I have gotten very few cheap thrills as excellent as the ones that have recently occurred in the Jinja District of Uganda. There is nothing quite like the feeling of pride when making/cooking Chapati perfectly on your first try, or the rush of the wind in your hair while riding a boda in the dead of night, or even the sense of joy felt upon the receipt of your Busoga name...
I have recently been renamed Nangobi by Solomon, a kind Ugandan boy of 19 who I may or may not have accidently engaged myself to over the weekend. Andrew warned me that this might occur, as Solomon has an afinity for Muzungu women... oops. In Lusoga Nangobi means "daughter of the king" aka, princess. Probably should have been sign number one of Solomon's interest in making me his wife. However, despite being informed of a looming future filled with a home of little black babies, (how could I say no to his promise of an award winning dowry?) this week/weekend was quite pleasurable.
Last week was very productive, with Claire (a sassy british girl) and Solomon on the farm, I was able to start work on painting the nursery school. It more or less needs to be done by Thursday, but since I am currently working on African time, it probably won't be finished until the day I leave the farm (next Thursday). I also was able to work with Kuluba (Chris, the director of St. Isaacs) and a couple villagers to produce a prototype of some bags/purses that they can start making (and I will sell as part of my new clothing line... more on that later). I also was able to find a man that makes caps out of palm leaves, which I am also excited to see, and possibly get produced to sell in the states (yet again as part of my clothing line to be launched in September). I only hope that the caps, and the bags look great so that we can start teaching other villagers how to make them, and start production of them this week so I have some samples to bring home.
Other things that occurred last week that were quite enjoyable/funny/aweful/ridiculous were:
1. Claire and I decided that we wanted to try goat meat, and since Vero is the only Ugandan on the farm that speaks english, we have developed a close bond with her, and she was willing to cook it for us (provided we buy it, since it is relatively expensive). Upon returning home with our kilo of goat meat for Vero, and a pumpkin (also relatively expensive) for the rest of the family, we were on our way to a delicious dinner. However, this gift of goat slowly began causing a sort of silent chaos on the farm. That type of chaos which occurs when the mistress of one's husband receives unfair/potentially better treatment than you, the wives. I don't recall if I have mentioned it previously, but Chris, the director of St. Isaacs, at age 35, currently has two wives (both in their 30's), who might I mention are sisters. Each wife has 3 children. Chris also has a seventh child. This child is about 3 months younger than his youngest legitimate one. This child belongs to Vero. Vero is 22. See... mass chaos. Since that day last week, there seems to be a little bit of hostility and an overabundance of hospitality in my direction, as each faction has begun to compete over my feeding schedule. At some points in the past week, I have been fed two dinners, two snacks, and two breakfasts. I'm not really sure who I'm supposed to accept/refuse from, so I've taken it upon myself to devour all meals, in order to insure that the peace is kept.
2. In order to ensure that my waist does not expand due to my extremem peacekeeping skills, I have taken to running every morning (starting yesterday), beginning at 7am. These runs are becoming one of my favorite parts of being here, as every morning I am able to pass all of the children going to school, with my headphones on. In this way I get to see their adorable faces, without having to listen to their constant cries of "Mzungu, how are you!" "I am fine!" "give me sweetie" and "give me money" By adorable faces I mean ones filled with shock and awe due to three misconceptions about Muzungus. 1. Muzungus don't do laborious tasks(which running up hills is quite hard work, even Ugandan's don't excercise (according to the man riding his bike next to me for about 20 minutes as I ran yesterday) 2. Muzungus don't sweat (I think its because usually white folk around here don't usually do any of the laborious tasks, only the administrative work)3. Msungus can afford to take boda's everywhere so why would a white girl be running around place to place?
