written in Kampala if the tense I use to talk about Jinja changes...
So it has been two and a half months since I've spent time outside of Ddegeya - a rural, tropical village of subsistence farmers. I decided that an international soccer match between Benin and the Uganda Cranes was the perfect chance to get away for a long weekend. On Sunday October 12, the Uganda Cranes will take on the oh-so-intimidating Benin Squirrels. The Squirrels. Africa is a country of elephants, lions, tigers, snakes, zebras, and rhinoceros'. They chose to be the squirrels? Uganda seems to have engineered a ploy to keep me from "fast" internet (ie it takes less than 5 minutes to load gmail in html). Masaka was out of power September 21 and 28 and Jinja is having a problem with their cell phone service that supplies internet. I will be in Kampala today after walking to see the Nile (Becky is busy on class V rapids on the Nile). In Kampala I will post some blogs that I have transcribed from my illegible scribblings and post some blogs for the future (they will magically pop up without me in case I cannot get to the internet).
Holidays, Politics, and the Buffalo Bills?
With no good English radio signal in Ddegeya, this week was full of holiday surprises. Monday was National Teacher's Day, Thursday was Independence Day, and Friday was the district of Masaka's Teacher's Day. Kids at Bunyere had three days off school this week (kids that Becky and I work with were not so lucky, but thanks to the Benin match they got Friday off and many were no shows Thursday). Honestly, they have a holiday at least every other week - a very different pace of life here (Union College celebrates exactly no holidays, including Veteran's Day during the terms).
Despite the lack of English radio, John tells us that Obama is looking good (he is biased, but calls that Becky and I receive from the US seem to confirm this). I will hold my breath since I thought there was no way Americans could be stupid enough to elect Bush in 2000 (I am skeptical that he was legitimately elected). I think I lost all hope of a smooth transition to a more reasonable political, economic, and environmental society when Bush won with scare tactics in 2004. I thought it was impossible that he would re-win after a botched war (MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!), a substance-less campaign, and a so-so economy even by conventional standards. What was the headline of the Guardian? "How could Americans be so Stupid?" Something to that effect. I hear, through the grapevine, that McCain's running mate is the devil, complete with tails and horns. I don't know if I can fully believe that, but I've also been told that the Buffalo Bills are 4-0 so I suppose anything is possible (I think it has been 9 or 10 years since Wade Phillips decided to bench Doug Flutie when Jacksonville won with the "forward pass" - our last playoff bid).
Jinja, Danger, Mike Doughty, and M7
Anyways, I find myself in Jinja, Uganda where the source of the Nile is located. By far Jinja has been the most pleasant Americanesque experience so far. The trip to Jinja takes about two hours from Kampala and we rolled up and down countless hills and through what looked to be rainforests. The houses look suburban, there are mzungus (white people) everywhere, which is an adjustment after seeing just a handful in Ddegeya and Masaka.
The source of the Nile was remarkably unremarkable and I am glad that I didn't pay to see it. I will, at an undisclosed time, be rafting down it, though, which is likely to be very memorable. I can't talk about it much though, because my jokes about diarrhea sparked an immediate and frightened response from both my grandma and my mom telling me to seek immediate medical treatment. So I will tell them when I have gotten back safely (Becky just called to tell me she is "safely" in a taxi headed to Kampala). I think the most dangerous thing I do here is cross the road or travel in a taxi...
Jinja is surrounded by wetlands, sugar cane, and sugar plants...it reminds me of the Mike Doughty song, "Down on the River by the Sugar Plant." Good song, little to do with Jinja except for the Nile "River" and the sugar plants...
