There have been many incidents in my life that would only happen to me, or a select few. I have gotten use to making a fool of myself, which usually provides my family and friends with a good laugh.
This past Sunday I attended Christ the King Church for a 9:30am mass. This mass is in English. Of course, church was packed. People gathered outside the Church, waiting for the 7am Lugbara (the local language) mass to end. As soon as the congregation left, we flooded in. It was like trying to enter the doors to a concert- that is how many people there were. So, I followed the crowd, trying to get a seat. I was pushed to the front, where I found an empty pew on the left, near the front. Not my favorite spot, especially since this was my first time at Christ the King, but it would do! Eventually the pew filled and the rows in front of me were taken as well. There must have been 700 people in this Church. I was the only muzungu (white person). I was handed a music booklet, of which I was thankful had both English and Lugbara songs. I remember thinking, “Wow, David (another volunteer) was right- everyone is beautiful here. And they all have amazing voices.” I became in awe of the African people, as I listened to the deep voices of the men behind me and the hand movements of the women in front of me. The men next to me would help point out which song we were singing. I was lucky that the Alleluia was in the same tune that I know.
Then it happened, and I realized how silly I had been. Bridget Jones, in her movie says, “Stupid Bridget. Stupid Stupid Bridget” Pretty soon I was saying the same thing about myself…
I went to sit down with the rest of the congregation. I sat, but the people next to me did not. They remained standing and told me it was not time to sit. I looked around. Still everyone was sitting. Then I realized, about 45 minutes too later, I was in the choir. AHHHHHHHH! Okay, first, I cannot sing at all. Second, I am the only mozungu. Third, I cannot sing in Lugbara. And Fourth, I am not very free with my body when it comes to worshiping the Lord. But now, in the choir, I realized everyone knew I was there… in the wrong spot. I was angry- angry that the men did not tell me at the beginning of mass that I was in the choir’s seating. I was embarrassed. I was red. I was sweaty. I looked at the man next to me in shock. He said, “Welcome to the choir.”
I was going to attempt to leave after communion, but my legs were shaking so badly, I could not move to get communion. So my way out would be at the end of mass. So, I sang in Lugbara, the best I could, I waved my arms back and forth to the beat, and I tried my best to play the part of an alto choir member amongst tenor and bass males. Yes, this is a Bridget Jones’s Moment. Watch her movie- you will laugh and see what I mean.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Lesson #1: If you Hit, you Must Run
If you “knock” someone, don’t stop to lend a helping hand. Basically, what I mean is, if you hit someone, anyone, with your car/jeep/truck you keep driving until you reach a police station. As I have mentioned, driving in Arua is not easy. Although I have never driven here, I know that being a driver in Arua should be listed as the most deadliest job.
First, there are deadly accidents here due to poor roads, sleeping at the wheel, driving intoxicated, and inattentive people driving too fast. On the bus ride back from Kampala the other weekend, I saw a terrible vehicle crash. There was a totaled jeep sitting on the side of the road. The next day I read that Latigo, the opposition leader, had been in an accident. At 3am, a GaaGaa bus and his jeep collided head on. His driver and friend died. He survived and was brought to the hospital. The jeep that I saw, which basically no longer existed, had been that of this leader. You can read about the accident online.
Second, and this is where the lesson #1 comes in, a few days later, I heard a story of a man who was driving and he knocked a little girl. I am not sure whose fault (sometimes boda boda drivers are not paying attention and cut you off- children run into the road causing you to slam on your breaks). You always have to be a defensive driver. Anyway, this man hit a girl, got out to pick her up and drive her to a hospital. He never got the chance. The villagers beat him until they thought he was dead. The little girl did not survive. The man did, but now has severe brain damage and will never be the same.
On the same sad note, there was a district leader from here, who was driving through Nebbi District. It was told that he was even driving amongst his tribe members- through his home villages. He knocked someone and was killed on the spot by the villagers.
