Quick Update

We've been in Uganda for 3.5 weeks (week five starts this Wednesday) now and all is well. Hudson fixed the internet so we can upload blogs, too.

In General

Teaching ended on August 15 and will resume on September 15, so Becky and I have spent the last few of weeks doing a lot of manual labor. Most days we dig out pathways around the clinic (as deep as 3-4 feet) and we started digging out the floors in the laboratory so that cement can be poured when John returns. We also worked on stocking and monitoring supplies as they flow through the clinic and Lawrence is going to keep track of incidences of malaria, trauma, pregnancy, etc. Learning Luganda has been going slow, but I think Becky and I are breaking down patterns in how to use verbs (if we ask if they conjugate verbs, they tell us no, but it seems that there is some verb conjugation). We also are starting to teach in a local nursing school - I will teach HIV/AIDS counseling and Becky will teach English. Not something either of us are immediately excited about, because we don't know where the students are in their studies; for all I know, they have already learned the microbiology, symptoms, treatments, etc. for HIV and AIDS.

Becky's Visa

Becky has had to go to Masaka several times to deal with her visa, which the official in Masaka will not stamp unless she gives him "fifty US dollars in small Ugandan bills." I'm sure that the small Ugandan bills will be going to the right place... It seems that we are going to have to pay the fee, though, until John can help us sort things out when he gets back. He also wanted to charge Becky for a working permit (even though she is not making any income). Ridiculous.

I asked Becky what would happen if she just didn't pay. After all, this was a developing nation with UN trucks littering the roadways and countless missionary groups working on AIDS, health, counseling, education, etc.; could they really afford to chase down one mzungu who was volunteering at a health clinic? Becky replied that her father (maybe with the same reasoning) had received a visit from the military when he failed to pay for his visa extension while in the peace corps.

On Teaching

We will both be returning in September to teach English. My syllabus calls for units on hunting, carpentry, and using the dictionary. I'm never sure how well I've done after I leave the classroom or even if they understand me. They always thank me and tell me how grateful they are that I am here, but I have a hard time gauging how well the material is sinking in. I can't give out tests or homework, because they don't have paper and only a handful of students volunteer on a regular basis. I definitely saw improvement in math, but math is a kind of universal language that we can all understand (at least on the level of ratios and percents).

One thing that is always striking when I walk into St. Timothy's is that it is Saint Timothy's. It also has religious writing all over the place (often littered with misspelled words). I keep recalling a conversation I had at Union late in the spring term, discussing the Ten Commandments (which are not posted at St. Timothy's). I argued that I didn't think it was a horrible thing to have these sorts of documents (though shalt not kill isn't all that controversial to me) hanging around. I am not religious. My more religious/spiritual friends rejected the argument, telling me that church and state should be completely separated. Either way, it is weird to see Christian mantras posted all over a public school.

It is a public school, by the way. The kids wear blue uniforms (they must buy the uniforms, but the schooling is free otherwise). Some kids cannot afford the uniforms, but the headmistress seems to let them slide - she is understanding. The classrooms fit around 70 students in it - some have "blue books" to take notes, some do not. The teachers vary in ability. One teacher interrupted a lesson on population to ask why people in the United States live longer. He also asked me why over fifty percent of Uganda was under the age of 15 years. I thought he was leading me to make a few points (which I had planned to) to the kids, but after I was done he seemed to have been taking in what I was saying as much as the kids. He murmured, "this man is very wise." I get a lot of respect, mostly because I am white, unfortunately, but also because they think I am thirty years old. Ugandans seem to look younger than they actually are and Becky and I, relative to them, look older. To be fair, the teachers seem to be well qualified (at least secondary school), but some of the students have better english language skills.

Physics Department - Thanks for all the experimental stuff. The kids really enjoyed it and it was helpful in illustrating energy. I'm sure I will use more of the equipment in the months to come!

Bunyere Primary 6 Census

One interesting activity that we did in class was to take a class census. They loved it, mostly because they were able to write their information on my legal pad. I broke down the statistics and even though only half the class was there I still had 28 students to collect data from. The results:

7.1 children per family (fertility rate)

Median and mode fertility rate was 6, with only one person with less than 4 (2) and one more than 11 (18).

51.8 percent female

48.2 percent male

More to come on population later.

Water Mistake

I made a mistake with the water conversion in an earlier blog. I'm surprised Bilal didn't catch it immediately...

