Yesterday started out pretty neutral. I woke up and ate breakfast (leftover rice and beans - Asian style), then got ready for my 9:00 meeting with some local man about goat husbandry. By 11:30 sharp, the man had picked me up and we were on our way. It was raining, so we had to keep the windows down as we drove around for the next 1-2 hours picking up various people who weren't yet ready for our 9:00 meeting. After the car was packed (6 wet people in a compact with no AC and the windows up) we drove down one of the most poorly maintained roads with some of the most nauseating driving I have seen in Africa for at least a week, and that is really saying something. After arriving at the project site, I picked the smallest, least fresh pile of goat shit I could find to stand in and listen to two men argue in a language I didn't understand (not Runyankore or English) about whether one man's goats were fit enough for the government to buy and give to the other man for free. After the meeting was over, I explained to the driver that I was not feeling well enough to continue on. I withheld the information that this was probably 50% attributable to his driving and 50% attributable to the neglect of my rumbling stomach. After another hour ride back, my mood at this point could have best been described as "pissy".
Once out of the car, the tide began to turn almost immediately. The sun came out (literally) as I sat down to a nice heaping plate of rice and beans (African-style). I then went home, ate about 5 kabaragara which are these amazing little yellow bananas, listened to a Podcast of the Avett Brothers live in concert (thanks to Ally and Charlene for the intro), and laid around for about an hour. Next, I got up and went to my new gym and, despite the 6'X15' space available for the dozen of us there, got in an amazing workout. I then went to the store where I bought some yogurt and a scone which I slathered in peanut-butter and inhaled while listening to another live concert Podcast - this time Passion Pit. After a few more hours and a few more kabaragara, I made dinner. I had eaten rice and beans African-style or Asian-style for the last four meals in a row so I decided to treat myself and switch things up. After an immensely satisfying bowl of Mexican-style rice and beans with a Decemberists Podcast to keep me company, I watched the movie Avatar (available locally for the low, low price of UGX 2,ooo = $1), ate the rest of my kabaragara, and called it a night
Peace Corps is a dichotomy. I've heard it said a by a number of more experienced PC Volunteers, but it is just now starting to become apparent to me. I have never had such peaks and valleys in the course of a single day. In one moment I might be completely lost and miserable. An anxiety will grip me and I'll start to wonder what on earth possessed me to do this. Am I out of my mind? A few hours later, you might find me at peace with everything, grinning from ear to ear. Sometimes the change is brought on by something as simple as the sun coming out or getting a decent meal, and sometimes it is brought on by seemingly nothing at all. I guess that's just the nature of this thing. Sometimes it feels like you're on top of the world, and sometimes it feels like nothing is ever going to go your way. I think the trick will be to learn as much as I can from the bad and soak up as much as I can from the good.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Magic Wand
So the more I talk to people on the phone, the more I become aware that I haven't been too clear on what I am actually doing here. Part of that is because I am trying not to treat this like a day to day list of menial tasks, and the other part is because if I don't type about it, it's probably because I find it either too boring for people to want to read or too sensitive for what Peace Corps considers appropriate. Anyway, I'll try to be more clear about what's going on. I also want to note that if there is something you want to hear about or see here, just let me know and I'll try to get to it.
I'll start by saying that training is officially over. I have left my homestay, and am now trying to get settled in Mbarara. I am living in Mbarara (see picture of my mud hut above) for only a few weeks until my house at site, right outside of Lake Mburo National Park, is finished. I have been to the park this past weekend and it's beautiful! You can see some of the pictures that I took there on the link in the last post. I feel like I've said this, but I'll quickly say again that the work that I will be doing will mostly be to develop this tourism site (camping and cabins) and work with the communities surrounding the park to help them generate some income from all of the tourism they live right next to. That could mean a number of different things, but so you have an idea of what that might look like, other similarly placed volunteers have done things like crafts groups for women to sell things to tourists, youth wilderness and conservation clubs, teaching marketing and basic accounting to business owners, while always trying to mix in some HIV/AIDS education. Those tasks seem pretty realistic, and I listed them because they are the things I know how to do, and they are the ones Peace Corps supports, and volunteers have been successful with in the past.
The problem is the people at my site are looking for so much more. They had this expectation that someone from the West could come into their community, wave a magic wand, and leave the streets paved in gold. The problem persisted when they didn't take one look at me and decide that this 24 year old kid with no tourism experience (outside of being one) would not, in fact, be the person that would turn their empty plot of land into a booming tourism mecca. Instead, they took me around to some of the most important people in the Ankole region and told these VIPs that I had arrived to show them how to do it all. Some of these people have included the heir to the Ankole throne, the Warden of Tourism for National Parks, and while I haven't yet met the national Minister of Tourism, I understand that he was upset I was unable to meet him during my first visit here.
To put it lightly, my site is well connected to the people at the top, and well supported at the grassroots level. These people have put in a lot of their already scarce resources into Rwenjeru Campsite. They seem to have so much banking on the success of this project, and they are counting on me for that success. The gravity if my commitment is dawning on me for what feels like the first time. It's definitely scary, but it's also really exhilarating. I still probably need to curb some of the more grandiose expectations, but I know I can help these people. It's definitely going to be more challenging than I care to imagine at this point in time, but right now I am just excited to get started.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Pictures and Video
I don't have a new post ready quite yet, but I've got pictures which is even better! You can also check out some videos of my friends and me on John's youtube page. The intro will give you a chance to just meet everyone and see where we are from, and the next few are about what we went through with training.
Check the video out at: johnemami.blogspot.com
Or look at my pictures here:
Check the video out at: johnemami.blogspot.com
Or look at my pictures here:
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| Uganda - Training |
Friday, April 23, 2010
SPEECH!
(17/04/2010)
Today is the last day at homestay before we move on to Kampala for our Swearing In Ceremony. In just a few more days, I'll no longer be considered a Trainee, but a Volunteer! After only 10 weeks of training for 9 hours a day, six days a week you too can be qualified to give away two years of your work for free! It's a little bittersweet leaving this place. On the one hand, I am ready to be out living on my own, and on the other, I am really going to miss the support of all of the friends that I've made here. I will still see some of them once or twice a month, and I am sure we will text and call frequently, but of course it's not nearly the same. Anyway, I don't feel like thinking up a new post, but since I had to write and read a speech today during our homestay thank you ceremony, I figured I would share that with you all.
Ten weeks ago, we Trainees came to this country as strangers in every sense of the word. The land. The language. The culture. The people. We didn't even know eachother. We may have come here with some preconceived notions about what life was going to be like here, but the fact of the matter is we had no idea. We were strangers in a strange land (yep... I said it.). Bush babies. Yet from the moment we stepped off the plane in Entebbe, someone has been there to show us the way.
At first it was the staff and administration. These people have given up so much of their own lives, many of them away from their homes and families, to be here with us. Each one of them consistently puts in so much time, energy, and effort, and exhibits so much patience. I can't imagine what it must be like to try to teach a language to someone who is litterally coming in with the knowledge of a two year old, or trying to tell an American that just because no one has shown up to one of your meetings that was supposed to start an hour ago, that doesn't mean no one is GOING to show up. They've been our instructors, our counselors, and our friends for the last ten weeks. Always going above and beyond what could reasonably be expected of them. Alyways putting us first.
After the long plane ride and the few short days in Lweza, it was time for yet another new beginning, here, in Wakiso. Since we arrived, the community has welcomed us with open arms, and that is especially true of each one of our homestay familes. You have invited us into your homes, looked after us, cooked for us, and put up with our odd American ways. It takes a very special kind of person to not only take a total stranger into their home, but to welcome them as if they were family. I haven't traveled the world over, but I have been many places both outside and within the United States, and I can promise you that you don't find the type of people that we have found here just anywhere.
And then there's the rest of you guys, my fellow trainees. We made it! Ten long weeks down. Two short years to go. You guys are an amazing group of people, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. All 29 of us who came to country are still here, and even amongst the adventurous people Peace Corps is famous for, that is a very rare accomplishment. I've seen you all supporting eachother and supporting me every step along the way. I know that without you, I couldn't have gotten very far. Charlene (for those of you reading Charlene is a Trainee and one of my best friends here) said it first, but I am going to steal it from her here - we are a world away from wherever we called home before, but we have eachother here, and we are a family.
When I look around here, I am incredibly encouraged to see each of you. Each one of us is unique in our own way. We come from different places, cultures, and we have different beliefs, and yet by being here I feel like I can say that all share some important bonds. We believe that our lives can be richer when we share them with people who are different than ourselves. We believe that there are more important things than only looking out for ourselves. We believe that what we do with this life really does matter. That although we may not change the world, it might just be a brighter place for our having been here.
So yeah, that was my speech. It's just a paraphrase of what I actually said, but that's the best I can remember it. I am fully aware that it's a bit over-the-top, but that's what's called for by the pomp of Ugandan ceremonies. Having said that, I don't want you to think it's any less sincere.
Today is the last day at homestay before we move on to Kampala for our Swearing In Ceremony. In just a few more days, I'll no longer be considered a Trainee, but a Volunteer! After only 10 weeks of training for 9 hours a day, six days a week you too can be qualified to give away two years of your work for free! It's a little bittersweet leaving this place. On the one hand, I am ready to be out living on my own, and on the other, I am really going to miss the support of all of the friends that I've made here. I will still see some of them once or twice a month, and I am sure we will text and call frequently, but of course it's not nearly the same. Anyway, I don't feel like thinking up a new post, but since I had to write and read a speech today during our homestay thank you ceremony, I figured I would share that with you all.
Ten weeks ago, we Trainees came to this country as strangers in every sense of the word. The land. The language. The culture. The people. We didn't even know eachother. We may have come here with some preconceived notions about what life was going to be like here, but the fact of the matter is we had no idea. We were strangers in a strange land (yep... I said it.). Bush babies. Yet from the moment we stepped off the plane in Entebbe, someone has been there to show us the way.
At first it was the staff and administration. These people have given up so much of their own lives, many of them away from their homes and families, to be here with us. Each one of them consistently puts in so much time, energy, and effort, and exhibits so much patience. I can't imagine what it must be like to try to teach a language to someone who is litterally coming in with the knowledge of a two year old, or trying to tell an American that just because no one has shown up to one of your meetings that was supposed to start an hour ago, that doesn't mean no one is GOING to show up. They've been our instructors, our counselors, and our friends for the last ten weeks. Always going above and beyond what could reasonably be expected of them. Alyways putting us first.
After the long plane ride and the few short days in Lweza, it was time for yet another new beginning, here, in Wakiso. Since we arrived, the community has welcomed us with open arms, and that is especially true of each one of our homestay familes. You have invited us into your homes, looked after us, cooked for us, and put up with our odd American ways. It takes a very special kind of person to not only take a total stranger into their home, but to welcome them as if they were family. I haven't traveled the world over, but I have been many places both outside and within the United States, and I can promise you that you don't find the type of people that we have found here just anywhere.
And then there's the rest of you guys, my fellow trainees. We made it! Ten long weeks down. Two short years to go. You guys are an amazing group of people, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. All 29 of us who came to country are still here, and even amongst the adventurous people Peace Corps is famous for, that is a very rare accomplishment. I've seen you all supporting eachother and supporting me every step along the way. I know that without you, I couldn't have gotten very far. Charlene (for those of you reading Charlene is a Trainee and one of my best friends here) said it first, but I am going to steal it from her here - we are a world away from wherever we called home before, but we have eachother here, and we are a family.