I was told by many to NEVER stop at any scene where someone was knocked. This saddened me, as I have the skills to administer CPR and the resources to bring someone to the nearest health facility. However, you don’t want to be mistaken for the person who knocked the son or daughter, father or mother, auntie or uncle, or friend of the villagers. The best is to go to the police station up the road (who knows how far that would be) and report it. The person’s life will mostly not be saved, but yours will. So, if one were to stay or help, 2 lives would be gone. If you left the scene, only 1 would be lost. I can’t believe that this is even has to be a choice. But the rage of the villagers is more than one could survive.
First, there are deadly accidents here due to poor roads, sleeping at the wheel, driving intoxicated, and inattentive people driving too fast. On the bus ride back from Kampala the other weekend, I saw a terrible vehicle crash. There was a totaled jeep sitting on the side of the road. The next day I read that Latigo, the opposition leader, had been in an accident. At 3am, a GaaGaa bus and his jeep collided head on. His driver and friend died. He survived and was brought to the hospital. The jeep that I saw, which basically no longer existed, had been that of this leader. You can read about the accident online.
Second, and this is where the lesson #1 comes in, a few days later, I heard a story of a man who was driving and he knocked a little girl. I am not sure whose fault (sometimes boda boda drivers are not paying attention and cut you off- children run into the road causing you to slam on your breaks). You always have to be a defensive driver. Anyway, this man hit a girl, got out to pick her up and drive her to a hospital. He never got the chance. The villagers beat him until they thought he was dead. The little girl did not survive. The man did, but now has severe brain damage and will never be the same.
On the same sad note, there was a district leader from here, who was driving through Nebbi District. It was told that he was even driving amongst his tribe members- through his home villages. He knocked someone and was killed on the spot by the villagers.
I was told by many to NEVER stop at any scene where someone was knocked. This saddened me, as I have the skills to administer CPR and the resources to bring someone to the nearest health facility. However, you don’t want to be mistaken for the person who knocked the son or daughter, father or mother, auntie or uncle, or friend of the villagers. The best is to go to the police station up the road (who knows how far that would be) and report it. The person’s life will mostly not be saved, but yours will. So, if one were to stay or help, 2 lives would be gone. If you left the scene, only 1 would be lost. I can’t believe that this is even has to be a choice. But the rage of the villagers is more than one could survive.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Trip to Kampala
This past weekend (Thursday Oct 7-Sunday Oct 11) I headed down county to the capital city of Uganda: Kampala. I was super excited to be in a big city, with the hopes of warm water, power, and a variety of foods that differed from the traditional Aruan food (basically, I was hoping for a burger, Indian food, etc. In short, I didn’t get a variety of foods, but I had a warm bathing experience (without heating the water myself), power all weekend, the sight of big buildings, self-pampering, and I witnessed one of the most beautiful weddings I have ever seen.
The pretty and not-so-pretty drive…
On the drive down to Kampala and back, the bus drove over the Nile River twice and through a National Park. I saw Karuma Falls, Nile fishermen, and elephants. I ate ground nuts, roasted cassava, and maize. On a more depressing note, we drove past about five Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) camps, where grass huts were clustered. As a result of the conflict up north between Joseph Kony (from the LRA- Lords Resistance Army) and the government many Ugandans were forced to find refuge. In some cases, the government built these camps to offer protection. However, the camps were not always 100% safe. Since 2007, the government has taken the decision to move people back home. This was to be done in two ways. First, the north is relatively peaceful so people can go back; the government and organizations give incentives to IDPs (iron sheets for housing, agricultural tools, seeds) so they can begin life again back home. The second attempt came because people did not want to leave the camps- they thought life here was better and more interesting. So now they are being forced out of camps to go to homes. The government is destroying the camps. Also, the government is banning food relief to the camps. This will force people to go back homes. The camps that I saw were along the road, and were those homes of people who were already living near the town centre, where development had taken place. This included elderly people who cannot make it back to their homes as well.
