i fed a baboon

I am planning a trip to Gulu to hold business seminars with refugees who are relocating into villages. As Heidi and I were on our way to Kampala to meet with Hon. Betty, the MP for the Gulu district, our public taxi slowed as another taxi cross us head on and ran into the ditch. We saw the driver get out and run. All of the 20 people in our taxi looked worriedly at the passengers as they emerged from the taxi crash. One minute later our taxi approached a crowd of people. I stretched out the window and saw two little boys lying in the road surrounded by blood. They were dead. Heidi and I still have images of those boys in our minds.

Later that day in Kampala we ran into our friend Pascal who we met at the fruit market and who helps us find things when we are in Kampala. Let me tell you about Pascal. He is the flashiest dresser in Uganda. His clothes always have an image of money and some sort of metallic paint on the fabric. Somehow his shoes stay clean even on the dirt roads. He is an balla’. He talks to Heidi and I about his music career and how he is just about to make it big time. He is making a music video about racism and wants white girls in it. My dream of being a dancer in an African music video just might come true!

One night I was getting back late from a project and found everyone in the house acting rather odd. They told me to look at the bathroom. I walked in and found that the sink was gone. I turned to the girl’s room and found Hiedi laying face down on the bed with her butt exposed and Corbin leaned over her with a gloved hand bracing a syringe.

Choking back laughs they told me this story: Amber, Heidi, and Tori were looking at Amber’s arm which she had injured a few days earlier. They started laughing hysterically, to the point that all three girls had to pee. I think it should be said that I have never met a group of girls with such little bladder control in my life. They all ran to the bathroom. Amber took the toilet, Tori peed in the bathtub, and Heidi just peed her pants. All continued to laugh uncontrollably. Heidi backup and rested her hand on the sink which pulled out of the wall and crashed to the ground in pieces. Heidi landed right on top of it. The house burst into chaos as everyone scrabbled to stop the bathroom from flooded as burning hot water shot from the wall. In the confusion Heidi didn’t realize that he had cut her butt until she had bled quite a bit.

Amber says that Heidi’s face went sheet white and they escorted her to the bed. Tori and Corbin went to work as doctor and nurse.

By the time I got there, everything was cleaned up, but it was clear that Heidi would need stitches. She saw our Australian doctor the next day – who probably thinks we are absolutely ridiculous by now. The whole episode was hilarious and has spawned priceless jokes about Heidi’s crack.

Our second wave of volunteers arrived Thursday 12^th. They are great. We have 3 siblings that have come Linsi, Katie, and DJ; A really great girl named Kelsi, who is DJ’s girlfriend; And three additional girls, Stephanie Christiansen, Tori Griffith and Ashley Ward. I absolutely love the new volunteers. They came with so much drive and have started some really cool projects.

One week after the new volunteers arrived I left for Tanzania for a week. It was an amazing break. We stayed in a hostel for 3 nights which had hot showers, free internet, nice couches, a restaurant… it was really nice. We were on safari for four nights and we stayed in tents. One morning we woke up with a giraffe outside our tent and another morning there was a small group of zebra grazing not 15 feet away. Even though the luxury was great, it was really hard for me to leave Lugazi, the projects, and my volunteers for so long. I have become really attached to this place, and I was really happy to get back.

Tanzania is an incredible country. As you can see from the pictures below, it is much dryer than Uganda. It looks much more like your typical picture of Africa.

We went on a hike around Kilimanjaro which ended in a gorgeous waterfall. On the way back we had to walk down a steep muddy road that had been soaked from a heavy rain. The ground was sticky and almost every single one of us fell, covering ourselves in mud. The locals thought it was hilarious and were laughing hysterically at us.

We also went to a Masai village and met an indigenous tribe (see photos below).

And… of course we went on Safari and saw all the animals. A baboon ate out of my hand. We saw a loin kill a pumba. I bought a knife of a Masai boy that we ran into….it still has blood on it!!!!

pictures 2

Rwanda Rwanda

We left for Rwanda at five a.m. on Saturday morning. We drove to Kampala and caught the bus. I sat next to Trent, and we began talking, laughing, and telling each other random stories from childhood. Once we were a ways into our journey, the conductor got up and put a video in the cassette player. I was very impressed with the level of technology on the bus and I grew excited to watch a movie. Moments later I retracted my initial excitement. Blaring loudly throughout the bus was the most graphic, repetitive, and essentially ridiculous music I have ever heard. It was accompanied by cheap and equally as explicit music videos. Probably my favorite song was titled “If you do me, I will do you” and featured a line of women standing front to back doing pelvic thrusts in unison.

It was inevitable that during the 9 hour bus ride I would have to pee. I asked the conductor if we could stop at the next town. He shot me a side glance and yelled something to the driver in Luganda. Some time later, the bus pulled over in the middle of nowhere and people began climbing out. Trent started laughing and pointed out that it is here that the us has brought us to relieve ourselves. As I stepped out of the bus, I saw a line of men a few yards in front of me all peeing into different bushes. Heidi grabbed my hand and we began search for somewhere a bit more private. We passed Trent and David, and a series of big mama booties. Heidi was nervous and we couldn’t seem to find anywhere that was concealed. Amidst our searching, two Ugandan girls warned us that if we didn’t hurry the bus would leave us. Seconds later we heard the bus start up. We peed as fast as we could and had to jump onto the bus as it was rolling away.

A couple hours later the bus stopped again. This time, it was not for the convenience of the passengers, but because it had broken down. I got out of the bus and decided to sunbathe while crew worked on the engine. At one point, they took a handful of long stands of grass and used it to tie something together. There must have a good reason, because a short time later the bus was running and we were back on our way.