5 gallons * 4 L/gallon * 1kg/L *2.2lbs./kg = 44 lbs

With that corrected, best I can tell, we go through about 15-20 gallons per day. Usually about two of the five of us take a shower, it also takes a lot of water to cook (a lot of rice, steamed plantains, tea water, etc), and wash dishes. I still don't know how we use so much water, but I guess some goes into washing clothes and floors periodically. Hudson estimated that the average villager uses a little more than one gallon per person per day.

Haircut Disaster

I don't shower everyday here mostly because water is heavy and cold if it is not sunny outside, which means that my hair is pulled in every direction after I wake up. As a result, I would wander around with horns sticking up and wouldn't even realize it. Becky and I tried to shorten it to about a quarter inch with my beard trimmer. It was going great until I had tried to fix a section and forgot to return the beard trimmer to a quarter inch length. I cut a 6 inch long, inch wide bald streak from the back of my neck to the top of my head. Becky tried to fix it, but the battery ran out within minutes. Francis walked us down to the village center about half mile down the road. As I sat down in the chair, kids and villagers gathered in the open doorway of the barber shop. There were literally 12 kids pushing and shoving to witness the mzungu getting a haircut. The barber asked who did this to me. I replied, hoping that he wouldn't understand the english, but there aren't many ways to make the word "me" difficult for an ESL person. He just shook his head and told me that my hair was difficult to cut and that it would be extra (700 shillings, rather than 500). He then cut off nearly all my hair, leaving a little less than a quarter inch on top. It was dark by the time we started home.

Transportation Nightmares

Every time I get in a public taxi I think to myself that it can't be as bad as last time. Every time, I am wrong. The last trip back from Masaka (8/18/08) the driver packed 11 people in a manual transmission car (not bigger than a Honda Civic). Someone sat next to the driver, three people sat next to the driver's seat, and six of us folded ourselves into the back. (I have to admit, one of the three in the front passenger seat was an infant held by a stranger). The ride, which cost two dollars, was 20 miles.

The Ddegeya Market and Our Second Experience with Ugandan Meat

Two kilometers from the Engeye Health Center is a market place where people bring their meat, crafts, clothes, vegetables, random tools and household items for sale. I didn't really need anything, but Becky was picking up another skirt for teaching. After hiking down there, Hudson decided that we should buy pork for dinner (we have not had meat since the first week when Becky and I helped de-feather a chicken). I was perfectly happy with the vegetarian diet, which seems pretty balanced, but the other Ugandans that were escorting us seemed intent on the pork. A massive slab cut from one side of a pig was hanging in the open air. It must have been 30 or 40 pounds and was hanging by the stem of a banana leaf.

It looked like a lot of meat and I couldn't imagine that an entire pig sold in one day. I hinted this to Hudson. Hudson went on to tell me that pork was a fan favorite in Uganda and was cheap (roughly 0.91/lb) - it would sell in one day. I wasn't all that concerned about the meat guy's profit on this particular Thursday (8/21), more so I was concerned that the meat hadn't been sold yesterday. Hudson, without prodding, appended his answer, "Meat doesn't go bad here." Good to know.

Hudson order our kilo of meat (roughly 6 ounces of pork for each of us) and the butcher began violently hacking away at the pig. FUMP, FUMP, FUMP. It seemed really tough for what looked like all fat. It wasn't a hot day, thank God, and there were no flies on it. I would have avoided it, but Hudson kept talking about how we needed to cook it tonight and eat it all.

After finishing a modest amount of very fatty pork, I thought I felt sick to my stomach, but then decided that it was all in my head. Becky could not convince herself that it was all in her head and spent much of the night with the gecko. [As a side note, I have decided that the latrine is at least 20 feet deep]. Becky also has stated that she has been under the weather for a couple days – before the pork…

Quick Update

Hey. So I am in Masaka. Recall that Becky's abyssmal handwriting has forced her to ge her VISA stamped in 30 days.

A couple things: I won't post for another 1-2 weeks, because the rainy season is coming early and sun for the generators is hiding.

A couple people have frantically called the village to make sure Becky and I are all right after working on Sunday. The tails and horns was a sarcastic comment - most people stop to thank us for our work, but most people do not work on Sunday.

Enjoying your comments. Look for a post in a week or two. Thanks for reading.