3. Running with my headphones on has also made me realize the amazingness of the senses of Ugandan people. Because children are not raised in cars with radios blaring, or headphones always in, or tv's always on, their ability to hear is uncontested. I have seen children have complete conversations with eachother from a distance of a hundred years in voices less than a whisper. My friends will speak to neighbors three houses down from their yard without even raising their voices. (This however begs to question the reason it seems like everyone is yelling around the household when I am trying to fall asleep). Also Ugandans have ridiculous hand eye cordination. Their abilities with machetes astound me, and my attempts to sharpen stakes, or cut wood only leads to laughter amongst the tribesmen.
4. This weekend was amazing. Not only was I invited to Solomons home to see the beautiful garden that he had planted in front of his mother's mudhouse (basically done to spite his father, who after divorcing his mother, remarried and then moved into a bigger, nicer, brick home nextdoor), but I was also given the opportunity to help an elderly woman push her bike filled with about 6t0 pounds of yams and yam plants for almost a kilometer, and to work with the volunteers and a bunch of villagers in Buwenge to learn how to start double dug gardens, dance like a Ugandan, eat/chew/tearapart with my teeth freshly cut sugar cane, and to speak Lusoga.
The response of Ugandan's when I try to speak their language and get it correct, and when I introduce myself as Nangobi is unparelleled. It is full of laughter, high fives, hand shakes, fist pounds, and an assortment of other comical comments, and hand gestures, and glee. I am sad that I am to be leaving soon, especially since I am just starting to become a Busoga woman.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Additions to things seen on a boda, as annotated by Kendra Holloway..
Two full sized bed frames
a stack of matresses 6 or 7 high
another boda on a boda
a couple bags of charcoal (this doesn't sound like a lot, but a bag of charcoal alone weighs a couple hundred pounds.)
a ten foot tall stack of sugar cane
more to come later....
A couple children must have been sacrificed yesterday because it was raining cats and dogs in afternoon while Kendra and I went to the agriculture fair (where I was adopted as the baby sister of a group of fabulous art students (who also gave me a necklace), pushed into the tedious sweatshop-like labor-intensive task of stringing those rolled paper beads for an hour or so while cramped with 30 ugandans under an 7 foot by 7 foot awning, and then forced to walk a mile in the storm back to Kendra's house while being splashed by tidal waves of mud as busses sped through the puddles in the road.) Despite the fact that it stopped raining by the time we got home, the clouds loomed ominously overhead and began to shed their vengence around 1 or 2 in the morning until the hour I awoke. My inability to sleep was only heightened by the thunder and lightning and the wind that screamed over the sounds of the Dido that I had bursting out through my headphones. I'm pretty sure a couple of albinos were slaughtered yesterday or the day before in order to warrant such a downpour.
A little more on the subject of baby killing and why I have mentioned it twice in the last paragraph. I have overheard many times since I arrived here that fateful wednesday so many weeks ago about a phenomenon that has been causing much uproar and fear in the sleepy villages of the Ugandan countryside. Recently, due to the draught (which I clearly have not recognized any sign of) there has been multiple incidents of kidnappings. It is said that these children are being stolen by none other than the ancient and powerful witchdoctors (or traditional medicinemen to be politically correct) and sacrificed to god (or the gods, i'm not sure which, either way they must be crazy... haha... if you get the movie reference), with albinos being the most powerful sacrifice for making dreams come true. I make light of situation as though it is only a rumor, but perhaps I should be more careful, for in fact, it is ridiculously real, and a very serious issue. Children are stolen everyday and sacrificed (usually by decapitation) for reasons spanning from a want of rain to a need for better business.
When mentioning to Kendra that I was writing this post (I've been staying at her humble abode in order to work a little bit on some business issues, partnerships, designs, etc) she turned pale and told me a story about her weekend night watchman. About a year ago, his wife was in line at the hospital and holding her recently born child when she had to rush to the restroom. She kindly asked the woman behind her to watch her child, passed the baby into her arms, and ran off. When she returned, the woman, and her child was gone. Not even a week later, the investigative officer returned to the watchman and his wife's home with what was thought to be their baby son... decapitated. For over a year this couple believed their last born child to be a victim of sacrifice (as decapitation was a clear sign of such an occurance) until one day only a few months ago, the officer returned to their home once again with their baby boy, alive but very sick with malaria, pneumonia, and other various diseases. The woman that had stolen the child had attempted to pass off the baby as her own to her husband, however, he recognized that it was a lie and threatened to kill her unless she told the truth. Despite the fact that the watchman and his wife got their child back, the question still remains... who's child was the mysterious, headless baby that had been thrust into their arms a year ago?