KrazyKampala
Kampala, as a bustling city, is much larger than Arua. The population is 1.2 million. It is home to Makare University, bus taxis, and crazy boda drivers. There are far less bicyclists here. When I first arrived, I got on a boda and held on for dear life. I was carrying my big travelers pack and 2 bags (I never pack light) and attempted to balance on the boda while the driver swerved around heavy traffic, mud puddles (it was down-pouring), and pedestrians. The boda driver here wear helmets (this is very rare in Arua), but they do not provide one for the passenger. They should. My friend said about her boda experiences, “sometimes its best to just close your eyes and pray.” Hmmmm. I think the department of transportation needs to do something about this, considering this is an affordable and common mode of transportation.
Friday was about self-pampering. Joy, her friend, and myself went for a pedicure (3000 Ush = about $2.50) and a manicure (3000 Ush). For that price and that care I would go once a week if I lived there. My nails have never looked so pretty! I have so many layers of nail products on, that I doubt any chipping will occur! I also got my hair cut. Its super short (too short for my taste), but after it has set it, I see the benefits of short hair here: showering is easier and the heat is less brutal on my neck. This evening, I took a hot sponge bath, shaved my legs, and dressed for a night out on the town. I went with a group of friends to dance. They say NYC is the city that never sleeps. However, this night I was almost sleepless in Kampala. The dancing continued into the early morning. I left the club at 4:30am. This is a big difference than my early nights of 8pm, but with the bumping (hehe, Uncle Spence!) music and the booty shaking (hehe), it was fairly easy for me to keep my eyes open and hips moving.
An African Wedding
My supervisor (John) invited me to an African wedding on Saturday evening. His youngest brother was getting married, and I was able to attend. As the only muzugu, I was treated like a celebrity- that was pretty funny. John brought me to meet his parents, his wife, and his whole extended family. I was able to sit by his family and watch the traditional entertainment- dancing and music. The wedding reception was held outside, with large white tents surrounding a green space, huge flower bouquets, the largest wedding cake I have ever seen, lights strung from tent to tent, and a fountain. One tent was for the groom’s family, one for the bride’s family, one for invited guests, and one for the bridal party. A white walkway was placed around the green space, so that when the bridal party entered, their grand march was more like a long processional with dancing, singing, speeches. The entertainment was phenomenal. The women wore something flashy around their waists, whether it was a wrap of feathers or animal hair, they wore them so they had “something to shake” as my neighbor pointed out. Food consisted of a buffet of beef, chicken, small potatoes, squash, rice, matoke (banana squashed up but not sweet), greens, beer, and soda. For the cake, small pieces were cut and brought to each person via a basket. Then the rest of the cake was divided and the bride and groom brought the cake to persons of their choice such as the grandparents, the parents, the aunt and uncle, etc). The bride and groom bring the now-wrapped portion of cake to the lucky, selected persons, while dancing the whole way. More hugging, more speeches, and more music take place. People line up and offer gifts to the newlyweds, who are now standing in the center of the green space. At some point the bride goes to change from her wedding dress to an evening gown. It was beautiful. Pictures speak louder than words, so please take a look.
The pretty and not-so-pretty drive…
On the drive down to Kampala and back, the bus drove over the Nile River twice and through a National Park. I saw Karuma Falls, Nile fishermen, and elephants. I ate ground nuts, roasted cassava, and maize. On a more depressing note, we drove past about five Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) camps, where grass huts were clustered. As a result of the conflict up north between Joseph Kony (from the LRA- Lords Resistance Army) and the government many Ugandans were forced to find refuge. In some cases, the government built these camps to offer protection. However, the camps were not always 100% safe. Since 2007, the government has taken the decision to move people back home. This was to be done in two ways. First, the north is relatively peaceful so people can go back; the government and organizations give incentives to IDPs (iron sheets for housing, agricultural tools, seeds) so they can begin life again back home. The second attempt came because people did not want to leave the camps- they thought life here was better and more interesting. So now they are being forced out of camps to go to homes. The government is destroying the camps. Also, the government is banning food relief to the camps. This will force people to go back homes. The camps that I saw were along the road, and were those homes of people who were already living near the town centre, where development had taken place. This included elderly people who cannot make it back to their homes as well.
