The Clinic Up Country and a Wedding

Monday, 19^th December

Last Friday Nicole left Kampala to travel up country to a birthing center/clinic started by two American midwives, one of whom is based in Brooklyn for half the year, now, and in Atiak, the town I’m resting in, now.

I say resting in, because it really is a rest.  I worked for the last 17 of 18 days to ensure a proper transfer of my activities, and I write you now from a hammock in the birthing quarters.  There are no birthing patience disturbing at the moment, though I’m told they don’t make much noise at all during labor.  Strong women.  Strong women who have a very tough life, but I’ll let Nicole opine more on that later.

Today is Monday, I arrived yesterday afternoon after attending my colleague’s sister’s wedding.  I don’t believe it was a full sister, more of a half sister of sorts, maybe what we would call a first cousin, or maybe a mixture of the two.  I didn’t really want to dig too deep into the familial dynamic so I can’t relay the particulars of that family tree.

Saturday morning I hitched a ride with my colleague, her husband, other sister (half sister? as I didn’t really see her at the wedding, perhaps I just missed her), and husband’s cousin.  We were packed in that car with my big backpack and their Christmas break luggage for their soirée in Soroti.  Early in the trip I had the opportunity to rearrange the “boot” so my bag could stop disturbing us in the back seat.  Ugandans need to start playing Tetris.

Despite arriving in Lira with plenty of time to spare we were still late to the ceremony by about 15 minutes.  The church made me think of what an auditorium for a school in the South would be like.  At least the benches were the height of an elementary school’s auditorium.  There were some nice purple and white decorations along the sides which matched the bridal party’s outfits, and the obligatory Jesus is Good banner with his picture.  A white Jesus I might add.  Maybe that’s why, as a white man in Uganda (who is Jewish, too) I am such a celebrity among the kids.  It’s the same man they see on the wall every Sunday!

Time for a Game of Fortunately/Unfortunately

Unfortunately: The whole ceremony was in Luo, the local language of my colleague’s family/tribe. 

Fortunately, I was the only white person in the room of close to 250, so it was expected I wouldn’t understand anything. 

Unfortunately, it was hot and I had to keep my shirt on, unlike the boy in his mother’s arms 7 rows in front from me.

Fortunately, the ceiling fan closest to me was working, there were six of them, and only one other was working.

Unfortunately, the ceiling was pretty far away. 

Fortunately, I had a personal translator for the pastor’s sermon which was about treating each other with love and respect,

Unfortunately, he didn’t use those words.  He said, Don’t beat your wife, she is a treasure; when you argue, argue in Luo or in English, don’t mix languages because you might say something you don’t mean (I’m still trying to figure that one out); and then something about the groom’s big forehead becoming a characteristic you come to loath in your later years, learn to love it (again, WHAT?). 

Fortunately, the precarious flower pot near my head did not topple over on me or anyone else around during the surmon.

Unfortunately, the sermon went on for over an hour and half. 

Fortunately, I had an aisle seat for the recessional action which involved a walk consisting of a pattern of one step forward, rock back, rock forward, back again, forward again and then the next step forward.  All the walkers performed it perfectly in sync.  Well done Betty and Gerald (is it ok if I call you Jerry), and the rest of your bridal party.

Speaking of party, the reception was shall I say a spectacle.  The scene involved a series of open tents housing the guests on the typical plastic, easily stackable, chairs, which were arranged in a semicircle around the center area.  Something I learned about these weddings is that there is a lot of community involvement.  A committee is charged with preparing all the necessary means for the reception to elicit a community feel.  Thus, only some people actually receive invitations, the rest of the community is entitled to come.  And they came….bearing gifts of giant ceramic pots, money and chickens, very much alive chickens.  The gift giving ceremony included a sort of African conga line of the people carrying the gifts, and it is combined with the reception line, so everyone has a chance to shake hands and hug the Bride and Groom. 

But the party didn’t start just yet.  There were plenty of speeches, not just by the immediate family but any Members of Parliament (MPs) related to the wedded.  This can make things go long and off topic if political talk is not your thing.  Since we are not near an election we were spared much of the political tangent.

The ceremony of the reception went on to the cake cutting (with dancing) and some more speeches.  Finally it was time for food, but before I could even say Mazel Tov, the five food stations each had a line of 70 or so people squished and queued up for the feast.  Sounds of Jesus is the Greatest and some Kenny Rogers blasted through the gigantic speakers situated very near these lines.  I knew some people so we managed to cut one of these lines for a fastlane to the feast.  The standard, rice, matoke, goat’s meat, chicken, g-nut sauce, beans, and greens.  Save for some fish. It was not much different than my everyday work lunch.  I imagine they don’t make such a fuss over caterers and tastings in these parts.

Just when the party was getting started and I was starting to learn some new hip gyrating moves, the rains came for the third time in the day.  Major bummer.  Many people left and others took their drinks under cover.  Almost 45 minutes later it let up enough for me to head to my hotel.  The weird thing was that no one seemed upset about this.  I think most of the wedding festivities were over and people were going to be leaving anyway. 

Though it wasn’t the rockin’ experience I anticipated, it was an authentic African wedding and I can say I’ve attended one.

By 2pm on Sunday I reached the clinic.  Yes, the road from Gulu to Atiok is bad, but what exactly does that mean?  1) it is dusty: when a double trailer truck or a bus passes by it is a good idea to have those windows closed, my bag sitting on the roof, I can ’t say I was able to keep that protected from the elements.  2) We rode at about 30 to 40 mph for over 2 hours to reach the town.  3) the ruts and holes on this road are bad, falling off the side of the road is a very real possibility if the driver is not careful.

But we were successful in our journey and I was dropped off right outside the clinic, door-to-door service.  It’s pretty much always the case.  Transportation here is no joke, there is a taxi, bus, or car to take you anywhere, it just requires some waiting.  I’ve learned to be patient.

The Clinic

The stories I’ve been hearing over the past week on my calls with Nicole are true.  It’s a compound of a few different huts, the hut Nicole was sleeping in has a nesting hen, keeping its eggs incubated at the foot of one of the two beds, it’s really quite nice.  The birthing center is basically a giant hut with eight small offshoot rooms which act as birthing rooms and one as an office.  The large middle space with bright orange and blue wall paint center around three very comfortable hammocks, which brings me to where I am right now, relaxing.  The business of birthing is slow at the clinic right now because of some rumors being spread by other traditional birth midwives who were not given the job at the clinic.  So there is some concern that a reputation building needs to take place: set a positive presence in the community.  I have a feeling that this won’t last long because this place is MUCH nicer than any option even within a two hour radius from here.  Two hours on a bumpy, dusty, sandy, skinny back—way-back—country road is nothing a woman in labor wants to experience. 