M7 is, I have recently hypothesized, the shorthand for Uganda's leader Museveni (Moo Seven ee). Independence Day was Thursday, so Museveni did what all great mediocre leaders do - he told his people that terrorists are upon them and they need to be vigilant. I don't know where I've heard this before... Anyways, I've already received e-mails from fans telling me that they are in Kampala and hunting me down...so now traffic might be the second biggest problem I face. Even though I don't really believe that Osama is going to send his forces to Uganda because Uganda contributed peace keeping forces to Somalia, as Museveni says, it is a little alarming that the Daily Monitor reports, "the Police put the nation on the watch for potential terror strikes, especially in crowded areas..." and that terrorists are believe to be planning to attack urban areas. Luckily Becky and I don't have the money to stay in big, crowded resorts and we are mostly hidden away in a rural village. The soccer game tomorrow is another story, though.
Medical Problems - if easily disgusted, skip to the next section
So I didn't expect my first medical problem to be a chigger. A chigger is a mite that embeds itself in fingers and toes while you work in the dirt (I am pretending to be a farmer, remember). Anyways, I refuse to wear socks after I found out how hard it is to wash socks in dusty Uganda - I haven't worn socks in over a month. Washing socks literally makes my hands bleed, so a chigger seems like a small price to pay. Sandals only (picture Professor George Shaw). So two chiggers worked their way into my toes and died. I spent one of my lunch hours a couple weeks ago ripping a couple dead, black, chiggers 0.5 cm long out of my toe. I am now much more cautious with my feet...
Interestingly, a Daily Monitor article just reported that Jiggers killed man in Kaliro District stating that "Jiggers are synonymous with ridicule and stigmatization as they are known to be a result of a high degree of negligence." Well then. Again, I am now much more cautious now...
Kampala Business
The internet is down, which is very disappointing, but Jinja has power to charge and work on some blogs offline (and listen to music, which I am finding I miss a lot. I used to blast music through Ozone House, probably to my housemates dismay). It was a pretty successful day - picked up my Grandma's latest reports about the ducks in the man-made pond in Tyrone, PA, helped Becky carry a backpack of mail from her avid, weekly supporters (to be fair, someone sent three backpacks full of school supplies, but she does get a ridiculous stack of letters ever week), found out that I don't need to give Uganda a $50 bribe every 90 days to continue volunteering in the country, purchased a Uganda Cranes jersey with our curiously bolstered exchange rate (the economy is spiraling into an abyss and the dollar is getting stronger?), ate my first non-Ugandan meal in 71 days (whose counting?), got some stamps to continue harassing people, even when I can't use e-mail, repaired my glasses and sent letters to Megan Sesil's mom who is helping with a Uganda-American pen-pal program (finally).
The trip, as usual, was interesting. On the way to Kampala, the driver pulled the car over, got out, picked up his seat (access to part of the engine is in the front of the vehicle) and opened some sort of tank that shot steam and hot water at John and I. The second time we stopped, John leerily asked if he was going to do it again. I distinctly remember "nedda," no. Shortly after hearing "nedda" the driver proceeded to shoot steam and hot water all over the packed van. Steam fogged the window in a way less romantic than the scene from Titanic and water literally pooled on the dashboard. For the second time, I crawled out of the smoke filled mini-van filled with 19 passengers.
Will let you know how the soccer game went in the next week or so when I am back in Masaka...
So it has been two and a half months since I've spent time outside of Ddegeya - a rural, tropical village of subsistence farmers. I decided that an international soccer match between Benin and the Uganda Cranes was the perfect chance to get away for a long weekend. On Sunday October 12, the Uganda Cranes will take on the oh-so-intimidating Benin Squirrels. The Squirrels. Africa is a country of elephants, lions, tigers, snakes, zebras, and rhinoceros'. They chose to be the squirrels? Uganda seems to have engineered a ploy to keep me from "fast" internet (ie it takes less than 5 minutes to load gmail in html). Masaka was out of power September 21 and 28 and Jinja is having a problem with their cell phone service that supplies internet. I will be in Kampala today after walking to see the Nile (Becky is busy on class V rapids on the Nile). In Kampala I will post some blogs that I have transcribed from my illegible scribblings and post some blogs for the future (they will magically pop up without me in case I cannot get to the internet).
Holidays, Politics, and the Buffalo Bills?