When we finally reached Rwanda we were met by Auntie Peggy’s friend, Richard. Richard is the Secretary General of the national committee of town councils and had taken the Lugazi Town Council on an educational tour. Richard became our guide for the weekend.

He took us to the hotel that the movie Hotel Rwanda was based on. During the Rwandan genocide the hotel held 1,000 people seeking refuge from the chaos that was occurring just beyond the parking lot. I had expected the hotel to be a popular tourist destination because of the movie, however when we arrived, it ran just like any other hotel. There were no public tours, pamphlets, or even a plaque to commemorate the terrifying and extraordinary scene that unfolded there.

Richard spoke to the management, and a few moments later the hotel technician came to talk with us. He had also been the technician in 1994. Because there had been so many people, and thus a huge strain on all the technology in the hotel, the manager sent an armored car to pick the technician and his family. They crossed three road blocks, an extremely dangerous feat at the time. Once at the hotel, the technician only came out of the lobby twice. He hid in the hotel with his wife and children. He even had a child born there. His wife was among a group of people who got on a truck that was supposed to transfer them to a safer location in a refugee camp. On the way there, the van was stopped by militia and the passengers were almost killed. After many tense moments and heavy negotiation, the van was sent back with all of its passengers. Of the 1,000 inhabitants of the hotel, none were killed. This is an absolutely miraculous anomaly of the genocide.

The next day, we were taken to a National museum, and then we drove from about two hours out to another memorial in Murambi. As I have written in my previous blog, the memorial in situated on a hill in the most beautiful village of rolling hills that the mind could image. The memorial site was once going to be a technical school, but right before it was completed Hutus began their extermination of the Tutsi. At Murambi, 50,000 Tutsis were murdered in one day in an act of genocide. The bodies were put in mass graves dug out my machines provided for by the French government. The graves were covered in sand a used as a volleyball court for French troops. Once the government was stabilized and the threat of genocide had ceased, the villagers uncovered the graves. They did want the bodies to remain in that degrading state, and they didn’t want the mass murder to be covered up and forgotten. So, the covered the bodies in lime powder and placed them in the unfinished classrooms.

We were taken to one of the classrooms, and to our horror, the bodies were still laying there on tables. There were rows of bodies after bodies, all laying in poses of horror. Many of them still had clothes on and many still had hair. I was overwhelmed with the trauma of facing so many dead people, and I had to step out of the room. I began to walk down the pathway of classrooms and realized that they were all filled with bodies. One room was designated to little babies. As I stood in that doorway, my eyes welling with tears, one of the staff members came up to me. He explained that many of the babies were not initially killed when the Hutu attack. They were simply thrown into the mass graves alive, and left to die slowly.

We walked out to one of the fields and Linda told us her story which I have shared with you. We also heard for another one of the four survivors: He had help put up the small resistance against the Hutu when the killing first began in Murambi. During the fighting he was shot in the head and buried under a pile of bodies in near one of the classrooms. Miraculously, he did not die, but woke up at night once the Hutu had left. He crawled out towards freedom, more scared than he said is possible to explain, agonizing for his dead loved ones that were scattered all around him. He headed for the Burundi boarder crawling at night and hiding during the day. After many days and in a state of severe malnutrition and dehydration, he reached the Burundi boarder and waited out the turmoil in a refugee camp. He returned to Murambi, and says he could never leave it.

The morning we were to leave Rwanda, the taxi driver was late and we were scrabbling at the bus park. Jackie got everyone on the bus and I stayed to pay the bus driver. As I was discussing the price with him, I heard Tori yell “Ashley, get on the bus!” I turned to see the bus pulling out of the parking lot. I threw money at the taxi driver and booked it to the bus. I jumped in as the bus was rolling down the street. I got the very last seat on the bus which was next to the largest Ugandan I have seen yet. His thighs were the size of my entire body. I couldn’t even sit normally in the chair, but had to sit sideways with my feet in the aisle. As I was contemplating how uncomfortable I was going to be during that 9-hour bus ride the man in the chair across from me leaned over and peed on my foot.

I sat there completely confused about what just happened. I grown man just peed on my foot. He peed on my foot! Right in the middle of the bus. I moaned in disgust and was so relieved when the bus stopped at the boarder and we off-boarded to go through immigration. At the boarder, we discovered that our visas were not for multiple entry and we needed to pay another $50 to reenter Uganda. Almost none of us had 50 US dollars on us. So, we began pooling out money in the random currencies that we had: Euro, Pounds, Dollars, Ugandan Shillings, Rwandan, and Francs. In the mass confusion I thought that I had got everyone a visa, and I bought one for myself. I turned to run to the bus so that I didn’t miss is again to find David and Corbin had not received visas.

I knew that I had to go to the nearby city of Kibale and get money out for the boys. A guy who I had seen talking to Jackie and Corbin, and whom I assumed was staff of the bus company rushed me into a hired car. I figured he would drive me to the bus which I would ride to Kibale. Once we had been driving a few minutes, I realized that he was not with the bus company and that he was just a private hire. I got a bit nervous, and checked my phone to discover that I was out of air time. Luckily it all worked out and I was able to get the boys across the boarder and we caught a public bus back to Kampala. However, the new bus we were on stopped at each small village to pick up new passengers, many of which would stand or sit in the aisle.

pictures

surviving murambi

Of all the landscapes I have seen, in all the places I have been, there is none as beautiful as the rolling tropical hills of Rwanda. I sat in the taxi in utter amazement of the scenes that I was taking in: patchwork fields of banana trees, cassava, and tea; women dressed in bold African prints bent at the waist as they tended the fields; borders of florescent forest; perfectly mounded hills mounted with tightly woven straw huts; a bright blue sky holding a few stacks of puffy-white clouds. It is hard to fathom that anything sinister could happen in a place so renascent of paradise.

