So my plane should be landing right now. But now I am going into hiding with family for the next week...
Monday, April 27, 2009
Admissions
I compiled a list of things that I never blogged about because I was worried that my e-mail inbox would be clogged with worried e-mails from my mom.
I got malaria. It is not nearly as bad as people think. During that time I spent a lot of time looking at Where There is No Doctor and Dengue, Malaria, Yellow Fever, Schistosomiasis, and a host of other diseases are highly treatable. No sweat. Unpleasant, yes? Worth considering when deciding about going to some third world country that you may or may not be able to point to on a map? No. Ebola, on the other hand, is deadly. So is rabies (once you show symptoms).
Speaking of rabies. A bat flew into me one night! Didn't bite though...
A rat crawled into my bed. The first time it happened it could have been a mouse. The second time it could have been a house cat. The first time John bought rat poison. The second time was a battle, a test of my own capacity to outsmart a rodent. After three hours (1:30 AM - 4:30 AM) I tricked it into going outside. Becky helped. At the end of the struggle.
The resident gecko in the latrine fell on me twice in the last month. Strange?
Final chigger count was ~7. Beat that Tom.
I was pick-pocketed in Kampala.
Diarrhea goes with the territory.
So my plane should be landing right now. But now I am going into hiding with family for the next week...
So my plane should be landing right now. But now I am going into hiding with family for the next week...
Sunday, April 26, 2009
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth
and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
-T.S. Eliot - "The Journey of Magi" excerpted from Santiago's Children
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth
and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
-T.S. Eliot - "The Journey of Magi" excerpted from Santiago's Children
Monday, April 13, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Light Blog: Sorting Beans
"I hate when I eat a rock."
Normally, that would be a stupid comment, but it happens. I spent an hour this morning "sorting beans" which means going through a kilo or so of beans for the next couple of meals. We examine each bean individually, checking for discoloration, warping, or weevil holes. This morning I looked at 2,880 (+/- 2 percent) beans, which means that my sort speed is about 48 beans per minute. That isn't bad, Susan is probably double that speed. Sort speed is important and requires incredible dexterity, but more important is sort accuracy. I have an untarnished record of zero rocks per sort. It turns out that about 3 percent of the beans are DENIED, which is a little alarming because 3 percent is enough make a batch of beans taste really bad, but if you are too lax in the sort it also means that there are few enough that some could make it through. One bean with a weevil hole means a day of vomiting. Actually, we don't know why it matters - we just know that Susan takes those beans out. We really don't care, but then again, we've also gotten used to little animals crawling into our toes, growing into a large itchy growths, laying egg sacks, and then dying.
I don't know which is more disgusting: me for having small animals crawl into my feet or the chigger for being willing to crawl into my absolutely grotesque feet. Becky and I have definitely changed our standards. I think I took a shower, outside of camping, every day of my adult life. No exceptions. Every day. I have to push myself to pour that cold water down my back. Clean has taken on a new meaning - Becky would not allow her parents to be anywhere near her when she did the dishes - and that is probably for the best. Laundry gets one cycle with the soap and one cycle with the "clean" rinse water. That is all. I'm a busy man.
I've had several "sorting" type jobs that require speed and accuracy and I think that I was in some way destined for mindless, repetitive manual labor. I'm just so goddamned good at it. One of my jobs was sorting packages for UPS. The supervisors job was to watch you move heavy things for hours on end from 3AM to 9AM and occasionally calculate how fast you move heavy object A to crate X. I also helped deliver packages, where "stops per hour" was the key criterion. I also had a three year stint in the coffee business as a low level employee at Tim Horton's. I eventually made it up to the respectable position of weekend donut baker (and then later as weekend muffin baker - very different in prestige and skill level). In that job the criteria was more advanced - not only muffins per hour, but also muffins wasted per hour - they throw out the muffins that are too old or give them to employees so the baker needed to make enough, but not too much.
I feel like my next job is going to have more goals than the simple benchmark of variable per hour. Until that time, I enjoy sorting beans.