When I look around here, I am incredibly encouraged to see each of you. Each one of us is unique in our own way. We come from different places, cultures, and we have different beliefs, and yet by being here I feel like I can say that all share some important bonds. We believe that our lives can be richer when we share them with people who are different than ourselves. We believe that there are more important things than only looking out for ourselves. We believe that what we do with this life really does matter. That although we may not change the world, it might just be a brighter place for our having been here.
So yeah, that was my speech. It's just a paraphrase of what I actually said, but that's the best I can remember it. I am fully aware that it's a bit over-the-top, but that's what's called for by the pomp of Ugandan ceremonies. Having said that, I don't want you to think it's any less sincere.
When it Rains...
(13/04/2010)
I've been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster lately. Last week, I found out my future site. This is the place that I'm going to be living and working in for the next two years. I have been assigned to work as an eco-tourism advisor near Lake Mburo National Park. I was absolutely ecstatic about this placement. I feel it is one of the most exciting fields that Peace Corps works in, and I was lucky enough to be the only person in my group selected for this program. Eco-tourism is exactly what my dream job would have been here with the Peace Corps, and although Lake Mburo isn't as well known as some of Uganda's other parks (probably due to it's lack of lions and gorillas), it is supposed to be an amazing little park, and one that is fairly untapped when it comes to tourism.
A quick rundown for those of you who aren't sure what eco-tourism is: it is the idea of creating communities of environmentally and economically sustainable tourist destinations. As it is now, many of the villagers feel as if they are at ends with the parks that they live near. For example, lions are absent in the park because neighboring cattle herders have poisoned them into extinction for preying on the cows which represent their livlihoods. Deforestation is also a problem because people have been chopping down trees in and around the park for years for firewood. The general duty of the eco-tourism volunteer is to not only educate the surrounding communities about the dangers of these actions, but to teach them to live harmoniously with the park, and to hopefully use that park as a source of income to enrich their lives.
This past weekend, while I was visiting my future site, the mental pendulum started to swing the other way. I arrived in the town of Biharwe, which is 3km away from my site, and was less than excited by what I saw. Biharwe is a transient town right along the highway. It is loud and dirty with the heavy traffic of people traveling between Masaka and Mbarara, and the road construction is definitely not helping. I knew that Biharwe was not my site, however, and I kept my hopes up that those 3km would be a world away from the town I was seeing. After meeting my new supervisor, counterpart, and chairman of my organization, we hopped into a car a took a dirt road away from the highway toward my site, Rwenjeru Campsite. Rwenjeru is supposed to be my home and basecamp for work for the rest of my time here in Uganda. The campsite is quite luckily nothing like Biharwe. It is beautiful there. No more construction and traffic, no more dirt, no more people harrassing me. As my future collegues were showing me around, they pointed out a pile of bricks to me, which I thought I was supposed to be admiring. "Nice bricks," I said. "Yes, we are glad you like them. They are for your house. Where would you like it?" I was a bit taken aback by this. There was less than two weeks before I was supposed to be moving into this pile of bricks, and I had been told that Peace Corps had signed off on my housing as meeting their standards just a few days before.
To make a long story short, my organization had had a temporary house for me in the beautiful town of Biharwe to live in during construction which Peace Corps had signed off on, but it has been made unfit to live in by the road construction. My organization then found different housing for me in the town of Mbarara, which is completely amazing, however Peace Corps will most likely veto this location because it is too far away. I don't know what is being done, but I am told things will "probably still work out" with the organization, and to just sit tight and wait for them to decide something.
This, in and of itself, is really not the worst thing in the world, although the not knowing is a bit frustrating but as I said the pendulum had started to swing. I am aware that it is completely mental, but I can't help but think that all the things that usually go my way throughout the course of the day have started going against me. Some stomach issues have set in for the first time since I've been here, there has been some controversey between my host family and PC which I am unfortunately caught in the middle of, even the weather seems to be conspiring against me. Little things that I would not ordinarily care about are piling up and just making things worse.
I know that this is not a feeling that is unique to me. It happened to me back in the states, and I am sure you can probably relate to what I am saying. It's just a rut, and I can see myself in it so I feel like I can work my way out of it. Training will be over in just a few days, and with its end comes yet another fresh start. I may not know where I'll be living, but I am sure the change is exactly what I need.
I've been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster lately. Last week, I found out my future site. This is the place that I'm going to be living and working in for the next two years. I have been assigned to work as an eco-tourism advisor near Lake Mburo National Park. I was absolutely ecstatic about this placement. I feel it is one of the most exciting fields that Peace Corps works in, and I was lucky enough to be the only person in my group selected for this program. Eco-tourism is exactly what my dream job would have been here with the Peace Corps, and although Lake Mburo isn't as well known as some of Uganda's other parks (probably due to it's lack of lions and gorillas), it is supposed to be an amazing little park, and one that is fairly untapped when it comes to tourism.
A quick rundown for those of you who aren't sure what eco-tourism is: it is the idea of creating communities of environmentally and economically sustainable tourist destinations. As it is now, many of the villagers feel as if they are at ends with the parks that they live near. For example, lions are absent in the park because neighboring cattle herders have poisoned them into extinction for preying on the cows which represent their livlihoods. Deforestation is also a problem because people have been chopping down trees in and around the park for years for firewood. The general duty of the eco-tourism volunteer is to not only educate the surrounding communities about the dangers of these actions, but to teach them to live harmoniously with the park, and to hopefully use that park as a source of income to enrich their lives.
This past weekend, while I was visiting my future site, the mental pendulum started to swing the other way. I arrived in the town of Biharwe, which is 3km away from my site, and was less than excited by what I saw. Biharwe is a transient town right along the highway. It is loud and dirty with the heavy traffic of people traveling between Masaka and Mbarara, and the road construction is definitely not helping. I knew that Biharwe was not my site, however, and I kept my hopes up that those 3km would be a world away from the town I was seeing. After meeting my new supervisor, counterpart, and chairman of my organization, we hopped into a car a took a dirt road away from the highway toward my site, Rwenjeru Campsite. Rwenjeru is supposed to be my home and basecamp for work for the rest of my time here in Uganda. The campsite is quite luckily nothing like Biharwe. It is beautiful there. No more construction and traffic, no more dirt, no more people harrassing me. As my future collegues were showing me around, they pointed out a pile of bricks to me, which I thought I was supposed to be admiring. "Nice bricks," I said. "Yes, we are glad you like them. They are for your house. Where would you like it?" I was a bit taken aback by this. There was less than two weeks before I was supposed to be moving into this pile of bricks, and I had been told that Peace Corps had signed off on my housing as meeting their standards just a few days before.
To make a long story short, my organization had had a temporary house for me in the beautiful town of Biharwe to live in during construction which Peace Corps had signed off on, but it has been made unfit to live in by the road construction. My organization then found different housing for me in the town of Mbarara, which is completely amazing, however Peace Corps will most likely veto this location because it is too far away. I don't know what is being done, but I am told things will "probably still work out" with the organization, and to just sit tight and wait for them to decide something.
This, in and of itself, is really not the worst thing in the world, although the not knowing is a bit frustrating but as I said the pendulum had started to swing. I am aware that it is completely mental, but I can't help but think that all the things that usually go my way throughout the course of the day have started going against me. Some stomach issues have set in for the first time since I've been here, there has been some controversey between my host family and PC which I am unfortunately caught in the middle of, even the weather seems to be conspiring against me. Little things that I would not ordinarily care about are piling up and just making things worse.
I know that this is not a feeling that is unique to me. It happened to me back in the states, and I am sure you can probably relate to what I am saying. It's just a rut, and I can see myself in it so I feel like I can work my way out of it. Training will be over in just a few days, and with its end comes yet another fresh start. I may not know where I'll be living, but I am sure the change is exactly what I need.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Fun with Uganglish
(02/04/2010)
As you may or may not know, Uganda was a British colony until 1962. There are 56 local languages in this country, some of which have the same base (i.e. Bantu) while others are something completely unrecognizable to any but there native speakers. The one common language across the entire nation, luckily for me, is English. Unluckily for me, Ugandans don't speak American-English, and really they don't even speak British-English, but rather a derivitive of British-English that I've come to know and love as Uganglish. I find find Uganglish rather amusing, and I thought you might as well so I thought I would just share with you some of my favorite expressions.
*Note* I am in no way trying to put down Ugandan dialect. In fact, if you speak to me on the phone you will probably notice more than a few of these have already entered my speech patterns. It is simply a cultural difference, and that's kind of what this whole thing is all about.
The Mid-sentence What? The Mid-sentence Question - I have already talked a bit about this one in a previous post, but I thought it was list-worthy anyway. You hear this one quite a bit from anyone who is trying to teach something or from current students. There is even one what? one Trainee whose homestay brother will what? will ask questions how many times? up to three times in one sentence.
The Unnecessary Assurance - "I can assure you." It's said in America, but not with the same frequency or the liberal interpretation of what things a person may need reassurance on.
-"It has started to rain. I can assure you."
-"I know. I am standing outside with you."
"Somehow" - One of my favorites. In American-English, somehow means that an outcome has happened against some odds. "The Cavs somehow got the win." In Uganglish, however, somehow has a different meaning which I would say is much closer, although not limited to our own use of "kind of".
-"So your house is by the well?"
-"Somehow."
"Are You Sure/Positive?" - Again, another phrase you are likely to hear in American-English, but the here is different. In America, it is used to gauge somebody's certainty, while here it's simply a conversational filler. A somehow exclamatory remark that I would say is closest to "oh, really?" (you see what I did there with the "somehow"?).
-"I had rice and beans for lunch today."
-"Are you sure?"
-"Let me think about it... yep..."
The Apology - There is no word in any Bantu language for "sorry", however the word "bambe" is sometimes substituted for it locally. The problem with "bambe" is that it has many more meanings than just "I'm sorry". It can be used as not only an apology, but also a term of endearment and a term of pitying. This is just my theory, but I believe that it is because of this that everyone in Uganda is constantly apologizing to every white people. If you trip over your own feet on the street, you can be sure to hear a chorus of, "Oh, sorry!" as you go by.
"Toast" - Apparently the word "toast" means two pieces of bread in Unganglish. This type of "toast" has no prior toasting requirements, and in fact very few locals will even know that some foreign people actually toast their bread. I discovered this through my language trainer, Richard, and we were both equally outraged at the other's misuse of "toast".
-"Well how many pieces do you have to toast to make it toast?!"
-"Any amount! You can toast half a slice, or you can toast a whole loaf and it will -all be "toast"!"
-"What? That's crazy!"
-"We're the crazy ones?! You don't even toast your f-ing toast!"
The Assist - This one pretty much just means "give", and, as a Muzungu, I hear it all the time.
-"Muzungu, assist me with your money/bike."
Tones - So these aren't really Uganglish words, and it is done all of the time in both English and local languages, but people will use many tones as a way of communcation instead of words. Often, people set the pace of a conversation by "mmmmmmmm"-ing, and I can assure you, they do it often. "How are you, sir?" "Fine, madem." "mmmmmmm" (at least 3 seconds - this means you can move on and ask the other person how they are). Another one of my favorites is that "Ahhhhh-haaaaa!" It is used whenever someone is really in agreement with something that has been said. It's much higher in pitch and considerably more elongated than it's American counterpart. There are many others, but I won't get into them all here. I guess we have similar mannerisms, but none so formally a part of everyone's speech pattern. It takes some getting used to.