The small clump of prisoners working on the side of the road, offered the only foreboding indication. On an April day in 1994, this seemingly peaceful place was engulfed in fear. The primarily Tutusi village had heard stories of terrible atrocities that had been carried out against their people by the Hutus. They heard whisperings of a war in the North, and of mass murder around the country. The people huddled into churches and schools for protection. The government (ran by Hutus) encouraged the people to gather at the large technical college that was currently under construction. They told the villagers that they would be better able to protect them if they were in one central location.

50,000 villagers anxiously assembled at the unfinished building. Hutu soldiers denied them food and water. The villagers were asked to count themselves and remain organized, under the pretense that this would make their protection easier. The sinister plot was to weaken the villagers while the sufficient amount of Hutu could be mobilized by local Hutu leaders and supplied weapons by French troops.

When we arrived at the technical school – turned memorial sight, we were greeted by a small handful of memorial sight workers. We were the only visitors and warmly received. They led us up the hill where there used to be a mass grave. Standing on that ground, we could look out and see the entire village stretching before us on a series of rolling mounts. Linda began to tell her story:

‘One night, they finally came. The army of Hutus descended upon us. All able-bodied men, boys, and young girls went out to fight. My husband kissed our young son, our baby, and me good-bye. I stayed in one of the classrooms pacing the floor with my baby and praying that my husband would return to me. From inside I could hear the screams of my Tutsi friends and neighbors. Four or five hours later, my husband came back to the classroom. He was exhausted and his spirit was broken.

He told me that he felt as though we all would be killed. “We are trying to keep them back, but whatever little we try to do, it will not work” he said, “Some of them have grenades and guns, others have machetes and knifes. We can only through bricks and rocks.” He told me to hold onto my identification card, so that the soldiers might take pity on me.

I am a Hutu. My husband is a Tutsi. Some of my family encouraged me to go stay with them once all this mess had begun, but I needed to stay with my husband. I could not leave him, and I could not leave my Tutsi children. My husband kept the hope that perhaps my Hutu identity could save me from the death around us. I had little faith in this hope, because a Hutu woman who married a Tutsi was seen as a traitor.

My husband left a second time to fight. Again, I was left with in the classroom comforting my tiny baby. The old women and the young children, even my son, fell asleep. At dawn, turmoil outside grew louder, and there was a sudden crack of brink against concrete. The Hutus had reached the classroom, and began throwing bricks at those who were sleeping. I shielded my children and watched in horror as skulls were crushed by incoming bricks.

My husband was able to reach me just as the Hutu began flooding into the classroom. They were executing people on my every side. My husband stepped between me and a Hutu soldier and held out my identification card. “Please” he strained, “You do not kill her. We are Tutsi, but she is a Hutu. You cannot kill your Hutu sister.” The soldiers yelled back a forth, a few in the room told the soldier just to kill me. My husband tried again, “You can kill me. You can kill us all. But, not this one. You let her live.” I stood paralyzed with fear. I could not comprehend what was happening, what the words my husband spoke could mean.

The soldier took my ID and let me leave the classroom. He told me he would let me live if I proved I were loyal to Hutu Power. He told me I must kill my Tutsi baby if I wanted to live. The terror of that moment was absolute. I all could do was pray. With all my energy from fear, with all my love for my baby, with all my hate for our enemies, with all my longing for my husband, I cried out to God. The Hutu soldier, scared by such an appeal to God, did not kill my baby or me. I was separated from the classroom and guarded by soldiers. I could do nothing but watch as the people I have lived with my whole life, were slaughtered. I do not wish to detail that evil. I could never explain what I saw. There was not humanity.

I was taken back to the Hutu camp, where I my baby and I were threatened throughout the night. One of the soldiers tried to cut my neck, but was stopped, by one of the soldiers who I had known before.

The following morning, that soldier took me to the classroom where I had been when the massacre began. I wanted to see if maybe my husband and son had survived. As we approached, I had to climb over dead bodies that had been heaped on the ground. I kept looking for moving bodies, hoping one would be that of my family. I entered the classroom and turned over a few of the bodies. In almost exactly the place I had left them, lay the broken and lifeless bodies of my son and my husband.

The shreds of purpose and hope that I had held onto to keep my baby and I alive slipped away. I had no reason to live. No hope. No emotion. I was just an empty thing waiting to be discarded. I asked the soldier to kill me. He look back at me with tired and pained eyes. “I have done enough killing,” he said, “I will not do it again.” After a moment paused, he continued, “what can I do for you?”

“Nothing” I replied. “The only place for me to go is back with my parents and family, but my ID was taken and I will be killed before I reach them.”

“I am going that way. I will use whatever influence I have to get you passed the roadblocks and check points.” He concluded.

I did reach my family as did my baby. That child is not is secondary school. As for me, I never truly left this place. As soon as the genocide was over I came back here.

There are no words in my language for such violence.‘

As Linda finished her story, I felt utterly overwhelmed. I have studied this genocide, read various accounts, seen documentaries, written about it extensively, but I had only felt an ambiguous sorrow. As I listened to Linda’s story, my heart was touched with an acute pain. Linda shared, at least to some small extent, the grief in her heart. What happened to her and her family is inconceivable. The inhumanity in it is only shadowed by the fact that there are millions of people in Rwanda with similar and even more horrific stories. Of the 50,000 at Murambi that day, only 4 survive. And even that number is nothing to the 1 million that were ruthlessly murdered during the Rwandan genocide.

cultural experience

Last Saturday, May 31^st, Amber, Natialie, Trent, and I went to Mukono to see our friend Lydia’s introduction ceremony. In Buganda culture, the women must present her boyfriend to her family before they get engaged. The man will bring cows, goats, furniture, food, ect as an offering to the family in exchange for their daughter. The girl’res family teases the man severely and makes him do many ritual proofs of affection for the woman. These rituals are different for every clan. In turn, the woman cooks for the man and his family. The most important dish that she cooks is matoke. All of the visitors scrutinize how efficiently she peels the matoke. It is a symbol of womanhood and maternal ability.