KrazyKampala
Kampala, as a bustling city, is much larger than Arua. The population is 1.2 million. It is home to Makare University, bus taxis, and crazy boda drivers. There are far less bicyclists here. When I first arrived, I got on a boda and held on for dear life. I was carrying my big travelers pack and 2 bags (I never pack light) and attempted to balance on the boda while the driver swerved around heavy traffic, mud puddles (it was down-pouring), and pedestrians. The boda driver here wear helmets (this is very rare in Arua), but they do not provide one for the passenger. They should. My friend said about her boda experiences, “sometimes its best to just close your eyes and pray.” Hmmmm. I think the department of transportation needs to do something about this, considering this is an affordable and common mode of transportation.
Friday was about self-pampering. Joy, her friend, and myself went for a pedicure (3000 Ush = about $2.50) and a manicure (3000 Ush). For that price and that care I would go once a week if I lived there. My nails have never looked so pretty! I have so many layers of nail products on, that I doubt any chipping will occur! I also got my hair cut. Its super short (too short for my taste), but after it has set it, I see the benefits of short hair here: showering is easier and the heat is less brutal on my neck. This evening, I took a hot sponge bath, shaved my legs, and dressed for a night out on the town. I went with a group of friends to dance. They say NYC is the city that never sleeps. However, this night I was almost sleepless in Kampala. The dancing continued into the early morning. I left the club at 4:30am. This is a big difference than my early nights of 8pm, but with the bumping (hehe, Uncle Spence!) music and the booty shaking (hehe), it was fairly easy for me to keep my eyes open and hips moving.
An African Wedding
My supervisor (John) invited me to an African wedding on Saturday evening. His youngest brother was getting married, and I was able to attend. As the only muzugu, I was treated like a celebrity- that was pretty funny. John brought me to meet his parents, his wife, and his whole extended family. I was able to sit by his family and watch the traditional entertainment- dancing and music. The wedding reception was held outside, with large white tents surrounding a green space, huge flower bouquets, the largest wedding cake I have ever seen, lights strung from tent to tent, and a fountain. One tent was for the groom’s family, one for the bride’s family, one for invited guests, and one for the bridal party. A white walkway was placed around the green space, so that when the bridal party entered, their grand march was more like a long processional with dancing, singing, speeches. The entertainment was phenomenal. The women wore something flashy around their waists, whether it was a wrap of feathers or animal hair, they wore them so they had “something to shake” as my neighbor pointed out. Food consisted of a buffet of beef, chicken, small potatoes, squash, rice, matoke (banana squashed up but not sweet), greens, beer, and soda. For the cake, small pieces were cut and brought to each person via a basket. Then the rest of the cake was divided and the bride and groom brought the cake to persons of their choice such as the grandparents, the parents, the aunt and uncle, etc). The bride and groom bring the now-wrapped portion of cake to the lucky, selected persons, while dancing the whole way. More hugging, more speeches, and more music take place. People line up and offer gifts to the newlyweds, who are now standing in the center of the green space. At some point the bride goes to change from her wedding dress to an evening gown. It was beautiful. Pictures speak louder than words, so please take a look.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
When It Rains, It Pours
I mean this literally and figuratively. At night, I wake up to the pounding sound of rain pellets hitting my metal roof. The storms are wild. I have never heard such massive thunder or seen such extreme lightening. I am up for hours waiting for it to pass because no one would be able to sleep through the rain and thunder. One can hardly walk in the rain or the aftermath of it. The roads are muddy, slippery, and dangerous. Without sturdy shoes, you are bond to fall. And many people here do not wear shoes as they cannot afford them. It is like skating on muddy roads.