Normally, that would be a stupid comment, but it happens. I spent an hour this morning "sorting beans" which means going through a kilo or so of beans for the next couple of meals. We examine each bean individually, checking for discoloration, warping, or weevil holes. This morning I looked at 2,880 (+/- 2 percent) beans, which means that my sort speed is about 48 beans per minute. That isn't bad, Susan is probably double that speed. Sort speed is important and requires incredible dexterity, but more important is sort accuracy. I have an untarnished record of zero rocks per sort. It turns out that about 3 percent of the beans are DENIED, which is a little alarming because 3 percent is enough make a batch of beans taste really bad, but if you are too lax in the sort it also means that there are few enough that some could make it through. One bean with a weevil hole means a day of vomiting. Actually, we don't know why it matters - we just know that Susan takes those beans out. We really don't care, but then again, we've also gotten used to little animals crawling into our toes, growing into a large itchy growths, laying egg sacks, and then dying.
I don't know which is more disgusting: me for having small animals crawl into my feet or the chigger for being willing to crawl into my absolutely grotesque feet. Becky and I have definitely changed our standards. I think I took a shower, outside of camping, every day of my adult life. No exceptions. Every day. I have to push myself to pour that cold water down my back. Clean has taken on a new meaning - Becky would not allow her parents to be anywhere near her when she did the dishes - and that is probably for the best. Laundry gets one cycle with the soap and one cycle with the "clean" rinse water. That is all. I'm a busy man.
I've had several "sorting" type jobs that require speed and accuracy and I think that I was in some way destined for mindless, repetitive manual labor. I'm just so goddamned good at it. One of my jobs was sorting packages for UPS. The supervisors job was to watch you move heavy things for hours on end from 3AM to 9AM and occasionally calculate how fast you move heavy object A to crate X. I also helped deliver packages, where "stops per hour" was the key criterion. I also had a three year stint in the coffee business as a low level employee at Tim Horton's. I eventually made it up to the respectable position of weekend donut baker (and then later as weekend muffin baker - very different in prestige and skill level). In that job the criteria was more advanced - not only muffins per hour, but also muffins wasted per hour - they throw out the muffins that are too old or give them to employees so the baker needed to make enough, but not too much.
I feel like my next job is going to have more goals than the simple benchmark of variable per hour. Until that time, I enjoy sorting beans.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
On the Nature of...This Work
I have written eleven blogs having some variation of the word "March" and "blog" in the filename. "March.rtf", "March_Final.rtf", "midmarchblog.rtf", "MARCHBLOG.rtf", etc. trying to get the words right about some aspect of Uganda, Ddegeya, or my time here. A lot of different topics, none at the right meter. Part of this might be that I'm going to crash into the United States in 25 days and I'm beginning to hold some of this for myself (typical, Steve) and part might be that the things that I am writing about - the daily grind and its implications - is becoming so normal that I no longer find it noteworthy. It's boring.
The kind of work Robbie and Jon are doing in Cambodia, Lara in South Africa, Alex in India, Dave in Malawi, and Becky and I are doing in Uganda is sort of different from what most Union graduates will have the opportunity to experience. The work involves immersion in a different culture, language, place, pace and requires a little bit of creativity in how to get things done without the resources we have come to take for granted. I am starting this blog to comment on that. Now that it is finished, I don't think it's hit the mark exactly, but close enough. But first, a timeline:
April 7: Becky and I head to Kampala to say goodbye to Hagar
April 8: Hagar jets, literally, after about 7 months of service to Engeye, Uganda Cares, and some other organizations (did you know one intercontinental flight for one passenger is the equivalent of driving an SUV for a year? Vroom.)
April 10: Becky leaves Entebbe
April 11: Becky arrives in Boston
April 15: Dave flies into Uganda. Only instructions given to Dave: "Find Steve at the airport." "But dude, what if I don't see you there..?"
April 16: 12-hour bus to Kisoro (don't let Dave know, I promised him there would be no long bus trips)
April 17: Hiking in Mgahinga National Park
April 18: Another hike in Mgahinga National Park
April 19: Moving onto Lake Bunyoni
April 20: Lounging at Lake Bunyoni
April 21: Into Ddegeya
April 22: Hiking to neighboring villages and around Ddegeya to say goodbye to kids, students, etc.
April 23: Travel to Jinja
April 24: Raft the Nile. Class V Rapids.