Trent and Amber have been working with Lydia on the accounting in the bakery she works in. We were told that the introduction would begin at 12. We figured that we would have just enough time to see a majority of the ceremony before we caught a taxi to meet the rest of our volunteers at the Uganda vs. Niger football game. Unfortunately, the whole thing was running on African time, and once we got to the venue of the introduction we learned that it would not be starting until four o’clock. Serendipitously, the taxi bringing the other group drove by us while we were wandering through town, and we were able to all travel to the game together.

We arrived at Mendel stadium and walked into an absolute circus. The entire crowd of people outside the game were buzzing with excitement. All of us bought shirts and a group of teenage boys ran up to us and painted our faces and bodies with. We only understood half of the cheers that they wrote on us. The other half were probably profane, but it is not like we were in danger of blending in anyway. The game really fun. Cranes won!

On Sunday, the mayor, Deo, took us to the village he grew up in. His villages was very isolated, but somehow more well off than any area in Uganda that I had seen so far. There was no electricity or water, but the people seemed well taken care of. In Lugazi almost all of the children run around naked, or in rags. In Deo’s village, the children were all dressed with shoes. Even more, all of the women were wearing elegant Gomezes (traditional Ugandan dress) of fancy and varying fabrics. We visited a Catholic church that Deo helped pay for. The youth group preformed for us. Typical of Deo, he put me on the spot and asked me to speak to the congregation. When I was finished, they asked me in front of everyone if my group would come back and help their community. Of course, I could not agree, so it was a pretty awkward moment.

Deo took us to a few different churches. At the last one, he was given two local chickens to take back to Lugazi. Heidi and Lauren do not like chickens. They told Deo not to bring the chickens in the car with us. I can not properly express the confusion on Deo face. First of all, I don’t think anyone has forbade him from doing something in a very long time. Let alone a young girl. More over, he couldn’t understand why someone would fear a chicken. He looked at them in utter amazement and then turned to me to explain. When I told him they were scared he burst out in a loud, robust laugh and stuffed the chickens in the back.

Later, we were brought to Deo’s father’s house and introduced to his family. When meeting elders and men, Buganda women kneel to show respect. Additionally, they sit on mats, instead of in chairs to show submission and admiration. I did both of these things and the family loved it. When it was time to go, they asked me to stay with them and told me they have many sons they would like to give me to. I told them I wasn’t very good at peeling matoke, so it might not work out. I am not going to lie, the house and the village were so utterly beautiful and peaceful, that it was hard to turn down the offer.

The drive home was incredibly long and uncomfortable. By the time we home, all I wanted to do was eat dinner and go to sleep. The town council members who had traveled with us, Auntie Peggy, Steven, and Zacha, decided they wanted to come inside and visit for a while. Peggy, noticing that I was not in a social mood, announced to everyone that I must be sick and she was sure I had malaria. As she made this diagnosis she pressed her hand on my chest, exactly where my left breast is. Feeling awkward, I backed up an inch. A few minutes later, she did the same thing to the other side. Trent saw the whole exchange and him and I exchanged amused glances. This was Buganda custom that we had not yet become aware of.

Deo and Auntie Peggy are two of the most eccentric people I have ever met. In the town of the Lugazi they are irrefutably the best dressed and the most popular. They walk through the streets larger than life, demanding respect and saying hello to anyone important enough to consider. Classic politicians. They don’t even seem like real people to me. I swear they were written and illustrated in a comic book before they gained human bodies.

Monday, Heidi and I went to Kampala so that we could met with Hamis. Hamis is the personal assistant to Honorable Fred, my contact in Parliament. Hamis is an invaluable resource. In spite of his political affiliation, he gives me what I feel is very unbiased insight to issues in Uganda. Every time we speak, I spend hours asking him questions. After talking business we all went to lunch and had a hilarious conversation about music, culture, and why black and white men like women with big butts. Heidi recited the lyrics of “Baby Got Back”. I about died of laughter.

Hamis introduced us to Honorable Betty, the Member of Parliament from Gulu. Gulu is a region in Northern Uganda that was particularly devastated by the Lord’s Resistance Army. The LRA is an insurgent group that has been fighting against the Ugandan government. Is it a semi-spiritual movement led by Joseph Kony. They run their army by kidnapping young children, torturing, and brainwashing them until they join the army and become child soldiers. They are then forced to abduct other children. The LRA absolutely decimated the Gulu region and sent hundreds of thousands of people to refugee camps. Some have lived in these camps for over ten years. Just recently, there has been a peace agreement and some of the refugees are resettling. The problem is, many of the children have been orphaned by violence, and no one is used to functioning in a market economy. Most haven’t had the opportunity for education. Betty is helping me take ten volunteers to Gulu to do a business seminar with some of the women there. It should be a powerful experience.

Tuesday, was Martyr’s Day. In the late 1800s, when the Kabaka (king) still ruled over the Buganda, he banned the practice of Christianity. When 25 refused to give up the practice of Christianity they were tortured and killed. Now, people make pilgrimages to Namengogo. We also made a pilgrimage there. Never in my life have I seen so many people. The cathedral was swarming with people, selling, praying, dancing, buying. An even more spectacular was the view from the bottom of the street where we had parked. From there, we saw the street stretch up the hill for about two miles absolutely packed with people. The whole day we only saw one other Muzungu.