With no good English radio signal in Ddegeya, this week was full of holiday surprises. Monday was National Teacher's Day, Thursday was Independence Day, and Friday was the district of Masaka's Teacher's Day. Kids at Bunyere had three days off school this week (kids that Becky and I work with were not so lucky, but thanks to the Benin match they got Friday off and many were no shows Thursday). Honestly, they have a holiday at least every other week - a very different pace of life here (Union College celebrates exactly no holidays, including Veteran's Day during the terms).
Despite the lack of English radio, John tells us that Obama is looking good (he is biased, but calls that Becky and I receive from the US seem to confirm this). I will hold my breath since I thought there was no way Americans could be stupid enough to elect Bush in 2000 (I am skeptical that he was legitimately elected). I think I lost all hope of a smooth transition to a more reasonable political, economic, and environmental society when Bush won with scare tactics in 2004. I thought it was impossible that he would re-win after a botched war (MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!), a substance-less campaign, and a so-so economy even by conventional standards. What was the headline of the Guardian? "How could Americans be so Stupid?" Something to that effect. I hear, through the grapevine, that McCain's running mate is the devil, complete with tails and horns. I don't know if I can fully believe that, but I've also been told that the Buffalo Bills are 4-0 so I suppose anything is possible (I think it has been 9 or 10 years since Wade Phillips decided to bench Doug Flutie when Jacksonville won with the "forward pass" - our last playoff bid).
Jinja, Danger, Mike Doughty, and M7
Anyways, I find myself in Jinja, Uganda where the source of the Nile is located. By far Jinja has been the most pleasant Americanesque experience so far. The trip to Jinja takes about two hours from Kampala and we rolled up and down countless hills and through what looked to be rainforests. The houses look suburban, there are mzungus (white people) everywhere, which is an adjustment after seeing just a handful in Ddegeya and Masaka.
The source of the Nile was remarkably unremarkable and I am glad that I didn't pay to see it. I will, at an undisclosed time, be rafting down it, though, which is likely to be very memorable. I can't talk about it much though, because my jokes about diarrhea sparked an immediate and frightened response from both my grandma and my mom telling me to seek immediate medical treatment. So I will tell them when I have gotten back safely (Becky just called to tell me she is "safely" in a taxi headed to Kampala). I think the most dangerous thing I do here is cross the road or travel in a taxi...
Jinja is surrounded by wetlands, sugar cane, and sugar plants...it reminds me of the Mike Doughty song, "Down on the River by the Sugar Plant." Good song, little to do with Jinja except for the Nile "River" and the sugar plants...
M7 is, I have recently hypothesized, the shorthand for Uganda's leader Museveni (Moo Seven ee). Independence Day was Thursday, so Museveni did what all great mediocre leaders do - he told his people that terrorists are upon them and they need to be vigilant. I don't know where I've heard this before... Anyways, I've already received e-mails from fans telling me that they are in Kampala and hunting me down...so now traffic might be the second biggest problem I face. Even though I don't really believe that Osama is going to send his forces to Uganda because Uganda contributed peace keeping forces to Somalia, as Museveni says, it is a little alarming that the Daily Monitor reports, "the Police put the nation on the watch for potential terror strikes, especially in crowded areas..." and that terrorists are believe to be planning to attack urban areas. Luckily Becky and I don't have the money to stay in big, crowded resorts and we are mostly hidden away in a rural village. The soccer game tomorrow is another story, though.
Medical Problems - if easily disgusted, skip to the next section
So I didn't expect my first medical problem to be a chigger. A chigger is a mite that embeds itself in fingers and toes while you work in the dirt (I am pretending to be a farmer, remember). Anyways, I refuse to wear socks after I found out how hard it is to wash socks in dusty Uganda - I haven't worn socks in over a month. Washing socks literally makes my hands bleed, so a chigger seems like a small price to pay. Sandals only (picture Professor George Shaw). So two chiggers worked their way into my toes and died. I spent one of my lunch hours a couple weeks ago ripping a couple dead, black, chiggers 0.5 cm long out of my toe. I am now much more cautious with my feet...