There are certain things that you can do to protect your baby against the sacrificial process, as according to the rules of witchdoctorhood ( p.c. traditional medicinemen) babies can't be sacrificed, or aren't as valuable if they have certain traits. I am not sure what all of these precautions are, but I have seen some things on the farm that have been done to the newborns as a precaution. Vero has put a colorful, plastic beaded belt around the waste of four month old Christina. I have seen other small children with ears that are pierced, or with sharp pieces of wood sticking through their earlobes, as it is said that these children can not be sacrificed. Those are only two that I am sure of, but I will continue to ask around to find out other things that can be done to keep from being cradle robbed.
a stack of matresses 6 or 7 high
another boda on a boda
a couple bags of charcoal (this doesn't sound like a lot, but a bag of charcoal alone weighs a couple hundred pounds.)
a ten foot tall stack of sugar cane
more to come later....
A couple children must have been sacrificed yesterday because it was raining cats and dogs in afternoon while Kendra and I went to the agriculture fair (where I was adopted as the baby sister of a group of fabulous art students (who also gave me a necklace), pushed into the tedious sweatshop-like labor-intensive task of stringing those rolled paper beads for an hour or so while cramped with 30 ugandans under an 7 foot by 7 foot awning, and then forced to walk a mile in the storm back to Kendra's house while being splashed by tidal waves of mud as busses sped through the puddles in the road.) Despite the fact that it stopped raining by the time we got home, the clouds loomed ominously overhead and began to shed their vengence around 1 or 2 in the morning until the hour I awoke. My inability to sleep was only heightened by the thunder and lightning and the wind that screamed over the sounds of the Dido that I had bursting out through my headphones. I'm pretty sure a couple of albinos were slaughtered yesterday or the day before in order to warrant such a downpour.
A little more on the subject of baby killing and why I have mentioned it twice in the last paragraph. I have overheard many times since I arrived here that fateful wednesday so many weeks ago about a phenomenon that has been causing much uproar and fear in the sleepy villages of the Ugandan countryside. Recently, due to the draught (which I clearly have not recognized any sign of) there has been multiple incidents of kidnappings. It is said that these children are being stolen by none other than the ancient and powerful witchdoctors (or traditional medicinemen to be politically correct) and sacrificed to god (or the gods, i'm not sure which, either way they must be crazy... haha... if you get the movie reference), with albinos being the most powerful sacrifice for making dreams come true. I make light of situation as though it is only a rumor, but perhaps I should be more careful, for in fact, it is ridiculously real, and a very serious issue. Children are stolen everyday and sacrificed (usually by decapitation) for reasons spanning from a want of rain to a need for better business.
When mentioning to Kendra that I was writing this post (I've been staying at her humble abode in order to work a little bit on some business issues, partnerships, designs, etc) she turned pale and told me a story about her weekend night watchman. About a year ago, his wife was in line at the hospital and holding her recently born child when she had to rush to the restroom. She kindly asked the woman behind her to watch her child, passed the baby into her arms, and ran off. When she returned, the woman, and her child was gone. Not even a week later, the investigative officer returned to the watchman and his wife's home with what was thought to be their baby son... decapitated. For over a year this couple believed their last born child to be a victim of sacrifice (as decapitation was a clear sign of such an occurance) until one day only a few months ago, the officer returned to their home once again with their baby boy, alive but very sick with malaria, pneumonia, and other various diseases. The woman that had stolen the child had attempted to pass off the baby as her own to her husband, however, he recognized that it was a lie and threatened to kill her unless she told the truth. Despite the fact that the watchman and his wife got their child back, the question still remains... who's child was the mysterious, headless baby that had been thrust into their arms a year ago?