It is now Friday, June 06, and I there is a torrential down-pour outside. It is as if someone is just continuously dumping buckets of water over us. You can’t even really distinguish rain drops. Water is seeping through the cracks in the walls and under the doors. It is pretty spectacular. We were going to build another stove today, but it looks like that will have to wait.

The small white bird that moves with cows

Yesterday, Thursday May 29^th, was super productive. We started out by meeting with the Persons with Disabilities group. The mothers were lead in a discussion of goal-setting, while we played with the children. I left a few moments early so that I could be on time to the first business training meeting. We are teaching a group of local businessmen basic business skills and concepts. Their businesses range from hardware, wholesale, carpentry, retail, ect. Jeff and I taught about analyzing you business and creating a business plan. This following week we will be visiting the individual businesses and advising the owners as they create their business plans and set goals.

Following that meeting, Jeff, Trent, Tori, and I went to the market. Trent and I bought fruit and came back to the house to make a smoothie. Our smoothie was amazing. We then went to a neighborhood called Nmango where we taught Janet’s women’s group how to build an Adobe Stove. Those women are awesome. Each of the women brought a bucket of clay to contribute. The type of social capital that exists here is really inspiring. 20 plus neighbors volunteered to help build a stove for the nearby school. All of them were actively engaged in the construction. The stove will not only help to provide the school children with lunch. Adobe stoves conserve firewood, which is in short supply here. In addition, they channel smoke away from the lungs of the women who cook the meals, and the small children who play nearby. Acute repertory infection is one of the main causes of preventable death for young children in the developing world. Our hope is that as we build stoves with community members they will learn to make them, and be able to replicate them all over Lugazi even after we leave.

We had a great time with the women’s group. We took off our shoes and stomped on the mud and clay to mix it. The women thought that I looked silly and they taught me the word for funny in Luganda. They laughed with me as I tried to speak to them in Luganda. They told me that they would build me a house so I could stay in Lugazi forever. They told me all I would have to do is learn to peal matoke (a really important skill for women here). They gave me a Buganda name, Nnaneojo. It means: small white bird that moves with cows.

Last week we made a disgusting discovery: As we were walking home one evening we noticed that all of the children had little white whistles. When we asked to see them they laughed at us and ran away. Lauren picked up one of the kids and realized that the small whistles were made from the tampon applicators that our volunteers had thrown away. That night in a team meeting, Heidi recounted the story, “We tried to convince the children to throw them away, but they just wouldn’t… that was when I realized there was not hope for Africa.”

Today, once I am finished posting this blog, I am going to lunch with a Peace Corp volunteer named Grant. He has been in Lugazi for one year. I ran into him a couple days ago and found out that he is working with micro-businesses. He actually introduced the idea of paper-bead necklaces to Faith and the PWD group which I am going to try to sell to you guys in the US. Increasingly, I have been interested in private-sector solutions to poverty. Before I came, I read two books by Muhammad Yunus who champions microfinance. Sadly, it seems that micro-loans in Uganda have been all but criminal – require large collateral, charging huge interest rates, and giving almost no grace period to pay loans back. I have heard no triumphs, only horror storied of mirco-finance here. I am anxious to talk to Grant about micro-loans and run over some ideas I had for the business training we are doing. It is going to be so helpful to the ideas of someone who has been here trying to do a similar thing.

A strong woman

Most of our projects were set this week and should start full force next week. It has been a really long process getting everything going, but that it how development work goes. We really wanted to give our volunteers the opportunity to start their own projects and be involved in every step of planning.
Thursday we met with a women’s group in a small neighborhood in Lugazi called, Nmango. We were brought to a small house near a secondary school where a small woman was weeding her garden. Even from many yards off, we could see the definition of her arms. Almost all of the Ugandan women we have met have been extremely strong but, Janet’s muscle tone is something exceptional even here. More unusual is the fact that she is not robust. She does not have the curvy waist and hips that Uganda women tote with pride. She would make a good model for a biology class, every bone visibly protruding and every muscle perfectly chiseled. When she turned to face us, I noticed cheek bones so high they seemed to put pressure on her eyes. As Janet introduced herself as the chairman of the women’s group and showed us her garden, house, and school, I couldn’t help but think about how strangely beautiful she was.
The other women slowly arrived and we sat together on grass mats that they had weaved. These women also make paper bead necklaces, and they taught me to make a bead. Seconds after convening the meeting, it began to ran, so we ran into the shelter of the school. Amber, Natalie, Heidi, and I introduced the different programs that we could offer to the women: Lorena stoves, Square Meter Gardening, English, Business skills, and Health/Nutrition. They were excited about all of the programs and pleaded with us to meet with them every week, instead of every other week which we had originally suggested. More than anything the women wanted to learn how to build Lorena Stoves.
Lorena Stoves are VERY low cost. All types of fuel are extremely scarce and expensive in Uganda, especially firewood. The Lorena Stove is highly efficient and uses just one-third of the amount of firewood than an open fire. Additionally, cooking over an open fire carries significant health risks to women and their young children. The smoke fills the small house and causes acute repertory infections, which are a major health problem here. The stove sends the smoke out of a chimney. We will start building a stove with the women next week. We will teach them how to make this first one and they will be able to replicate it in their own homes.
I walked home from the meeting with Teo, the Madame that introduced us to the women’s group, and I inquired about Janet. Janet was a school teacher, but had to quit teaching to farm and raise animals when she became a widow. Her husband died of HIV AIDS. Janet also has the virus, which has caused her to loose weight very rapidly. In the mist of the loss of her husband and the deterioration of her own body, Janet has become a leader among the women in her community. She encourages them to gain knowledge, work hard, and love their families. She radiates an energy out of her small frame that commands respect and adoration. The women look to her for strength. She is the strongest woman I have ever met.

