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Day 13 – Tuesday July 13th

Ladies and gentlemen, I have reached the African mountain top. While everyday so far has been great in its own special way, today marks the climax of my trip to Uganda. It was one of those days when you are not only thankful to be alive, but when everything in the universe just seems to come together and shine on your tiny little spot in the world. And I am happy to say that I…without knowing the right words….finally get it.

Although I only had about 3 hours of sleep, I woke up this morning excited and ready for the day. At breakfast I gathered the group around the table to show them my video. It was so wonderful to synchronize what we had been doing in a short amount of time and translate them into a creative piece of art with pictures, video and music, and instantly capture the moments we were living at that very moment. I didn’t realize how powerful it was until I saw the others’ faces. Chelsie cried before the first minute was over. At the end Sara fought back tears and said, “you know, one of the things I always believe and teach is that one person can truly make a difference.” I am happy to be one of those “ones” and to help her be a catalyst for so many more.

So the day was bound to be spectacular after that great start. We boarded the bus to he mini-school we had stopped at (with the sea of children and the Frisbees) to see the man whom we missed at our last out of control visit. Turns out the headmaster of the school was the Lawrence-Fishburn-in-the-Matrix brotha we had all gleamed at during the confirmation vows ceremony on our first weekend. He was tall and in complete control of the aura around him. Unfortunately he wasn’t as diplomatic as all the other coordinators had been, and so he and Sara argued about where we were supposed to be at what time and what we were supposed to do, but it all worked out though and we were happy for another connection.

We didn’t even know it was going to be on the agenda, but were there to meet two women and discuss HIV/AIDS in Uganda. Little did we know this would be one of the most memorable, inspiring visits of our entire trip.

We sat in a shaded hut that is reserved for group gatherings and meetings as the father introduced the two women. He said they were business ladies, but also teachers, even though they are “paid peanuts” to do so (hmmm, sounds familiar we said).

The father said the first woman was nicknamed “Haaja,” and we didn’t quite understand the joke, even though he explained that is the term for a woman who has made a pilgrimage to Mecca, the Muslim holy land. The woman was not a Muslim, but we soon learned she is on a life-long pilgrimage.

The woman’s name was Florence, and she said that is in her culture to give “testimonials” as introductions. She is the vice-chairwoman of the school in Karesosi where we were, and is a counselor and teacher. She is a widow and a mother of four children. Now, “I am living the single life, and praise God for that,” she said. She said that in 1999 she noticed her husband started to “act differently,” and after she tested positive for HIV, she began to look at her husband as a machete. Her husband died of AIDS shortly after, even though he had never been tested or told her that he had the disease. “I hated my husband more than 100%,” she said. “I couldn’t look at my children because I knew I would have to leave them.” Luckily she found her way to the city and received counseling. After that, she said she felt so much better and had hope, so much so that when she returned to her village she was confident enough to tell people she had tested positive. She said she didn’t mind if people point fingers at her or say anything about her “because I am so bold now.”

The second woman was Roselyn, who is the secretary of the school. “I am also a widow,” she said with the most calm and strong voice. “I call myself an evangelist,” she said, spreading the gospel about HIV/AIDS, “knowing what I am and knowing what I do.” She lost her husband to the disease in 1996, but 2 months before he died, someone told her to stop breast feeding her son. She immediately got tested and found out she was HIV positive, but luckily the boy tested negative. “On that day,” she said, for the next 2 months “I spent praising God for that.” She even followed up with another test for her son 2 months later, and he was still negative. When her husband died, he left the family nothing but the house. She said she found a Christian caring community for HIV positive women through the New Vision newspaper, and there found a westerner who gave her 200,000 shillings (about $100) to start over. She sold everything in her house and moved the family to Kampala, where she started a business. When her grandmother died, she came back to her rural village to attend the funeral, and when she returned home, she found her house (and thus her new business) completely raided. After that, she said she was finished with Kampala, and the people she had made friends with there helped her raise another 200,000 shillings so she could go back home. There, she started another business selling cosmetics and stationary. “And here I am.”

Wow. We were speechless. “You both look very healthy,” Jonnie pointed out, “ahh yes, praised be to God” Florence said. After testing positive in their early 30s, they have been living with the disease for about 10 years. As if their stories weren’t moving enough, what they are doing with their lives is even more incredible.

The women said they educate the community about HIV/AIDS and offer assistance to those living with it, but the main aim is to fight the stigma and discrimination attached to it. They said in the later 1990s the stigma was so high that people they thought after testing positive they would die the next day. They also said it was so bad that if you coughed, people would say “look it has started,” and also point – “you have 1 year to live – you – you have 2 years to live,” and so on. “The whisper in your ear, that’s a stigma,” they said. Although it is no longer a death sentence, they “still have a long way to go” in making people more open and honest about the issue.

Their wisdom is matched by their courage and the success of their group, which started with only 9 people. “Let us stop crying and let us live and work,” they said when they decided to form an association, which now gives them a purpose and the ability to live their lives in peace. “You think about the projects so you don’t think about the virus.” They started going home to home, church to church, and found people who slowly became to both get tested and admit they were HIV positive. The group now consists of 80 people, comprised of usually two extreme groups – the ones that are still so afraid to come to terms with it, and the other who are so thankful for an outlet that they want to give their testimonies as proudly and as often as they can. They simply remind themselves and encourage others to “live positively.” What a wonderful way to put it – to take such a horrible situation, face it with a strong will, and be able to completely turn it around into something so positive.

The association has split up the area around Karesosi with the Holy Cross community, where they collectively educate, counsel, and offer medical services to four perishes, even though they don’t have enough money to go farther into the bush. How do they get to the peoples’ homes? “Most of the time we walk. Sometimes you have to get tired for your country,” they said. They mobilize their projects through music, dance, drums and plays to keep people interested and communicate effectively to different groups.

One of the most important things the women do is lobby the local government. They said they go into the sub-county meetings and ask, “what kind of plan do you have for the people in this community living with HIV/AIDS?” They make sure that the people are represented in meetings, policy discussions and plans every year when the budget is proposed. “It’s not much, but at least they are included them,” they said. Last year, the sub-county (which is still not receiving the benefits called for by the government’s plan to allow more spending control and decision-making capabilities in the local governments) gave the association bee hives so the women could start a beekeeping project and sell honey for income. They were able to do this because they had already been running a successful poultry project. Because the sub-county didn’t offer them any assistance, they started the project after every person donated one chicken. They collectively sold the eggs, and used the money to buy a shed and fence to expand the project.

The women now use the money to buy medication, though it is hardly enough. They said they mix dodo (the greenest of the green plants, which have high doses of vitamins and other nutrients) with herbs, which are boiled and made into tea and used as medication. Most of the women know now how to make the concoction, but if they don’t, a woman will go into the home and make it for them, which is yet another source of income for women. If the medication isn’t able to help stop the spread the disease’s deadly effects, they women take up a collection to try and buy ARVs – anti-retro-viral drugs – which are the prescribed medication for HIV/AIDS patients. “We make sure that person lives,” the women said. “When they die, that just means they are finished with us. They are satisfied when they go and they go happily.”

As we saw throughout the talk, the women had unbelievable faith. Jonnie pointed out that many people in America get upset with God when they get sick, but these women said the first thing they do after they get tested, regardless of the result, is turn to God. “We could have chosen any of the patrons but we choose the one who is invisible.” God gives them so much, they said. “Even the medicine comes from God,” referring to the natural herbs.

Unbelievable. Like all of us, Sara was to the point of tears – not of sadness, but of sheer amazement and happiness that despite all the ups and downs with the HIV/AIDS campaigns back home, it was still just these two women fighting one of the most deadly diseases in the entire human history, with nothing but their own personal knowledge, commitment and faith. The women said again it was the projects that kept them alive.

Sara began to close the session by asking what we could do to help. The women agreed to come up with a few things they would like to do in the future. I asked what is the one thing they would like to do but can’t, and the woman said that although she was the chairperson, she could not even begin to answer that question without consulting her group. Sara mentioned buying sewing machines for the women so they can make and sell clothing. “That could be very wonderful” Florence said. Sara noted that many people in the United States don’t have a purpose, and want to, but don’t know how, to help others in this same capacity. “I understand what you mean – I get so more out of this Uganda project than anything I do and I feel guilty because I enjoy it so much and want others to have that happiness and enjoyment – that’s why I brought the students, to let them share in it and let them experience it.”