It’s no Ikea Bookshelf

I spent my morning helping out two, let us call them, contractors put together an 100% authentic African thatched roof.  They are building another sleeping quarters.  The circular shape foundation and walls are already in place, and today work on the roof began.  I was tasked with procuring material, specifically making the rope they will use to tie the skeleton structure together.  We used two kinds of wood, bamboo and another type of tree type from which we stripped long skinny pieces from to create the rope.  The starting point for stripping away the rope from the bark can be done with a few machete cuts or by merely biting into the bark.  I learned the proper method after some failure, but all learning comes with a little failure at first, and some Ugandans to laugh at you.  Each limb yields four long strips of rope.  And each hour of work yields some very numb finger tips.  It’s not easy work but the concept is certainly simple.  I’m on vacation now so I only worked half the day.  Tomorrow we put on the thatching and maybe throw that baby up on top.  You know, raise the roof.

All wrapped up in Kampala

….And a very merry Hanukkah Night 5  and a happy X-mas, too

Saturday, 17^th December

It’s been a while since I last spoke of the work I’ve been doing here.  I think the last thing I talked about was Interview Candidate #4.  Well I got a News Flash! Interview Candidate # 4 didn’t show up for an appointment he made to discuss terms of the contract.  Four days later another News Flash! Interview Candidate #4 alerts us that he has accepted a job from another organization (thanks but no thanks).  One and a half weeks later yet another News Flash! Interview Candidate #4 shows up at our door asking us to again to be considered for the position.  He says that the organization he accepted the job from had not been truthful about the amount of travel he would be doing. 

I discussed this with my colleagues and, at first, we disagreed on how to handle this.  My feeling was that he did a poor job managing his interview process and should have strung us along by not making the appointment to discuss contract issues.  Instead, he doesn’t show up for his appointment and prematurely sends us a notice about his other job offer.  He is a young man near the beginning of his professional career, let’s cut him a break.

However, my colleagues felt different.  They said that this exemplified the typical Ugandan way of doing things: coming to us when he wanted something but not alerting us of his absence for our meeting (his excuse was that his internet was down, he tried phoning the office but the office phone didn’t work, and the only other number he had was that of our ED, which he tried but she was in a workshop).  Perhaps this isn’t someone who will go above and beyond the call of duty, a key characteristic we are looking for.

Fast forward, we interview four more candidates for the position and hire a young woman capable of the job, though I had to teach her the double-click method for selecting icons (she has chosen to continue her right-click campaign despite my protests against right click > Open).  Almost simultaneously, we interviewed seven candidates for the Finance Officer position and found a really smart person from an International NGO, which we had to make a new category in our salary for, but he is well worth it.  He is plenty excited to get started and start tinkering around with the Excel tools I made to generate reports, and log transactions.  His past experience at a well run Netherland-sponsored NGO has equipped him with great ideas to make the internal operations more cohesive and robust.  Good Luck to you, Samuel.

One difference with employment in Uganda is that both these new employees’ former organizations required a one and two month(s) resignation notice, respectively.  If they were to leave any sooner, then the missing weeks of pay would be a burden of the employee.  In both cases, since we needed them to start during that penalty period, we shouldered the penalty.  We have also changed our contracts to reflect a one month notice, or pay stipulation.  When in Rome…

The rest of my time at work was spent training new staff, ironing out all the changes I made, teaching them to the staff, and making sure I leave a proper trail of the new way of doing things.  Dropbox was a big implementation—for those curious, I ditched the Google Docs because of strong recommendations from a consultant the organization will have as part of a grant they are participating in.  Concerns such as network reliability are serious here, and Dropbox allows users to update forms and documents while not online, which Google does not provide, yet.

So now I’m finished.  Made a few manuals and did my very best in attacking as many issues regarding the internal operations as I could with the intention that it is sustainable, easy to carry out in my absence.  I organized a protocol for budgeting which will allow them to better plan for the future as opposed to making funding requests based on short-term immediate needs, and I learned a lot about NGOs and how they can get so much done with so little resources.  There is a lot of work to do here, and people are knowledgeable in the subject matter, but there could definitely be more technical support when it comes to regular office management, financing, and conducting monitoring and evaluation (M&E) two to four times a year. 

What Was it Like?

The big question I would ponder before departing on this journey was What will it be like?  Working and living in Uganda.  What is Kampala like?  I’d never even seen an African city before this trip.  What will the office be like?  What will the people be like?  How will I get to work?  How big are the snakes?  Those were the fears.  My hopes revolved around being able to make an impact at my org.  Lucky for me and them, the role I played was in line with my strengths and much more pivotal than I could have ever imagined.

Working in Kampala was an experience, to say the least.  I can honestly say that the first month to month-and-a-half were much more difficult than the last month and change.  The longer we were here, the more I felt like we could do this for a longer stretch of time.  The this I’m referring to is not the life that Ugandans lead, though.  Our fellow muzungu friends all had cars, nice large living spaces, ate plenty of nice meals (out or cooking in), and had a comfortable network where they would frequently see each other as a large group.  Always something to do.  It was similar to life in New York, but a lot more manageable, we were not overwhelmed with a social life here, but we certainly enjoyed the company we kept: unique and fascinating people with similar interests to ourselves.

In the last few weeks I did not let my frustrations get the best of me.  Sure I had my rare—and much needed—venting of emotions in whatever form it came out in, but in Uganda, in Kampala, like any abroad situation, it is best to roll with the punches.  When the price is too high, bargain it lower; when the taxi is crowded, shrink up into a ball and throw your hand out the window beckoning for more to join; when it’s just another boring Sunday, go to church to hum along to the beats of Jesus and Jehovah; and when it’s raining so hard that you can’t see the ground in front of you, just wait it out, everyone will understand.  Just one thing I never got used to, everyone answers their phones.  I trained two new employees and each incoming call was handled.  Learn to expect it and use it as a bathroom break.

Wrap your Head Around This

Someone just asked me in an e-mail what has blown my mind, most, here.  As we near the end of our three-month stretch it’s probably a good idea to reflect back and begin to process all we’ve done and seen.  I thought about this question for a while, here’s my answer.

I wrote the previous post a few weeks ago—though I tricked you and posted it a few days ago—and I think is a good prologue to answering the question at hand.  We are both amazed, in a few ways, at at the world which exists here.  The first is communication and language among those that live in the slums and don’t speak a common language.  It is a world where day-to-day interactions between boda-boda drivers and the street-side lady selling ground nuts is done by pointing to the desired item and responding with the number of fingers representing the first of the four-digit price.  It’s like watching a foreigner buy something in the local language, but this is routine among locals.

Uganda’s national language is English.  The other East African countries—Kenya and Tanzania—both nationalized Swahili.  I’ve heard that Swahili was the language used by Amin’s men as they brutalized people in most of the country, and no one wants to speak it.  Luganda is the second national language (yup there are two national languages) and is most similar to the other 100 or so languages spoken here.  I’m guessing they chose English over Luganda because it gives the country a better chance of competing with the global world.  Still, speaking English outside of Kampala is like playing baseball on a cricket field, it just doesn’t work that well.  It is astonishing to think that an entire country can struggle to communicate within itself.