As you may or may not know, Uganda was a British colony until 1962. There are 56 local languages in this country, some of which have the same base (i.e. Bantu) while others are something completely unrecognizable to any but there native speakers. The one common language across the entire nation, luckily for me, is English. Unluckily for me, Ugandans don't speak American-English, and really they don't even speak British-English, but rather a derivitive of British-English that I've come to know and love as Uganglish. I find find Uganglish rather amusing, and I thought you might as well so I thought I would just share with you some of my favorite expressions.
*Note* I am in no way trying to put down Ugandan dialect. In fact, if you speak to me on the phone you will probably notice more than a few of these have already entered my speech patterns. It is simply a cultural difference, and that's kind of what this whole thing is all about.
The Mid-sentence What? The Mid-sentence Question - I have already talked a bit about this one in a previous post, but I thought it was list-worthy anyway. You hear this one quite a bit from anyone who is trying to teach something or from current students. There is even one what? one Trainee whose homestay brother will what? will ask questions how many times? up to three times in one sentence.
The Unnecessary Assurance - "I can assure you." It's said in America, but not with the same frequency or the liberal interpretation of what things a person may need reassurance on.
-"It has started to rain. I can assure you."
-"I know. I am standing outside with you."
"Somehow" - One of my favorites. In American-English, somehow means that an outcome has happened against some odds. "The Cavs somehow got the win." In Uganglish, however, somehow has a different meaning which I would say is much closer, although not limited to our own use of "kind of".
-"So your house is by the well?"
-"Somehow."
"Are You Sure/Positive?" - Again, another phrase you are likely to hear in American-English, but the here is different. In America, it is used to gauge somebody's certainty, while here it's simply a conversational filler. A somehow exclamatory remark that I would say is closest to "oh, really?" (you see what I did there with the "somehow"?).
-"I had rice and beans for lunch today."
-"Are you sure?"
-"Let me think about it... yep..."
The Apology - There is no word in any Bantu language for "sorry", however the word "bambe" is sometimes substituted for it locally. The problem with "bambe" is that it has many more meanings than just "I'm sorry". It can be used as not only an apology, but also a term of endearment and a term of pitying. This is just my theory, but I believe that it is because of this that everyone in Uganda is constantly apologizing to every white people. If you trip over your own feet on the street, you can be sure to hear a chorus of, "Oh, sorry!" as you go by.
"Toast" - Apparently the word "toast" means two pieces of bread in Unganglish. This type of "toast" has no prior toasting requirements, and in fact very few locals will even know that some foreign people actually toast their bread. I discovered this through my language trainer, Richard, and we were both equally outraged at the other's misuse of "toast".
-"Well how many pieces do you have to toast to make it toast?!"
-"Any amount! You can toast half a slice, or you can toast a whole loaf and it will -all be "toast"!"
-"What? That's crazy!"
-"We're the crazy ones?! You don't even toast your f-ing toast!"
The Assist - This one pretty much just means "give", and, as a Muzungu, I hear it all the time.
-"Muzungu, assist me with your money/bike."
Tones - So these aren't really Uganglish words, and it is done all of the time in both English and local languages, but people will use many tones as a way of communcation instead of words. Often, people set the pace of a conversation by "mmmmmmmm"-ing, and I can assure you, they do it often. "How are you, sir?" "Fine, madem." "mmmmmmm" (at least 3 seconds - this means you can move on and ask the other person how they are). Another one of my favorites is that "Ahhhhh-haaaaa!" It is used whenever someone is really in agreement with something that has been said. It's much higher in pitch and considerably more elongated than it's American counterpart. There are many others, but I won't get into them all here. I guess we have similar mannerisms, but none so formally a part of everyone's speech pattern. It takes some getting used to.
Rat Warz
(30/03/2010)
My room here in Uganda is a bit of a zoo, and each day it becomes progressively more so. The first day at homestay, I saw that their was a pretty noticable amount of insects inhabiting my room. I have never been one for insects, but this is Africa, and I figured exceptions must be made. That night, I noticed a gecko running around on my walls during the middle of the night. I was a little weirded out by having a live animal in my room, and aside from shitting on my walls, my gecko doesn't bother me much once I got used to him. I have also gotten used to the rest of his family which have also moved in with me. Several weeks back, I began hearing a lot of scurrying around and screaching coming from my attic. I figured it was probably some kind of rodent, but seeing as the noise wasn't disturbing my sleep too much, there was apparently no way for them to come into my room due to the concrete walls and 10 foot drop from the attic hole, and my complete lack of interest in climbing into the attic to catch, kill, and handle dead rats, I opted to live and let live.
This was a mistake on my part. I returned from immersion to find that the situation has gotten completely out of hand. My first night back, the noise was unlike anything I had heard before. It is extremely loud and even violent sounding, and, unlike before, it is now keeping me up at all hours of the night. Mixed in with this, there has also been some light noises of things ploppingt on my concrete floor intermittently throughout the night. As it turns out, over the course of my week-long absence the rats have somehow learned how to shit out of the attic hole and into my room. The ruckus climaxed at around 5 AM. The screaching was unbearable, and it sounded as if a person were actually up there stomping around. At the end of this commotion, there was another very distinct sound. It was one of those things that, although I had never experienced it before, I was 100% sure I knew what it was. This fine morning, that experience was hearing the sound of 1/4 pound of flesh hitting a concrete flooor. After shouting something horrible, I turned on my flashlight to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, there was the latest member of my zoo, only to my surprise the 10 foot drop had not killed it, and the light from my torch sent my new rat scurrying under my couch. (Sidenote: in what is one of the less fortunate coincidences of my life, I started reading the book The Plague less than a week ago)
Geckos are one thing, but rats are something else entirely. I weighed the options of searching through my dark room (the power was out) for a rat, or letting said rat wreak havoc in my room all day. I ultimately decided to get the thing out of my room. An hour and a half later, my host brother, Innocent, woke up, and, with his help, we had that rat crawling over my bare feet and out the door in just another short hour.
As you can imagine, I was pretty tired all the next day. When I returned home I was assured that both the extra noise and the boldly leaping rat were freak incidents. The rats had been up in that attic before and had never caused any problems like that. As the story seemed backed up by my own experiences, I bought into it. That night there was even more noise, more shit, and around 5 AM another 2 rats jumped out of the attic at the climax of commotion. I went to training even more tired than the day before, and later learned that my zombie-like state had been mistaken for withdraw from the program by the training staff, and that I had earned an unofficial spot on their Early Termination watch-list (ET is the Peace Corps lingo for a volunteer choosing to go home. Sorry Mom. Not yet.). Luckily the story came out through my language instructor Richard, and I was even offered a hotel room until the problem was solved.
Well rats, just as George Costanza concluded with the pigeons of NYC, "the deal is off!" If you think I will just roll over for some animal, maybe you should talk to the last chicken that got in my way. The time for pacifism is over.
Unfortunately for both me and the rats, African pest control is not quite up to my American standards. The only things available locally are some bush-league poison and what is basically just a tube of glue. The poison takes up to 3 days to kill the things and does not prevent the smell of decay like many Western chemicals. Who knows where these things will be in 3 days time... The glue, as I said, is just glue, and while, once stuck, the rat can't wander off, die in some hole, and fester for weeks, he can keep on living and screaching for a few days in his newly glued-to-the-floor state making both of our lives miserable.
Despite all this, sacrifices must be made in the name of good vs. evil. Unlike the case of the chicken, I will show neither hesitation nor remorse. I will not bend to the will of this freedom-hating rodent-facism. My resolve is strong. I am confident that I will prevail.
"We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!"
My room here in Uganda is a bit of a zoo, and each day it becomes progressively more so. The first day at homestay, I saw that their was a pretty noticable amount of insects inhabiting my room. I have never been one for insects, but this is Africa, and I figured exceptions must be made. That night, I noticed a gecko running around on my walls during the middle of the night. I was a little weirded out by having a live animal in my room, and aside from shitting on my walls, my gecko doesn't bother me much once I got used to him. I have also gotten used to the rest of his family which have also moved in with me. Several weeks back, I began hearing a lot of scurrying around and screaching coming from my attic. I figured it was probably some kind of rodent, but seeing as the noise wasn't disturbing my sleep too much, there was apparently no way for them to come into my room due to the concrete walls and 10 foot drop from the attic hole, and my complete lack of interest in climbing into the attic to catch, kill, and handle dead rats, I opted to live and let live.
This was a mistake on my part. I returned from immersion to find that the situation has gotten completely out of hand. My first night back, the noise was unlike anything I had heard before. It is extremely loud and even violent sounding, and, unlike before, it is now keeping me up at all hours of the night. Mixed in with this, there has also been some light noises of things ploppingt on my concrete floor intermittently throughout the night. As it turns out, over the course of my week-long absence the rats have somehow learned how to shit out of the attic hole and into my room. The ruckus climaxed at around 5 AM. The screaching was unbearable, and it sounded as if a person were actually up there stomping around. At the end of this commotion, there was another very distinct sound. It was one of those things that, although I had never experienced it before, I was 100% sure I knew what it was. This fine morning, that experience was hearing the sound of 1/4 pound of flesh hitting a concrete flooor. After shouting something horrible, I turned on my flashlight to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, there was the latest member of my zoo, only to my surprise the 10 foot drop had not killed it, and the light from my torch sent my new rat scurrying under my couch. (Sidenote: in what is one of the less fortunate coincidences of my life, I started reading the book The Plague less than a week ago)
Geckos are one thing, but rats are something else entirely. I weighed the options of searching through my dark room (the power was out) for a rat, or letting said rat wreak havoc in my room all day. I ultimately decided to get the thing out of my room. An hour and a half later, my host brother, Innocent, woke up, and, with his help, we had that rat crawling over my bare feet and out the door in just another short hour.
As you can imagine, I was pretty tired all the next day. When I returned home I was assured that both the extra noise and the boldly leaping rat were freak incidents. The rats had been up in that attic before and had never caused any problems like that. As the story seemed backed up by my own experiences, I bought into it. That night there was even more noise, more shit, and around 5 AM another 2 rats jumped out of the attic at the climax of commotion. I went to training even more tired than the day before, and later learned that my zombie-like state had been mistaken for withdraw from the program by the training staff, and that I had earned an unofficial spot on their Early Termination watch-list (ET is the Peace Corps lingo for a volunteer choosing to go home. Sorry Mom. Not yet.). Luckily the story came out through my language instructor Richard, and I was even offered a hotel room until the problem was solved.
Well rats, just as George Costanza concluded with the pigeons of NYC, "the deal is off!" If you think I will just roll over for some animal, maybe you should talk to the last chicken that got in my way. The time for pacifism is over.
Unfortunately for both me and the rats, African pest control is not quite up to my American standards. The only things available locally are some bush-league poison and what is basically just a tube of glue. The poison takes up to 3 days to kill the things and does not prevent the smell of decay like many Western chemicals. Who knows where these things will be in 3 days time... The glue, as I said, is just glue, and while, once stuck, the rat can't wander off, die in some hole, and fester for weeks, he can keep on living and screaching for a few days in his newly glued-to-the-floor state making both of our lives miserable.