My light bulb went on. For the first time, I realized one of the reasons I do what I do – learn, grow, inspire and share with others – is because I love it so much, I want others to have the same personal joy and hope that I do. It all made sense. That is why I met Sara. That is why I am here in Uganda and met these women. And that is why I will continue doing what I do for the rest of my entire life.

We went on to the Kirinda Center to have lunch, and Rachael discovered the power of women yet again. She had been doing her thesis on microfinance and wanted to start an organization at Kirinda, so she had brought a few questions for Harriet, the secretary, to get a little insight to the women’s lives, incomes and future prospects. I took a little nap on the bus. When Rachael returned, she grabbed my shoulders and said, “you’ll never believe what just happened – they’re already doing it.” But I did believe it. Apparently the graduates of the Center had banded together on their own – even without Sister Eddie Ann knowing it – and started their own “microfinance” business. They started with 10 women, who each gave 1000 shillings (about 50 cents) into a pot. The women take turns using the money to start their own vocational, agriculture, and other specialized projects

and pay it back at 10% interest. If one woman cannot afford to pay it back, the other women will raise the money for her so that the pot is always kept the same for everyone else. And at the end of the year, they take all the money – 10,000 shillings (about $5) and buy their friends, family and community members presents for Christmas.

Again, I wasn’t surprised. By now I had noticed something happening in Uganda, which is probably happening in every corner in the world. The people are evolving. And they are doing so with or without the support of their governments or outside our sources.

They are getting the courage and keeping the discipline to educate themselves, and more importantly, they are using their knowledge to help others. Our motto for the craft sale is “helping women help themselves.” It’s funny, as much work as we do, sometimes all they need are themselves. It comes from what Sister Eddie Ann is doing and what my mother’s most important leadership gift is – not only encouraging people to use their skills and intuition to better their own lives, but giving them the courage to do so, “and getting out of the way” as my mother puts it. These women are angels, and I am so happy they are starting a chain reaction and filling the world with others like them.

After lunch we went back up the road again to St. Joseph’s on the hill for another two hour block of teaching. We decided to next the music workshop in favor of art, which Chelsie led. At first she didn’t quite communicate what she wanted the students to do because it was a little too abstract, and she used words like “objective.” She wanted them to write their names, their empakos (pet names), and “something they love.” Fortunately she drew concrete examples on the board – mostly simple things like the sun and a tree flower, and I followed suit with the few symbols I actually knew how to draw – the Zia, of course, a lightning bolt, a house, and a dog that turned out more like a pony. The kids finally caught on and got right into it. We distributed crayons, but since we only had a certain number to give each student/table, they were a little disappointed that they couldn’t all have different colors. We helped them understand how to share, and so I offered the color I was using and trade with a student who wanted it. I would wait a little while and then do the same, and finally the kids started doing it amongst themselves. They didn’t want to finish or give up their crayons when it was over, but they held up their drawings proudly as I snapped a few pictures.

Rachael and I decided to switch workshops because I was bored and because she was doing photography and getting too many requests for photos. I had a feeling this would be a problem, especially after the many pickups at the music session. Although she doesn’t always realize it, her beauty is mesmerizing back home, so you can imagine what the African teenage boys thought of her.

I helped Lech with the photo project, who seemed to have a good system in place, but the students were ancy and didn’t exactly get the idea that they had each could only take five pictures had to share the camera with the rest of their groups. But man did they get into it. They originally wanted to just take simple pictures of their friends, but one by one they expanded their creativity. They walked around the field, using the trees and grass as backgrounds and paying attention to the sun. Some of them asked us to be in their pictures. The coolest part was watching them pose. They would encourage each other to be happy and silly, serious and dignified, and definitely sexy, acting like they were talking on the phone or rapping in a music video. I really got a kick out of it and got a few good pictures of them in action.

Rachael returned from her art workshop feeling useless like I did, and the requests for her photograph continued. Here, we discovered the secret behind what we thought was sheer Ugandan hospitality. Before we had gotten a preview of it. We originally melted in the palm of every African child who approached us (most of the people, young or old, at least knew how to say “hello how are you” in the cutest voice). One day a group of young students came up and bluntly said “hello…give me chocolate.” Others asked for money and supplies straight up. We also even met a few high school students who “thought it would be nice for us to have some friends in town,” but who really just wanted our addresses in the states so they could harasses us for sponsorship. Anyway, the point is really that even though the people have little to know education and just basic English skills, they are very clever.

So the playground reindeer games continued. Poor Rachael got it bad. Two boys actually tried to lure behind the building for a picture, but she had enough common sense not to do it. One group of students asked her take a picture on the grass with them. She saw it harmless and she was honored, but when she sat down, one of the boys grabbed her arm, and the girl sitting next to her grabbed her wrist with one arm and tried to pull her ring off with the other. That was the last straw for her, and she immediately got up and left. Later, when I was going through my pictures, I saw that I had caught the whole thing with my camera in perfect detail without even knowing it. Maybe the next lesson should be the role of photography as documenting evidence.

The out of control-ness continued for a little while longer when the groups got mixed up and the day winded down. We were a little nervous because the teachers were literally nowhere to be found (we later found them chilling on the corner outside the staff room, enjoying the half day off at our expense). The kids continued to swarm the girls and we finally just got on the bus and waited, not even thinking about staying for sports time, which was disappointing. Sara had a few words with the principal and we took off. Needless to say this spoiled our adventure, but we all decided that it was a good learning experience. “I certainly have more respect for teachers” many people in our group said. No kidding. It doesn’t matter if it is African children or American students – they are just in that mode at that age, and especially in that environment, where if you put 40+ students in any setting things will get a little crazy. We were basically substitute teachers, and that just gave them another chance to be little bastards. Oh well, you live and you learn.

We stopped in town like we always do and I ran to the Internet café to share the video I had completed the night before. Unfortunately the attachments were too big, so I had to send the low-quality dialup speed version instead of the real deal. I swear there is never enough time at the Internet café. I wrote a few emails, paid my credit card, checked my messages, posted stuff on the blog, sent the video, made some contacts for my thesis and even applied for a pseudo-job, all in the span of 30 minutes.

SORRY GUYS, I still have to finish this one. That evening we talked politics with a local officer and a member of the king’s council…it was so awesome, and afterwards everything clicked in my head, and that’s why I say I have reached the African mountaintop. I will have a great post in a couple of days when I get some more time!!!

Day 15 Thursday July 20

Having gotten less than three hours of sleep the night before, I was not impressed at the 7am wake up call. We had to get up early because Lech and Chelsie wanted to go visit some of the villages outside of Karisosi and they were supposed to be there by 9am. So we sucked it up and got on the bus after a quick breakfast. I literally rolled out of bed onto the bus and promptly went back to sleep for the ride.

We got to Karisosi, had some tea and met the Matrix brotha who took Lech and Chelsie out. We also ran into three Notre Dame students who had been teaching in Jinja but were on their way to Kampala and back to the states. They were very nice but not all of us were up for early morning conversation.

Since we really didn’t have anything to do until the afternoon, we asked if we could take part in English class and help the students practice the language. The brotha took us to the classroom and we went through introductions. He said “this is a school for dropouts” and then he turned to the kids and said “sorry, it is the truth.” The kids chuckled, and Sara told them she knew it must have been hard for them to leave and come back to school and that we were very proud of them. We quickly learned they weren’t “bad kids,” they just weren’t able to stay in school for a number of reasons – money, family responsibilities and the many struggles which face countless African children. The class was divided up into two groups and each of us were assigned to talk with three students for about an hour. We were still very tired and not really prepared for this challenge, but in the end it was good for us and the children as well.

I chatted with only two students – a bright young girl and an uber shy boy. The girl answered most of the questions because she understood English fairly well, but the boy only responded when he understood what the girl was saying. The students had never had visitors before from outside the community, so it was as scary to them as it was to us. We asked the most simple questions possible – who is in your family, what do you want to do with your studies, do you have animals, do you cook, do you farm, do you have to do chores, etc.