Unfortunately, even in Kampala it is difficult to understand the accent on some people.  There is a heavy accent from one’s local language, on top of the British accent they learn in the school.  I’ve been hearing a stronger, cleaner, British accent in the younger people, or those working at the bank, because they have been schooled abroad.  Yet, that is not always the case at our offices.  Often in meetings, and especially over the phone, I have realized I’m not the only one asking people to repeat themselves.  Maybe the phone network is not a high quality, or the phones are poor.  It just seems like there is always a wall to talk over and conversation does not always come through clearly.  Other times there is a failure to fully explain something.  For instance, we asked a man for directions and he pointed back the way we came and said, “slope down.”  (Maybe because Kampala is a city of many hills “slope down” and “slope up” are inevitably in every set of directions.)  The way I would have phrased those directions is this: “Turn around, and make your first right and go down the hill, at the end of the street turn left and you’ll find the restaurant you are looking for.” 

The glass is more than half full, Uganda has come a very long way in a relatively short period.  One hundred and fifty years ago the British came here with the English language and tea to name a few things.  Back then there were no roads, no shillings, no government and parliament system, and not much contact with the rest of the world.  When things move too quickly not everyone in a large country can keep up at the same pace.  We see that when we head up country.  People in the rural area are not too concerned with the government (they are easily bribed to vote a certain way), money, and all the other treasures from the developed world.  As long as there is land and perhaps a bicycle life is complete.  My colleague’s family in the “village” has never seen a TV, movie, and probably never read a book.  That’s sort of mind blowing.

One More Mind Explosion

Here’s something else that recently blew my mind.  A sack of sugar about one and a half the size of a large potato sack was purchased by someone at the office the other day.  Four of my colleagues split the sack for their own personal consumption.  Already knowing the answer, I decided to ask anyway: What are you going to do with all that sugar?  Use it for tea, of course.  Anything else?  No, just tea, maybe make a cake for the holidays.  There isn’t much baking going on in these parts.  Now, I’m fine with using the sugar strictly for tea, nothing wrong with that, but why is there basically one kind of tea?

Despite Internet and Mobile Phones….

….Everything else is a throwback to earlier times.  I am often reminded of the life my grandmother lived when she was a young girl in 1930s Poland.  Ugandans that are not wealthy, the majority—those without two-story homes and big fancy Mercedes Benz’s—use tools to clean and cook similar to those grandma likely used in the “old town.”  The main type of work is sustenance farming, cleaning, and running a small roadside business.  After work women sit on the roadside selling maize on the cob slowly roasted over a coal fire.  Commuters sitting in “the jam” place their order from the car (think taxi driver buying a pretzel just outside the Lincoln Tunnel).  Other times people walking home on the roadside will stop for a fresh roasted ear.  It’s interesting to see how the two worlds (those with cars and driveways vs. those who survive without electricity or running water) intersect. The class-divide, although in existence throughout the world, seems more apparent here.  I heard someone say that life in Africa is “life in the raw” and we both now have a very clear picture of what that means.  I’m reminded of this phrase often, especially when I  walk by dwellings with no privacy: where cooking, bathing, laughing, eating and general living are done essentially in public.

Instruments are seemingly impromptu.  Brooms consist of a bunch of straw tied together at the end.  Every once in a while a stick is attached to the bundle, but most everyone else I see with the broom, bends at the waist to sweep, sweep, sweep the dust that never seems to go away.  Mops are ad hoc too.  In the big center-of-town shopping center, much of mall promenade area is outside, covered by an overhang.  After it downpours—as it often does for a few minutes every day this time of year—the mall staff is out with squeegees that have an old towel draped over the rubber blade, pushing it around the floor and wringing it over a bucket.  I think I’ve seen them clean the floor with soapy water in much the same fashion.

How do I open this can of tuna that I brought 7,000 miles to my kitchen in Kampala?  Well, that dull knife used to peel carrots and apples, yeah, that one over there, point it straight down into the inside rim of the can and bang on the butt of the handle.  Move it over a centimeter or two and repeat, all the way around the can.  Tuna never tasted so good when the work to open it is so palm-numbing.  (Editor’s Note: In order to facilitate more quantities of tuna, I broke down and bought a can opener for $1.50.)

Grandma always had a way of getting the grass stains out of my jeans, and was the woman to turn to in order to get the good silverware polished and looking great for the holidays.  Now, when I scrub the heck out of my socks and other clothing, I realize that this is a much more efficient way to get those pesky stains out, at least to be certain they come out.  Sure there is Tide and Tide with Bleach, GM performs studies and experiments and spends millions of dollars to find the best way for their state-of-the-art machines to get those stains out without elbow grease, but from the looks of my sparkling clean tennis shorts, there is nothing quite like a bar of soap and some knuckle rubbing.  It’s too bad I have the cuts on my hands to prove it.

The Commute Smackdown: The Kampala Matatu vs. The NYC Metro

That Announcer Guy that Made Himself Famous on One Line:  Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the showdown of the world.  Northern Hemisphere vs Southern Hemisphere.  White vs Black.  Developed vs Developing.  Metro vs Matatu.  Who will win in the battle of the commute?  It’s New York City vs Kampala.   Let me ask you, ladies and gentlemen……ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLLLLE!!!!!

In the red and yellow trunks standing at a bustling 1.2 million people with many more uncounted.  A vast network of a soccer mom’s dream, a crusade of sliding-door vans in the hundreds, licensed to carry 14 passengers, but really, who’s counting?  All on the bumpy and often disappearing unnamed streets of Kampala.  Let me introduce to you the little engine that could… The KAMPALA MATATUUUUUU!!!!

In the blue trunks standing at 8.2 million people and counting.  A most robust transit system with both letters and numbers.  A sustaining record of timeliness and melting pot-ness, but don’t go near him on the weekends.  Ladies and gentlemen, your reigning heavyweight champ.  The NEW YORK CITY METROOOOOO!!!!!

[Crowd Cheers]

Hank:  Hi folks, we are just moments away from the first round action.  Bill, I think this is going to be a war of attrition.  Kampala has really been developing in the last few years.  He doesn’t have as much on the line tonight and should be very relaxed.  No reason to walk fast anywhere.

Bill:  Walk fast, perhaps not, but drive fast, he will.  But New York is banking on pure experience to keep the belt after this one is over.  And there is certainly that weekend strength he has that will cripple any commuter.  I’m sure The Matatu will come out swinging.

Hank:  To add to your point, Bill, we know the Matatu is a god fearing beast, and is working hard to have god.  Besides the regular Rasta-colored and sport fanatic decals on his front and back, he’s got all sorts of religious decals: God is Great, Jesus will Save, and The Lord is My Provider, Glory be to the Lord, and the most truthful, Sat is Sabbath.