A Teacher Emerges. Also on: Water, Culture, and People

Meeting Mr. Kalule, Conflict Resolution, Strong Drinks, Community, and Population

John Kalule is the clinic manager - he is currently in Boston (see first blog). His father donated the land that Engeye rests on and we have met him the last two Sunday afternoons. These meetings bring up a couple key points.

This last Sunday (Aug. 10), we arrived to a roomful of people. Mr. Kalule explained that he was helping to resolve a family conflict between family in Masaka and west of Ddegeya. We excused ourselves so they could talk and Hudson explained further that in Uganda (the Buganda tribe) the clan's eldest is responsible for resolving conflicts (this is Mr. Kalule). This reminded me of the way Australian tribes resolved conflicts - town meeting style, with the elders presiding... in the U.S. I think we have replaced the elders with lawyers, unfortunately.

The first time we met Mr. Kalule he welcomed us to Engeye and told us we were a part of a partnership between Engeye (means white monkey - his clan name), the health clinic, and the United States. He spoke seriously with his watch dangling loosely over his forearm.

He then proceeded to tell us (two weeks running) that he does not take [drink] alcohol anymore and offered me a Senator Beer. It was fizzy and tasted a lot like fizzy hard cider. Before I could refuse a second beer was open for me. Then he brought me a small container of Star Gin and told me it was delicious and that I should take it [drink it]. I think he was about to have Hudson and I split another when we excused ourselves for the evening.

This all reminded me of a section on of Bill McKibben's Deep Economy [worth reading] on community. The village is seemingly tight-knit and has a lot of large families. Bill McKibben shows, pretty persuasively, that we need both money and community to be happy and healthy (and he gives a lot of statistics and references). He points out that there is a very high correlation between money and happiness up to 10,000 dollars and that there is a similar correlation between community and happiness up to a point.

If you are a poor person living in China, you have plenty of friends and family around all the time; perhaps there are five people in your living in your room. Adding a sixth doesn't make you much happier. But adding enough money that all five of you can eat some meat from time to time pleases you greatly.

I think this is the case in Uganda - plenty of community, but the villagers in Ddegeya could really use a few extra dollars for simple things - some nuts or meat for protein (as I said, they mostly get enough calories), some money for healthcare (the cost to be seen at Engeye is 2,000 shillings or $1.25, but many cannot afford it), or money for school supplies. Many of the kids ask me for a book bag, paper, or pens. All the kids and people seem happy. Hudson told me that a smiling villager may be suffering deeply - Ugandans hide their misery away. The sense of community has all sorts of benefits - they just need a little more income so they don't need to hide their misery:

When Carnegie Mellon squirted cold virus into people's nostrils, "those with rich social networks were four times less likely to come down with illness."

People at age 80 with poor social networks are 60 percent more likely to develop dementia.

Those with large social circles are 23 percent less likely to develop coronary heart disease.

Of course, much of this community comes from large families. Francis estimated the average family size at 10 kids (US averages ~2.1). I was told today that it was 4.1, but I don't have google fact-checking power. The kids in my 6^th grade class have 7.1 kids per family. Hudson's family has 12 and John's family has 12 siblings. He also did a back of the envelope calculation and told me that it has grown roughly 40 percent in seven years. Alarming. Well, at least to Becky and I. When we asked Hudson what he thought about it, he simply said, no problem. No problem! When the water hole runs dry, they have to hike down the valley to get more water and there is a constant stream of people getting water. What happens to the water hole level when this stream of people fetching water is increased 40 percent with rising temperatures from global warming? It worries me.

Fetching Water, Earning Street Credit

It was a tough adjustment the first couple days. We were the only white people and everyone was always staring at us. We could hear whispering with "mzungu" mixed in followed by laughter. We wanted to have people get used to us as quickly as possible, so we started getting water right off the bat.

5 gallons * 4 L/gallon * 16 oz./L * 1 lb/16 oz. = 20 lbs.

Water is heavy and we use a lot of it. For the life of me I don't know where it all goes. I carry 20 - 60 lbs/day (5 - 15 gallons). Unfortunately water tends to collect at the bottom of the hill and Engeye is at the top of the hill...