Despite all this, sacrifices must be made in the name of good vs. evil. Unlike the case of the chicken, I will show neither hesitation nor remorse. I will not bend to the will of this freedom-hating rodent-facism. My resolve is strong. I am confident that I will prevail.
"We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!"
Marian
(28/03/2010)
All this week, I have been in language immersion with a current volunteer, Jill. I was matched with her because she lives in an area where they speak the language I am learning, and like me she is a Community Health and Economic Development (CHED) Volunteer. It has been so nice to get outside of the town I have been spending training in, get away from the confines of a host family, and away from the stringent rules that come along with Peace Corps Training. I'd like to be able to expound a bit more on what it's been like here, but there honestly isn't much to tell in the day to day. Compassion, the NGO Jill works for, welcomed my coming by basically giving her the whole week off (something that seems the nice thing to do, but is kind of the opposite that we were going for). Most of our days are filled with taking long walks throughout her town.
Another big part of the immersion week was supposed to be to see how a volunteer interacts with their counterparts. A counterpart is a local person who works with each volunteer to add different perspectives and methods to each project and is key at making any project sustainable. Unfortunately, I only got to meet Jill's counterpart once, and it was only for a few minutes as she was mostly bedridden. We brought her some get-well-fruit, and as I was meeting her I was struck by an odd feeling. Jacinta is the first woman I have ever met whom I was aware was HIV positive. It's not a fact that I had ever really thought about, but as I was shaking the woman's hand I was absolutely sure it was true. After having talked about the disease at such a distance for so long back in school, it was a bit surreal to see it for the first time. I am ashamed to say that a bit of parnoia also gripped me at this moment, and despite everything I know about it saying otherwise, I wondered whether or not it was a safe place for me to be. I don't think that I showed any outward signs of what I was feeling, but it was definitely there. I understand why education on the topic is so important. It's hardly difficult to imagine the isolation a person feels from everyone around them given my own knee-jerk reaction.
The following day, I had another glimpse into what this disease has done in Uganda. I was at a TASO (The AIDS Support Organization) outreach with Jill and my instructor, Richard with literally hundreds of infected people awaiting both physical and mental health treatment. Looking around, Ugandans from all walks of life were represented. Men and women. Old and young. Rich and poor. As Richard told me, the disease has no face, and it never discriminates.
ALthough Jill doesn't have any formal duties with TASO, she brough along a bucket of crayons, and the three of us set to work bringing some much needed order and distraction to the children's group. Being a bit timid about just diving right in, I sat down and buried myself in drawing. After a few minutes, I glanced next to me and saw an exact replica of my drawing on my neighbor's paper and a beaming smile on her face. Her name is Marian, and she's in Primary 5 which puts her at about the age of 12, and, like everyone else there, she too is HIV positive. After we got a picture and swapped drawings, we had fun going through my Runyankore/English dictionary, and teaching eachother new words in our native tongues. After a few hours, I said goodbye and left TASO. I figured that would be the last I would ever see of her, but that night, at the vegetable market, there she was. I said, "Osiibire gye, Marian?" (how have you spent the day), and hoped to have the chance to talk with her for a bit, but she just ran off instead. A minute later, she reappeared, thrust a bag of oranges into my chest, and ran off giggling with her friend. I really wish I could have told her something... anything... but I just stood there not knowing what to say as she disappeared for good this time. It's not the first time a Ugandan girl has given me oranges, but I think I will remember this one.
All this week, I have been in language immersion with a current volunteer, Jill. I was matched with her because she lives in an area where they speak the language I am learning, and like me she is a Community Health and Economic Development (CHED) Volunteer. It has been so nice to get outside of the town I have been spending training in, get away from the confines of a host family, and away from the stringent rules that come along with Peace Corps Training. I'd like to be able to expound a bit more on what it's been like here, but there honestly isn't much to tell in the day to day. Compassion, the NGO Jill works for, welcomed my coming by basically giving her the whole week off (something that seems the nice thing to do, but is kind of the opposite that we were going for). Most of our days are filled with taking long walks throughout her town.
Another big part of the immersion week was supposed to be to see how a volunteer interacts with their counterparts. A counterpart is a local person who works with each volunteer to add different perspectives and methods to each project and is key at making any project sustainable. Unfortunately, I only got to meet Jill's counterpart once, and it was only for a few minutes as she was mostly bedridden. We brought her some get-well-fruit, and as I was meeting her I was struck by an odd feeling. Jacinta is the first woman I have ever met whom I was aware was HIV positive. It's not a fact that I had ever really thought about, but as I was shaking the woman's hand I was absolutely sure it was true. After having talked about the disease at such a distance for so long back in school, it was a bit surreal to see it for the first time. I am ashamed to say that a bit of parnoia also gripped me at this moment, and despite everything I know about it saying otherwise, I wondered whether or not it was a safe place for me to be. I don't think that I showed any outward signs of what I was feeling, but it was definitely there. I understand why education on the topic is so important. It's hardly difficult to imagine the isolation a person feels from everyone around them given my own knee-jerk reaction.
The following day, I had another glimpse into what this disease has done in Uganda. I was at a TASO (The AIDS Support Organization) outreach with Jill and my instructor, Richard with literally hundreds of infected people awaiting both physical and mental health treatment. Looking around, Ugandans from all walks of life were represented. Men and women. Old and young. Rich and poor. As Richard told me, the disease has no face, and it never discriminates.
ALthough Jill doesn't have any formal duties with TASO, she brough along a bucket of crayons, and the three of us set to work bringing some much needed order and distraction to the children's group. Being a bit timid about just diving right in, I sat down and buried myself in drawing. After a few minutes, I glanced next to me and saw an exact replica of my drawing on my neighbor's paper and a beaming smile on her face. Her name is Marian, and she's in Primary 5 which puts her at about the age of 12, and, like everyone else there, she too is HIV positive. After we got a picture and swapped drawings, we had fun going through my Runyankore/English dictionary, and teaching eachother new words in our native tongues. After a few hours, I said goodbye and left TASO. I figured that would be the last I would ever see of her, but that night, at the vegetable market, there she was. I said, "Osiibire gye, Marian?" (how have you spent the day), and hoped to have the chance to talk with her for a bit, but she just ran off instead. A minute later, she reappeared, thrust a bag of oranges into my chest, and ran off giggling with her friend. I really wish I could have told her something... anything... but I just stood there not knowing what to say as she disappeared for good this time. It's not the first time a Ugandan girl has given me oranges, but I think I will remember this one.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Mpora Mpora
(19/03/2010)
Another long day, but in the end, it was actually a pretty great one. We went back to Nazareth Vocational with the intention of teaching the girls about marketing and financial management. I will admit that I was less than optimistic about the chances of having any kind of impact on the girls after yesterday's events, and today did not start off any better.
After playing a few ice breaker games with them, we split up into groups and tried to have an interactive discussion about marketing (I had cut financial management from my group's curriculum pretty much the second it was proposed). Instead of calling it marketing, we called it "what makes a good business". In typical Peace Corps fashion, we did not lecture or give the girls any answers, but instead tried to extract their them from the girls' own knowledge and experience. We asked questions like, "When you are getting your hair dressed, why do you choose the place you do instead of one of the other 300 salons in your one square mile town?" (Aside: Uganda is packed with struggling small businesses. All of them are either salons, tailors, bars, or mini-markets.)
At first, there was mostly silence. The few answers we did get were some mumbled regurgitation of what their under-qualified instructors had drilled into them. We heard things like, "they have many combs", "they have clean fingernails", and "that is where my Mom goes" were about the extent of it. Aside from these real gems, there was in the beginning, mostly silence.
This silence, however, is not like anything I have seen in America, and is, I think, worth noting. In America, when some is asked a question, they are well aware that they are supposed to answer it. Not knowing or not wanting to answer only causes panic because they know they have to say something. They may become flushed or stammer as they search for something to say. If all else fails, a very embarrassed "I don't know" will eventually come out. Here is a different story. Children in schools are rarely asked question that what? that the teacher will not answer immediately him or herself without breaking stride. (That was what? an example of something used all the time in Ugandan English, affectionately called Uganglish). In a standard classroom size of 75-125 students, it is very easy for most students to slip between the cracks. Anyway, when we PCTs would ask them questions, they would simply keep their heads down and wait for us to move on. It did not matter how many times we repeated our question directly at any one girl. Her will was stronger than ours, and she could easily wait us out. The very odd thing to me is that there is no embarrassment on their part. Unlike us, they aren't even aware that it's an emotion they are supposed to be feeling in such a circumstance.
Mpora mpora (slowly by slowly), things began to get better. I think that will just be the way of it here. Some of the girls began to realize for what appeared to be the first time that knowing a trade alone would not make them sucessful. Things like price, quality of service, customer care, being creative, knowing what people want, and offering something unique all began to come out of their mouths, and as they spoke more, you could physically see them building in confidence. Most of the ideas were coming from just a handful of my small group of 7, Juliet and Halima in particular, but I still considered it a huge victory. At the end of the day, those two even stood up in front of all of the girls from the other groups to share what they had learned. I was so proud in that moment, not because of anything I had done, but because I had watched as those girls had come out of their shells to show themselves to be both bright and confident. Grace, my partner from the day before, was in another group, and she also stood up to share what she had learned. She had apparently gained so much confidence that she gave me her phone number and asked me to call her before I left.
Another long day, but in the end, it was actually a pretty great one. We went back to Nazareth Vocational with the intention of teaching the girls about marketing and financial management. I will admit that I was less than optimistic about the chances of having any kind of impact on the girls after yesterday's events, and today did not start off any better.
After playing a few ice breaker games with them, we split up into groups and tried to have an interactive discussion about marketing (I had cut financial management from my group's curriculum pretty much the second it was proposed). Instead of calling it marketing, we called it "what makes a good business". In typical Peace Corps fashion, we did not lecture or give the girls any answers, but instead tried to extract their them from the girls' own knowledge and experience. We asked questions like, "When you are getting your hair dressed, why do you choose the place you do instead of one of the other 300 salons in your one square mile town?" (Aside: Uganda is packed with struggling small businesses. All of them are either salons, tailors, bars, or mini-markets.)
At first, there was mostly silence. The few answers we did get were some mumbled regurgitation of what their under-qualified instructors had drilled into them. We heard things like, "they have many combs", "they have clean fingernails", and "that is where my Mom goes" were about the extent of it. Aside from these real gems, there was in the beginning, mostly silence.
This silence, however, is not like anything I have seen in America, and is, I think, worth noting. In America, when some is asked a question, they are well aware that they are supposed to answer it. Not knowing or not wanting to answer only causes panic because they know they have to say something. They may become flushed or stammer as they search for something to say. If all else fails, a very embarrassed "I don't know" will eventually come out. Here is a different story. Children in schools are rarely asked question that what? that the teacher will not answer immediately him or herself without breaking stride. (That was what? an example of something used all the time in Ugandan English, affectionately called Uganglish). In a standard classroom size of 75-125 students, it is very easy for most students to slip between the cracks. Anyway, when we PCTs would ask them questions, they would simply keep their heads down and wait for us to move on. It did not matter how many times we repeated our question directly at any one girl. Her will was stronger than ours, and she could easily wait us out. The very odd thing to me is that there is no embarrassment on their part. Unlike us, they aren't even aware that it's an emotion they are supposed to be feeling in such a circumstance.