Interestingly, a Daily Monitor article just reported that Jiggers killed man in Kaliro District stating that "Jiggers are synonymous with ridicule and stigmatization as they are known to be a result of a high degree of negligence." Well then. Again, I am now much more cautious now...
Kampala Business
The internet is down, which is very disappointing, but Jinja has power to charge and work on some blogs offline (and listen to music, which I am finding I miss a lot. I used to blast music through Ozone House, probably to my housemates dismay). It was a pretty successful day - picked up my Grandma's latest reports about the ducks in the man-made pond in Tyrone, PA, helped Becky carry a backpack of mail from her avid, weekly supporters (to be fair, someone sent three backpacks full of school supplies, but she does get a ridiculous stack of letters ever week), found out that I don't need to give Uganda a $50 bribe every 90 days to continue volunteering in the country, purchased a Uganda Cranes jersey with our curiously bolstered exchange rate (the economy is spiraling into an abyss and the dollar is getting stronger?), ate my first non-Ugandan meal in 71 days (whose counting?), got some stamps to continue harassing people, even when I can't use e-mail, repaired my glasses and sent letters to Megan Sesil's mom who is helping with a Uganda-American pen-pal program (finally).
The trip, as usual, was interesting. On the way to Kampala, the driver pulled the car over, got out, picked up his seat (access to part of the engine is in the front of the vehicle) and opened some sort of tank that shot steam and hot water at John and I. The second time we stopped, John leerily asked if he was going to do it again. I distinctly remember "nedda," no. Shortly after hearing "nedda" the driver proceeded to shoot steam and hot water all over the packed van. Steam fogged the window in a way less romantic than the scene from Titanic and water literally pooled on the dashboard. For the second time, I crawled out of the smoke filled mini-van filled with 19 passengers.
Will let you know how the soccer game went in the next week or so when I am back in Masaka...
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
A Quiet Pouring Rain
This was one of the blogs that I transcribed from my dwindling sheets of legal pad paper. I started editing and realized that by fixing tenses and changing word order I was changing the meaning of what I had, quite literally, scribbled out. So here are my thoughts pretty soon after we started working with pre-schoolers five days a week.
The clouds opened up sometime between 5:30 or 6:30 AM dumping presents on the farmer's endless efforts and denying first light. Ordinarily, I desperately need that predawn glow from Nature to rouse me to the water hole, but today the pounding of the rain on the aluminum roof was enough. We eat a light breakfast and I venture out into the morning rain. As I wander up toward the dirt road the bright brown rivers expose and exploit the seams in the road we neglected to fill with bricks last month. Looking up at that banana plants, I note that, even through my mud and rain speckled glasses, they are as vivid as ever against the gray, ominous-looking sky. Thunder from a neighboring village - maybe Kinoni to the east, Mbirizi to the west, Nakateete to the south, or Bunyere to the north - pours in from every direction. The thunder is preceded by a shock that paints my glasses bright blue, red, and pink. Physics tells me that the lightning comes first, but the popcorn of the thunder makes me unsure. Thunder from the distance sounds like my sheets flapping on the clothesline on a windy day - Ugandans tell me it is the sound of God making his bed.
I slide down to the bore hole. It is dark blue and dotted with rain drops. My eyes ease out of focus and shapes and stories begin to unfold in the water. The dark blue in the bore hole will fade with time to its usual dark brown followed by streaks of algal green sure to blossom by tomorrow morning.
My eyes relax a little more and I see myself, from a distance, standing above the village's water. I am alone for the first time in months. Seeing myself in front of the cool, dark blue waters encapsulated by the reflection of light green Eucalyptus and further by the endless light brown and red iron rich mud I am reminded of the blue and brown lakes of Australia that were so holy and important to Aboriginal culture. I imagine there must be similar pristine, culturally significant features tucked away in the hillside past Nakateete Village. The rain is cold and I enjoy having cold, red hands. It reminds me of wet fall days with soccer gear in hand as I slide into homeroom just before first bell. I like autumn, I remind myself. I like the cold.