[Ding Ding]

Hank:  There’s the bell and we have begun.  Right out of the gate, just as you predicted Bill, The Matatu is swinging.   It’s all offence with nothing much to protect.  It seems like he is always there begging you to come on for the ride even when you don’t want him.  And when you do want him he is there as well, waiting for you to walk down the street and reach the corner.  A model of efficiency….and care!

Bill:  Couldn’t be more the case right now.  The Metro took a big hit to the head as The Matatu comes out with his patented move: hitting a big bump when his opponent least expects it, driving The Metro’s head into the ceiling.  Those bumps are brutal if you don’t expect them.

Hank:  Ouch, that’s going to hurt in the morning.  I think The Matatu has a can of whiplash in his back pocket he will try and pull out later in the match, too.  So look out for that.

Bill:  Who knows if there will even be a later, Hank, The Matatu is being so efficient right of the bat.

Hank:  Another great attribute of the Matatu.  Seems like he’s always working together, with the people.  At a stop everyone exits the vehicle to let the last one, the person in the back corner, out through the one sliding door.  Then quickly piling back inside, in whatever order they happen to be in, taking whatever seat that will put them out of the way for the person coming in behind him.  It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

Bill:  And all the while Metro is just standing there, taking the beating.  Almost without movement, standing in front of the door.  Not releasing anyone or anything.  Oh Metro, why can’t you just move to the side to let your fellow passengers off?

Hank:  Bad news for The Matatu, he is overheating.  It’s just too hot in there for him.  No AC and the consistent overcrowding, day after day, seems to be getting the better of him.

Bill:  Cool as a cucumber in the summer, sometimes even cold as ice cream, and warm like a potato in the winter, temperature control is a Metro specialty in most of these showdowns.  He’s really starting to come around and finally fight back.

[Ding Ding]

                                                                                   

Hank:  And that’s the bell to signal the end of Round One.  What a fight, huh Bill?

Bill:  So true Hank.  The Kampala Matatu really came out strong.  You’d think with all those bumpy roads he’d be slow to react, but was quite efficient with the people inside, and using the bumps to his advantage, smashing The Metro’s head just after the opening bell.

Hank:  Matatu is looking real strong in his corner.  His team is singing and dancing and really being friendly over there.  And The Metro is getting reamed out in his corner. 

Bill:  …In typical New York fashion.  His team is shouting about all the potholes, and complaining to the referee. 

Hank:  Looks like Bloomberg will be out to fix those in a week.  President Museveni isn’t going to do a thing about the potholes in Kampala.  It’s another two years until the next election, and if those roads don’t get fixed in the months before the election, it’s going to be another five years of crater roads before we see an opportunity to get them fixed during the following election.

Bill:  No good for anyone, Hank.  Moments from Round Two, it will be interesting to see if The Metro will be able to pick up where he left off...

[Ding Ding]

Bill:  Here comes Round Two, and it’s a different fight already.  We’ve passed the town center and Metro has plenty of room to sit and spread out.  Meanwhile The Matatu is looking cramped.  Never a worry about overpaying, Metro is working without a care in the world, a real free bird out there in the ring.

Hank:  You are so right Bill.  The Matatu seems to be distracted because he is trying to get his change and the conductor doesn’t have small bills.  Nor do any of the other passengers.

Bill:  The Matatu is getting frustrated. Oh, but wait.  The Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon”???

                                                                

Hank:  Boy George!  Is this really happening?

Bill:  Amidst all that Luganda jabber and jabbing that’s been playing, it’s red golden dreams for everyone in here.  I’ve heard of this happening before in the welter weight division, but here….  It also looks like The Matatu is exchanging smiles with a pretty short-haired girl in the front row.  They are both mouthing the words.

Hank:  Oh boy!

Bill:  You said it Hank.  [Laughter]

Hank:  Culture Club couldn’t last long enough.  The Matatu is now stuck in a jam, that’s traffic for all you lay people.

Bill:  Bad news for the Tu.  He is frozen in his tracks….But wait, look at this!  He’s pulling a K-turn in the middle of the ring. 

Hank:  What a nimble guy!  Always able to find an alternate route when things get bad.  The Metro cannot do things like that.  He’s a one track mind, unless you count the express track.

Bill:  However that may be true, the other route is usually just as jammed for The Matatu.  That looks to be the case now. 

Hank:  Seeing that is the case, here comes the Metro on the attack.

From the Ring:  Ladies and Gentelmen, sorry to disturb you.  I am homeless and have eight children.  Please please please please please please help me.  Anything, a potato chip or a dime.  Please please…. 

Hank:  Looks like the Metro is pulling the old Jewish Mother move, guilting his opponent into submission.

Bill:  Perhaps Jewish Mother guilt, but no matzo ball soup with this kvelling.  [Laughter]

Hank:  Here comes the big Matatu with the rebuttal.  From outside the ring young men are selling phone airtime cards, bags of munchies, sunglasses, steering wheel covers, and sunglasses to whoever will make eye contact.  All the merchandise dangling off their arms and necks in long strips.

Bill:  Well that’s convenient if you’re into that kind of service.  There’s even a young lad selling the morning edition paper.

Hank:  It’s the evening, now.

Bill:  It’s Kampala.

[Ding Ding]

Hank:  And that’s the end of Round two.  It’s too close to call at this point.

[Commercial Break]

Bill:  Bill and Hank here, your trusty ringside announcers here.  Action for Round Three is about to begin.  It’s all tied up and we anticipate a great final round here.

[Ding Ding]

Bill:  And there’s the bell.  The Matatu looks a little broken, but then again, what else is new, that thing always looks like it only has got just one more kilometer left.

Hank:  But for the low price of $0.91 to get all the way across town, what do you expect?

Bill:  I guess it’s just the bang you get for that buck…errr nine tenths of a buck.  [Laughter]

Hank:  It’s go time for The Matatu, a homeless man just entered the ring and the Metro is suffocating from the smell.  And the Matatu is reeling off a flurry of stenches of his own. 

Bill:  This is the normal smell for the Matatu.  He thrives on the odor.  Some might say it powers the engine along with the $5.30 per gallon gasoline.

Hank:  Now that’s being resourceful.

Bill:  Hey, you gotta take what they give you, Hank.

Hank:  Speaking of taking what they give you, The Matatu just served up that can of whiplash he was saving up.  But why are the Metro’s shorts ripped in half?

Bill:  According to the reply I’m watching, it looks like there was a jagged piece of seat dangerously sticking out in the Matatu corner of the ring that the Matatu placed there earlier, or never bothered to fix.  The Metro had his shorts caught on that and now he’s basically naked, but still standing strong.

Hank:  The Metro fights back with a little help from a boda boda.  The brightly painted and sticker-covered boda just swerved in, seemingly out of nowhere and cut off the angry Matatu as he has to slam hard on the brakes.  There is no way The Matatu is going to get anything done on time.  Hope no one is in a rush.

Bill:  To make matters worse, the engine that sits just behind the driver has broken down. This Matatu has a flat front so he can get up real close to whatever is in front of him, but the passengers in that first row can get some hot legs.