The question, “what do you want to be when you grow up” does not apply in Africa. These kids are already grown up. They all have very large families and because they are in school, learning vocational skills and English, they are often times the primary caretakers of their brothers and sisters, as well as their mothers, fathers and grandparents, especially when the family is torn apart by HIV/AIDS. Most of the stories were similar – they all had very large families and even greater responsibilities. The boy had 10 brothers and 5 sisters, and I think the girl had about 10 people in her family including her grandmother. They all walked to school, beginning at about 6am to get to class at 9am, and enjoyed school very much. The boys take carpentry, brick laying and other instructions in the shop, and the girls take sewing and garment making in home economics. It reminded me of my junior high and high school, except the boys and the girls took both. The girls sell the garments out of their homes and whatever market they can find, and use the money to pay their own school fees and take care of their families.

There was a lull in the conversation and the girl got tired and told me I asked “too many questions” so I asked the principal if we could walk around. He thought it would be a good to show the students’ other classrooms and work, and that proved to be a great idea. We went to the girls’ room and saw how they learn the garment making. They start with paper sacks that are cut into the shape of dresses, and they do the measurements and stitching on the paper sacks before using cloth. Their first project was making table cloths, and each had simple, yet very beautiful cloths to show us, white mixed in with their favorite color. The principal suggested we purchase some of them if we wanted to, and all of a sudden the classroom transformed into the market. “Sente Zinga?” I asked – “how much?” The principal, the teacher and the girls laughed and started talking in Rootoro to decide how much they should charge. I hadn’t gotten money exchanged yesterday so I was broke, and so I went and told Sara what was up. She said she had a lot of money (as always) to buy from the local people and that we would purchase some after our instruction.

So then we proceeded to the boys’ shop, and inside found a few boys doing woodworking. They were making chairs, tables and even bunk-beds. One young man was concentrating very hard with the saw, and the principal said that he was a graduate who had been recently employed by the school. Apparently the school takes orders from other schools and the community, so the kids have both a market, a job and an income to use their skills immediately after school, but it was only limited to a few students. I was amazed – here were students as young as 12 learning vocational work that we learned in high school and entering the business world before the age of 18. It was confusing, devastating and inspiring all at the same time.

We had about 20 minutes left, so we decided to break out the Frisbees. Sara demonstrated by throwing it to Whitney, who caught it and held her hands up as if to cheer that this was success. Rachael and I took the girls out to the open field and began throwing the Frisbee around, and one girl ran up to me and asked, in impeccable English English, “Excuse me sir, I do not understand the point of this game, the girl who caught it seemed to be the winner.” I told her Whitney was just happy that she caught it and that there was no real winner. They loved it. It didn’t take them long to figure out how to throw it, and they would even correct one another if they weren’t throwing it the right way. They also cheered and clapped when one would catch it from another. They never seemed to get tired of the simple game and so we played as long as we could.

We purchased a few table cloths and made our way out of the school, but before we could do that they had to sing for us, of course. The “school choir” gathered in the tiny room and lined up proudly to sing at the drop of the hat. They sang their school motto about loving Uganda and loving school, and how proud they were to be able to “move forward” as most of the songs say. Hopefully when we come back next week we can get the video, because the words and the beautiful acapella singing really touched our hearts.

We drove up to Kirinda and had lunch in the staff room, followed by a group nap on the bus. We needed our energy for St. Joseph’s.

As 2pm rolled around we made it up the hill for our final day of class workshops. I helped Lech again with photography which I enjoyed very much. We were still a bit unorganized and the students were itching to use the cameras (many of them asked to have their own personal camera, but we explained to them that we only brought enough to share and that everyone had to be equal). They divided themselves into groups of 6 and we showed them how to take the pictures, and that each student got to take 4 of whatever they wanted. I don’t think they really got the idea, because they just kept trading back and forth shot by shot. I was amazed that each and every group immediately went to some aspect of the environment for a background, whether it was the trees, the bushes or the grass. The group of girls even picked flowers and put them behind their ears to look extra sexy. We hadn’t given them any suggestions or instructions. It’s amazing to see what people will do if you just give them a tool and a free chance to unleash their creativity on their own.

As the students ran out of pictures they became frustrated, and there began a discussion for the rest of the class about a few things. Many of them thought we were going to take the cameras and photos for ourselves. “How do you benefit from these photos? Do you make money? Who do you show them to?” We explained over and over again that we would take the cameras to the store in Ft. Portal, have them developed and return the pictures to them. “That will make us very happy,” they said. “But what happens to the camera?” We tried to explain how they were “disposable cameras” – “when we have the pictures, the cameras are out of film and they are useless, so we throw them away.” The concept of disposable was completely foreign to them. In Uganda, everything is reused – I don’t think I’ve found one trash can in the entire country. “Why do you not give them back to us?” they asked. Lech tried to explain that the store in Ft. Portal sends the cameras away and puts more film on them, and then sells them again, but they still didn’t get the idea. And they sure as hell didn’t believe that the only benefit we received from this project was allowing them to take and keep their own photos. “And where are our stories and pictures?” We had taken up their drawings in art class and stories they did in the English workshop, and we told them we were going to put them together to hang on the school walls and that they would eventually get them back. Again, “that will make us very happy” they said.

We had about 20 minutes left with nothing to do, and so we just began an impromptu cross-cultural communications class on the grass. Most of the students were teenage boys, and since the girls were both mean and shy, the boys looked up to us and asked us many questions. The first question was about my ONE campaign bracelet. “Why do you where this – what does that mean, ‘one’?” one boy asked. I stumbled upon an explanation about connecting America and Africa, and they boy quickly cut me off. “I get it – we are all one.” Again, the cleverness and intelligence of the students came out in this exchange. “What are you going to do with your studies?” they asked me, “do you want to become a priest?” I was a little taken aback by this question, and told them I was not interested in becoming a priest. “So you like to have relationships, and to love women?” they asked. Okay, now I understood what was going on. When I told them yes I do (and that is one of the reasons I don’t want to become a priest), they smiled and gave me a few knuckle handshakes. And there the sex education lesson began.

The boys were very curious. One student asked me if it was okay to have more than one wife. I told him that I didn’t think it was, and he was confused. I tried to explain to him that it was good for the man but bad for the women. “What happens if you get one of them pregnant and have children – what happens to the other one – they will be jealous – they are two women, but you are only one man.” The boy thought that interesting. “Do you use condoms in America?” they asked. “YES,” I said, “everyone in America uses condoms.” “I was told that you can only use a condom three times and then you have to throw it away.” “NO,” I said, “you have to use a condom each time you have sex.” (Now that I think about it, this plays into the reusable nature of the African people in general). “Do you have any condoms to give to us?” they asked. Oh boy. I told them no, and they asked why some people give them out and some people don’t. I tried as diplomatically as I could to explain the fight between the public and the church about condom distribution, waiting to have sex before marriage, etc., but clearly these kids were not buying it. One boy said, “we have to use condoms because we have this thing called HIV. Do you have it in America?” “Yes, we do.” “What do you do for it?” they asked, “do you have the medicines in America?” “Yes,” I said, “we have ARVs (which they had heard about).” “Do you know how to get the medicine? Will you bring them to us?” they asked. “They are very very expensive,” I said. “Even in America? You are rich.” “No, we are not all rich, and yes, they are still expensive.” “But people can take them and get cured?” they asked. “NO,” I said, “the medicines are only to make people be less sick, but you can still die from it. There is no cure for HIV/AIDS.” The boys looked down. Silence. They had no more questions about this, and I had no more explanations. “That is why I am here, and that is why I wear this bracelet – so that we in America can work together with you in Uganda to find a cure for HIV/AIDS and help each other.”