For the figuratively aspect, lets start by the power. I have dealt with a power outage in my dorm room (too many things plugged in) and an outage when a power line goes down. But these were for a few minutes or a few hours. In Lusaka, we had power outages, but the University of Zambia students would strike and on it would come. But here, I have been out of power for the past 11 days straight. And before that the power had been so sporadic that I can say the majority of my time here is power-free. It makes it extremely difficult to work, as much of the work is drafting workplans, action plans, emails, etc. This pass week we have spent many days at a “hotel” where they are equipped with a generator. Here, we were able to charge our computers and phones and we return to the technological world again. The power is suppose to be out for more time. I have heard that Arua can have up to 6 months without power.
Next, poverty. I have seen poverty in the states. I have witnessed the effects that it has on communities. But nothing that I have seen has compared to the poverty here. Now, the gap between the rich and the poor is extremely wide. The images I see are in town, in villages, and on the road. Children wearing rags for clothes and walking with no sandals through the dirt, garbage, and at times human waste. Women sit on the ground selling guavas, mangos, ground nuts, roasted cassava, chipate (like a fried tortilla, but better!). A majority of the houses are one- or two-room huts with outside pit latrines, which are shared with many people, and the only source of light being a candle or lantern (even when the city of Arua HAS power). Young children, women and men bathe in the small stream that flows by the golf course. Dishes and clothes are washed using this water as well.
And one last one for this blog: Sewage. I went to the Médecins Sans Frontières to look for more volunteer opportunities on the weekend. The MSF here is located in the Arua Hospital. While I was waiting for the program officer, an awful smell filled my nose. It was so close to me, I assumed I stepped in animal waste. However, upon closer inspection of my surroundings, I realized I was standing across from 5 pit latrines, each equipped with a smoke-stack look-a-like that was pouring out the fumes from the pits. It was unbearable. There was one gentleman sitting on the curb by me, and I wondered if he even noticed the smell. Or is it so common that the Ugandans are immune to the smell of human waste? What a sad, sad world we live in.
If the rains are so strong, and the pouring does not seem to stop, why do I return? Answer is simple….
The Beauty, the Power, and the Hope of People
With the strong rains come fields of emerald greens. The drive in northern Uganda in the West Nile Region is spectacular. Huts dot the field, women carry babies in chitenges on their backs while carrying two buckets of water in hand, and a basket of fruit on head, men ride bicycles while towing logs, charcoal, or metal sheets. Goats graze on the side of the road, many with full utters, small children herd a group of cattle across the road, and food stands are available for those who are hungry for sweet potatoes, fried bananas, boiled cassava (root), peanuts, or roasted maize. It makes any road trip worthwhile.
Closer to the town market, people sit in stands under this black covering selling household goods like silverware, table clothes, tea and food flasks, dishes, pots and pans, hardware items like nails, string, rope, screws, hammers, and clothing items from bras and underwear to an Adidas windjacket or Armani jeans. It is a Goodwill/Shopping Outlet in one area of town that one should be aware of thieves, the smell of sewage, and the sight of cattle’s hoofs and skinned goats. Every stand sells the same thing as the next. And yet, they survive. The conditions in which the Ugandan people live are nothing that we can imagine. Except when you are right here, “in” it. The amount of power that the Ugandan people, much like that of other African nations (Zambia, Malawi), is mind blowing.
The lessons that one can learn from just ONE person here are endless. The power of a human’s strength and courage is breathtaking, mind-boggling, and heartbreaking, all in one. The hope in just one child, one teenager, one single mother, or one elderly man is contagious. If people can live in these conditions I mentioned above, wake up each morning knowing that poverty, disease, and death are knocking at many doors, and face life’s toughest struggles every day, we have so much to gain and to learn from the global communities that house our brothers and sisters.
and for you picture lovers/addicts (myself included!): I will be adding pictures, when I have a faster internet connection... stay tuned!