Hank:  Well, it makes up for what they lack in hot pants.  [Chuckle]

Bill:  The Matatu is starting to lose that bounce in his step.  Looks like it’s all over for the King of Kampala.

Hank:  Wait a minute…The Magnificent Metro all of a sudden doesn’t look so well.  He’s starting to fade, too. 

Bill:  That’s because he just encountered a “Police investigation” on the track a station ahead, AND a sick passenger.  He’s not going anywhere. 

Hank:  The two Goliaths have both fallen to the mat.  Unbelievable.  It’s Rocky I all over again.

Bill:  My favorite is Rocky IV, I mean, that was so awesome when Rocky was training in the mountains of Russia.  Oh, I love vodka.

Hank: Shut up Bill, I’m making a pop culture reference here. 

Referee:  Seven….Eight

Hank:  They are both getting up now.  Yes, they have both found a way to stand back up.

Bill:  Uh oh, lookout, here comes a bus, it’s headed straight for the Matatu!

Hank:  Ouch!  That’s going to hurt in the morning. 

Bill:  The bus just took out the Matatu.  He is down for the count.  It’s all over!  The Metro has reigned supreme!  What a finish.  Just when you thought they were both going to be out, they both recovered but a bit of misfortune for the Matatu.  I’m sure the bookies are going to rake it in on this one.  No one would have predicted this.

Hank:  Well, the New Yorkers already paid so they are stuck and at the mercy of the system.  Fortunately, for everyone on the Matatu, they pay when they get off, so they are sticking it to The Matatu now.  He is not getting a shilling for all his efforts.

A Break from Kampala

Let us rewind back to the first trip I made up country…

Nicole came up to Lira to meet me on Friday, and Saturday morning we left for Murchison Falls National Park.  We were able to take a vehicle from my organization because some participants left the 4-day workshop early and everyone else could ride in the other remaining vehicles which were heading back to Kampala.  That is how we were lucky enough to have James as our driver for the weekend and have a chance to learn a lot from him.  (In the interest of transparency and accountability, we did pay for the extra vehicle miles and James’s fees. Despite traveling in a company car.)

Nicole, would you like to take the helm on this one?

I sure would….So, off we went. The road started out great—paved tarmac most of the way.  During the trip we learned a bit about James.  Not only is a fantastic driver, careful, alert, and informative when it comes to pointing things out along our travels, but he is a real Ranger.  He retired from the Uganda Wildlife Association, or UWA, after working there for over 40 years.  He’s 69 years old, jovial, missing many teeth and speaks broken English.  He is literate but his education did not stray far from the first few years of school.  At UWA he was mainly stationed in Murchison National Park, so lucky for us he knew the area real well.  Upon retirement they gave him an award for being such a dedicated and faithful employee.  As a parting gift, he was given a lifetime membership to the national parks—something he is very proud of.  In the many hours of travel, James told us about his family and children. His salary over the years was meager but he prioritized education for his five children and now has two daughters pursuing degrees in Brisbane, Australia.  He and his family (he had multiple wives like many men here but eventually decided that having one “was better on [his] wallet”) grow on their farm most of what they need to live.  As a driver, James earns 20,000 shillings a day (8 USD) and gets 40,000 extra for food and accommodation when traveling up country.  Work is intermittent.  In a society where no real pension scheme exists and salaries are small, it’s no easy feat to put kids through secondary school, and nearly unheard of to send all 5 kids to higher education.  I can just imagine the sacrifices he and his wives (yes, plural) must have made to do so. 

We quickly fell in love with James.  And, it turns out, we weren’t the only ones.  When we got to the park, we easily saw how everyone’s faces lit up when they spotted him. Once into the park, we realized that James is also an expert on the wildlife.  Not only was he able to tell us the names of all the animals and birds, he was able to tell us about their lifespan, their hunting habits, and all sorts of other fun facts.

Driving through the park on Saturday, we reached a split in the road and started down the newer dirt road.  James very quickly realized this new road would not take us in the right direction.  He, rightly so, was annoyed there was no sign at this intersection.  The next day, as we were exiting through the park gate, James pulled over to let the guard in the booth know that a sign is needed at that juncture.  What a stand-up guy, still dedicated to his work even after his job was done.

James was able to arrange our riverboat ride on Saturday. We took the boat past crocodiles, hippos, monkeys and birds to the Murchison Falls, discovered by none other than some famed British exporter who named the falls after Lord Murchison, who, by the way, never saw the falls in his namesake.  Murchison Falls is the part of the River Nile (not to be confused with the Nile River) that squeezes through a 7 meter gap and comes rushing out.  It started to rain very hard just as we reached the falls and were ready to turn around and head back.

This is about as close as we got.  It was rushing pretty hard, trust me.

Sunday we woke up early in order to see some lions attempting to grab some breakfast.  They were unsuccessful, but we did get a little show.  Here are some pictures from our day.

 Sunrise over the River Nile

 It's a hungry, hungry one

These guys walk like they own the place

On a very sad, but real note, the jaded past of LRA’s destruction for 20 years in Northern Uganda is inescapable in this area.  The originator of the quaint lodging we stayed at was shot and killed by LRA rebels when he went out one afternoon in 2006 to save a distressed hiker.  This victim of the LRA left behind a wife, a kid, and another on the way.

What’s for Dinner?

When I first wrote a travel journal I was 9 traveling in Israel with my family.  Upon the journal’s inaugural reading, after we returned home, it became evident that I had meticulously documented every single meal we ate, for better or for worse.  I have always loved food.  I’ve been experimenting in the kitchen since I was nine years old.  In thinking about what to document in this blog, I purposely left out food because I didn’t want a repeat of my first few journals.  I also thought there wouldn’t be much to say to this end, the food would probably be redundant and bland, I thought.  Besides being a pick pocket victim, food was my second biggest fear when we were embarking on this trip.  In fact, I was so concerned that I imported five packets of powdered cheese from the mac & cheese box and three cans of tuna (they do have tuna here, it’s not Chicken of the Sea though).  Nicole and I have both come to realize Ugandans are not the foodie sort.  Spicy food, heavily salty food, especially sweet food, and just plain ole’ variety are all not offered on the Ugandan a la carte menu, but they do love to eat and everyone eats well.  The land is green and fertile.  The Ugandan takes pride in her land and will always remind you that they never use fertilizer. 

I’ve already noted the avacodo in Moa that was rich and smooth like butter, but here are a few other things that keep us full at the end of the day.  So… what are we eating?

Glad you asked!  I was finally invited out for dinner last night.  I am back Up Country for a conference with the Magistrates/judicial people (Monday) and the Police (Tuesday) this week.  After finishing with the magistrates, my executive director invited me and a few others to her brother’s house in the village of Lira—note that the village is not in the main “town area.”  After some incredibly, Kampala-esque bumpy roads (jokes about sea life and tourists confusing potholes with lakes were made), we arrived at a small home with a welcoming campfire/bonfire/what-what outside.  The typical plastic lawn chairs were set up nearby and we had a seat to await our tea. 