Mpora mpora (slowly by slowly), things began to get better. I think that will just be the way of it here. Some of the girls began to realize for what appeared to be the first time that knowing a trade alone would not make them sucessful. Things like price, quality of service, customer care, being creative, knowing what people want, and offering something unique all began to come out of their mouths, and as they spoke more, you could physically see them building in confidence. Most of the ideas were coming from just a handful of my small group of 7, Juliet and Halima in particular, but I still considered it a huge victory. At the end of the day, those two even stood up in front of all of the girls from the other groups to share what they had learned. I was so proud in that moment, not because of anything I had done, but because I had watched as those girls had come out of their shells to show themselves to be both bright and confident. Grace, my partner from the day before, was in another group, and she also stood up to share what she had learned. She had apparently gained so much confidence that she gave me her phone number and asked me to call her before I left.
Dead Aid
(18/03/2010)
Despite the boredom caused by the fact that the vast of the trainees (22 of 29) have left town to begin their two week immersion stay with a current PC Volunteer (CHED, my group, is just next week), there has at least been some interesting things to think about. This week, we have been visiting a community vocational school for some field based training. The school has so many problems, and I worry that this is just an indication of some of the things I will see here in the next few years.
Nazareth Vocational School used to be entirely backed by an international organization called CFCA. This organization funded everything including all students' school fees. Last year, that organization made the decision to withdraw their sponsorship after 8 years. I have been told of the damages that arise from "dead aid" such as this, but this organization was my first real-life glimpse at exactly what the consequences are. Within one year the school has all but fallen apart. Enrollment has dropped from 90+ students to a mere 15 between final term 2009 and first term 2010. School fees have gone from 0 to 250,00 Ugandan Shillings, nearly double that of a traditional, academic-based institution (vocational schools are generally much lower than traditional). The school has plans to grow, but has no actual plan to achieve this. They teach their students technical skills, but give them no instruction whatsoever on how to use them sucessfully, basic business competencies, or how to compete in the marketplace. The students there have incredibly poor communication skills, low self-esteem, and no motivation to differentiate themselves from one another. The instructors are no better.
It is Peace Corps policy that all development should come from within the community. We are facilitators. When money or unneeded/unrequested help is given, that project may be underused, will never be sustainable, and, even worse, it creates a crippling dependence on handouts (see example above). That is why we aren't there to tell Nazareth what must be done. Of course we have ideas, and we ask pointed questions in the hopes that they may see the cause of the existing gap between how they want their organization to be and how it actually is. Almost all of our questions are met only with silence.
Thus far, that exercise has been rather fruitless. We have one more day with the school tomorrow, and I hope we can get some message through to some of them. This week we have each been partnered off with a student who has shown us the technical training they are being taught. My partner is a really sweet, young girl named Grace, and I'd like to think that we have helped her and her and at least some of her fellow students in some way before we move on.
Despite the boredom caused by the fact that the vast of the trainees (22 of 29) have left town to begin their two week immersion stay with a current PC Volunteer (CHED, my group, is just next week), there has at least been some interesting things to think about. This week, we have been visiting a community vocational school for some field based training. The school has so many problems, and I worry that this is just an indication of some of the things I will see here in the next few years.
Nazareth Vocational School used to be entirely backed by an international organization called CFCA. This organization funded everything including all students' school fees. Last year, that organization made the decision to withdraw their sponsorship after 8 years. I have been told of the damages that arise from "dead aid" such as this, but this organization was my first real-life glimpse at exactly what the consequences are. Within one year the school has all but fallen apart. Enrollment has dropped from 90+ students to a mere 15 between final term 2009 and first term 2010. School fees have gone from 0 to 250,00 Ugandan Shillings, nearly double that of a traditional, academic-based institution (vocational schools are generally much lower than traditional). The school has plans to grow, but has no actual plan to achieve this. They teach their students technical skills, but give them no instruction whatsoever on how to use them sucessfully, basic business competencies, or how to compete in the marketplace. The students there have incredibly poor communication skills, low self-esteem, and no motivation to differentiate themselves from one another. The instructors are no better.
It is Peace Corps policy that all development should come from within the community. We are facilitators. When money or unneeded/unrequested help is given, that project may be underused, will never be sustainable, and, even worse, it creates a crippling dependence on handouts (see example above). That is why we aren't there to tell Nazareth what must be done. Of course we have ideas, and we ask pointed questions in the hopes that they may see the cause of the existing gap between how they want their organization to be and how it actually is. Almost all of our questions are met only with silence.
Thus far, that exercise has been rather fruitless. We have one more day with the school tomorrow, and I hope we can get some message through to some of them. This week we have each been partnered off with a student who has shown us the technical training they are being taught. My partner is a really sweet, young girl named Grace, and I'd like to think that we have helped her and her and at least some of her fellow students in some way before we move on.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Transatlantic
(09/03/2010)
I was informed Friday that one of my oldest friends was in a terrible accident. My understanding is that he had to be recissitated at the scene, and is still in a coma. Although the details I have received have been few and far between, it looks like he is going to make, although there are still so many concerns about his long-term well-being.
It's been a strange experience going through this. Of course I feel grief that this happened to my friend, I feel helpless because there is nothing I can do about it, and I feel frustration because I have such little detail. In the past, whenever I have experienced something like this, I have been surrounded by the tragedy. Everyone around me has, if not been feeling the same way, at least been aware and sympathetic. Even though it feels awful, you want to feel the grief. It feeds off everyone around you that feels the same way. It's the way it should feel in a time like this. Of course you would take it all back. Change everything so that the event might never happen, but you can't, so you wallow in your grief.
It's been different here. There is nothing but my own thoughts and a couple of pictures to remind me of my friend and what's going on. There is no one here to share my grief with. I have only told one person here, not because I don't think anyone else will care, but because I know that they will. They don't know my friend though, and even though these are great people, and I know their sympathy would be genuine, it just wouldn't seem right. Because of all of this, I haven't felt it the way I want to (that is to say the way I think it should feel). I also feel the distance between me and home now more than ever. I might as well be on a different planet.
I initially didn't want to write about this at all for a lot of reasons. The obvious being that it's very hard to talk or even think about, but it also just seems voyeuristic to write about something so tragic on something so public. I was worried it would feel like it marginalized the situation in some way because I know that my writing can't do justice to the levity of the situation, and that, in comparison, every other insignificant topic on this blog will pale in comparison. I talked it out with a friend from home, however, and in the end I decided to just be honest and write about what I was feeling.
All my best, Scott. I love you, and I'm so sorry I can't be by your side through this. In two years we'll have a cold one on together on me. High class this time, though. Second cheapest beer on the list.
I was informed Friday that one of my oldest friends was in a terrible accident. My understanding is that he had to be recissitated at the scene, and is still in a coma. Although the details I have received have been few and far between, it looks like he is going to make, although there are still so many concerns about his long-term well-being.
It's been a strange experience going through this. Of course I feel grief that this happened to my friend, I feel helpless because there is nothing I can do about it, and I feel frustration because I have such little detail. In the past, whenever I have experienced something like this, I have been surrounded by the tragedy. Everyone around me has, if not been feeling the same way, at least been aware and sympathetic. Even though it feels awful, you want to feel the grief. It feeds off everyone around you that feels the same way. It's the way it should feel in a time like this. Of course you would take it all back. Change everything so that the event might never happen, but you can't, so you wallow in your grief.
It's been different here. There is nothing but my own thoughts and a couple of pictures to remind me of my friend and what's going on. There is no one here to share my grief with. I have only told one person here, not because I don't think anyone else will care, but because I know that they will. They don't know my friend though, and even though these are great people, and I know their sympathy would be genuine, it just wouldn't seem right. Because of all of this, I haven't felt it the way I want to (that is to say the way I think it should feel). I also feel the distance between me and home now more than ever. I might as well be on a different planet.
I initially didn't want to write about this at all for a lot of reasons. The obvious being that it's very hard to talk or even think about, but it also just seems voyeuristic to write about something so tragic on something so public. I was worried it would feel like it marginalized the situation in some way because I know that my writing can't do justice to the levity of the situation, and that, in comparison, every other insignificant topic on this blog will pale in comparison. I talked it out with a friend from home, however, and in the end I decided to just be honest and write about what I was feeling.
All my best, Scott. I love you, and I'm so sorry I can't be by your side through this. In two years we'll have a cold one on together on me. High class this time, though. Second cheapest beer on the list.
A Boy Becomes Emanzi
(06/03/2010)
I know it's only been just over three weeks, but I continue to like this place more everyday. I am getting closer to some of the PCTs, and I am starting to interact more with some of the locals. I think I will wait to speak in more detail about some of these friendships as they progress because I honestly don't feel much like journaling tonight, but there is one thing I definitely want to get down.
I killed a chicken today. It was part of our instructional session on cooking in Uganda. It wasn't something we all did, and in fact I am the only trainee in our group that this particular task fell to. If you think you are surprised by the fact that I did this, I can assure you that your shock does not exceed my own. Before any of you may start thinking less of me, I'd like to explain a little bit about why I agreed to do it. I have been eating meat all of my life, and if I am going to continue to do so with a clear conscience then I thought this was something I should be willing to face. I have often heard us meat-eaters accused of only being capable of doing what we do because we are so far removed from the source of our food that we no longer have to think about it. I guess I wanted to proove to myself that this was not the case.
To be honest, I am still not sure how I feel about the whole ordeal. On the one hand, I am glad I did it for the reason I talked about above, and I now have a new respect for exactly what goes into what I eat. On the other hand it was not at all a fun experience. In fact it was pretty terrible.
The whole ordeal went something like this: first, I stepped on the chickens pinned back wings and its bound legs, I picked up its head with my off-hand, and then I slit its throat with my other hand. I would not have enjoyed killing the animal under any circumstances, but to make matters worse I did not cut it correctly. While I thought it was bleeding out, it let out a pretty terrible squawk and began to struggle around a bit. In my mind I was in pure panic, but I tried to keep my cool. I knew that I had to put the thing of it's misery so, after allowing myself just a second for a much needed explitive, I took the knife back to it and finished the job. Richard, my language trainer and cooking instructor for the day, later told me that I initially cut a bit too high, and this caused the animal to take 5-10 extra seconds to die. I feel horrible about that, and wish I could take it back, but like my friend and fellow PCT Brian told me afterward, "What's done is done." As I said, I do feel bad about the way it went down, but in the end I am a bit proud of myself for actually going through with it. Before I got to Uganda, I never imagined myself doing something like that, and it's always a good feeling to find that you still have the ability to surprise yourself.
In the Ugandan tradition, Richard and Kabayo gave me a new name to mark the occasion. In many African cultures, whenever a person experiences a defining moment they are given a name in reference to the event. They are not nicknames, as Richard and Kabayo adamently insisted, but are just new names that are tacked onto your already existing names. This is why you see many Africans with 4-5 names. Anyway, my new name is Emanzi. It means "Brave One" or "Hero" depending on the context. I thought it was a bit much, but they insisted that it was appropriate, and added that it is just a name that means something and is not the same as just calling someone "Brave One" in English. I reluctantly agreed to the name, although I was informed that my consent was not a necessary part of the naming process. Despite my initial humility, I have to admit that it's pretty badass.
I know it's only been just over three weeks, but I continue to like this place more everyday. I am getting closer to some of the PCTs, and I am starting to interact more with some of the locals. I think I will wait to speak in more detail about some of these friendships as they progress because I honestly don't feel much like journaling tonight, but there is one thing I definitely want to get down.