21 in Africa

I had an absolutely AMAZING 21st birthday. After dinner the team blindfolded me and led me outside. They had decorated the back of the house with streamers and a poster. The family that lives in the back of the house made me potato chips and a cake. I was completely surprised. They had been planning the whole thing since the day before, and I had no idea. They covered me in confetti as I blew out my candles. I didn’t make a wish. I simply couldn’t think of anything more I could want at the moment.
Tori told us that when someone in her family has a birthday everyone goes around and says something they like about them. I sat there awkwardly as everyone said one positive thing about me. Although it was probably the most uncomfortable ten minutes of my life, it was really nice to hear. Later, I opened the presents that people had gotten me. Achalam (18) and Laola (12), the girls who live behind us, got me figurines. Edith (18), my friend who lives down the street, got me a brush and mirror set. These are honestly the nicest girls I have ever met. Edith comes over and steals my laundry to wash. When I try to pay her she laughs and refuses. Achalam teaches me how to cook chicken, peel matoke, cut fruit, wash the floor, ect. I constantly feel guilty because every time I try to return the favor they do something else even nicer for me.
After I opened presents, I asked Corbin (one of the volunteers) to sing me a Backstreet Boys song. Corbin is absolutely hilarious. He disappeared into the house and rehearsed lyrics. He emerged 15 minutes later and presented an almost-professional rendition of “Larger Than Life”. The performance merged into a dance party. Achalam requested Shakira and showed us how to dance. Even Christine and Irene (our friends that work at Hope Children’s Home and our cooks) danced with us.
All in all my birthday was fantastic. I wish I were a more emotional person so I could have cried to express my appreciation. Wonderful night. Beautiful people.
This weekend we rafted the Nile. One day, when I have time, I will try to articulate how beautiful it was. For now, it will suffice to say, that it was simply unbelievable. In between big rapids we would float down the river in absolute awe. Along side the river there were some villagers washing their clothes and bathing. As we approach one of the class five rapids, there was a tall, thin man standing on a rock exactly in the middle of the river. The man was completely naked and the rock couldn’t have been more than a meter in diameter. The water raged around him but he stood stolid, yet joyful on his rock.
We were on the river for nearly six hours. There were 12 rapids, five of which were class five rapids. I fell out twice in the beginning. As our team got more experience, we were able to avoid being thrown out or tipping over. The very last rapid of the day was a class five called “The Bad Place”. Our guide explained that this was the largest commercially run ‘hole’ in the world. Basically, it is a huge succession of rapids that turn back on each other like a washing machine, creating a whirlpool. He told us to hold on and paddle as hard as we could. Then he added: if the raft started to pull us under, let go, hold your breathe, and wait for your body to eventually float. Right as our raft was crowning the first rapid, all six of us in the boat release an introspective curse word followed by uncontrolled screams that were soon muffled by that roaring water. Before I could think, the raft was thrown upside down and I landed head first into the waves. I don’t know how long I was under for, but it was long enough for me to decide to count, reach 14, get bored, and decide I should find a way to surface. My head finally breached the air long enough to get a half-breathe and a mouth full of water. I was now being tossed in and out of the water. I was terrified to breathe because I couldn’t tell when I was free from when I was submerged. I honestly thought that I was going to die and I started to tell myself that at least I would have a cool story to tell in heaven. I am embarrassed that these would have been my last thoughts. I’ll have to work on that. Lol. When I finally reached the bank of the river I stood silently in shock until Corbin (who was also on my raft) walked up and shook me. We let off nervous laughs and hugged. A few moments later I realized that that was the most fun thing I have ever done. I can’t wait to go again!
Monday and Tuesday were very very busy. We are trying to get all of our projects set so I went to meeting after meeting with our project leads, trying to get things rolling. Rylee and I have been working with a woman named Faith who has put together a women’s group of mothers with children who have disabilities. There is a HUGE range of disability in the group (deafness, paraplegic, mental retardation, epilepsy, ect). Almost all of the women have been abandoned by their husbands, and many are unable to get jobs because they can not leave their child. There is a lot of stigmatization of people with disabilities and their families, and many of the women are afraid to take their children into public.
I have met with these women and had the chance to get to know their children. I already love them so much. The children are always very happy to see me and many of them are very bright. Tragically, these kids are not being stimulated or encouraged to learn.
In partnership with Faith HELP International is going to have weekly meetings with these women while some of our volunteers teach and play with the kids. We will be covering subjects including: goal setting, parent/child bonding, communication techniques, socialization, empowerment, and business skills. We will also be training teenaged girls in these subjects. This group of girls will be accompanying a HELP volunteer on weekly home visits. HELP will create a handbook to give these girls at the end of the summer and the girls will continue to conduct home visits after we have left.
Faith has taught the women how to make paper bead necklaces. They sell them to earn money for a community center where the children could go to support each other, be stimulated, get education, and received physical therapy. Faith has received two computers from some donors, but the children don’t have access to them, because there is no center. If anyone would like to purchase some of these necklaces, I could arrange their safe delivery. Let me know if you are interested and I will give you more details.
I will write about more of our projects in my next blog. In the meantime, check out the HELP Uganda blog and the blogs of my team members (you can find them on the HELP Uganda blog.