Tea is a big deal here.  I’m not sure if it is a British thing or if it was around before the colonization of the area.  Either way, the Ugandan takes tea at all times in the day in all forms and colors: black, sweet, with hot-hot milk, with loose tea leaves, in tea bags, etc.  I have grown to love the hot milk in my tea, it goes down so easy, and you can sip on it all day long.

After tea it was time for an early Thanksgiving, of sorts.  The food came out like it was a battalion about to hold ground against the oncoming rebel forces.  Cassava, maize, peas (in about three different forms, the best with ground nuts, aka peanuts—they do come from the ground), rice, greens in a mashed oily fashion, beef, sweet potatoes, millet.  The last one is a purple-brown dough-like food that is best served by scrapping it onto the plate since it very sticky, it made me think of a mullet so I explained to my dining counterparts what a mullet is without mentioning a Bruins fan.  As for the millet, I won’t miss it.

Not only was I a hit with my now-trusty-headlamp, but tending the fire really excited my company.  Just like the bonfires we are used to, Ugandan elders will teach and tell stories, nightly, to the children while sitting around their fires. 

I took 3.4 servings of food and I’m still trying to digest it all.  Needless to say I made the hosts very happy with my eating efforts.  It was a typical Ugandan meal which means we washed our hands then ate with our hands.  I joked about the fact that my mother would yell at me if she saw me eating like that.  And we all had a good laugh, sorry mom.

Home Cookin’

In the house we have managed to cook up a few good meals.  We have bought 15 tomatoes for about $2 and made a fresh tomato sauce.  The pasta here isn’t that great though, it gets very startchy and slimy, but it is just fine with our tomato sauce.  We also made a chicken soup that lasted for many tasty meals.  Chapati is a staple starch here.  As you may remember, we made it with our Mama in Moa, but here in our Kampala Kitchen we pimp’d out the chapatti with the aid of Harriet and Presca.  We threw in some onion and carrot and then, like an omelet threw in sauce, cheese, and veggies to make a chapatti folded pizza, or a calzone, or a big pizza taco (soft, of course).  We also found some vanilla extract and baking soda and are regularly making chocolate chip cookies that are most amazing.  The chips are chopped up milk chocolate bars. 

A real Chapati Pah-ti

Office Delights

The local food occurs at our respective works.  My work orders from the same place every day.  The option is fresh fish, dry fish, beef, or chicken.  Sometimes I opt for the beans.  It comes with some combination of matoke, rice, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes, bitter greens, or posho (a sticky corn/rice sort of thing).  Most everyone orders the fresh fish, it’s the safest bet.  Each portion is either the head third, the middle thick part, or the end part, all bones in.  I have perfected the method of taking the skin off with utensils, and deboning with minimal damage to the roof of my mouth from stray bones.  My colleagues, however, will sometimes eat with their fingers and I never really end up seeing how the fish is eaten, except that it has disappeared into their respective bellies the moment I turn away.  The beef is … stringy and sort of tough, but I will get it occasionally.  It is served in two small chunks with the bone in.  I only ordered the chicken once and it was a meager thin thigh-leg and quite tough.  Free range, of course.  I think it is probably fine, but I’m a bit skeptical on this one.

Nicole has similar choices for lunch, with the enhancement of pees and chapatti.  There is a man from a local food establishment who comes around to take orders.  After the meal, the same man comes back around to retrieve his Tupperware and collect his money.  When she’s out in the field, when food is even an option, she will sometimes get the chicken on a stick.  More on that further down.

Out on the Town

When the working day is done, we are consistently finding some decent to solid food going out.  After my Yom Kippur fast, we visited an Italian restaurant called Mediteraneo that gets most of their dairy from Nairobi.

Nicole’s Note: Cheese is very rare and it became a huge craving after two and half weeks of traveling through East Africa.  Fortunately, some of the supermarkets carry cheese albeit sometimes it looks as though it has melted and solidified more than three times over.  We often opine why there are not more cheese and milk factories here, there are cows everywhere.  I think the reason is that all the cows we see are owned by people and not collected to produce in the factory setting.

Sorry for the interruption, where was I?  Ahh, yes, Meditaraneo.  They had a fantastic chocolate moose that we have already reprised.  We also found a Korean BBQ place that has insanely huge portions.  We ordered a dumpling and kimchi something-or-other that fed us dinner and lunch the next day.  The added bonus of Korean BBQ in Kampala is that the place has karaoke (albeit the program buttons are in Korean) that we will visit for someone’s birthday real soon.  Let’s just hope we figure out the search functionality and don’t end up with Korea’s top 40 blaring at us wordlessly all night.

The Indian food is renown here, South Indian, to be exact.  The complementary sauces which accompany snacks to start the meal are different than what we are used to in the States, but delicious nonetheless.  We have yet to patronize all the Indian restaurants, but we intend to, and crown the king.  A small joint, the type you would typically encounter on a side street in Manhattan, called Masala Chaat House is the frontrunner.  They have an impressive collection of bootlegged Bollywood movies for sale on a shelf that lines one side of the place.

Another favorite is Lebanese Tuesdays with the other volunteers.  Found in the third floor food court of the great muzungu mall in downtown Kampala, Garden City, lies the best hummus in town.  Upon finding a table in the food court we are immediately surrounded by representatives from each of the six cuisine options, two of which are Chinese.  Our group always settles on the Lebeneze and it never disappoints.  The best part about eating in a mall like this, is that if they don’t have what you ordered, they run down to the grocery store and buy it, then sell it to you with a surcharge.

Did I forget to mention the crocodile?  An Australian place called The Lawns serves up healthy portions of game meat, which is stupendous.  I wouldn’t recommend the vegetarian options there. 

Is this thing reading like Timeout Kampala, yet?

It Grows from the Ground

On the local side, ground nuts, aka peanuts, are a big deal here.  They are plentiful and cheap.  After boiling them with some salt water they open with a simple pinch of the shell and make for a great snack with beer or can be transformed into huge quantities of peanut butter.  Peanuts > beer, a perfect segue.  There are about five main brands of beer, all are basically pilsner in nature except for one which does a version of a stout which is actually pretty good.  Guinness in the bottle is common almost anywhere, so Nicole is happy, but it doesn’t taste like Guinness.

Walking home from work, I pass by women who sit by charcoal grills with what to American eyes looks like corn.  It even smells similar to corn.  The other day I bought some ears still in their husks and brought it home.  Lois, the landlady, was thrilled we bought maize.  I thought it was just a different name for corn, until I peeled the husk and saw it was too white to be corn.