The final discussion was one I was happy to have at first, because I naively though the student just wanted to know about America, but it later turned into an investigation for him to pump me for information about how he could get there. First he asked me how much it cost, and I did the conversion – about 1 million Ugandan shillings, or about $5,000. “So you are rich?” he asked. No, I said, I had to get money from a bank and when I get back to America I have to pay it back. “The bank is very rich then,” one of the boys said. “Yes,” I said, but they do not give money to everybody and it is very hard to pay it back. “You see, the people in Uganda are all poor – we do not even have money for food.” “Wait a second,” I said, “you have plenty of food – you have matoki, avocados and tomatoes, don’t you?” “Yes,” he said. “And do you have bananas?” “Yes, so many bananas that we will never run out.” “See, you are not hungry,” I said, “you have everything you need, except money to go to America – why do you want to go to America so bad?.” “First let us finish the discussion we are having,” he said.

The boy, although very smart and curious, had absolutely no idea about life on the other side. “How is the sun on the other side?” he asked. I was a bit confused. “Yes, we have the sun on the other side” I said. “No, how is it right now?” Oh. I said that right now, it is nighttime in America because the sun is out right now. Ohhhh, they said. And when it is nighttime, when you are sleeping, the people in America are awake. Ohhhhhhhhh they said. It really blew their mind.

The boy continued. He asked me how we knew Father Potus (the headmaster of the school) and I told him through the Holy Cross. Then he asked me how I physically got here, and I told him on a bus and several plane rides. “How come you don’t go by boat – by sea.” I didn’t know how to answer that question other than it was very illegal and unsafe, but I told him it would take way too long. “How long do you fly in the airplane?” I said three days and he screamed. “Even thought it is going very fast in the air?” Yes, I said, America is a long way from Ft. Portal…first you have to take a bus to Entebbe, then you have to fly to Europe, then you have to fly to America. “That is a lot,” he said. Yes it is, I thought, and I hope you don’t try and make the trip, because it’s just not worth it.

I again asked him why he wanted to go to America so bad, and he was coy again. “First let us finish our discussion.” “You have to get permission from the governments, right?” he asked. Yes, I said, but you are only allowed to stay in America for three months like we are only allowed to stay in Uganda for three months. “You would like to come to America and at least visit, wouldn’t you?” I asked. “We shall see, we shall see, in time,” he kept saying.

Time was up, and we made our escape on the bus. I had really enjoyed the discussion and I hoped that I made a difference, because they certainly held on to my every word.

We made it out of Karisoi completely and totally exhausted. It had been a 12 hour day, but we had plenty to do in town before we went home. I went down to use the Internet at a café farther down the hill while the others used the one across from Mary’s. I did my thing for a while and but then the electricity went off, and since the guy hadn’t plugged in the generator the computers went off. We got tired of waiting and went back down to Mary’s. I went into the other café with the generator and met Sara and Ian, who were still working. So I sat down to read a few more emails when all of a sudden Whitney and Rachael came in. “You missed the motorcade,” they said. Museveni (the president of Uganda!) had just rolled by on his way to do a radio interview up the street. Ohhh, I said, that sucks, but whatever, I had enjoyed the night before with the cultural kings. We sent a few more emails and came back to the bus, but had to wait a little bit more because Sara had to buy a few things at the grocery store. I sat on the bus and there went part of the motorcade flying by. It wasn’t what I expected, but it was still pretty cool. Actually it was pretty scary now that I think about it. It was truck after truck with soldiers and machine guns on the tailgates pointed in all directions. They presidential jeep/SUV or whatever wasn’t with them, and they were just going to get gas across the street, Joseph told us. Museveni was probably on the radio by now but we didn’t have a way to listen, so I was anxious to get home.

Finally we took off, got a nice greeting from Betty who thought we were lost, and ate dinner. I guess we had missed Museveni because all that was on the radio was a church service. Damn. Oh well, I bet I can find out what happened online. I’ve had enough politics for one day.

Day 16 – Friday July 21

Today I did not leave the house. I barely left my little apartment. It was both a day on and a day off. The rest of the group went north to see monkeys, go on a 3 hour nature walk and sleep in a tree house. I was not interested, but also I had devoted the day to my thesis. After reaching the mountaintop on Tuesday, I decided that the trip would all be downhill from here. Not in a bad sense, but I knew it was time to rock out the research. From trips on the bus to other stolen moments of down time, I had read through hundreds of pages of UN reports, conference papers, policy documents and news articles about organic farming in East Africa, and now it was time to put them together for my final undergraduate responsibility. It is a daunting task, but I feel good about doing it. I have been writing and organizing it in my head, and all that is left is put it all together one last time.

I woke up early-ish with the rest of the group for a short pow wow and tea, but quickly returned to bed for a few more hours before starting the marathon day. I finally rose about 11am and went to work. The electricity was on so I had no excuse to do anything else.

I typed and typed “all day” as my friend Monica and I like to boast, which was only about 4+ hours. In the late afternoon it started raining, and quickly turned into the biggest pour I’ve probably witnessed in any part of the world in several years. It rained so hard the water almost made its way into the living room. Betty waited for the rain to let up and went to the market to get food and supplies, and also to fetch me a Fanta orange. I was going to go with her and trek down to the Internet café, but I was too much into my research. Rachael and Whitney, who decided to stay as well, were getting restless and hungry, and they successfully made grilled cheese sandwiches without blowing up the house, and more importantly, without Betty knowing about it. She does not believe we know how to cook, and even if we offer, she will not allow it. I’ve accepted it – it’s a cultural thing – that is her job, and she gets personal pride doing it. It works out for me, especially when I’m working, so I’m sure as hell not going to argue with her.

The electricity finally went off, and I took a little nappy. When I woke up it was back on. That was lucky but probably not a coincidence. 6pm came fast, and the three of us worked on our own little things in the living room until Betty called us in for supper. “Will you please come eat, the food is ready?” she asked shyly behind the corner of the door. She is so sweet. She made beef curry at my request, and it was delicious as usual. It was also extra spicy, but the chapitas helped cool the tongue like it knows how. I missed the spice of food back home, and we talked about all the good Mexican restaurants and dishes we were going to eat when we returned.

We told Betty thank you for dinner, and she responded “thank you for eating.” If that doesn’t say something about the people of Uganda I don’t know what does. After eating I went back to being covered in papers, and she came in curious to what I was doing. I told her that after I finished this paper I would be finished with my studies and get my degree, and that I was doing it on farming in Uganda. “Oh sure,” she said – which is the Ugandan equivalent of “very good.” She asked me what I was going to do after school, and I told her I was going to work on trying to come back to Uganda. She was shocked and didn’t believe me. “To Uganda? You are coming back?” “Where are you going to come back to, Kampala?” “No way, I like Ft. Portal,” I said, “I’m coming back here.” “If you come back, you will call me?” “Of course!” I said. I asked her what she will do when we leave, and she said go and find more work so she can support her sun. The hotel she was working at before is being renovated and won’t be ready until December, and so she’s not sure what she’ll do. I asked her what she was going to do with the money she was making by working for us, and she said she didn’t know because she didn’t know how much it was. It’s only $1.75 a day, but I hope it’s a lot in her eyes, because she has done so much for us. She did tell Sara she wanted to buy a cow, so hopefully she will, but hopefully she can buy much more.

I worked and worked and got through almost all of the research, so the next step will be organizing and then the writing begins. We took a little break and watched a few episodes of South Park that I had on my computer – it was great to have a silly little connection to the awful Western world just for an hour. More tea, more writing, more music, more tea, more writing, and I am down for the count. So now here I am updating the journal and ready for another day on my own. Rachael and Whitney are doing to the park tomorrow morning, so it’s just me and Betty all day until the kids return and I get to blog it up at the Internet café and show my school that I am actually going to graduate this time.

Day 17 – Saturday July 22

Day number two of not leaving the house. It was grrrrrreat. Man did I need the r & r. Joseph took Whitney and Rachael to the nature preserve thingee and although their rustling woke me up, I went back to bed until about 12:30pm. Haven’t done that in a while. Betty came in to mop and asked if I was okay. “You like to sleep, don’t you?” she laughed. She had brought her son with her and he was surprised to find a Bujungu in bed. I think I scared him, but then introduced myself. Betty said something to the effect of “introduce yourself properly to the white man” and the boy promptly said “hello sir how are you?” So well trained! I still hated being treated like a king, but again, it is still cultural. When I gave him the greeting in Rootoro he smiled. He is eight years old, has a bit of a cross-eye but is the cutest thing.