Even worse, I see tiny, tiny kids carry massive amounts of water. Adolescent girls balance 20 pounds on their head. Boys with bicycles take 10 - 20 gallons at a time. Even 5 year olds pull their weight with 3 gallon "jerry cans." I remember one morning crouching down to fill my jerry can and seeing 5 year old Fiezo right there next to me. It is amazing how the women walk with the water resting on their head (they don't need to use their hand to balance the water). Slowly, over the last week or so, people stare a little less and are getting used to us. I think immersion is helping us earn some street credit.

Science/Math/Social Studies Teacher and HIV/AIDS Counsellor Overnight

We began teaching at St. Timothy's School (public school) right away (August 5). St. Timothy's is in the next village over (Bunyeera) and is a short five minute walk. Becky was supposed to teach social studies, but the social studies curriculum is currently focused on the science of climate. Since I am applying to graduate schools to study climate, I took those classes for her. I taught about 70 6^th grade ("P6") ESL students in an open air classroom about breezes, pressure, and rain. They loved the compass I brought in and the demonstration I had prepared. I brought a brick, a napkin, and a lighter. We all know (but they do not) that the shower curtain blows into the warm shower (as the hot air rises up, cool air from outside the shower rushes in to replace the rising air - this is how wind works sometimes). I lit a piece of napkin on fire and used another piece as a wind gage - it worked - the wind gauge was pulled into the fiery napkin and singed my hand.

On Friday, the kids liked my lesson on ratios, fractions, and percent much less. My watch was also broken, making it tough to pace myself. I ended early and the P7 teacher asked when I would come and teach in his class. I told him next week. He wanted Becky and I to counsel his students on HIV/AIDS and STD's at 1PM. He gave us no syllabus, reading materials, or lesson plan (do we talk about condoms? do we talk about HIV on the micro level?) It was 11AM. We headed back and tried to recall 4^th grade lessons with Mr. Mancuso and 8^th grade lessons with Mr. Day. The T-cells, white blood cells, symptoms, and disease progression came back with the help of Becky's copy of Where There is No Doctor. We broke the lesson into chunks.

I began with T-cells and white blood cells. I drew a scary looking HIV virus on the board as I illustrated my story. They did not find it amusing. The sunshine with the smiley face was such a hit in the P6 class. Apparently they did not understand my strange accent, my drawing, my animated demeanor, and really had no idea what I was doing in their open air classroom. Can you imagine after finishing all your exams some weird looking person in need of speech therapy coming into your classroom and drawing T's and pac-men with vicious teeth and antennae and throwing his voice to mimic a rabid pac-man?

After we got through my accent and determined that they cared only about the white blood cells (they ignore T-cells in their curriculum) the class went smoothly. We didn't talk about condoms as instructed by Francis (who remembered what was age appropriate, although I'm told girls in the village can be sexually active very early as in the United States). Questions covered topics such as condoms, US AIDS prevalence, STD symptoms (do you remember the symptoms for gonorrhea?), and "if my friend has AIDS and we wear the same clothes will I get AIDS." An awkward but important lesson in a country with AIDS rates at 6 percent.

So the last couple weeks I keep thinking about a few people. When I drink tea, I remember how my father taught me to “bob” the tea bag and when I eat eggplant (I still don’t like it) I remember my mom telling me I had to finish it one summer evening. I think of Ben and the Mr. Po’s when I teach classes (nearly everyday now) and my brother when I work (Evan is the hardest worker I know). I think about U Sustain all the time… I think about how much fun this whole adventure would be if Bilal, Dave, or Ian were here. The Ugandans speak Luganda when they want to keep us out of the conversation; Becky and I speak Spanish. Bilal, Dave, and I would be able to have conversations without talking. I think of Emma and New Zealand when its dark and I can see the milky way. Think of Judy and Pam when I am in the clinic. Thank you everyone who reads the blogs and comments or sends e-mails (Jackie, Brandon, Mrs. Newman, LMS, etc.) and sorry I cannot respond to them!

Communications, the chicken, and bricks

Work Begins

Cell Phone Service in the middle of Nowhere

Over spring break I drove from Seattle, Washington back to Buffalo, New York with Amanda Kern. Much of the time, I did not have cell phone reception. Now, in the middle of a rural village in sub-Saharan Africa we have cell phone reception. This is incredible to me. I think it is mainly because it would be much more expensive to run land lines through the continent.