April 25: A final, goodbye to Kampala, the city of smog.
April 26: Entebbe. Maybe the Botanical Gardens. We both leave at around 7PM.
April 27: Arrive in the U.S.
April 28 - May 3: Disappear for a few days.
May 4: Reappear at Union.
On the Surface
Coming into Uganda, I probably commented on a lot of the immediate differences that I saw. People are very formal - women bow when meeting you in the village, people dress very "smartly," and meetings with other villagers are not 15 minute exchanges, but hours-long marathons. We haven't been in a buddy's car, seated one to a seat for our entire time in Uganda. No personal transportation. No good public transportation, by any US standards. Criticize the "T" all you want, it is in a whole different league. Food is bought in kilos, is grown next door, and is cheap as hell. We fetched our drinking (boiled), bathing, cooking, washing etc. water. No running water meant less bathing and less bathing meant...more chiggers. Cooking was done on a coal stove and the electricity was fleeting - internet was fleeting. Calling cards did not work for awhile and then worked off and on. Our most complete form of communication was via letter and we sent a lot of letters those first couple months. Of course, even that had problems; one of my friends recently received a letter sent in November. We live in a building that is much nicer than most of the other villager's homes we had been in. Our "pod" has a cement floor, windows, beds with mosquito nets, lights, shelves, etc. But we still go out to squat if called to do so in the middle of the night. We thought we were living fairly simply, although far and away we had a better living situation than most of our students, which is sort of weird. We live like Kings, but the kids who always remind us "I want to go America" have no idea how much better Kings live in America.
So there was a lot of reflection on these differences in the daily grind, initially. A lot of reflection on not really being immersed in the new culture and conditions, but at the same time we were only tenuously connected to the culture we were brought up in. We celebrated our first and second months with a Coke, which is ridiculous by American standards, but also ridiculously exorbitant by village standards.
Some things have changed - most times we can get rain water from the "tanka," the rainwater tank, and since the electricity has been repaired, there is enough power to read and respond to more e-mails. We can also be pretty active about seeking out information. People learned to call us on Skype and have been amazing about doing it. Talking to family every couple weeks (I think I called my family when I arrived and then it was over a month before we spoke again) is nice. Bilal calls on Skype and connects other people to the conversation so that I can harass Jackie, Jacquie, Mike, or Dave while Bilal dispenses his infinite wisdom. These changes have made our time much different. When internet was a bi-weekly trip to Masaka, phone cards didn't work, and our only outlet for English dialogue was through books, letters, or one another - we really felt the Ugandan pace. We were forced to meander along in Ddegeyan style, trying to do what we thought was best with no real authority or instruction. That was tough. Having power has meant that I stay up a lot later (with a light bulb) working on extra physics stuff (I compiled examination questions from the last ten years of exams for them - this has been my substitute syllabus) or some intense spreadsheets that are supposed to do a lot of data analysis for Engeye (we will see if they work). I enjoy the added work and enjoy the added addiction to coffee, but this style is not the Ugandan style. It is not the pace we initially experienced and I feel lucky that Becky and I are probably the only fellows that will have anything close to our initial experience in August as difficult as it seemed at the time. I'm glad that I experienced an array of comforts and degrees of culture. If I were to come again, I think I'd probably want to burn the midnight oil a little more and push myself a little more. Your own culture stays with you.
I've said before that I don't miss the conveniences and I'm pretty sure that is true. When I went to Jinja and used a flush toilet and a real shower with hot water it was really nice, but I had pretty much forgotten about that luxury until that moment. I had felt no real need for a shower. I felt no real need for a personal vehicle - it wasn't there, it wasn't an option, so I didn't think about it. I enjoyed fetching water and for the same reasons that I didn't miss a personal car, I didn't miss a faucet. What I do miss is the cultural and personal connections to all these things. You go to a movie with friends, a car takes you to important places or it takes you nowhere specific, you use a faucet and stove to make "American" food. I ended up missing things associated with conveniences, not the actual conveniences themselves. This is not a result of some personal strengths on Becky or my part, or some desire to live ascetically, it is the reality of our place. But, like my shower in Jinja, I will enjoy returning to the finer things (which, given what I call a "shift in standards," is now pizza).