I made a little snacky, showered and got ready for another workday. I brought out all my papers and organized them as well as I could, and started back at it. Betty had been cooking and was going to wake me up to come eat, so luckily I timed it perfectly. “Please come eat sir, the food is ready” she asked as I was buried in my papers. She had made chips (fries) and salad with avocadoes and tomatoes. It was the perfect snack. As I was eating she asked me again if I was going to go to work after I graduated. First I told her that yes I had to pay back the loan that it took for school fees and to come to Africa, and that I was not rich like many Africans believe all people are in the United States. I told her that my parents were both teachers and she said, “oh that is good,” and also knew that “they do not make a lot of money.” So smart. So for my job, I tried to explain to her that we there is an election in America coming up in November to elect our parliament, and I said that I was going to work for one of the parties. She understood the two-party system, Republicans and Democrats, and I told her that Bush was part of the Republicans and they were in control like Museveni, and because so many people in America were mad at Bush, I was hoping to help the other party win parliament. “Oh that is very good, we will pray for you,” she said, just as the young student had said the other day. “Webali kuchumba muno” I said, “thank you very much for cooking.” “Thank you for eating sir,” she responded. Jeez…the Ugandan hospitality never fails.

After I worked some more I came in to the kitchen to visit with Betty again. I was surprised to see a few blank CDs and snacks out on the kitchen table. Betty had cleaned my room, and went through my little trash bin to see if there was anything that shouldn’t be thrown away. She had found a box of raisins and a package of gold fish, which had been smashed but not ruined, and so I took them back with a little shame that I had thrown them away just because they weren’t perfect. She asked about the blank CDs and asked if she could give them to her sister, who was learning how to use a computer. I explained to her the CDs were broken, but she didn’t understand this because they looked fine to her. I had used the CDs to burn photos and blog updates, but once they were burned they were useless. Our cultural concept of disposable things was again confusing. I told her I had many more blank CDs and that I would put music on it for her and her sister to play on the computer.

Because Betty was so interested in American things, from the electronic toys we had to the lives we lead back home, I decided that I would share organize a little slideshow for her. First I showed her and her son pictures of my family. “That is you, on the left? You look so grown up.” “And that is your brother?” she asked. I asked her if I looked like him, and she said, “yes, but you resemble your mother.” I also showed her pictures of my cousin Gabrielle, Danielle, and Danielle’s baby, who are of African-American and Anglo mix, and she was amazed.

Then I showed her pictures of the farm. She was really blown away by the sights of the barn, the tractors and the fields. “You have a farm? With cows?” she asked. Then I showed her pictures of a few cows and she said, “ohhhhh.” I continued with pictures of Abigail, Bubba, and the puppies we used to raise and she said “ohhhhh” a million more times. “You like dogs?” she asked. “Yes,” I said, we raise them. “For me, I do not like dogs.” I had found this common in Uganda. The people did not view dogs and cats as pets for enjoyment – they only appreciated animals like cows which helped their livelihoods. It made sense I guess.

Finally, I showed her pictures of St. Edward’s. “It is like a mosque,” she said. I continued with a few pictures of Austin, and this was probably a bit too much. “So many tall buildings,” she said.

A little while later I was making a snack, and Betty asked a few more questions about America, and even though I didn’t think she would ask me, we had become friends and I knew it was coming. “Do you know how I can get friendship…sponsorship…to come to America?” she asked. I danced around the question and told her that I didn’t know the process, and that because of immigration laws, you had to ask permission from both the Ugandan government and the American government, and that it was very hard to do. I tired to explain to her that Ugandan people could only visit America for three months just like we could only visit Uganda for three months at a time. “Do you know the address where I can request this?” she asked. I told her I did not. My heart was torn; half of me wanted to take Betty, her cross-eyed child and every other goddam hardworking and educated Ugandan to America, but the other half wanted so hard to find a way to explain to her how wonderful her country was and how hopeful its future is. I wanted to tell her that America wasn’t as good as she thought, but in her mind and the minds of most African people, anything was better than being stuck in the system where they can never really reach a “rich” life like they wanted. I wanted to tell her that of all the places in the world I could be at the moment, I chose to come to Uganda, and that I would return, and that she should be so proud of where she lives and where she comes from. Of all the cultural differences I’ve been faced with on this trip, this has been the most difficult to communicate. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing – so that the people of the developing world don’t have to spend their lives with endless hope about capitalism and materialism, and that their country is, and could be, just as wonderful as the America they have in their minds.

I worked some more and Betty got restless, so she asked if she could leave me alone at the house while she went somewhere with her son. I said sure, I was just working and wasn’t going anywhere. “You will not be fearing?” she asked. The Ugandan people are not only generous, but they are very protective. I had to convince her it was okay to leave the gate unlocked, and finally she went off. When she got back, she went right to work preparing dinner for when the gang returned. I asked her when they were expected. “You are fearing they will not back?” she asked. “No,” I said, quite the opposite. “I am enjoying the quiet. If they do not come back we will have to eat all the fish.” I let her work and she hummed in the kitchen like she had been all day, and I decided that she could use a little music while she worked. I went through my iPod and struggled between the soul music of the Dixie Chicks and Ruthie Foster, but in the end I thought she would enjoy Bob the most. So I asked her if she put on Bob Marley for her with the iPod speakers in the kitchen. “Reagge!” she said. Her son smiled the biggest smile I have ever seen, jumped off the chair and began swaying back and forth. Betty even knew some of the words. Of course she did, it was Bob. So I left her and her son jamming’ with one love and three little birds while I went back to work, happy that I could make the smallest little impact in her and her son’s day.

Just as I had set out my papers in the living area of the apartment, I heard the bus honk. Damn. With that, the zen world completely collapsed. One by one they came in with their million bags and obnoxious voices. It wasn’t anything against them, I was just really enjoying the peace and quiet. Betty quickly turned the music off, greeted everyone and went back to work. I sat in limbo in my room, too distracted to work and too tired to hear stories about the monkeys.

Betty had made a great tilapia dinner like she knows how, and we all chowed down. They had all enjoyed the tree house and monkey show, and I said I would love to see the pictures later and that yes, I had gotten a lot of work done. We colored and played with Betty’s son as we wrote and winded down. I went back to work, and fucking Celine Dion came back with me, this time with both the power of love and my heart will go on. Then I heard the infamous “and IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII will always love youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.” Whitney Houston had made it to Africa as well.

So here I am. We have a week to go in this wonderful little corner of the world. I am again torn between the Pearl of African and America the Beautiful. On one hand, I have seen and done so many things that I could leave this very moment, having been to the mountaintop. But I am enjoying each and every experience and thankful for a few more. We will say our goodbyes to the many people who have blessed up by opening up their world to us, and see the source of the Nile River before we board the plane back to the other world. I will be ready for home. Ready to see my family and friends and share this in person. Ready for one last go ‘round with school, one last marathon paper and presentation to the small little community that has brought me up and sent me to Africa. Ready for the next step and a thousand more experiences like this. From now on, my eyes will always be on the world, always looking forward, and never going back, just like the people of Africa.

Day 18 – Sunday July 23

So scheduling in Africa has gotten completely out of control. We have tried, and actually been very successful, to fit in a lot of activity and keep to a tight agenda. Last Friday we skipped out on our first activity at Kirinda, and since then, it has pretty much fallen apart.

Today I was supposed to get up early and have three hours to go to the Internet café, send my thesis progress and update the blog. Then I was going to wash clothes before meeting with Father Leopold, whom we met the other night. Sara and her mother were supposed to be back from mass at noon, but they got back at 1:30pm, with news that we were having a Rootoro lesson at 3:00pm and that instead of meeting with Father Leopold here, we were now going to drive an hour away to meet his youth group. I did wake up early, but went back to bed until the bus rolled in. I hadn’t left the house in three days, and so I begged and pleaded to go to town before the afternoon activities. We made it to the café, where my three hours turned into 30 minutes. I have been writing a lot and really wanted to update, but there is never enough time!