I killed a chicken today. It was part of our instructional session on cooking in Uganda. It wasn't something we all did, and in fact I am the only trainee in our group that this particular task fell to. If you think you are surprised by the fact that I did this, I can assure you that your shock does not exceed my own. Before any of you may start thinking less of me, I'd like to explain a little bit about why I agreed to do it. I have been eating meat all of my life, and if I am going to continue to do so with a clear conscience then I thought this was something I should be willing to face. I have often heard us meat-eaters accused of only being capable of doing what we do because we are so far removed from the source of our food that we no longer have to think about it. I guess I wanted to proove to myself that this was not the case.
To be honest, I am still not sure how I feel about the whole ordeal. On the one hand, I am glad I did it for the reason I talked about above, and I now have a new respect for exactly what goes into what I eat. On the other hand it was not at all a fun experience. In fact it was pretty terrible.
The whole ordeal went something like this: first, I stepped on the chickens pinned back wings and its bound legs, I picked up its head with my off-hand, and then I slit its throat with my other hand. I would not have enjoyed killing the animal under any circumstances, but to make matters worse I did not cut it correctly. While I thought it was bleeding out, it let out a pretty terrible squawk and began to struggle around a bit. In my mind I was in pure panic, but I tried to keep my cool. I knew that I had to put the thing of it's misery so, after allowing myself just a second for a much needed explitive, I took the knife back to it and finished the job. Richard, my language trainer and cooking instructor for the day, later told me that I initially cut a bit too high, and this caused the animal to take 5-10 extra seconds to die. I feel horrible about that, and wish I could take it back, but like my friend and fellow PCT Brian told me afterward, "What's done is done." As I said, I do feel bad about the way it went down, but in the end I am a bit proud of myself for actually going through with it. Before I got to Uganda, I never imagined myself doing something like that, and it's always a good feeling to find that you still have the ability to surprise yourself.
In the Ugandan tradition, Richard and Kabayo gave me a new name to mark the occasion. In many African cultures, whenever a person experiences a defining moment they are given a name in reference to the event. They are not nicknames, as Richard and Kabayo adamently insisted, but are just new names that are tacked onto your already existing names. This is why you see many Africans with 4-5 names. Anyway, my new name is Emanzi. It means "Brave One" or "Hero" depending on the context. I thought it was a bit much, but they insisted that it was appropriate, and added that it is just a name that means something and is not the same as just calling someone "Brave One" in English. I reluctantly agreed to the name, although I was informed that my consent was not a necessary part of the naming process. Despite my initial humility, I have to admit that it's pretty badass.
Little Things
(04/03/2010)
It's a relief to realize that I can still appreciate some of the little things in life. I sometimes wonder if growing older is synonomous with a shrinking capacity for joy. As I child, I would get excited for just about anything. Staying up a few extra minutes to watch ALF, receiving any object at all that had some neon color, soft serve ice cream in a plastic Cleveland Indians helmet (I'd actually still get pretty excited about that last one). Somewhere along the way this easy excitement was lost. Boredom set in, and once it did it became more and more stubborn.
Since many of the luxuries I used to have are no longer available to me here in Uganda, I feel that tide starting to shift back. I actually rarely miss any of the amentities I enjoyed (or more accurately took for granted) back in the states, but when I do get a little sample of some luxury, it's as if I am experiencing it for the first time. The other day, my homestay mother, Gertrude, put some hot water in my bathing water, and I actually wondered aloud if there could be anything better than a warm bucket bath. Finding an internet cafe with functioning electricity, a connection that would have been slow in 1992 standards, and is swarming with computer viruses seems like an oasis. Riding to or from training without rain seems like a windfall of good fortune. On Sunday, I visited Kampala and paid the equivalent of $5 US for what was objectively a very mediocre bowl of hummus and shawarma that had been rotating on a spit for god knows how long. Despite the fact that this mediocre meal accounted for about 1/3 of my weekly living allowance, I can honestly say that I enjoyed the shit out of that bowl, and I have no regrets about such wreckless spending.
I am not suggesting that Africa, or even my experience here, has been all Mai Thais and Yahzee (did he just make a Con-Air reference?). Daily life here is hard. For most people, it's a nonstop struggle just to keep their heads above water. My life here far and away much easier than what would be considered average for a Ugandan, but it's nothing like what I was used to. What I've found, though, is that you can find joy in such simple things if you don't feel entitled to something more.
It's a relief to realize that I can still appreciate some of the little things in life. I sometimes wonder if growing older is synonomous with a shrinking capacity for joy. As I child, I would get excited for just about anything. Staying up a few extra minutes to watch ALF, receiving any object at all that had some neon color, soft serve ice cream in a plastic Cleveland Indians helmet (I'd actually still get pretty excited about that last one). Somewhere along the way this easy excitement was lost. Boredom set in, and once it did it became more and more stubborn.
Since many of the luxuries I used to have are no longer available to me here in Uganda, I feel that tide starting to shift back. I actually rarely miss any of the amentities I enjoyed (or more accurately took for granted) back in the states, but when I do get a little sample of some luxury, it's as if I am experiencing it for the first time. The other day, my homestay mother, Gertrude, put some hot water in my bathing water, and I actually wondered aloud if there could be anything better than a warm bucket bath. Finding an internet cafe with functioning electricity, a connection that would have been slow in 1992 standards, and is swarming with computer viruses seems like an oasis. Riding to or from training without rain seems like a windfall of good fortune. On Sunday, I visited Kampala and paid the equivalent of $5 US for what was objectively a very mediocre bowl of hummus and shawarma that had been rotating on a spit for god knows how long. Despite the fact that this mediocre meal accounted for about 1/3 of my weekly living allowance, I can honestly say that I enjoyed the shit out of that bowl, and I have no regrets about such wreckless spending.
I am not suggesting that Africa, or even my experience here, has been all Mai Thais and Yahzee (did he just make a Con-Air reference?). Daily life here is hard. For most people, it's a nonstop struggle just to keep their heads above water. My life here far and away much easier than what would be considered average for a Ugandan, but it's nothing like what I was used to. What I've found, though, is that you can find joy in such simple things if you don't feel entitled to something more.
Monday, March 1, 2010
knowing no geography
(23/02/2010)
Pretty much all of my life I’ve been lucky enough to be surrounded by so many people that genuinely care about me. From the start there has always been a familiar face right there to pick me up when I’m down or catch me when I fall. Sure, I have always continued to make new friends and form new relationships, but that safety net was always there. When I first started school way back when there was my family and my neighbors. When I went away to college , I went in with some of my best friends from high school. When I went to Luxembourg two of my best friends were there with me. In Chicago there were two great friends from my studies in Lux (now there must be a dozen of them there).
I think the Peace Corps marks the first time that I am truly trying something on my own. It’s definitely an exciting feeling, but coming into it was more than a little nerve-racking. I think I did a good job focusing on the excitement, but the anxiety was there whether I chose to admit it to anyone, or not.
I ran a fever today. It wasn’t anything too serious, but I felt like shit pretty much all day, and in Africa a fever can mean countless different things that are pretty much terrifying to even think of. I bring this up because as I sit here writing this, texts and calls from my fellow PCTs are pouring in just to check on how I am feeling. I realize now that I am not alone. A few weeks ago, I had never met a single one of these people, and yet today they are willing to take time out from what they are doing, drop a couple hundred shillings which they don’t really have just to make sure I am okay. In just a few short weeks we have already formed some very real bonds of friendship, and I couldn’t be more grateful that we have each other. I know that in a about two months we will all go our separate ways and head out to site, but I still feel encouraged. I am sure that it will take a bit more effort, but I see now that I can do this again. I think that I can continue to make friends and build relationships despite whatever barriers lay between me and my future community. I guess time will be the ultimate judge of this, but for now I am looking forward with optimism.
Pretty much all of my life I’ve been lucky enough to be surrounded by so many people that genuinely care about me. From the start there has always been a familiar face right there to pick me up when I’m down or catch me when I fall. Sure, I have always continued to make new friends and form new relationships, but that safety net was always there. When I first started school way back when there was my family and my neighbors. When I went away to college , I went in with some of my best friends from high school. When I went to Luxembourg two of my best friends were there with me. In Chicago there were two great friends from my studies in Lux (now there must be a dozen of them there).
I think the Peace Corps marks the first time that I am truly trying something on my own. It’s definitely an exciting feeling, but coming into it was more than a little nerve-racking. I think I did a good job focusing on the excitement, but the anxiety was there whether I chose to admit it to anyone, or not.
I ran a fever today. It wasn’t anything too serious, but I felt like shit pretty much all day, and in Africa a fever can mean countless different things that are pretty much terrifying to even think of. I bring this up because as I sit here writing this, texts and calls from my fellow PCTs are pouring in just to check on how I am feeling. I realize now that I am not alone. A few weeks ago, I had never met a single one of these people, and yet today they are willing to take time out from what they are doing, drop a couple hundred shillings which they don’t really have just to make sure I am okay. In just a few short weeks we have already formed some very real bonds of friendship, and I couldn’t be more grateful that we have each other. I know that in a about two months we will all go our separate ways and head out to site, but I still feel encouraged. I am sure that it will take a bit more effort, but I see now that I can do this again. I think that I can continue to make friends and build relationships despite whatever barriers lay between me and my future community. I guess time will be the ultimate judge of this, but for now I am looking forward with optimism.
t.i.a.
20/02/2010
I had planned on going to bed without writing as nothing today seemed particularly “blog-worthy”, but as I was lying here inside of my mosquito-netted bed I remembered a conversation I had with my host dad, Festo earlier this evening. When I told him about my language selection and my probable site placement in the southwest he asked me if I was familiar with what happened near there in Rwanda in the early 90s. I said that I was aware, and expressed my utter disgust about the tragedy. He agreed that the genocide that took place there was terrible, but what has me thinking tonight is that he quickly replied that while this was bad, his opinion is that the most horrifying act of terror in his lifetime was the destruction of the Twin Towers in NYC.
I will tread very carefully here because I don’t want to be misunderstood. What happened on September 11 was an awful, awful tragedy. I do not mean to take away from that at all. Still, I was shocked to hear him say this. Thinking that maybe he was saying it for my benefit, I reminded him that 800,000 people (many of them women and children) were murdered in Rwanda in a matter of weeks mere miles away from his hometown village. He agreed that what happened in Rwanda was terrible, but he stood firm that 9/11 was the worst. Trying to understand, I asked him why he thought this. While he never came right out and said it, I feel like the implications of his responses were clear.
The sad truth that I’ve already come to realize is that tragedy is a fact of life here in Africa and the people accept their plot as such. There’s a sense of fatalism that I have never seen before. As Festo was showing me his photo albums he glossed over a picture of Simon, one of his children that was lost during infancy. When I tried to express my sympathy it was quickly shaken off and I was told these kinds of things just happen. After all, he lives in a country where 300,000+ die each year from malaria, malnutrition runs rampant, HIV/AIDS infects about 1 in 10 people, and 3 of the 5 bordering nations have been host to some of the worst crimes against humanity in my lifetime. For many Ugandans, life is a daily struggle that I haven’t experience for a single day in America. He may not like any of these things, but he accepts them in his way. What he cannot accept, however, is that anything as terrible as any of that should happen thousands of miles away in a country that he has never been to, and in all likelihood will never get to see. These types of things simply do not happen in America. Africa, I guess, is a different story.