I enjoy missing these conveniences, too. Fetching water, picking rocks out of rice and beans, dumping freezing water down my back, walking 90 minutes to teach four back to back lessons and then walking home, waiting an hour for a taxi to take me on a half hour taxi trip have all been good experiences that I wouldn't trade away. When I glide down the valley near Doungwa, weaving around potholes and past banana plants, past the incessant waves and cries from children trying to grab my bicycle, "Bye mzungu! Bye Stivu!" I find that I really enjoy the ride. I laugh at the ridiculousness of an hour commute instead of what would be a twenty minute bike ride on paved roads or ten minutes in a personal car. Uganda has given me a whole lot of time to think. Let's face it, it takes a lot of time to sort through beans, but it leaves room to think about other things (I will post what I considered a lame blog about beans in the next couple days).
Time
A lot of these thoughts, I have realized or at least theorized, can be chalked up to cultural differences in the perception of time. A Ugandan will sit with a group of friends or acquaintances for hours. There is never the least indication that anyone needs to leave that circle to attend to something more pressing. Every second of that interaction is thoroughly enjoyed. It seems that Ugandans spend most of their time enjoying everything - cooking, eating, "digging" in their gardens.
When I write letters I usually try to include some kind of comment on Uganda and my perception thereof. I mean, I'm going to send a letter halfway around the world and talk about the weather? Sometimes. I summarized some thoughts on time in a letter that I never bothered to send. Instead I folded it up and wrote "TIME CAPSULE OF THOUGHTS MARCH 11, 2009." Better than any journal or blog:
In the people, though, I see one clear difference that is in the people. The fundamental difference is in time. I would have thought it something different. I used to wonder if there was only so much happiness in the world - conservation of energy, conservation of charge, conservation of momentum, conservation of happiness. Have you seen a Wimbledon final? One so happy, one so deflated. Do you remember the 2002 World Cup when Landon Donovan laid shirtless and defeated as the Germans celebrated in the background? A politician sells a small piece of his soul to gain friends, fame, and fortune, but destroys a small piece of each of his constituents. Buying a cup of coffee to stave off a hangover in an 8AM class leaches a little life out of some faceless Ugandan and the village soil not marked on any map.
I don't consider that anymore. I've sat in the company of strangers speaking a different language for hours, felt the clock ticking away, and they just feed off one another's warmth. There is always time for your neighbor and it doesn't have to be scheduled in advance. A different pace is not the right way to put it. Things aren't slow because people are less efficient, less pressed, or ambivalent about getting things done - these are things that may be true - time is different because everything is savored. You know those moments when stress is about to break you (if it could), things are turbulent and you are somehow, by accident, reminded of when you are a kid and how you used to visit an elderly neighbor for hours and talk for mutual benefit, captivated by her stories, her tickled at your seven-year old curiosity, or the way you used to be able to study the fallen orange-red leaf in autumn, tracing its veins and sliding the water droplets into one another with your tiny fingers, or a friend or an experience or a place so perfect? These moments are tiny sanctuaries. But then you are snapped back to our world. These are the moments of the most genuine smiles. "What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing."
But here these moments are stretched. The good parts of life are not packaged up into discrete moments. Joy is extracted out of each moment. Some people call this innocence, it may be the same, to find inexplicable joy out of meeting a mzungu, bringing him or her a piece of your garden, or drinking tea with a neighbor. It's as if what we consider nostalgic moments are a constant lasting feeling for them. While I am apprehensive about finding more moments to reflect on, they are opposite, smiling, with lasting contentment.
Letters capture the sentiment of a moment and you can read it and take the derivative of it and the second derivative and get a lot of information, but it is still only a thought at an instant. I think most of that is still probably true.