For the figuratively aspect, lets start by the power. I have dealt with a power outage in my dorm room (too many things plugged in) and an outage when a power line goes down. But these were for a few minutes or a few hours. In Lusaka, we had power outages, but the University of Zambia students would strike and on it would come. But here, I have been out of power for the past 11 days straight. And before that the power had been so sporadic that I can say the majority of my time here is power-free. It makes it extremely difficult to work, as much of the work is drafting workplans, action plans, emails, etc. This pass week we have spent many days at a “hotel” where they are equipped with a generator. Here, we were able to charge our computers and phones and we return to the technological world again. The power is suppose to be out for more time. I have heard that Arua can have up to 6 months without power.
Next, poverty. I have seen poverty in the states. I have witnessed the effects that it has on communities. But nothing that I have seen has compared to the poverty here. Now, the gap between the rich and the poor is extremely wide. The images I see are in town, in villages, and on the road. Children wearing rags for clothes and walking with no sandals through the dirt, garbage, and at times human waste. Women sit on the ground selling guavas, mangos, ground nuts, roasted cassava, chipate (like a fried tortilla, but better!). A majority of the houses are one- or two-room huts with outside pit latrines, which are shared with many people, and the only source of light being a candle or lantern (even when the city of Arua HAS power). Young children, women and men bathe in the small stream that flows by the golf course. Dishes and clothes are washed using this water as well.
And one last one for this blog: Sewage. I went to the Médecins Sans Frontières to look for more volunteer opportunities on the weekend. The MSF here is located in the Arua Hospital. While I was waiting for the program officer, an awful smell filled my nose. It was so close to me, I assumed I stepped in animal waste. However, upon closer inspection of my surroundings, I realized I was standing across from 5 pit latrines, each equipped with a smoke-stack look-a-like that was pouring out the fumes from the pits. It was unbearable. There was one gentleman sitting on the curb by me, and I wondered if he even noticed the smell. Or is it so common that the Ugandans are immune to the smell of human waste? What a sad, sad world we live in.
If the rains are so strong, and the pouring does not seem to stop, why do I return? Answer is simple….
The Beauty, the Power, and the Hope of People
With the strong rains come fields of emerald greens. The drive in northern Uganda in the West Nile Region is spectacular. Huts dot the field, women carry babies in chitenges on their backs while carrying two buckets of water in hand, and a basket of fruit on head, men ride bicycles while towing logs, charcoal, or metal sheets. Goats graze on the side of the road, many with full utters, small children herd a group of cattle across the road, and food stands are available for those who are hungry for sweet potatoes, fried bananas, boiled cassava (root), peanuts, or roasted maize. It makes any road trip worthwhile.
Closer to the town market, people sit in stands under this black covering selling household goods like silverware, table clothes, tea and food flasks, dishes, pots and pans, hardware items like nails, string, rope, screws, hammers, and clothing items from bras and underwear to an Adidas windjacket or Armani jeans. It is a Goodwill/Shopping Outlet in one area of town that one should be aware of thieves, the smell of sewage, and the sight of cattle’s hoofs and skinned goats. Every stand sells the same thing as the next. And yet, they survive. The conditions in which the Ugandan people live are nothing that we can imagine. Except when you are right here, “in” it. The amount of power that the Ugandan people, much like that of other African nations (Zambia, Malawi), is mind blowing.
The lessons that one can learn from just ONE person here are endless. The power of a human’s strength and courage is breathtaking, mind-boggling, and heartbreaking, all in one. The hope in just one child, one teenager, one single mother, or one elderly man is contagious. If people can live in these conditions I mentioned above, wake up each morning knowing that poverty, disease, and death are knocking at many doors, and face life’s toughest struggles every day, we have so much to gain and to learn from the global communities that house our brothers and sisters.
and for you picture lovers/addicts (myself included!): I will be adding pictures, when I have a faster internet connection... stay tuned!
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