(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.
Friday, April 23, 2010
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.
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