The internet is also run through the cell phone towers. It is extremely slooow. It moves at 53 kbps, which means the internet I am used to is roughly 200 - 1,000 times faster. So, many e-mails go unread. It takes about 30 seconds to open an e-mail and another 30 seconds to go back to my inbox. It takes several minutes to open my blog. This wouldn't be so much of a problem if it weren't for two factors:
1. It gets dark at 7:30.
2. The lights and computers are run by two solar panels that are constantly in use.

The nurses at the clinic listen to a lot of music and watch dvds on the clinic computer so that computer is constantly being charged or is in use. They also supplement their income by charging villager's cell phones for 200 shillings keeping most of the sockets in use round the clock (it took a week to get my computer back in the wall to charge it so I could finish this blog). Becky and I turn down the brightness on our screens and use textpad to type up our blogs and then borrow the clinic computer for an hour or so when the sun is shining.

Stacking Bricks, Fixin' Roads, Kicking Ass and Taking Names

We started our first work for the clinic on Sunday August 3^rd. Our assignment: moving 15,000 bricks from one pile to a neat stack. To be honest, I thought this was ridiculous. The pile was taller and wider than my height, and stretched for about 40 feet. And the bricks were going to be used later. Each brick weighs 2 kilos or about 4.4 pounds. Regardless, Becky and I were anxious to do something productive so we started the project with a lot of energy. Over several hours we heaved about 1,500 bricks 10 feet and stacked them neatly next to the construction site of the laboratory. It was Sunday and the mzungu heathens were working. Francis looked on unsympathetically. People from the road tried to spot our tail and horns. On Monday we came back to the pile, which appeared untouched and moved another 1,000 bricks. Visible progress was made. By Thursday we had moved 11 tons of bricks. Our hands were cut, had blisters and felt like they were beaten with a cheese grater. Hudson and Francis who had helped us on Wednesday told us there hands were used [to hard work]. Becky held up ridiculously well throughout this week. I could feel my biceps for the first time in years and Becky moved just as many bricks as I had. Much of the time Becky and I would be left to ourselves to stack bricks. Kids would inevitable crowd around, searching for our tail and horns. The usual crew of kids would try to help us. We struggled to find the words to politely say no. Mwattu, nedda. Welaba. When we took breaks, the kids would help us learn Luganda through pointing. Peter told me that a brick is a stone (jinja) a road is dirt (etaka) and Wasuwa told me that water is feces (Amazz versus amazzy). Bastards. I don't think they tried to mislead us (except for feces, I think that was intentional). We learn a lot from the kids.

Of course, if you take a dump truck full of 33 tons of bricks and drop it on the ground many of the mud bricks will break. The bricks are baked water and mud and many of them did break (likely thousands). The bricks are hauled up to the scared and potholed road for repairs. This was probably the hardest part of the job - the wheelbarrow is heavy and the road is uphill from the clinic. The dirt has the consistency of flour. Try pushing a 40 pound wheelbarrow uphill through flower. Anyways, by Thursday, the road within 1/4 mile of the clinic was filled with bricks and the trucks were beginning to do their job crushing the bricks into a flat, navigable surface.

Killing Chickens

Okay, I didn't actually kill it. Thank God I was washing my hands during the chickens final breaths. I thought we were stacking bricks. I walk out to a limp chicken that Hudson and Becky were ruthlessly ripping apart with their bare hands. Actually they were taking the feathers out. Hudson asked me if I wanted to help. No. I looked down at Becky and said that of course I would like to help. The chicken was still warm; its neck was tied off with a banana leaf; the feathers did not come out easily. After I had gotten used to ripping the feathers out, Hudson dressed it (or more accurately undressed it). Hudson pointed out the various organs. Lungs, stomach (gullet?), heart. I was happy to hear Hudson tell us to wash our hands afterward, while taking out the feathers I kept thinking about the part of Jurassic Park where the archaeologists was digging through a mountain of feces and the lawyer chimed, "You are going to remember to wash your hands before you eat anything..." We ate chicken for dinner - it was mostly dark meat.

The Outhouse

Like every Ugandan bathroom, the outhouse has a resident gecko. The outhouse has a tiny hall cut in the floor, which is about a foot off center as if to remind me that I must be mindful of aim. It is deep. With my flashlight, I can barely see the bottom. As mentioned, it lacks any kind of a toilet seat. I kind of remember Misty or Stephanie telling me that it requires strong knees...