Up country is apparently where it’s at for purchasing food.  The Ugandans lucky enough to frequently travel up there will come home with all sorts of fresh, cheap food: ground nuts, cassava, oranges, tangerines, bananas, milk, sim sim oil, bags of onions, what-what  (“what-what is basically the Ugandan yada yada, or et cetera).  There are no service areas with McDonald’s, Starbucks, Subarro, and Aunt Annie’s pretzels.  Instead, there are certain corners or towns that the road bisects where people in blue vests rush a car as it pulls over.  They have for sale beef on a stick, grilled maize, grilled cassava, oranges, passion fruits, Fanta, and water.  These merchants will continue to run up to the car the longer it stays idle despite the fact that four of every item is already represented at the site. 

Another form of African Commerce

Of course, I miss my deli sandwiches, pickles, olives, and Mexican food (though we did find Mexican cuisine, the tortilla chips were baked pita chips).  Plus, the food situation is not as exciting as some of the other things we have been up to.  Wait just a moment, I do have a story (for those who persevered this far in the post).  I recently was able to make an awkward moment in Ugandan foodie history.  On the first trip I took up country, I was told to organize a packed lunch for 20 people.  Given the particulars of the early departure and the fact that the food would be in the car for a few hours before eating, I ordered sandwiches from a Western-style café, a muzungus hangout, if you will.  Chicken with mayo, tuna with mayo, ham and cheese, and vegetable were the types I ordered.  Much later in the day, after our community meeting was finished, we found a place to comfortably eat our lunch.  As the lunch procurer, I handed out the orders.  Some participants looked at me funny when I presented them with their options.  I was too hungry myself to notice how people enjoyed their meal.  But now I wonder what they expected to have for lunch that would have survived in the car all day?  Certainly not fish. 

The next day I brought up the lunch situation to one of the participants, Noah, and asked how he enjoyed the other day’s sandwiches.  He said he really liked it and wanted to know how to make one at home, he had the chicken.  I told him he was asking the right guy.  I gave him a good lesson on sandwich art and he was very excited to try it at home.  He also said that some of the other participants were not that thrilled about the options.  How could someone not like a sandwich?  Especially since it was near 4pm when we finally ate our lunch.

A special message to the parents: fear not of our shriveling up and disappearance due to lack of food while in Africa.  With all the potatoes, rice, maize, cassava, fruits, vegetables, and all other local sustenance, we are on pace to come home “fatter” than when we left, and from a Ugandan there is no higher compliment.

Dance-Off

Last week on our trip in Lira, I was basically double-dog-dared to go up and dance, by my lovely wife. Though she may be a little risk-averse, she has no qualms having me go up on a stage in front of a crowd of about 150 Ugandans and strut my North American dance moves.

We were at an “Expo.” It is a once a year fair with two rides, some food vendors, and lots of merchandise vendors. There was also a stage about 8 feet off the ground with a full sound system, lights and a big display of Splash, the fresh fruit drink. On the stage were 5 children, aged about 8-12 competing in a dance competition for a carton of Splash juice, but we all know the real reward for winning would be bragging rights and well worth the sweat expelled during the competition. One of these dancers still had his school uniform on--hopefully his parents were not worrying where he was.

So I’m egged on to go up and dance. Surely, the organizers of this thing would let the White Outsider on the stage. And they did! Two young women ran the dance-off and had me go head-to-head against the mini-dancers. Boy did I ham it up. Well, you can watch the video and stop reading my explanation.



        Click to see what the hoopla was all about.

When I got down off the stage I was swarmed, if ever there was the definition of the word, by the young kids in the crowd. They all just wanted to high-five or pound me. It was almost better than a walk-off home-run. I felt like a real celebrity.

Radio 1 – 90.0 FM

Short African Thought

Uganda is the land of Toyotas.  Seriously.   Nine out of ten cars, at least.  The Matatus are all the Toyota Haice model.  Taxis are all Corollas.  Seemingly every muzungu who drives a car drives a RAV-4—it’s really funny to see the streets outside a mostly muzungu event (think art showing and pizza in the backyard of a family’s home). 

All the cars come from Japan and have been reconditioned to be sold in the African market.  License plates all begin with UA and another letter followed by a dash and a letter and number combination, the third letter represents the year the car came over, A for the first year and so on.  I think I’ve seen as late as UAP. 

As a result of the cars being from Japan, the preinstalled radio dial only goes as far as 90.0 FM.  In Kampala and most of Uganda the station that has this frequency is called Radio 1, “where the car dial stops.”  There are radio stations here that exist beyond 90.0, but unless a new radio console is installed in the car, the manufactures radio will not get to those other stations.

The Okeng Community - Still Up Country

Post by Josh

Today we set out with more sodas and biscuits in tow to the Okeng community, which is about a 90 minute drive from Lira, a small town with many bicycles where the hotel is.  We turned off the main road and the road became muddy, bumpy, and swampy: it was more a path than a road.  We bumped over standing water, in which we spotted some tortoises.  Then another turn and the road got narrow, tall lush brush scraping against both sides of the van.  Finally we reached the Okeng community.  A rural village consisting of about 70 mud huts, and few brick ones.

This hut was the best kept hut I’ve seen yet.  It is owned by a young male, not yet married.  Apparently, after marriage these little things of looking good in the neighborhood fall to the wayside as other responsibilities take over.

We parked by the giant mango tree which is the community meeting place.  The Okeng community, unlike the visit to the clan on Tuesday, consists of a few different clans, striving to live in harmony together.  When we arrived word was sent around that we were going to hold a meeting.  Apparently the initial invite went just to the clan leaders, some individuals were sent around on bikes to rally the rest of the villagers.  In the meanwhile we toured the gardens, crops, and new community grazing site, with boundary markers sparked by the work of my NGO.

The community was greatly appreciative of the aid from my org.  They now have demarcated public grazing space and residents’ farming areas, or garden, are marked and mapped.  A surveyor has been out to the site and today we presented the community with a deed plan from the surveyor.  This is a huge step for any community such as this one.  Few have been able to make it this far, mostly because of disputes arising from challenges related to coming to agreements with each other during the process.  Okeng village has also written a charter regarding the rules of the grazing area.  Land disputes in this community have decreased, people are more familiar with their rights, and they have tools such as maps and boundary markers to protect themselves from encroachers and land-grabbers and prove exactly the location and size of their land.  Hurray for advocacy and the aid of NGOs!  In addition, women now have a much larger presence at meetings and speak during them because people in the organization spoke to them about their role in the community.  In sum, people are happier. 

But this is just one community, there are many more hidden out there amidst the roads that aren’t really roads in Northern Uganda.  The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) led by Joseph Kony displaced many people in a 20 year period ending in 2006.  The issues displaced people that returned to their land face are plenty.  Land is just about all people have.  They pay no bills, rent, or anything of the sort.  They really do live on less than a dollar a day, but they don’t need money on a day to day basis as most of their food comes from their land or through barter.  However, despite this fact, money is important, and some families value it more than others.  I saw a few families that have chosen to have a crop that yields more money, such as small red hot chili peppers, which allows them to have brick and mortar home as opposed to the standard mud hut.  On the flip side, “excess income” can be spent by the man head of household on drinking, which is obviously not the best use of rare funds.  Necessary changes to the community like surveyors, boundary markers, and deeds cost money among other one-off items like bicycles and dowry. It’s not just the future of land rights in this part of Uganda that needs coaching, organizations preach women’s rights and other issues in this country as well.  Some of those organizations were touring these communities with us and are figuring out how they can work with us to best solve these problems. 