I had planned on going to bed without writing as nothing today seemed particularly “blog-worthy”, but as I was lying here inside of my mosquito-netted bed I remembered a conversation I had with my host dad, Festo earlier this evening. When I told him about my language selection and my probable site placement in the southwest he asked me if I was familiar with what happened near there in Rwanda in the early 90s. I said that I was aware, and expressed my utter disgust about the tragedy. He agreed that the genocide that took place there was terrible, but what has me thinking tonight is that he quickly replied that while this was bad, his opinion is that the most horrifying act of terror in his lifetime was the destruction of the Twin Towers in NYC.
I will tread very carefully here because I don’t want to be misunderstood. What happened on September 11 was an awful, awful tragedy. I do not mean to take away from that at all. Still, I was shocked to hear him say this. Thinking that maybe he was saying it for my benefit, I reminded him that 800,000 people (many of them women and children) were murdered in Rwanda in a matter of weeks mere miles away from his hometown village. He agreed that what happened in Rwanda was terrible, but he stood firm that 9/11 was the worst. Trying to understand, I asked him why he thought this. While he never came right out and said it, I feel like the implications of his responses were clear.
The sad truth that I’ve already come to realize is that tragedy is a fact of life here in Africa and the people accept their plot as such. There’s a sense of fatalism that I have never seen before. As Festo was showing me his photo albums he glossed over a picture of Simon, one of his children that was lost during infancy. When I tried to express my sympathy it was quickly shaken off and I was told these kinds of things just happen. After all, he lives in a country where 300,000+ die each year from malaria, malnutrition runs rampant, HIV/AIDS infects about 1 in 10 people, and 3 of the 5 bordering nations have been host to some of the worst crimes against humanity in my lifetime. For many Ugandans, life is a daily struggle that I haven’t experience for a single day in America. He may not like any of these things, but he accepts them in his way. What he cannot accept, however, is that anything as terrible as any of that should happen thousands of miles away in a country that he has never been to, and in all likelihood will never get to see. These types of things simply do not happen in America. Africa, I guess, is a different story.
so this is the life of a muzungu
(19/02/2010)
Ok, it hasn’t been too long, but already I see myself describing my experiences and what’s exciting to me here while most of you reading this are probably curious about what exactly day to day is like for me so this post will be dedicated to that.
Training:
-Time
10 weeks
8-5 Monday-Friday; 8-1 Saturday; Off Sunday
- Subjects
Language - Each trainee was selected to learn a language based on the region they are going to be in. I will be learning Runyankore/Rukiga (technically two languages, but I’m told they are 98% the same). I think there are six languages our group is being trained in.
Program - There are two programs in my group. Community Health and Economic Development (CHED) and Education (both primary and secondary). I am a CHED volunteer.
Cross Culture - Understanding differences between Ugandan and American culture.
Miscellaneous - Workshops on sanitation, gardening, living with host families, safety, healthcare, etc.
Hygiene
Bathing - Bucket baths… This is pretty much what it sounds like. I get my jerry-can of water, pour it into my bucket, and head outside to my families bathing area. It’s walled in, but yeah, it’s outside. I then poor cups of cold water onto myself to wash and rinse.
Laundry - Everything is hand washed in buckets and line dried. If you are thinking that this doesn’t sound too bad then you have probably never hand washed anything outside of delicates, and you almost certainly had running water to do it with. My words cannot give justice to this absolute nightmare. I will definitely be brining someone onto the payroll for this once I am at site.
Nature Calls - Known locally as long/short calls. You can figure it out. Running water is rare and toilets are even rarer. Instead we use pit latrines. Imagine an outhouse, but instead of a seat there is a 4”X 6” hole in the concrete floor that drops what must be 10 feet (judged based on sound delay…). I am going to try to attach a diagram of this.
Shaving - Get real.
Diet:
Breakfast - Each trainee eats at homestay. For me, breakfast is tea, chapatti (delicious Ugandan flatbread) or bread, and a banana. I bought peanut butter the other day, and I think a PB and banana chapatti sandwich is something I could live with for quite a while.
Lunch / Dinner - Identical to each other and to every other lunch/dinner everyday of every week. Pick 3-5 of the following starches: sweet potatoes (look and taste nothing like American cousin), Irish (regular) potatoes, matooke (mashed plantain - looks like banana, but is much closer to potatoes in both taste, texture, and nutrition (or lack thereof)), cassava (read: sweet potatoes), posho (cornmeal), spaghetti noodles, and rice. Pick 1-2 of the following vegetables: cabbage, peas, greens. Pick 1 of the following proteins: beans, groundnut (African peanut) sauce, chicken sauce (infrequent) beef (infrequent). Fruit is definitely the highlight here with always fresh options of 1-2 of the following: banana, pineapple, avocado, jackfruit, papaya, watermelon, guava, and mango.
Social:
I have met some really great people already, and we get to talk a lot during training, but we don’t have a ton of time to be social outside of class as we tend not to stay out after dark for safety reasons. Usually, we will find something to do for a couple of hours after class. When this doesn’t involve studying it usually does involve hanging out at a bar. No one has really let loose yet as we are all still so new to Africa and to each other. It’s usually just one beer and then back home for dinner. Most experienced volunteers assure me that this is bound to change.
Weather:
It’s actually been a little colder than I expected, but I would blame that on the rain. When the sun is out, I would say the high is upper 80s. When it’s raining the highs might be low 70s, but it feels much colder because everyone is wet and muddy from the bike ride into training. It’s rained maybe 30-40% of the days we’ve been here, and I think that is going to pick up more as we get more into rainy season.
Life of the Muzungu:
Muzungu is the word in almost all Bantu languages for white person. When any group or individual Muzungu goes anywhere we are quickly singled out for what is hopefully an obvious reason to you. This can be both a blessing and a curse. For safety issues it can be a bit of a concern. Our skin associates us with both new visitors (which we basically are as of now) and money. This basically puts a target on our backs for anyone wishing to make our pockets a bit later, although this hasn’t happened to any PC Uganda trainee or volunteer for some time. Violent crimes are even rarer here. Probably most concerning to the PCT/PCV is that our skin color will never change. Unlike America, Uganda is racially homogeneous and we will never be able to fully integrate into our communities because of this.
In my opinion, the other side of this coin far outweighs any negative aspects. Unlike what happened in other African nations, the British did a decent job during and after colonialism and Muzungus still enjoy a good reputation because of this. Unlike what you might think, Americans are actually one of the most loved people in Uganda. I’m not sure of all of the reasons behind this, but I think that both Peace Corps (pronounced “Peace Corpse” in local tongue) and Barrack Obama have a lot to do with it. Every time I ride my bike or take a walk anywhere in the village children come running out of their houses (pants optional) yelling, “Bye, Muzungu!” or “See you, Muzungu!” in the hope that we might turn our heads and wave at them or even respond with an, “Oli Otya?” (how are you?). I will try to get some video of this sometime so you can see it, but for now it will suffice to say that these kids are pretty much losing their minds at the sight of us. Even the adults are pretty amused by our presence. With maturation comes a great deal of humility that seems to be the standard in Uganda, so they do not put on quite the show that the little ones do, however they are always very eager to talk to us and flex some English skills.
Ok, it hasn’t been too long, but already I see myself describing my experiences and what’s exciting to me here while most of you reading this are probably curious about what exactly day to day is like for me so this post will be dedicated to that.
Training:
-Time
10 weeks
8-5 Monday-Friday; 8-1 Saturday; Off Sunday
- Subjects
Language - Each trainee was selected to learn a language based on the region they are going to be in. I will be learning Runyankore/Rukiga (technically two languages, but I’m told they are 98% the same). I think there are six languages our group is being trained in.
Program - There are two programs in my group. Community Health and Economic Development (CHED) and Education (both primary and secondary). I am a CHED volunteer.
Cross Culture - Understanding differences between Ugandan and American culture.
Miscellaneous - Workshops on sanitation, gardening, living with host families, safety, healthcare, etc.
Hygiene
Bathing - Bucket baths… This is pretty much what it sounds like. I get my jerry-can of water, pour it into my bucket, and head outside to my families bathing area. It’s walled in, but yeah, it’s outside. I then poor cups of cold water onto myself to wash and rinse.
Laundry - Everything is hand washed in buckets and line dried. If you are thinking that this doesn’t sound too bad then you have probably never hand washed anything outside of delicates, and you almost certainly had running water to do it with. My words cannot give justice to this absolute nightmare. I will definitely be brining someone onto the payroll for this once I am at site.
Nature Calls - Known locally as long/short calls. You can figure it out. Running water is rare and toilets are even rarer. Instead we use pit latrines. Imagine an outhouse, but instead of a seat there is a 4”X 6” hole in the concrete floor that drops what must be 10 feet (judged based on sound delay…). I am going to try to attach a diagram of this.
Shaving - Get real.
Diet:
Breakfast - Each trainee eats at homestay. For me, breakfast is tea, chapatti (delicious Ugandan flatbread) or bread, and a banana. I bought peanut butter the other day, and I think a PB and banana chapatti sandwich is something I could live with for quite a while.
Lunch / Dinner - Identical to each other and to every other lunch/dinner everyday of every week. Pick 3-5 of the following starches: sweet potatoes (look and taste nothing like American cousin), Irish (regular) potatoes, matooke (mashed plantain - looks like banana, but is much closer to potatoes in both taste, texture, and nutrition (or lack thereof)), cassava (read: sweet potatoes), posho (cornmeal), spaghetti noodles, and rice. Pick 1-2 of the following vegetables: cabbage, peas, greens. Pick 1 of the following proteins: beans, groundnut (African peanut) sauce, chicken sauce (infrequent) beef (infrequent). Fruit is definitely the highlight here with always fresh options of 1-2 of the following: banana, pineapple, avocado, jackfruit, papaya, watermelon, guava, and mango.
Social:
I have met some really great people already, and we get to talk a lot during training, but we don’t have a ton of time to be social outside of class as we tend not to stay out after dark for safety reasons. Usually, we will find something to do for a couple of hours after class. When this doesn’t involve studying it usually does involve hanging out at a bar. No one has really let loose yet as we are all still so new to Africa and to each other. It’s usually just one beer and then back home for dinner. Most experienced volunteers assure me that this is bound to change.
Weather:
It’s actually been a little colder than I expected, but I would blame that on the rain. When the sun is out, I would say the high is upper 80s. When it’s raining the highs might be low 70s, but it feels much colder because everyone is wet and muddy from the bike ride into training. It’s rained maybe 30-40% of the days we’ve been here, and I think that is going to pick up more as we get more into rainy season.
Life of the Muzungu:
Muzungu is the word in almost all Bantu languages for white person. When any group or individual Muzungu goes anywhere we are quickly singled out for what is hopefully an obvious reason to you. This can be both a blessing and a curse. For safety issues it can be a bit of a concern. Our skin associates us with both new visitors (which we basically are as of now) and money. This basically puts a target on our backs for anyone wishing to make our pockets a bit later, although this hasn’t happened to any PC Uganda trainee or volunteer for some time. Violent crimes are even rarer here. Probably most concerning to the PCT/PCV is that our skin color will never change. Unlike America, Uganda is racially homogeneous and we will never be able to fully integrate into our communities because of this.