Becky told me that she doesn't mind not having a seat. I'm guessing she has strong knees.

5 Nights at Engeye, 7 Days in Uganda

Finally I am caught up with blogs and can write about what has been going on at the Engeye Health Center. We have been busy! Again, thank you for all your e-mails and sorry that we cannot respond to them. The power has been flaky, which is the reason for the delay in the blog about what we have been up to at the clinic.

The Kids

As promised, as we pulled into Engeye on Friday August, 1 the kids flocked around shouting "Mzungu, Mzungu!" [Mzungu means white person]. Sometimes it seems like we can be a disturbance when we are around. Kids will drop their "jerrycans" to watch what we are doing (Engeye is near the main village well) and when we go near the schoolyard the kids flock toward the windows and watch us march through the schoolyard. We asked Hudson if this was a problem and he told us that it was fine because the kids could potentially live their entire lives without seeing a white person. Several kids seem to always be around - Wasuya, Fiezo, Peter, Oliva, Maze, and Aksum hang around the clinic a lot and always make sure to wave to us when we are near the school. Wasuya means twin - I am also Wasuya (Wasuya is the name for the older twin).

The Food

We got to the clinic at around 4:30, so we hung around talking to Hudson, Richard, and Francis until dinner time. We then met Susan a woman we had hired to help us learn to cook while we are here. Susan is very quiet and shy and doesn't speak any English. Even though she has never uttered a word in English, I suspect she know what we are saying... The first meal was excellent - Kenyan white rice, eggplant, matooke (steamed plaintains), a peanut sauce, greens, beans, and rice bread. This is our main diet with the occasional po-po fruit (a mix between cantelope and mango), pineapple, stalk of sugarcane (you chew on the fibers and squeeze our the juice which tastes like what I imagine granulated sugar water would taste like), and jack fruit (sticky, sticky, sticky). As I would learn the magic to the delicious Ugandan food was a ton of salt and lots of oil. In the first week we probably consumed a salt shaker of salt each (we have slowly been taking over cooking operations and reigning in the salts and oils).

It is impressive how much Ugandans can eat. Hudson easily eats twice as much as us every meal. Matoke and yams are heavy, but everyone seems to put them down with ease. Becky and I are not there yet. Through secondhand observation and conversations with Hudson, it seems that the children in the village get enough calories, but often lack protein. Some kids seems to have trouble growing hair and others have muscleless bellies. I asked Hudson why they didn't just grow more nuts or beans to drive down the price (nut powder is too expensive for most people). Hudson explained that the ground is not fertile enough.

Over the last five days we have slowly been able to convince Susan that we need less food. Becky has learned how to cook most of the dishes and I will learn tomorrow, too. We have taken on some of the responsibilities of cooking - fetching water for washing and cooking and cleaning the dishes. The dishes must be cleaned by hand in pots on the floor. One for washing, one for rinsing, one for clean dishes. This seems to hurt Becky and my back, but Susan and the others have little problem with it.

The Dark

One of the most striking things about being in Ddegeya is how incredibly dark it gets here. The only place I have been that compares is Heron Island, Australia, 60 miles from the coast of Australia. The stars are vivid and countless. I haven't stayed up late enough to try to work on identifying constellations; I don't know what constellations are on the equator.

A Walk Around the Village

On Saturday (August 2) morning Becky and I walked down the dirt road in front of the village. Most of the houses in the area are made of brick, some with grass roofs, others with tin or steel. The road had a lot of potholes and people didn't always drive on the left. Not everyone who drives is licensed to do so. For a small village in rural Africa, it had a lot of traffic. Most people wave and say, "How are you," but may or may not understand our response (in the same way that when we say "Oli Otya" we do not always know what their response is). The kids always wave, no matter how far away they are.

Down to Ddegeya

Sorry for the delay in posting. We arrived in Ddegeya Friday, but the internet is very slow and the solar panels are largely exhausted because it has been cloudy the last week. We are reading most of your e-mails and will get to them likely on a weekly or bi-weekly basis. We have been in the position of having 20 minutes of computer battery to share and trying to comb through all your e-mails very quickly. We will leave most of the content to the blogs, rather than by e-mail. Pictures may come later...

On Friday August 1^st we met Hudson at 8:30 AM to begin our three hour journey to Ddegeya. We had been up for over an hour; Hudson told us he would be there by 8. It did not matter. We were anxious to get to our home for the next nine months, but not in a hurry. We took the public taxi into the main taxi park and then purchased four seats - one seat for our luggage and three seats for us.