I turn away from these thoughts and realize the rain has drowned out all distractions. I spin around - no one is on the road, no one is near the clinic, no one dipping their jerry-can into the bore hole. I am comfortably alone. I think about how easily I can recall the the deep, past corners of my life here and how much light Uganda is shedding on my graduate school considerations - there is a certain clarity of thought that comes with the deliberate, village pace.
I walk down the main road - we are out of bread. I go past the church before I find an open shop. Masaka-Mbarara Road and a rainstorm: a very small sliver of space and time to be alone with my thoughts.
Coming home, the pouring rain lets up and people begin to emerge. Huts that look bundled up (I rarely see closed doors and shutters) begin to wake up from their slumber. I hear children's voices pointed toward Engeye. I pick up the hoe and ask if they want to dig with me, "Muyagala kulima?" They rejoice and I take solace knowing that another rainy sanctuary awaits. A moment of silence in a loud, pouring rain.
The clouds opened up sometime between 5:30 or 6:30 AM dumping presents on the farmer's endless efforts and denying first light. Ordinarily, I desperately need that predawn glow from Nature to rouse me to the water hole, but today the pounding of the rain on the aluminum roof was enough. We eat a light breakfast and I venture out into the morning rain. As I wander up toward the dirt road the bright brown rivers expose and exploit the seams in the road we neglected to fill with bricks last month. Looking up at that banana plants, I note that, even through my mud and rain speckled glasses, they are as vivid as ever against the gray, ominous-looking sky. Thunder from a neighboring village - maybe Kinoni to the east, Mbirizi to the west, Nakateete to the south, or Bunyere to the north - pours in from every direction. The thunder is preceded by a shock that paints my glasses bright blue, red, and pink. Physics tells me that the lightning comes first, but the popcorn of the thunder makes me unsure. Thunder from the distance sounds like my sheets flapping on the clothesline on a windy day - Ugandans tell me it is the sound of God making his bed.
I slide down to the bore hole. It is dark blue and dotted with rain drops. My eyes ease out of focus and shapes and stories begin to unfold in the water. The dark blue in the bore hole will fade with time to its usual dark brown followed by streaks of algal green sure to blossom by tomorrow morning.
My eyes relax a little more and I see myself, from a distance, standing above the village's water. I am alone for the first time in months. Seeing myself in front of the cool, dark blue waters encapsulated by the reflection of light green Eucalyptus and further by the endless light brown and red iron rich mud I am reminded of the blue and brown lakes of Australia that were so holy and important to Aboriginal culture. I imagine there must be similar pristine, culturally significant features tucked away in the hillside past Nakateete Village. The rain is cold and I enjoy having cold, red hands. It reminds me of wet fall days with soccer gear in hand as I slide into homeroom just before first bell. I like autumn, I remind myself. I like the cold.
I turn away from these thoughts and realize the rain has drowned out all distractions. I spin around - no one is on the road, no one is near the clinic, no one dipping their jerry-can into the bore hole. I am comfortably alone. I think about how easily I can recall the the deep, past corners of my life here and how much light Uganda is shedding on my graduate school considerations - there is a certain clarity of thought that comes with the deliberate, village pace.
I walk down the main road - we are out of bread. I go past the church before I find an open shop. Masaka-Mbarara Road and a rainstorm: a very small sliver of space and time to be alone with my thoughts.
Coming home, the pouring rain lets up and people begin to emerge. Huts that look bundled up (I rarely see closed doors and shutters) begin to wake up from their slumber. I hear children's voices pointed toward Engeye. I pick up the hoe and ask if they want to dig with me, "Muyagala kulima?" They rejoice and I take solace knowing that another rainy sanctuary awaits. A moment of silence in a loud, pouring rain.
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