Sara then informed us that Anna Mary wasn’t coming for Rootoro lessons, which was a relief, but we still had to get back for the meeting. Sara and her mother had to take care of the shopping at Mary’s Craft Shop, and the rest of the gang peaced on the trip with Father Leopold, so it was just Rachael, Whitney and I, which suited me fine.

We were scheduled to meet with Father Leopold to meet the youth group he has been directing. They are peer educators who focus on HIV/AIDS awareness, treatment and prevention. We originally thought we were meeting with an orphaned group whom Father Leopold took in and began distributing microfinance loans to, but today we were meeting with the youth group because they were desperately interested in microfinance support. Rachael did her thesis on microfinance, and one of the things we are doing in Uganda (now and in the future) is seeing about establishing our own microfinance institution with the Holy Cross for the many entities around Ft. Portal.

Father Leopold arrived promptly at 4:00pm, and we were off. Whitney and I sat in the back of his Nissan 4-door, 4-wheel drive, and Rachael sat in the front left – the driver seat in America, and Father Leopold drove on the right side. We realized how strange it was to be in the backwards car and not on a bus for the first time on our entire trip. We were thankful for the closed windows, air conditioning, and music. Father Leopold had this hilarious tape with the cheesy “you’re my soul and my life’s inspiraaaaaation” song on it. We giggled at first but it was quite relaxing, especially when the drive got out of control.

We drove out to the western part of town, which we had never been to, and saw a little bit more of Ft. Portal. Father Leopold told us this was the “slums,” but it didn’t really look all that different from the rest of the town outskirts. It was a bit dirtier and the roads were really bad, and we also noticed that there seemed to be a lot more people just kickin’ it rather than working like in the main town centers we’d seen.

Um, so Father Leopold is a crazy driver, but very good at it. Whitney and I sat back in pure shock and amazement of how people drive in Uganda. It’s ironic because the people are so friendly and hospitable, but when it comes to driving, bicycling and walking, it’s completely out of control. And it’s not like New York City, or London or anywhere else in Europe or America you think is bad. There is absolutely no order, and it is really every man woman and child for themselves. People just fly by and manage to get away a split second before crashing into one another. We were amazed by Joseph’s driving skills with the bus, but Father Leopold was even more skillful. He noticed that we were a bit uncomfortable, after we buckled our seatbelts and held on to the handrails for dear life, but he just laughed. “The drunk drives a straight line in Uganda” he said, which apparently is a common saying in the country. Whitney and I saw a family of goats in the middle of the road, and we weren’t sure if he was even going to stop. Luckily he broke just in time. And he may or may not have hit a few people on bicycles. And this a priest we are talking about here!

The only thing that distracted our fears was the amazing countryside. Little did we know we were taking the road to Bundibugiyo, the last town in Uganda before the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo. The mountains seemed to swallow us up. We reached deep into the fog, and when it broke here and there we could see how high up we were. We had all been excited to see the mountains around Ft. Portal, but our view had been dampened by the haze. Luckily it had been raining so we could see pretty well, except for the thick fog, which was so thick you could cut it with a knife and make African igloos out of it if you wanted to. As we reached the cutoff to the parish, we saw the most beautiful view of the hills just below the tip of the mountains. Never in my life have mountains taken my breath away like they had growing up in the Rockies.

We took the cutoff to the parish and down the road to the bishop’s house. There under the big tree was a gathering of about 75 people. “I hope that’s not for us,” Rachael said. “I think it is,” I said. I think the group had been expecting all of us, but because the rest of the group was tired and the bus probably not safe to take, it was just the three of us. I felt a little uncomfortable because we were just three young students, but it didn’t bother me too much – it might actually help that we are around the same age, and also because the group knew we were there to help with microfinance (hence we were the white people coming to save the day).

We got out of the truck and were greeted by Patrick, Paul and Samuel (pronounced Sam-well like in Spanish), three excited, professional young men who directed the Kitumbi Anti-AIDS Club. They immediately made us feel “most welcome” as all Ugandans do and led us to our seats for yet another visitors’ program. Now after the first couple of welcome programs I was a little frustrated because we were put on display and treated like kings and queens, but I have learned to really enjoy them. One of the things I like best is that the people are very conscious of our time and energy. The programs are always super organized – every single one has an agenda with a good mix of speeches, introductions, and business. And they are sure as hell more organized than a lot of club meetings I’ve been to in my life. The people realize we visit many entities, and I can’t say enough how proud they are to have someone come far into their communities and learn about the work they are doing. This isn’t a show, and they aren’t sucking up for money either – this is a genuine spirit that we have noticed in each and every one of the groups we have been blessed to spend time with. The people there were definitely the youth, but the community had come out to witness the event as well.

Entertainment always comes first, which is usually the traditional shake-and-stomp dancing, but this part of the program was really special. Father Leopold had explained to us that the group uses song, dance and drama to communicate their messages about HIV/AIDS, which we understood because of the culture and somewhat lack of English or good language skills. This was also a chance for the young men and women to showcase their talents – apparently there had been a dance competition and we were being treated by the group that won.

The musical/drum/dance skit was incredible. The kids were well rehearsed and really put their hearts into it, we could tell not just for us, but for them. It was complete with drums, overlays and background narration. We didn’t even need Father Leopold to interpret the words. One of the young men chased around the girl, taunting her and asking her for sex. He threw money at her, offered her his cell phone, and pleaded with her to have sex with him. The girl and the rest of the group proudly shook their hands in unison and said “no gifts for sex.” “We are calling on all Ugandans to resist the pressure,” they said in Rootoro, and to adhere to the “ABCs” of sex education – A, practice abstinence before marriage, B, be faithful, and C, use condoms. Then they even threw in a skit about stigma, about how the HIV/AIDS victims face discrimination from the community, and most often times, their former partners, but as the girl in the skit, the group and the people continue to “shake it off.”

“The youth have suffered more than ever because of AIDS,” they proclaimed. “But even with death there is still hope…we are living free with and without AIDS.” Unbelievable. I still have a hard time wrapping around in my head the courage to both face the problem and live with the issue, as well as the intelligence in their education and their faith in what they are doing.

After the skit we heard from the youth leaders, who handed us the equivalent of an African professional memo, with letterhead y todo. The Kitumbi Anti-AIDS Club operates out of the Kitumbi Catholic Perish, which was created in 1986 and includes 50,000 people. The group specifically includes 57 students ranging from ages 14-27. “The youths of Kitumbi are hardworking, social, creative good listeners and cooperative.” Their mission to combat HIV/AIDS is one that encourages them “to become future leaders with great responsibility and vision.”

They were all of those things and more. The chairperson gave us a detailed report – hand-written in good English, completely with figures about their activities, bullet points and proposals for future projects. “Behavior change cannot happen without economic change.” At first I thought this was a ploy for financial support, but when I thought about it, that’s really what it boils down to. It’s the same as the American ghetto as the African bush. Behavioral and social problems arise simply out of poor economic conditions. All these people want is to be able to work themselves out of their situations. They do not want to be stuck in the trap, and they want to live, and are living, their lives by working hard, being responsible and staying focused on a positive future.

The chairperson described the activities that the youth are doing, and I was again amazed. They had divided themselves up into entrepreneurial groups, similar to the HIV positive women we’d met last week, and coordinate things like poultry projects, carpentry work, and small farming organizations. All they were asking for is a little bit of help so that their already successful ventures can continue– things like minimal tools for carpentry and farming and land and space for the activities. I think at that moment Rachael and I were convinced that every single micro-organization in that group were the perfect candidates for as many micro-credit loans we could give out.

Rachael was our spokesperson, and she did a great job of thanking the group for making us feel most welcome, and told them how proud she was of the hard work that they are doing and that she hoped very much to go back to America and show them so that we can come back and work together. We didn’t really know what to say, but it didn’t really matter. I wanted to give every shilling in my pocket to those young brave souls, but I knew the time would come.

Father Leopold said a few words to the group in Rootoro, and closed with a prayer. “Lord bless these visitors for sacrificing their time to be with us today, and may you continue blessing their hands and the work they are carrying out with them.” It’s funny, of all the thank yous I’ve ever gotten in my life for what I do, I’ve never felt so appreciated in my life before coming to Uganda and hearing it from these people.