The Ridiculous
I think a sort of result of being here for so long has given me a good sense of the ridiculous and an ability and insensitivity to laugh at the humor of it. When Becky and I went to the Sese Islands I was able to see tropical rainforests on an island, on the equator, on Lake Victoria. Unfortunately what I saw more of was palm plantations to make cooking oil. They cut down swaths of rainforest to make cooking oil. Guess who is a major stakeholder in the project? Museveni. Reading the headline "M7 buys 44 million dollar jet" next to the headline "Museveni cancels AIDS Conference due to lack of funds" and "9 million starving in Uganda." It is too ridiculous, unreal, and unbelievable and just leads to incredulous laughter. I conjure images of the starving kids pointing to the jet in the sky, or seeing the last hectare of forest, biodiversity cleared as Museveni counts his money. Or when Becky, a volunteer, is asked for a bribe to take care of her "work permit" to stay in the country she is trying to help.
I laugh about these things. But my motivation to help is not diminished - it is enhanced - and maybe underneath the laugh I have a sort of sympathy for the people so set on self-destruction, intentionally or not, personally or not. I don't feel guilty, because I know other people have the same thoughts about Americans for the exact same reasons. I can laugh and do laugh at the ridiculousness of self, too, and probably most often.
The Worrisome
There are a number of things that volunteers are warned against when traveling to the third world- malaria, GI problems, other maladies, personal safety, civil unrest (that is a funny term), rebels, discomfort, daily safety, etc. Moms love to harp on these things as you consider this type of adventure.
After experiencing a number of these issues, I realize that they shouldn't really be feared or even considered separate from going to the third world (if that is something you want to do). You can shield yourself with prophylaxis and exercise due caution all you want, but you will run into these problems. And you should expect to and count it as part of living in these places. Be happy that you got malaria - it makes a bad ass story and it is the reality of place. If you're not willing to deal with it or fear it, then maybe this isn't your cup of tea. And that has been how Becky and I and all the fellows have dealt with these issues (see Robbie's blog).
Reading Where There is No Doctor there aren't a lot of things that are actually dangerous. Ebola will kill you in unpleasant fashion, rabies, if you don't deal with it would also lead to a very unpleasant death, and HIV would be horrible, though all of these are unlikely problems for the careful volunteer. Most of the other stuff goes away on its own or can be dealt with pretty easily at the simplest health centers(dengue, malaria, etc).
So the images of disease, guns, discomfort, and simplicity that worry some are really not to be feared, but packaged up into your genuine experience. And that is how I, and probably all of us, have interpreted the worrisome.
Vivid
Another thing I have noticed is a sense of vividness. There are moments where I am really struck at how vivid the scenery looks. After it rains, the bright green leaves against the dark sky are pretty remarkable. The sky at the end of the month is spectacular. Shooting stars, milky ways, and utter darkness. Things look clearer.
I also remember remembering a lot. Probably mostly because I was so far from home, but I could remember very clearly and reflect on people, places, and times from home as if these things had happened yesterday. Memories are very vivid.
Part of this is because I'm in a pretty spectacular, new, different place and part just might be that I am pretty focused on my few responsibilities. There is no sleep deprivation induced fog.
Leaving
When people ask me about leaving and people have been asking about leaving since almost the first day I got here I told them that I knew my departure date and that I was preparing for it and would be ready to leave when the time came. I wasn't going to wish time away and I wasn't going to delay coming home (too much) because there are still things I need to do in the United States and there are people that I miss and would look forward to coming back to. That stands. It will be tough to leave in some regards, but it will also be rewarding. The same was true of coming here. See my blog on departure day (April 26) for a good summary of this.
Kids will be missed and they will miss me. Jobs will be completed and other tasks will need more work. I will have nostalgia for people, places, and times that I experienced here. But this place has left its mark and it will shape me. I won't forget it and Uganda isn't going anywhere. It will change with me and that is fine by me.
The kind of work Robbie and Jon are doing in Cambodia, Lara in South Africa, Alex in India, Dave in Malawi, and Becky and I are doing in Uganda is sort of different from what most Union graduates will have the opportunity to experience. The work involves immersion in a different culture, language, place, pace and requires a little bit of creativity in how to get things done without the resources we have come to take for granted. I am starting this blog to comment on that. Now that it is finished, I don't think it's hit the mark exactly, but close enough. But first, a timeline:
April 7: Becky and I head to Kampala to say goodbye to Hagar
April 8: Hagar jets, literally, after about 7 months of service to Engeye, Uganda Cares, and some other organizations (did you know one intercontinental flight for one passenger is the equivalent of driving an SUV for a year? Vroom.)