In my opinion, the other side of this coin far outweighs any negative aspects. Unlike what happened in other African nations, the British did a decent job during and after colonialism and Muzungus still enjoy a good reputation because of this. Unlike what you might think, Americans are actually one of the most loved people in Uganda. I’m not sure of all of the reasons behind this, but I think that both Peace Corps (pronounced “Peace Corpse” in local tongue) and Barrack Obama have a lot to do with it. Every time I ride my bike or take a walk anywhere in the village children come running out of their houses (pants optional) yelling, “Bye, Muzungu!” or “See you, Muzungu!” in the hope that we might turn our heads and wave at them or even respond with an, “Oli Otya?” (how are you?). I will try to get some video of this sometime so you can see it, but for now it will suffice to say that these kids are pretty much losing their minds at the sight of us. Even the adults are pretty amused by our presence. With maturation comes a great deal of humility that seems to be the standard in Uganda, so they do not put on quite the show that the little ones do, however they are always very eager to talk to us and flex some English skills.
my family 2.0
(17/2/2010)
I’ve moved in with my host family, and so far it’s better than I could have hoped for! I am living with the Iranukunda’s, a Catholic family made up of five children, the mother, and the father...
(At this point I was writing in my journal outside when I was interrupted by my host mother Gertrude. She handed me an enormous papaya and a knife sans handle. She speaks very little English, but she made it quite obvious that she wanted me to start peeling and gutting this monstrous fruit. The Ugandans don’t have cutting boards, nor do they do anything on counters or tabletops. Instead, they hold whatever they are cutting in their off-hand and just start going at it. To no one’s surprise including my own, the entire family, the neighbors who were watching from outside of the fence, and most likely you reading this, I was absolutely terrible at preparing exotic fruit in this way. We all had quite a laugh at the muzungu failing miserably at doing the simplest of house chores.)
...Anyway, my new family is made up of Festo and Gertrude and their five kids: Innocent (21), Gloria (18), Barbara (12), Dixon (9), and Janet (6). I have yet to meet Barbara who is away at boarding school, but I am already scheming how to win my way into each of their hearts. When Innocent picked me up yesterday, he was wearing his Arsenal - Fabergas shirt. Seizing this opportunity, I decided to unload all of the English football (yeah, I am not going to call it soccer as I have already been ridiculed for this by the locals) knowledge I had on him (thanks Luke and Joshie). when I exhausted that avenue 30 seconds later, I explained to him that it was simply not a popular sport in America. He let me know that he was aware of this particular deficiency, but that he would be willing to watch any matches I cared to so long as I wanted to and was willing to cheer for Arsenal whenever they played. I am excited for both the football and the chance to bond with Inno a bit more. Festo should be easy. He speaks great English, and is always willing to chat with my about the differences between our cultures. I feel as if he has already taken me under his wing. The two young ones were also quite easy. All it took was an iPod full of American music. Dixon loves hip-hop and Bob Marley which is basically what I expected, and while Janet will listen to anything I give to her, she only dances around when I play indie dance and ska which I am fairly sure she has never heard before. Gertrude may be a bit more difficult because of both the language barrier and the separation of gender roles here. She is always smiling, though, and if the past two days is any indication, she seems to find me the most amusing whenever I am trying to help her around the house despite the fact that I’m consistently failing to do anything that could be construed as constructive. Gloria is also proving to be hard to get to know. It has only been a couple of days, but she really only talks to me or even looks at me when I am saying something directly to her. I am not sure if this an issue with gender, or if she is just being an average teenage girl.
There’s plenty more I could say, and I still haven’t even mentioned my fellow trainees, trainers, or even the town I am staying in, but I am tired. I just wanted to get some thoughts down about my first impressions while they were still fresh. For now, just know that I am doing very well.
I’ve moved in with my host family, and so far it’s better than I could have hoped for! I am living with the Iranukunda’s, a Catholic family made up of five children, the mother, and the father...
(At this point I was writing in my journal outside when I was interrupted by my host mother Gertrude. She handed me an enormous papaya and a knife sans handle. She speaks very little English, but she made it quite obvious that she wanted me to start peeling and gutting this monstrous fruit. The Ugandans don’t have cutting boards, nor do they do anything on counters or tabletops. Instead, they hold whatever they are cutting in their off-hand and just start going at it. To no one’s surprise including my own, the entire family, the neighbors who were watching from outside of the fence, and most likely you reading this, I was absolutely terrible at preparing exotic fruit in this way. We all had quite a laugh at the muzungu failing miserably at doing the simplest of house chores.)
...Anyway, my new family is made up of Festo and Gertrude and their five kids: Innocent (21), Gloria (18), Barbara (12), Dixon (9), and Janet (6). I have yet to meet Barbara who is away at boarding school, but I am already scheming how to win my way into each of their hearts. When Innocent picked me up yesterday, he was wearing his Arsenal - Fabergas shirt. Seizing this opportunity, I decided to unload all of the English football (yeah, I am not going to call it soccer as I have already been ridiculed for this by the locals) knowledge I had on him (thanks Luke and Joshie). when I exhausted that avenue 30 seconds later, I explained to him that it was simply not a popular sport in America. He let me know that he was aware of this particular deficiency, but that he would be willing to watch any matches I cared to so long as I wanted to and was willing to cheer for Arsenal whenever they played. I am excited for both the football and the chance to bond with Inno a bit more. Festo should be easy. He speaks great English, and is always willing to chat with my about the differences between our cultures. I feel as if he has already taken me under his wing. The two young ones were also quite easy. All it took was an iPod full of American music. Dixon loves hip-hop and Bob Marley which is basically what I expected, and while Janet will listen to anything I give to her, she only dances around when I play indie dance and ska which I am fairly sure she has never heard before. Gertrude may be a bit more difficult because of both the language barrier and the separation of gender roles here. She is always smiling, though, and if the past two days is any indication, she seems to find me the most amusing whenever I am trying to help her around the house despite the fact that I’m consistently failing to do anything that could be construed as constructive. Gloria is also proving to be hard to get to know. It has only been a couple of days, but she really only talks to me or even looks at me when I am saying something directly to her. I am not sure if this an issue with gender, or if she is just being an average teenage girl.
There’s plenty more I could say, and I still haven’t even mentioned my fellow trainees, trainers, or even the town I am staying in, but I am tired. I just wanted to get some thoughts down about my first impressions while they were still fresh. For now, just know that I am doing very well.
the road might take me away...
(10/02/2010)
In a matter of hours I’ll be on my way to Africa for what will undoubtedly be a life changing two years. While I expect I am about to face both triumphs and challenges unlike anything I can imagine, my mind is hardly focused on the future. Instead, I find myself looking back at everything and everyone that I am leaving behind.
I understand that my commitment to join the Peace Corps came as a shock to more than a few of you. I don’t expect that many will ever fully understand why I did this, and I am actually fine with that. What matters to me is that when it came down to it I felt all the support and love that I could have ever asked for. I know there are some out there who may think that I am running away from something, but I would never want anyone to believe that. To put it shortly, this is just something that I feel like I have to do, for better or worse. Running away implies that I am trying to get away from something, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. Thinking back now on my life and what I am leaving behind I am filled with so much happiness and so many fond memories. At about this point in my journal I list a lot of those memories, and while they are too many and too sappy to put here, please know that I am still thinking of them and you all everyday.
Home is always home. That means Columbus (ask my left arm), Chicago, and Oxford, but mostly it means the people I met there along the way. These next two years will be trying, but that has nothing to do with the lack of amenities or the food or anything like that. The only thing that worries me is being away from everyone that I love.
“The road might take me away, but it’s sure enough to bring me home.”
In a matter of hours I’ll be on my way to Africa for what will undoubtedly be a life changing two years. While I expect I am about to face both triumphs and challenges unlike anything I can imagine, my mind is hardly focused on the future. Instead, I find myself looking back at everything and everyone that I am leaving behind.
I understand that my commitment to join the Peace Corps came as a shock to more than a few of you. I don’t expect that many will ever fully understand why I did this, and I am actually fine with that. What matters to me is that when it came down to it I felt all the support and love that I could have ever asked for. I know there are some out there who may think that I am running away from something, but I would never want anyone to believe that. To put it shortly, this is just something that I feel like I have to do, for better or worse. Running away implies that I am trying to get away from something, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. Thinking back now on my life and what I am leaving behind I am filled with so much happiness and so many fond memories. At about this point in my journal I list a lot of those memories, and while they are too many and too sappy to put here, please know that I am still thinking of them and you all everyday.
Home is always home. That means Columbus (ask my left arm), Chicago, and Oxford, but mostly it means the people I met there along the way. These next two years will be trying, but that has nothing to do with the lack of amenities or the food or anything like that. The only thing that worries me is being away from everyone that I love.
“The road might take me away, but it’s sure enough to bring me home.”
a quick note
I apologize to everyone for taking so long to get this blog going. It’s been two weeks since I left, and I know for almost everyone this is my first contact. I will try my best to be more prompt from now on, however, if I am unable to, I will write in my journal or type entries on my computer and upload them here when I can.
Before I get started, I thought I’d type a little bit about what I hope to get out of this and what I want this account to become. First and foremost I want an account of my Peace Corps service here in Uganda for both myself and for my friends and family. Unfortunately, I will not have the time or internet access to write lengthy emails to everyone I love and be as much a part of their lives as I was back in the states (sorry Mom). For those of you wishing to keep tabs on me, this is probably the easiest way for me to keep you in the loop. That way, when I do have time to email with you, I can actually have a conversation instead of me just talking at you. Second, I hope that by sharing my experiences with you, you may be able to come up with new insights and perspectives about what’s going on over here that hadn’t occurred to me. I really do value all of your input, and I think it will help me continue to learn and grow throughout this whole process. If you can learn something from this then I think that’s wonderful, but I am not writing to inspire or even to seek attention.
I am sure that in the beginning this will mostly be an account of day to day events, and I will try to always keep some of that, but my hope is to also include some cultural perspectives and attitudes that occur to me through that days events as opposed to just a record of that days events. I will try to be as honest as I can, and I know that that’s going to mean that some people aren’t going to like some of the things they read, but censoring myself is not something I care to do, or even do well when I try.
Before I get started, I thought I’d type a little bit about what I hope to get out of this and what I want this account to become. First and foremost I want an account of my Peace Corps service here in Uganda for both myself and for my friends and family. Unfortunately, I will not have the time or internet access to write lengthy emails to everyone I love and be as much a part of their lives as I was back in the states (sorry Mom). For those of you wishing to keep tabs on me, this is probably the easiest way for me to keep you in the loop. That way, when I do have time to email with you, I can actually have a conversation instead of me just talking at you. Second, I hope that by sharing my experiences with you, you may be able to come up with new insights and perspectives about what’s going on over here that hadn’t occurred to me. I really do value all of your input, and I think it will help me continue to learn and grow throughout this whole process. If you can learn something from this then I think that’s wonderful, but I am not writing to inspire or even to seek attention.
I am sure that in the beginning this will mostly be an account of day to day events, and I will try to always keep some of that, but my hope is to also include some cultural perspectives and attitudes that occur to me through that days events as opposed to just a record of that days events. I will try to be as honest as I can, and I know that that’s going to mean that some people aren’t going to like some of the things they read, but censoring myself is not something I care to do, or even do well when I try.
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