As we travelled down the road we quickly got used to driving the left and dangerous passes around corners or heading up hill. At one point we clipped a motorcyclist who luckily only lost his review mirror. The taxi sped on. My legs slowly went numb from a 40 pound bag and the inability to move at all.

About an hour and a half into the journey we passed the equator. We reached Masaka about 45 minutes later. It is difficult to judge distances because the condition of the road varies, so the speed varies. Complicating calculations is the intermixing of miles and kilometers. Apparently 1 km = 1 mi.

In Masaka, we waited for Richard to join us to help us shop for the first two weeks of food. We bought a range of supplies - largely vegetables to supplement 2 kilos of nut powder and 4 kilos of rice. The food was not expensive.

After shopping, we headed to the village. We had overloaded the special hire taxi with four people, 10 gallons of water, a huge tank of propane, and all of our food for two weeks. The plantains would be supplied by the plantation at the Engeye Health Center in Ddegeya.

After arriving, we were introduced to various characters around the clinic. We met Francis, a 19 year old student and brother of John Kalule, Lawrence, the head nurse of the clinic, Richard, a worker at the clinic, and Susan, the cook we have hired to help us with meals.

A Day in Kampala

[This post will likely be longer, so I sorted into headings and you can peruse whatever interests you]

Kampala Backpackers

I woke up sometime around 7:30AM today (12:30 AM), making a lightning fast adjustment to the 7 hour time difference. Becky and I got up and puttered around the hostel for a couple hours, debating whether Hudson was going to pick us up today or tomorrow. The hostel is pretty nice. It has a great bar with a friendly set of bartenders/hostel workers/restaurant staff. The backpackers is currently characterized largely by a group of Brits with a handful of Irish (they are crawling all over the place), but it seems that a group of Asian students will be vying for the most popular country soon. In February, when the medical mission for Engeye comes through it will probably see American insurgents. The facilities are all right as far as backpackers go - there is one shower with a working hot and cold faucet. Actually, the shower felt incredible after 2 days without one (and we will now go awhile without a hot shower). Geckos on the ceiling do a good job of complimenting the tub under the leaking sink. The beds all have bednets, but there aren't really many mosquitoes to be seen. We paid roughly $2 USD for wireless for one day, but have not had to renew it for some reason...

Boda Bodas Fast, Safe, and Reliable

Hudson is the Engeye representative that is supposed to meet as at the Backpacker's on Thursday or Friday. The "or" was my fault as I incorrectly replaced the "31^st" with "Friday" in e-mail correspondences. At around 10:30 or 11:00 AM we decided that he was coming tomorrow and ventured into Kampala to register with the US embassy. We walked down the road to catch a taxi and were asked if we would like a ride by two boda boda drivers (a boda boda is a motorcycle). One boda boda driver carefully placed a helmet over his head and the other one set it over the speedometer and tachometer. Becky and I covered our heads in lieu of a helmet. I, embarrassingly, seemed to cling on to my driver, slowly releasing my death grip as I watched Becky break out a book half way through the ride. These boda boda drivers did not have "smooth" in mind. We weaved in and out of traffic, cut people off, while discussing Obama and McCain. Becky never put down her book.

An Attack on the US Embassy?

Upon arriving to the US embassy a kind, private security guard welcomed us into the embassy with his M-16 (or other large, intimidating, automatic weapon). An unarmed security guard took our explosive water bottles and spy cameras as we made our way through security to the waiting room. A "senior guard" shooed away a couple kids from our seats (they had been seating there before us and despite our protests he kicked black kids to the back of the waiting room). After all, we were mzungus (white people). Americans. I don't think it was there, but I imagined scorn on the back of my neck as Becky and I waited for a consulate. As we waited, a Minnesotan man in charge of saving Africans described how thieves distracted his wife on the bus and grabbed her purse through the bus window. [My father lost his passport in Columbia in the '70s and blocked the bus doors until his passport was dropped onto the floor - my aunt thought they might kill him first]. While filling out the registration a siren came over the intercom and calmly asked us to take cover under a desk and avoid windows...never found out what happened with that...but I am here to write about it.