My first days in Uganda

I have now been in Uganda for twelve days and I can’t believe how fast it has gone. I arrived in Uganda with two other people, Corbin and Jackie (the other country director). We were picked up by the mayor of Lugazi and brought to his house in Mukono. We stayed their for four nights under the incredible hospitality of the family. They would cook breakfast and dinner for us every night and were great company and help as we tried to get to know Uganda.
We were taken all around Lugazi by the town council and it didn’t take us long to decide that Lugazi was the town we wanted to stay in. The people in Lugazi are incredibly friendly, and have such a great need. Many of them are very poor and struggling to find a way out of poverty in the mist of a volatile economy. We were introduced to various women’s groups, community leaders, and constituency groups. We told them our program and everyone expressed their appreciation that we have come to Lugazi. There are very few white people who have come to this village, and they have not received the aid that more popular, and more conveniently located regions have.
It has been a struggle to explain our purpose. When some Ugandans see white people they automatically think that they are going to have money to contribute. HELP International is run by college-aged students, and our resources are VERY limited. It has been hard for me to hear about the financial needs of the people (school fees, books, infrastructure ect.) here and know that I do not have the ability to give money. The basic principle of development is that you have to help people be self-sufficient by empowering them and giving them the tools to pull themselves out of poverty. This is easily said, but much harder when faced with real suffering.
After deciding on Lugazi we rented a beautiful house that shares its lot with a Arab family. They are probably the nicest people I have ever met. Their family has lived in Lugazi for 3 generations, and they have been a huge help in acquainting us with the area. The first week here was absolutely stressful as we prepared to get everything ready for our volunteers to come. Housing, food water, contacts, emergency medical care, ect all had to be sorted out. In addition, we had to get a project started for when they arrive and projects in the works that they could help develop once they have been here a few days.
I was so relieved when they finally came. They are an incredible group of people. I am so excited for the things we are going to be able to do and for the leadership capabilities that exist in our group. Two nights ago Jackie and I had an initiation. We started by making everyone close their eyes and take deep breathe, then we started humming. All of the volunteers were given a candle and as they walked out the front door Jackie and I simultaneously light their candle. After being seated they were greeted by out Ugandan friend, Edith. Edith instructed them to repeat a phrase and then blow out their candle. After we had done this she explained that their was one requirement before they could be consider part of the community: Kill Nkoko…… We brought out two chickens and together we slaughtered, plucked, cleaned, prepared, and ate the chickens. The locals who were watching were absolutely astounded that we had never done that before and thought it was hilarious when we screamed and winced.
Yesterday, I had prepared a project at Hope Children’s home. We made an adobe stove and a chicken coup. Hope is in an absolutely gorgeous place. It is up on a hill surrounded on one side by sugar cane and the other by jungle. The girls taught us how to carry burdens of water and clay on our heads. We made about four trips of water and ten of clay up a steep hill. It was really really hard. I don’t know how women here do that every day. We worked all day 7am to 6:30pm.
Friday night we went to a dance club here called African Paradise. It was incredible. I learned how to move my hips like a Buganda…..everyone was laughing at me.
Saturday we went to the Nile and took a boat tour. Uganda, the Pearl of Africa, really is absolutely gorgeous. We were taken to an island where we found a witch doctor living in a hut and wearing shorts made of coarsely wound twine.
Sunday we went to a Praise Session in Lugazi. It was a Born Again Christian congregation. We sang and danced. I was asked to stand up speak to the congregation. Overwhelmed by the request, I introduced our team and thanked the people sincerely for their hospitality and the chance to be their neighbors. The pastor told us that he felt as though we were a group of angles who were sent by God to help the people of Lugazi. I felt very uncomfortable with this description.
I have had the feeling ever since I have been here that people expect us to do a great work here. To hear it in such dramatic language really hit me. The problems that face the people here are far too vast for our small group to fix in four months. Can we make a difference? I think so. But, I do not see any conceivable way that we will be able fulfill the hopes of this community. This reality burdens my heart. I already feel that the most profound change will be the one in me. I am not an angle sent to the people of Lugazi. They are the angles. Their hope and faith in spite of everything astounds me.
On Monday, we went back to Seya and continued working on our construction projects there. It started to rain heavily and we had to pack into the children’s dormitories for shelter. I held Vanessa, the youngest child (only 7 months old) living at Hope. Vanessa lay in my arms docile and weak due to the malaria that has infected her small body. As I sat there rocking her to sleep, Kennedy told me the story of his life:
Kennedy is a staff member at Hope and the one who leads the singing at the praise sessions. He grew up in Northern Uganda with his parents and about 6 siblings. He was five years old when the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA)first came to his village capturing his two brothers and forcing them to become child soldiers. Both boys refused and were tortured and killed on the spot. A few years later, the LRA returned and killed Kennedy’s uncle with an ax and a machete as an example to the villagers not to resist. About fifteen years ago, Kennedy and all of the other people in the village were moved to a refugee camp. Tens of thousands lived in Kennedy’s small camp. There was no land to cultivate, no building materials for shelter, no facilities for school, and extremely little food and sanitation. The refugees were completely reliant on the Ugandan government and aid organizations. They were forbidden to venture more that a half mile outside of the camp for fear of rebel attacks. Sickness and starvation claimed the lives of many. Family structure broke down. All lost power over their lives, and many lost hope. Kennedy could not receive an education because there was no school and no money to pay for school fees.
After many years, the government provided education for the children in the camp and Kennedy was able to complete a few years of schooling. His elder brother was elected as a Member of Parliament and was able to give Kennedy money for school fees. Tragically, Kennedy’s brother was murdered by the LRA on one of his trips back to the camp to visit his family. Once again, Kennedy had no opportunity for education. He grew interested in religion and began holding prayer sessions in the camp. That is how Bill Campbell found him. He invited Kennedy to come work at Hope and offered to pay for school. Kennedy has been living in Lugazi for just over a year and is working to earn enough money to build his mother a house so that she can move out of the camp. In spite of all of his adversity, he is the most joyful person I have ever met. When he leads his congregation in song, he jumps and dances filling the entire building with his energy. His entire body shouts gratitude and hope.

call me. will post soon

NEW BLOG WILL BE POSTED TOMORROW...... you can call me at 256 0773395097 try Skype.com or onesuite.com for cheap rates

I AM sterdam

The plane flight was VERY long. I didn't sleep much because I was too excited.