April 10: Becky leaves Entebbe
April 11: Becky arrives in Boston
April 15: Dave flies into Uganda. Only instructions given to Dave: "Find Steve at the airport." "But dude, what if I don't see you there..?"
April 16: 12-hour bus to Kisoro (don't let Dave know, I promised him there would be no long bus trips)
April 17: Hiking in Mgahinga National Park
April 18: Another hike in Mgahinga National Park
April 19: Moving onto Lake Bunyoni
April 20: Lounging at Lake Bunyoni
April 21: Into Ddegeya
April 22: Hiking to neighboring villages and around Ddegeya to say goodbye to kids, students, etc.
April 23: Travel to Jinja
April 24: Raft the Nile. Class V Rapids.
April 25: A final, goodbye to Kampala, the city of smog.
April 26: Entebbe. Maybe the Botanical Gardens. We both leave at around 7PM.
April 27: Arrive in the U.S.
April 28 - May 3: Disappear for a few days.
May 4: Reappear at Union.
On the Surface
Coming into Uganda, I probably commented on a lot of the immediate differences that I saw. People are very formal - women bow when meeting you in the village, people dress very "smartly," and meetings with other villagers are not 15 minute exchanges, but hours-long marathons. We haven't been in a buddy's car, seated one to a seat for our entire time in Uganda. No personal transportation. No good public transportation, by any US standards. Criticize the "T" all you want, it is in a whole different league. Food is bought in kilos, is grown next door, and is cheap as hell. We fetched our drinking (boiled), bathing, cooking, washing etc. water. No running water meant less bathing and less bathing meant...more chiggers. Cooking was done on a coal stove and the electricity was fleeting - internet was fleeting. Calling cards did not work for awhile and then worked off and on. Our most complete form of communication was via letter and we sent a lot of letters those first couple months. Of course, even that had problems; one of my friends recently received a letter sent in November. We live in a building that is much nicer than most of the other villager's homes we had been in. Our "pod" has a cement floor, windows, beds with mosquito nets, lights, shelves, etc. But we still go out to squat if called to do so in the middle of the night. We thought we were living fairly simply, although far and away we had a better living situation than most of our students, which is sort of weird. We live like Kings, but the kids who always remind us "I want to go America" have no idea how much better Kings live in America.
So there was a lot of reflection on these differences in the daily grind, initially. A lot of reflection on not really being immersed in the new culture and conditions, but at the same time we were only tenuously connected to the culture we were brought up in. We celebrated our first and second months with a Coke, which is ridiculous by American standards, but also ridiculously exorbitant by village standards.
Some things have changed - most times we can get rain water from the "tanka," the rainwater tank, and since the electricity has been repaired, there is enough power to read and respond to more e-mails. We can also be pretty active about seeking out information. People learned to call us on Skype and have been amazing about doing it. Talking to family every couple weeks (I think I called my family when I arrived and then it was over a month before we spoke again) is nice. Bilal calls on Skype and connects other people to the conversation so that I can harass Jackie, Jacquie, Mike, or Dave while Bilal dispenses his infinite wisdom. These changes have made our time much different. When internet was a bi-weekly trip to Masaka, phone cards didn't work, and our only outlet for English dialogue was through books, letters, or one another - we really felt the Ugandan pace. We were forced to meander along in Ddegeyan style, trying to do what we thought was best with no real authority or instruction. That was tough. Having power has meant that I stay up a lot later (with a light bulb) working on extra physics stuff (I compiled examination questions from the last ten years of exams for them - this has been my substitute syllabus) or some intense spreadsheets that are supposed to do a lot of data analysis for Engeye (we will see if they work). I enjoy the added work and enjoy the added addiction to coffee, but this style is not the Ugandan style. It is not the pace we initially experienced and I feel lucky that Becky and I are probably the only fellows that will have anything close to our initial experience in August as difficult as it seemed at the time. I'm glad that I experienced an array of comforts and degrees of culture. If I were to come again, I think I'd probably want to burn the midnight oil a little more and push myself a little more. Your own culture stays with you.