Introduction to Ugandan Cuisine

After registering at the embassy we walked across the street to a restaurant for lunch. We ordered matoke, vegetable stew, and some lemon cola. Matoke is a dish made of steamed plantains; we each received a massive portion of what must have been five plantains. The entire meal was 10,000 shillings ($6.32 USD). They were mostly tasteless and very filling. The stew was amazingly tasty and I noticed how the waiter/bartender/busboy opened the cola in front of us. It was clear that the reuse the bottles in Uganda - the labels are worn and they collect the bottles back for recucling. This practice continued to Ddegeya Village. We were the only ones in the restaurant, serenaded by mid to late '90s American pop love songs. The restaurant must have been able to seat 50 - it might have been more popular as a bar.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

We took the boda bodas back to the backpackers. We discovered this was a very expensive form of transportation. There are also the public busses or taxis, which are mini-vans that seat 19, and private hire taxis (like US taxis) that are only occupied by you. Taxis (buses) were about 1,000 shillings, boda bodas were 5,000 shillings, and private hires were about 10,000 shillings for roughly equal trips. They don't have the same kind of emissions controls in Uganda - fumes would collect in the valleys of Kampala as Becky and I coughed our way through, clinging to the back of the boda boda. In the city, we were surrounded by thousands of people on foot, especially near the market. It was somewhat overwhelming. I think travel by foot or bicycle are the main methods of transportation.

Tourists Navigating Kampala's User Friendly Transportation

In our one day traveling around Kampala we got into an accident and our boda boda driver got lost. A truck turned into our taxi. The conductor (the person who collects the fair) stayed with the car as the driver hopped out (leaving the car in the intersection), borrowed a boda boda and attempted to chase down the truck. The people in the taxi haggled with the conductor and paid half the fair. We walked up the hill, the rest of the way to the backpackers. Boda boda drivers also got lost, borrowed our maps, asked for directions from others, turned back to refuel, and eventually returned us to the backpackers [Taxis, according to Lonely Planet: East Africa often keep their vehicles with little fuel so that if they are stolen the thief cannot go far]. They then claimed not to have change (it was clear that they did have change). This was the second time that day we had been ripped off - we were overcharged for a towel, too. When the cashier at a Kobil station (a Mobil knockoff) returned the wrong change, I questioned him and he simply told me the prices (10,000 shillings higher than marked). Oh well.

Hudson

At the backpackers we met Hudson, an extremely friendly Ugandan who has been an excellent teacher, friend, and guide. Hudson is thin, friendly, patient, and very proficient in English. He helped us get in a public taxi for the first time and guided us through Kampala, again, where we would exchange money and buy stamps. We walked past tiny, tiny children that had been sent out to beg for money. They did not actively ask us for money. Instead, they simply sat at crowded street corners holding their arms up. It looked like a commercial from the Christian Children's Fund. We hurried past the children winding through alleys that Becky and I would have avoided. I didn't see a single white person in Kampala, besides the few at the Kampala Backpackers. I don't know if Becky and I would have been able to figure out the bus system in Kampala without Hudson's help - there are no easy-to-follow signs and pictures like in major cities in Australia and the US (although most signs, ads, and information is in English).

Interesting Introduction to Uganda and Deep Economy

When Hudson dropped us off back at the backpackers he wrote down a few phrases in Luganda (the predominant local language). I had a coke and began Deep Economy by Bill McKibben as Becky read The Fountainhead. I remember thinking that the introduction to my book was especially striking giving my setting. The book begins:

For most of human history, the two birds More and Better roosted on the same branch. You could toss one stone and hope to hit them both, That's why the centuries since Adam Smith have been devoted to the dogged pursuit of maximum economic production. The idea that individuals, pursuing their own individual interests in a market society, make one another richer and the idea that increasing efficiency, usually increasing scale, is the key to increasing wealth has indisputably produce More. It has built the unprecedented prosperity and ease that distinguish the lives of most people reading this book [I looked around the backpacker's bar at this point and silently agreed]. It is no wonder and no accident that they dominate our politics, our outlook, even our personalities.

But the distinguishing feature of our moment is this: Better has flown a dew trees over to make her nest. That changes everything. Now, if you've got a the stone of your own life, or your own society, gripped in your hand, you have to choose between them. It's more or better.

I headed to bed that night at around 8:30 closing the mosquito net behind me. Tomorrow we go to Ddegeya, Uganda.