The group finished with another dance and skit. “AIDS has assaulted our families, but we are still hopeful. The only thing to do is join hands locally and internationally.” Father Leopold explained the importance of networking, but I had gotten it. This is what I want to do with my life, bring people together who have the resources to offer help to those who lack the capacity to help themselves. It’s really not all that complicated when you think about it. And no, George Bush, the problems of Africa, whether the genocide in Sudan or the fight against AIDS is not an African problem that requires an African solution.

The last thing I was amazed at is their unquestionable faith in God. We talk about American being a “Christian nation,” but they have nothing on the people of Uganda. We’d had this discussion earlier, and rather than being upset at God for the sickness and death that comes with AIDS, the people turn to God for hope and protection. Among the many activities the group does, they “pray because we believe God is able and enabling others to help us with this problem.” They also refer to themselves as “God-fearing.” This was a little confusing to me at first, but I get it now. It is not in the way you would think they are afraid of God, but rather the opposite – they trust God so much that they fear anything else. “For fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Make sense to me.

In closing, the chaplain reminded us that they are “grateful to have visitors in our Parish…this has shown us the great love you have towards us and Fort Portal in general. May the Almighty God cherish that great gift of love that he started in you.”

They showed their gratefulness once more by offering us tea and bananas, the culture norm after the program. The men asked if we had bananas in America, and I said yes, although they didn’t compare to the ones here. These were seriously the biggest and most delicious bananas I had ever tasted. I think they must have known this, because as a final show of their gratitude, they gave us a bunch to take home, which is customary in Ugandan culture – to give a gift, even the smallest offering – to those who come and visit.

We took a few pictures outside the parish in the beautiful setting. I took a few pictures of the mountains although you could hardly see them. One of the elders, who was responsible for taking pictures for their group, looked at me and then looked at the mountains. “The mountains of the moon,” he said. I think he was confused as to why I would take a picture of them. After all, this is what he sees everyday. It goes back to what Peter the politician said the other night about the mountains. It really is all they need.

Father Leopold took us the back roads on the way back. Although the drive was much more bumpy it was a lot faster. We didn’t realize that we had gone most of this way – it winded around Crater Lake and Saca where he had our first visit with the confirmation vows. It was all coming back, full circle again. I thought I had been to the top of the mountain the other night, but I realized that it wasn’t until now that I truly had.

We returned to the house inspired rather than exhausted. The gang was watching “The Fugitive” and we played around with Betty’s son before dinner. She made us the best spaghetti I have ever had except for my own mother’s – so good I had three servings and didn’t even make it to the crepes for dessert. I took my own little entertainment break with Super Mario 2 again – I’m loving the short breaks in video game land – and sat patiently as we tried to figure out what was coming up. I wanted to write and process as much as I could because it was all getting a little bit out of control. Poor Sara tried to explain and organize the final week’s activities, but it was next to impossible. We decided to just go with the flow because one thing was changing five minutes after it was supposed to be set anyway. After Sara talked with Sister Eddie Ann about the plans I got the opportunity to call my mom, who is always so happy to hear my voice. She had printed all the photos I posted online and has a photo album waiting for me at home. The time is coming.

After dinner I went to my room, thinking that I had plenty of time to write, and the African reindeer games began. On and off went the electricity. Seriously about six times, which is not normal. I thought it would fix itself because it had been raining so much and had been pretty constant, but of course, with all the things I needed to do, it finally went off.

So here I am. I am not going to Karisoi early in the morning. Thank goodness. I will get to say goodbye on Tuesday. Tomorrow I absolutely must do laundry. I feel clean, but I am wearing an interracial pair of socks and no boxers. My face needs to be shaven and my body needs to be stretched. My hair and bed are filled with bugs.

Thank goodness I completed the day’s journal in just enough battery time. It’s so hard to update the previous activities when you have more and more in a day (and a thesis to write). I’m going to get this updated and posted though, that’s for sure. One last update with the blog and then I’ll have completed most of my African journal, and now I can disappear into academic land until all this can be resurfaced. May the lord continue blessing my tired hands and the work I carry out with them.

Life in Uganda

Since everyday is filled with a different activity, I thought I would take a moment and just give you a synopsis of what life is like in Uganda. We have reached the half way point, about 2 weeks, and we are in a pretty good routine. Hopefully this is a good idea of what our life is like on the other side.

We live in Ft. Portal – a small community in the far most western part of Uganda that is the closest town for the many adjacent villages that border the Rwezori Mountains along the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo. Ft. Portal has long been regarded as a beautiful and friendly place – the scenery and people certainly match the reputation. As you know, most of the people live in the rural areas, but they have the most amazing plots of land covered in endless crops, from bananas to coffee to tea, which are the most common exports. The market is bustling everyday with fresh fruit, meat and anything you might need. Everything is green. We are here during the short dry season but it is still lush. The rain comes again in August just before we leave and the intensive farming will begin again.

Like all towns in Uganda, Ft. Portal faces many challenges. The electricity is probably the biggest – it usually goes on and off at least once a day, and may stay off for five minutes or five hours. My adviser said that if the power goes out in one place, it goes out in the entire country because the electricity comes from one source in Kampala, the capital, which is about five hours east. Another challenge is the garbage/air. There is no municipal trash system, and so people just burn their “rubbish.” This makes for a very disappointing haze that covers the skyline most days, which means we can hardly see the mountains that surround us. If we are lucky the clouds will wither and the haze will let up for a little while so that we may steal a beautiful sunset view or glace at the moon and stars before bed.

If you have seen the pictures you know we are staying in a ridiculously nice house at the top of the Njara Hill just north west of town. Rumor has it the president of Uganda has a residence on the same street as us for when he visits the area. We actually only found the house about a week before we arrived thanks to the real estate lady, who helped us work with the “stubborn” landlady who jacked up the rent and took forever to get us a refrigerator. It is gated and protected by fence and barbered wire like most of the houses on the hill. It has three bedrooms in the main house, two bedrooms in the side apartment where we live, living quarters for our helpers, a kitchen, dining room, large living room, and a patio and a terrace overlooking a beautiful yard. The bathrooms are somewhere in between the developing world and those found back home. If the electricity is off there is no hot water, and there is no shower curtain in our bathroom which is pretty gross. The toilet handle must be held for a flush and the water takes forever to fill up. We drink water that is boiled and then filtered, but must rinse our toothbrushes and mouths with the filtered or even bottled water.

Betty boils a large container of water for us twice a day, and we have tea and coffee about a million times. The thing we miss most is our millions of other flavored beverages. Coca-cola is all over the place, and it only costs anywhere from 33 cents to 50 cents a bottle. On the drive into Ft. Portal I saw the “drink Fanta, stay bamoocha (cool),” and when we went to the grocery store the first day I saw the Fanta, and since then I have developed quite an addiction to the sugary orange deliciousness.

The food in Uganda is pleasant, but at times can get bland. Bananas are the staple food – you eat them with every meal and as snacks in between. There is also matoki, which is just mashed bananas, and millet, a strange concoction that comes from grounded up millet seeds. I’m not a big fan of either of the two, but they are what most Ugandans eat, so when we receive lunch as a gift from people in the bush we definitely eat it. They do have a few sauces to put on them which helps. Other than that there is plenty of fruit – the biggest avocados I have ever seen, which also come with every meal, as well as tomatoes, delicious pineapple, apples, and the more bitter passion fruit (which does make great juice). Potatoes are also common and remind us of home. The chicken is very good and is usually a treat, so we may have it once a week. I have not had much of the beef because on the first day we definitely saw a cow’s head just sitting there at the market, plus I usually only eat organic beef anyway. We do have tilapia which is to die for, but that is an expensive treat we only eat once in a while. For breakfast we have eggs and all the fruit, plus toast, pineapple or strawberry jam, and lots of peanut butter. We also discovered “chipatis” – the Ugandan equivalent of tortillas, and they make for a good dish somewhere between french toast and pancakes if you douse them with honey and cinnamon. Betty does a good job of mixing it up, and makes very good stew/vegetable melodies and makes spicy curry from time to time.