I've said before that I don't miss the conveniences and I'm pretty sure that is true. When I went to Jinja and used a flush toilet and a real shower with hot water it was really nice, but I had pretty much forgotten about that luxury until that moment. I had felt no real need for a shower. I felt no real need for a personal vehicle - it wasn't there, it wasn't an option, so I didn't think about it. I enjoyed fetching water and for the same reasons that I didn't miss a personal car, I didn't miss a faucet. What I do miss is the cultural and personal connections to all these things. You go to a movie with friends, a car takes you to important places or it takes you nowhere specific, you use a faucet and stove to make "American" food. I ended up missing things associated with conveniences, not the actual conveniences themselves. This is not a result of some personal strengths on Becky or my part, or some desire to live ascetically, it is the reality of our place. But, like my shower in Jinja, I will enjoy returning to the finer things (which, given what I call a "shift in standards," is now pizza).
I enjoy missing these conveniences, too. Fetching water, picking rocks out of rice and beans, dumping freezing water down my back, walking 90 minutes to teach four back to back lessons and then walking home, waiting an hour for a taxi to take me on a half hour taxi trip have all been good experiences that I wouldn't trade away. When I glide down the valley near Doungwa, weaving around potholes and past banana plants, past the incessant waves and cries from children trying to grab my bicycle, "Bye mzungu! Bye Stivu!" I find that I really enjoy the ride. I laugh at the ridiculousness of an hour commute instead of what would be a twenty minute bike ride on paved roads or ten minutes in a personal car. Uganda has given me a whole lot of time to think. Let's face it, it takes a lot of time to sort through beans, but it leaves room to think about other things (I will post what I considered a lame blog about beans in the next couple days).
Time
A lot of these thoughts, I have realized or at least theorized, can be chalked up to cultural differences in the perception of time. A Ugandan will sit with a group of friends or acquaintances for hours. There is never the least indication that anyone needs to leave that circle to attend to something more pressing. Every second of that interaction is thoroughly enjoyed. It seems that Ugandans spend most of their time enjoying everything - cooking, eating, "digging" in their gardens.
When I write letters I usually try to include some kind of comment on Uganda and my perception thereof. I mean, I'm going to send a letter halfway around the world and talk about the weather? Sometimes. I summarized some thoughts on time in a letter that I never bothered to send. Instead I folded it up and wrote "TIME CAPSULE OF THOUGHTS MARCH 11, 2009." Better than any journal or blog:
In the people, though, I see one clear difference that is in the people. The fundamental difference is in time. I would have thought it something different. I used to wonder if there was only so much happiness in the world - conservation of energy, conservation of charge, conservation of momentum, conservation of happiness. Have you seen a Wimbledon final? One so happy, one so deflated. Do you remember the 2002 World Cup when Landon Donovan laid shirtless and defeated as the Germans celebrated in the background? A politician sells a small piece of his soul to gain friends, fame, and fortune, but destroys a small piece of each of his constituents. Buying a cup of coffee to stave off a hangover in an 8AM class leaches a little life out of some faceless Ugandan and the village soil not marked on any map.
I don't consider that anymore. I've sat in the company of strangers speaking a different language for hours, felt the clock ticking away, and they just feed off one another's warmth. There is always time for your neighbor and it doesn't have to be scheduled in advance. A different pace is not the right way to put it. Things aren't slow because people are less efficient, less pressed, or ambivalent about getting things done - these are things that may be true - time is different because everything is savored. You know those moments when stress is about to break you (if it could), things are turbulent and you are somehow, by accident, reminded of when you are a kid and how you used to visit an elderly neighbor for hours and talk for mutual benefit, captivated by her stories, her tickled at your seven-year old curiosity, or the way you used to be able to study the fallen orange-red leaf in autumn, tracing its veins and sliding the water droplets into one another with your tiny fingers, or a friend or an experience or a place so perfect? These moments are tiny sanctuaries. But then you are snapped back to our world. These are the moments of the most genuine smiles. "What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing."
But here these moments are stretched. The good parts of life are not packaged up into discrete moments. Joy is extracted out of each moment. Some people call this innocence, it may be the same, to find inexplicable joy out of meeting a mzungu, bringing him or her a piece of your garden, or drinking tea with a neighbor. It's as if what we consider nostalgic moments are a constant lasting feeling for them. While I am apprehensive about finding more moments to reflect on, they are opposite, smiling, with lasting contentment.