When I arrived in Amsterdam it was 11pm here. I took at train to the city center and meet with Peter, my Couch Surfing (CS) host. CS is an online social network that connects travelers to people in a country that are willing to open their homes and provide a free bed. Peter teaches a Sociology class at the University of Amsterdam, so we have a lot of common intellectual interests. We have read many of the same articles and both enjoy discussing issues of culture and politics.

After dropping my things off at Peter's flat, he left to do errands and I walked the city. This is my favorite thing to do once I first get to a city because I like to get a sense of the city as a whole. I walked around the canals and through the flower market. I was very tired, so I took a nap in the park right in front of the Van Gough museum. There are small art galleries all over the city. I ran into one that was holding a small opening event. It was full of clumps of posh-looking people drinking free cocktails. I walked in and mingled for a while pretending that I was an art student from New York who came to Amsterdam to study photography. Everyone believed me.

At eight I met Peter and another conch surfer that he is hosting from Estonia, Garaly. We ate at a Greek restaurant and subsequently went to a local pub. We met up with a guy, Ian, that had couch surfed with her in Estonia.

Ian is from the Philippines, but is also half Dutch. He owns his own remodeling business. He is very involved with humanitarian aide projects and has even started his own NGO (although it is not currently operating). He was very interested to hear about what I am doing in Africa and we talked very excitedly about traveling and the places we've been and where we want to go.

The four of us went to a local club that had free admission. It had kind of typical Euro dance music, which Peter really liked. Later, Ian and I went to another club that he wanted to show me and Peter and Garaly decided to go home.

The club was a little further towards city center and played a very eclectic mix of music. The people were just as eclectic. A few gothic-looking some more hard rock some a bit hippyish. Everyone was super relaxed and Ian and I danced for about 2 hours straight. While we were upstairs we spotted a Dutch girl on the lower level that was fantastically ridiculous looking. She was wearing a high-waisted pock-a-dot skirt and a black cowboy hat and she was moving frenetically around the dance floor. We agreed that she was the coolest person there. Naturally, we became BFFs. I ran down and started dancing with her and after a few minutes she wouldn't let me leave. She told me we were soul mates. haha. We probably are.

Ian and I slipped out and walked through Vondel park. It had an almost magical feel at night. We sat under a tree for a while listening to the birds and talking.

The next day we went to a small coffee shop for breakfast and Peter's friend picked us up in his little red speed boat. He drove it all through the canals and between him, Ian, and Peter they gave me pretty well-informed tour of the city. After, Ian let me borrow his bike and we saw parts of the city now reachable via canal. Finally, we got tired and fell asleep in a little park.

I walked around the city some more alone and met up with Peter for Greek food. We decided not to go out that night because we were so beat from the night before.

The next day Ian drove me to the airport and picked up the baggage I had stored there, so that I don't have to pay for a locker anymore. From there, I took a train to Utrecht. I didn't know exactly what to do there so I walked around for a while and ran into two brothers from Greece who were on a lunch break from work and offered to show me around. It is a very quiet and beautiful city. After a few hours I got back on the train and headed to the airport in Eindhoven and the to Dublin.

I arrived in Dublin at around 8pm and met the next person I was going to couch surf with, Dan. Dan is an American from D.C. doing a study abroad at Trinity College. The campus is exactly in the center of the city as a historic place in itself. I can't think of a more perfect place to stay. Dan's father happened to be in town and took Dan, Ryan (Dan's roommate), and I out to dinner and dessert. Later, we went to a pub and met up with a few of their friends.

One of them named Peirce was very interesting and we ended up talking most of the night. He is a film student originally from Switzerland but he went to boarding school and has a very convincing American accent. He graduates in a month and is planning on moving to LA to start a career as a cinematographer. He knows a lot about American politics and I was excited to talk about the election with someone. He also has really interesting taste in music and we listened to his CDs for a while.

Today, I walked the whole city and saw the Dublin castle and the cathedrals and walked through the parks. I also went to the library here at Trinity where they have the book of Kells. There is a hall of the library that is full of antique books. They even have old club records from when Edmund Burke started his Historical Society here.

Right now I am waiting for the boys in dorm to get ready. We are going to go listen to some traditional Irish music tonight. I leave Dublin for Edinburgh tomorrow. Geoff will be picking me up from the airport. I am so excited!

seven days and counting!

Today I took the GRE- a graduate school entrance exam. It was far to long. Restive and starved to do something creative - to offset the rigidity of standardized testing - I dyed all 30 my team members' volunteer t-shirts. I decided that white was far too boring, so I set out to make them messy with color. Carried away in the artist process, I took off the plastic gloves I had purchased. Unencumbered by the synthetic restraints, I splashed and soaked and beat the fabric with different combinations of dye until each was glaringly unique. After I came down from the manic state my creative fervor had thrown me to, I realized that the shirts were quite possibly ridiculous. I also realized that I had turned my hands a blueish green. Hope it comes off!

The rest of this weekend I will be packing and preparing for my trip. I have SO much to get done. I leave next Friday. I will be flying to Amsterdam and spending a few days in Europe before I leave for Uganda. I will also be going to Dublin and Edinburgh. I can't believe I am so lucky. Just living the dream.