The Okeng community took two years to get to where they are today.  Other communities do not see the importance of title or survey, or there is too much disagreement within them to arrive at the stage I witnessed in Okeng.   Communities will continue to face land rights issues until they start to understand the importance of equipping themselves with the proper tools for protection and start working together.  The onus is very much on them.

Such stories like the Okeng community are remarkable to witness firsthand.  The people are incredibly grateful, especially when we return to their community, for any reason.  When they are happy, they work together well.  I also learned the importance of having enough soda and biscuits for everyone.

The mid-meeting break consists of Fanta, Coke and biscuits for everyone.

HIV Prevention 101

Post by Nicole

Today is the day I give my first HIV prevention presentation.  Of course, there are a few logistical matters to handle before I get my program underway.  The reason behind my visit was that the first 68 children we had placed at the vocational boarding school 10 days ago were due for a monitoring visit, and we were bringing an additional 37 kids.  This second group was a result of my organizations hard work: scouting for eligible candidates in targeted neighborhoods, and resolving issues that had previously prevented many of the children from placement, such as employers who initially refused to let their child laborer go. 

The morning started out as an instant replay of last week.  We arrived at the police barracks where the children were eagerly waiting for us to take them to the school.  However, word must have spread that we were coming and there were an additional 10 kids than expected, packed and ready to go.  These sly youth had never been interviewed by our field staff and were plainly trying to sneak onto the bus.  Worse yet, some didn’t fit our age criteria while others had been brought from outside our targeted communities.  We didn’t know what to do because while these children undoubtedly are vulnerable (one criterion for acceptance to the program), they did not fit the rest of the characteristics and we must maintain the very strict condition set by our donors for purposes of accountability.  If it is later discovered that we accepted children who do not fit the age requirement, or are not domestic workers (though fit all the other criteria) we run into issues of project credibility. 

Once we resolved the confusion of the magically appearing kids, and some arguring, the staff and I took the names of the additional kids and will have a meeting with senior management to figure out a way to accommodate these children.  We clearly all felt strongly about this heartbreaking issue and want to help them.  We shall see what comes of it…

Children and mattresses board the "school bus"

Off we went on our two-hour ride to Jinja with the prescribed 37 kids.   When we arrived one colleague registered the new kids while another gathered the kids we placed last week for my lecture.  In total about 70 teens, boys and girls, were present.  They were so excited and enthusiastic.  Several wanted to hug me before the lecture even started.  I’m still not sure if they were enthralled by my white skin or just thirsty for knowledge.  Probably, some just wanted to feel cool that they were friendly with a muzungu.

I started my lecture by asking for volunteers to define HIV and AIDS and was impressed by the audience participation.  I had a staff member help translate as English is only one of many languages spoken by the students.  Surprisingly the language barrier wasn’t as much of a problem as I had expected.  Things were off to a great start.  Until my intern colleague approached me and whispered that the warden told him I should not talk about condoms and instead only discuss abstinence.  Not this issue again, I thought.  The school is funded by Evangelical Christians and I anticipated such a problem, but I was assured the topic of condom use and safe sex was fair game by the school’s director weeks ago.  I had also consulted with members of my NGO who offered the same advice.  Clearly there are differing opinions within this institution. 

Action shot: me giving the lecture to the students in their classroom

Let me back up for a moment, a little history if I may.  Uganda was on the forefront of combating the AIDS epidemic in the late 80’s and early 90’s.  While other African presidents were denying the problem or offering false information, Musevini has been praised for immediate and effective prevention strategies (which included distribution of millions of condoms and education on how to use them).  As a result, the HIV rates dropped.  They are now sadly on the rise again, with heterosexual females being the most rapidly growing group to be infected.  While the exact numbers are unknown, it is estimated the 10% of the urban Ugandan population is HIV positive.  The rates are slightly lower in rural areas.

Given this trend and my prepared curriculum of condoms and bananas for a demonstration I decided, with the support of the Director (who’s decisions technically trumps the Warden’s) and my NGO counterpart, to go forward with the program.  I feel it is morally wrong to withhold information from inquiring teenagers.  My counterpart and I we agreed that if the kids ask about condoms we would answer honestly.  I was very cautious with my answers.  I stressed that they are too young to be having sex, maybe I said some things that scared the heck out of them regarding the potential of sex jeopardizing their futures, but I believe they need the whole truth.  Finally, a student—bless him!—asked about condoms and I took the opportunity and ran with it.  They were full of excellent questions and seemed to hang on my every word.  And then I broke out the banana.  The class went wild, roaring with laughter and jumping up and down.  Fearing our potential misdemeanor, my colleague and I shushed the kids and did a quick banana-condom presentation, hoping that the warden wasn’t nearby.   

I felt slightly vindicated about my decision to speak to the class honestly when my colleague told me that last year one of the students sent to the school through our NGO got pregnant while there and was forced to leave.  After the session was over many kids came up to thank me.  I handed out teen-focused newspapers produced by a Ugandan NGO called Straight Talk, which the kids went crazy for.  I realized that with kids at this age the Internet becomes a fountain of information, for good or for bad, but these kids only have the little information they get from friends, relatives, and teachers (if they were fortunate enough to have attended school).  Handing out these Straight Talk publications, it seemed as if they were made of gold by the way the kids expressed such a desire to own an issue.  I regretted not bringing more educational handouts.

We also evaluated their progress at school and asked them to tell us what challenges they are facing.  The first thing that came up was the lack of sanitary pads for the girls, and lack o mosquito nets.  Many were sharing cups and bowls with other students.  They don’t have enough pens or paper.  And, some of the kids have been stealing things from other kids.

Still, when asked if they are happy, all replied with an enthusiastic YES.  They are learning a lot, the teachers are good, and they are hopeful that this education will help them in the future.

As I had expected, my little buddy Derrick found me the minute I arrived.  We took a walk and he told me that he loves school and has chosen the catering and hotel management track.  He promises to work really hard in the courses.  He then told me a bit about his background.  His father died many years ago and Derrick was not able to go to the funeral or ever get information about his father’s death since it happened in the city and he was living in the countryside.  His mother eventually had to move to the city with her children to find work and has been supporting the entire family on her modest police officer salary (71 USD/month).  Some of the money is sent back to the village to support extended family members.  Even though he performed well at school, he wasn’t able to finish secondary school, as his mother’s meager wages just weren’t enough for all the children’s school fees.  He said that he feels blessed to have been chosen for this program and promises not to waste this opportunity.  He hopes to get a job in a hotel so that he can earn a better income and help his mother and younger brothers. 

What an incredible feeling to be part of an organization that is truly changing the lives of children.