Letters capture the sentiment of a moment and you can read it and take the derivative of it and the second derivative and get a lot of information, but it is still only a thought at an instant. I think most of that is still probably true.
The Ridiculous
I think a sort of result of being here for so long has given me a good sense of the ridiculous and an ability and insensitivity to laugh at the humor of it. When Becky and I went to the Sese Islands I was able to see tropical rainforests on an island, on the equator, on Lake Victoria. Unfortunately what I saw more of was palm plantations to make cooking oil. They cut down swaths of rainforest to make cooking oil. Guess who is a major stakeholder in the project? Museveni. Reading the headline "M7 buys 44 million dollar jet" next to the headline "Museveni cancels AIDS Conference due to lack of funds" and "9 million starving in Uganda." It is too ridiculous, unreal, and unbelievable and just leads to incredulous laughter. I conjure images of the starving kids pointing to the jet in the sky, or seeing the last hectare of forest, biodiversity cleared as Museveni counts his money. Or when Becky, a volunteer, is asked for a bribe to take care of her "work permit" to stay in the country she is trying to help.
I laugh about these things. But my motivation to help is not diminished - it is enhanced - and maybe underneath the laugh I have a sort of sympathy for the people so set on self-destruction, intentionally or not, personally or not. I don't feel guilty, because I know other people have the same thoughts about Americans for the exact same reasons. I can laugh and do laugh at the ridiculousness of self, too, and probably most often.
The Worrisome
There are a number of things that volunteers are warned against when traveling to the third world- malaria, GI problems, other maladies, personal safety, civil unrest (that is a funny term), rebels, discomfort, daily safety, etc. Moms love to harp on these things as you consider this type of adventure.
After experiencing a number of these issues, I realize that they shouldn't really be feared or even considered separate from going to the third world (if that is something you want to do). You can shield yourself with prophylaxis and exercise due caution all you want, but you will run into these problems. And you should expect to and count it as part of living in these places. Be happy that you got malaria - it makes a bad ass story and it is the reality of place. If you're not willing to deal with it or fear it, then maybe this isn't your cup of tea. And that has been how Becky and I and all the fellows have dealt with these issues (see Robbie's blog).
Reading Where There is No Doctor there aren't a lot of things that are actually dangerous. Ebola will kill you in unpleasant fashion, rabies, if you don't deal with it would also lead to a very unpleasant death, and HIV would be horrible, though all of these are unlikely problems for the careful volunteer. Most of the other stuff goes away on its own or can be dealt with pretty easily at the simplest health centers(dengue, malaria, etc).
So the images of disease, guns, discomfort, and simplicity that worry some are really not to be feared, but packaged up into your genuine experience. And that is how I, and probably all of us, have interpreted the worrisome.
Vivid
Another thing I have noticed is a sense of vividness. There are moments where I am really struck at how vivid the scenery looks. After it rains, the bright green leaves against the dark sky are pretty remarkable. The sky at the end of the month is spectacular. Shooting stars, milky ways, and utter darkness. Things look clearer.
I also remember remembering a lot. Probably mostly because I was so far from home, but I could remember very clearly and reflect on people, places, and times from home as if these things had happened yesterday. Memories are very vivid.
Part of this is because I'm in a pretty spectacular, new, different place and part just might be that I am pretty focused on my few responsibilities. There is no sleep deprivation induced fog.
Leaving
When people ask me about leaving and people have been asking about leaving since almost the first day I got here I told them that I knew my departure date and that I was preparing for it and would be ready to leave when the time came. I wasn't going to wish time away and I wasn't going to delay coming home (too much) because there are still things I need to do in the United States and there are people that I miss and would look forward to coming back to. That stands. It will be tough to leave in some regards, but it will also be rewarding. The same was true of coming here. See my blog on departure day (April 26) for a good summary of this.
Kids will be missed and they will miss me. Jobs will be completed and other tasks will need more work. I will have nostalgia for people, places, and times that I experienced here. But this place has left its mark and it will shape me. I won't forget it and Uganda isn't going anywhere. It will change with me and that is fine by me.
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