We are well taken care of to say the least, and the cast of characters in Uganda has been amazing. There is Betty, a young women about 25 who works nonstop cleaning and cooking three wonderful meals a day. She has an 8 year old son we haven’t seen yet, and she speaks very good English because she worked at a hotel with a lot of foreigners. Now matter how hard we try she won’t let us clean up or do dishes. We have all befriended her in our own little way and we try and pay her back with little gifts and beer from time to time. She gets paid $1.75 per DAY, which is also 75 cents more than the going rate in Uganda. Unbelievable. She says she is going to use her earnings to buy a cow, since we have also paid her son’s and her sister’s school fees.

Next up is Joseph, our guide, bus driver and protector. He is 62, has lived all over Africa and is an invaluable resource. Although he doesn’t speak Rootoro (he speaks Swalili), he knows the people and the culture very well, and is happy to drive us to town and back or wherever we need to go. He is an old friend of Father Tom McDurmont, the priest in Uganda who is responsible for pretty much all of this and the Holy Cross work all over the country.

The house also came with a guard, Bashir I think his name is, who has watched the house ever since it was built. He is a nice young man who comes about dusk and stays until we leave to town the next day. He walks back and forth across the fence with a flashlight and radio to keep him company, and he told us that if anyone tries to break in he’s got a bow and arrow to take care of them before he calls the police, which are quick to respond to those kinds of calls. He gets paid $1.50 a DAY, which is 50 cents more than the going rate in Uganda.

The woman Margaret I mention frequently is the lady who runs Mary’s Craft Shop in town – the business we help with our purchases from the holiday craft sale at St. Edward’s. In two weeks of selling we raise an average of $5,000, and to date we have totaled $30,000. They have used the money from everything to building a day care center, wells at the Kirinda Family Center, buying sewing machines for all the students there, paying health and education fees, and also to support the store and bring in crafts from all over Uganda. We are doing much more than the government, which primarily focuses on roads and security, or at least that’s what we’ve seen. Anyway Margaret is so great – beautiful and smart, and so thankful for all Sara does for her. We have made friends with her son Paul who hangs out at the shop after school.

There are countless other individuals who guide us on our journey, and we meet a new set of hard working and dedicated individuals everyday. We have met most of them through Sister Eddie Ann and Sister Lilly, the Sisters of the Holy Cross who have lived in Uganda since the 1970s and have secured their place and reputation in the hearts and minds of the people. They live just outside of town in a beautiful compound next to a school, where they have living quarters for 10 people, whether visitors or people they have taken in.

Daily life in Ft. Portal is simple, and everyday we do something different and intensive. Some of the people wake up at 7:30am to do yoga, but I got off that train after the first couple of days when I started writing at night. We all start the day together with a delicious breakfast and tea. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays we begin the days with Rootro lessons and then go on to whatever activity it is we have scheduled, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays we volunteer at the Kirinda Family Center and teach at St. Joseph’s on the Hill school in the afternoons. We stop in town everyday to check in with Margaret at the shop, and also to get drinks and snacks at Andrew’s, the local grocery store, and finally visit the Internet café to connect to the world. The “main street” is pretty small so everything is right next to each other. At first we were an excitement, but by the end of the first week we were just the Bazoongs in the big bus who have come to town to spend money.

After going to town, we visit people in the outskirts, or even “the bush” – the most rural parts of Uganda. It is either a Holy Cross entity we visit or most times small communities of people. These people don’t get any attention other than from the Holy Cross, and let me tell you, they are so honored to have visitors.

At night we are exhausted, and we shower, rest, write and chill before a big dinner. We chat it up over tea, talking about what we did during the day and what we have to look forward to the next. The days usually begin about 8:30am, and by 10pm we are usually spent, although I usually read and write until 11pm or so, but never later than 1am (which is very good for me!).

So that’s about it. We have a few more excursions on the weekends before the final trip east to Lake Victoria and the falls, which is where the source of the Nile River is. We are going 4-wheeling, rafting, and I may or may not decide to bungee jump! We all can’t wait for that one – the final going away present for all the long days. Until then, we will teach, learn, grow and change more and more every day in the Pearl of Africa.

The people of Uganda

Throughout my writing you may have noticed my frequent references to the kindness and hospitality of the Ugandan people. I really don’t know if I can communicate how wonderful they are. I grew up with two main cultures – the people of the American south, and the Hispanic community – both are incredibly generous, family oriented and so kind to others. But there’s something different about the people of Uganda – their hearts shine through their eyes and their hands as wave and welcome us into their lives. They know we come from a completely different world, but they have no animosity about our white skin, big bus and full wallets. There’s just something that touches them so deep in their souls when they see that we have come to their country. It gives them hope, value and honor. They are very proud of Uganda – very proud of the beauty of the land and the kindness of its people. They are also very proud of the progress they are making, especially the women. It’s so bizarre, it’s like for the first time in their lives they realize that someone other than the church is paying attention to them, and they are glad to be sharing everything with anyone who cares to let them.

A good concrete example of the friendliness is the greeting and introduction routine we have gone through a million times and will go through again as we meet each new person on the street or group of people at a center. In Uganda, there are 11 “pet names.” Four days after a child is born, the family holds a celebration to introduce the child to the community and give him his pet name in front of everybody. Each pet name means something different (I don’t have my list with me so I’ll just have to go from memory). Aboli, Atoki, Adreri, Apoli, Akiki, Amoti and the most common ones that I can remember. They mean everything from kitten and puppy to princess, king and queen. I believe I mentioned my name is Acaali (pronounced ah-cha-lee), which means dog, but there’s something else behind it because no one has the same name as me and I get great smiles and laughter when I introduce myself. I got the name because I noted how people in America people sometimes name their dogs Jake, and because of that country song “if I die before I wake, feed Jake.”

Anyway the point of all this silliness is how it builds community. Since there are only 11 names total, you immediately have something in common with someone in the community, instantly from the moment you are born. Most of the people go by and use the pet names instead of their regular names, and it’s so neat to see the people call each other just Aboli or Akiki.

So when you meet someone in Uganda, whether it is a small child or an elder, you say, “Ore ota,” which means “how are you/did you sleep well,” and the response is always “kurungi,” or “well.” Then you say “empako yawe” – “what is your pet name” (empako is the word for pet name). They tell them their name and they ask you yours, and then you finish with “ore ota Akiki” or whatever that person’s name is. It’s so simple, but from then on you have made a new friend.

Now since we are the “most welcome visitors”, we meet large groups of people and go through this routine one by one with 60 people a time. It is tedious but it is so wonderful and never gets old. Most of the people are just completely shocked that we know this, and laugh and even cheer at the introductions. I wish I could describe the look in their faces when they realize we have taken the time to not only establish pet names, but learn the introduction. They are just so honored. Anyone who speaks another language and has used it in another’s’ community knows a little bit about what I am saying. It is just an easy way to break down cultural barriers. Such a small gesture but such a big impact.

I wish we did this more often at home. Even though we have pet names it’s usually for one-on-one relationships, who give and receive the names amongst themselves, like a private joke, but here, it’s for everyone.

Since we are taking Rootro lessons we have learned quite a bit, and are able to get by with basic conversation. Even if we pronounce something wrong the people just cheer when we say hello, goodbye, thank you, etc.

As I said before, we are the most welcome visitors, and we are treated like royalty everywhere we go. This is very flattering, but to me it’s sometimes difficult because I see them as equal human beings, and try very hard to communicate with people around the world about the one-ness of everyone in the world. Even though I am “free, white and 21” as my parents say, I do not want that stigma attached to me here because I don’t want there to be such distance between the people we meet and our group. It’s not that they believe we are better than them, it’s more about wanting to show how honored they are for taking the time to be with them. They thank God every time for bringing us to them, thank both our governments for giving permission to travel back and forth between long distances, tell us they love them right after we meet them. One funny thing happened in the bush the other day…needless to say we take a lot of pictures, and this one teen-age girl said, “you guys really love Africans don’t you?” I said, “yes we do,” and she said, “good, we love you too.”

One thing I have to remind myself is that they probably don’t receive such a large group of Americans on a regular basis, (many of the people have never met a white person in their lives) so I guess I’ll just have to bite the bullet. Yes, if you can imagine it, for once in my life I don’t want to be the center of attention.