There are certain things that you can do to protect your baby against the sacrificial process, as according to the rules of witchdoctorhood ( p.c. traditional medicinemen) babies can't be sacrificed, or aren't as valuable if they have certain traits. I am not sure what all of these precautions are, but I have seen some things on the farm that have been done to the newborns as a precaution. Vero has put a colorful, plastic beaded belt around the waste of four month old Christina. I have seen other small children with ears that are pierced, or with sharp pieces of wood sticking through their earlobes, as it is said that these children can not be sacrificed. Those are only two that I am sure of, but I will continue to ask around to find out other things that can be done to keep from being cradle robbed.
Dear Adam... I love you and your pie...
So it's one in the morning here in Uganda, and I can't sleep. All I can think about is how badly I want a chipati pie from Adam the deity of deep fried deliciousness at this moment despite the fact that I will have to wait until morning to get one (or two). I'm seriously considering marrying the man just out of love for his chipati's stuffed with dodo, potato, onions, egg, and secret seasonings, and then deep fried until crispy on the outside... mmm. they are like a calzone, but much better because they don't taste like pizza.
Excuse me for the prolonged period of my absence since I last graced your computer screen (almost a week and a half), however, as I have probably said before, internet is hard to come by. A two mile walk to Namulesa, then a 30 minute cab drive into Jinja, and then a 20 minute walk to The Source Cafe, where I have to spend 2000 shillings for just one hour (that's worth two 1.5 liter bottles of water). I usually spend over 2000 though since the internet in Uganda is aweful. Remember dial-up? Well this is worse. Waaaaay worse. It takes sometimes 15 minutes for my gmail to load... in html format. To top it off, i can write a whole email, and when i hit send... it just goes to a network failure page.
As for the topic of public transportation, I've already mentioned the dangers of riding a boda, and the recklessness on the roadways of all vehicles, but let me delve a bit deeper into the horrors of all things on wheels (boda bodas, piki piki's, and mutatus).
First the Mutatu: oh dear mutatu... when I say i have a 30 minute cab drive to town. I mean a 30 minute ride in a mutatu, a twelve passenger van that is the refuse of some type of asian public transportation system (as noted by the extreme amounts of chinese writing on the sides of said vans, despite there being zero asians in Uganda.) There is no doubt why china got rid of these vehicles of mass destruction. The other day I saw a door fall off, and in one, a hole in the roof was boarded up with some pieces of rotting timber, that's not to mention the terrible condition that the engines are in. Let's just say riding a mutatu is not far from riding a bull at the fair, except one doesn't have to worry about falling off or out. One does not have to worry about this due to the sardine like state in which all passengers are kept. The other day, in said 12 PASSENGER van, there were 26 of us, all crammed in with our bags, 3 chickens under a seat, and a goat. (okay so the 3 chickens were actually 14 chickens, and the goat was only a goat... only they weren't in that particular mutatu, that was a separate adventure into town.) I think that's all for the mutatu... for now....
Now onto the Boda... dear boda boda (aka, shitty 1 or 2 person yamaha dirtbike)... what can't be held on the back of you? I know that besides a driver you can fit 5 adult Ugandans at one time, or 20 chicken crates filled with chickens. I also have overheard that you carry dead bodies on occasion that are wrapped in bark cloth and then somehow attached to a long board that is then attached to you. I have also seen you carry a large dead cow, a stack of wooden boards whose length extend the whole of road so that i must jump into a ditch filled with water up to my calves, a multiple large piles of matooke, 6 or 7 children screaming Mzungu, many men who want my "contacts" aka my phone number so that can "be my friend" and call me 9 times a day to say hello, and many men who don't believe my phone is dead, so they give me their contacts and then when i run into them again inquire as to why I haven't called them, and then I don't have the heart to say its because they creep me out with their incescent calling and that you cant just tell a mzungu that they are "your very best friend and it makes you sick that you haven't seen them and that a day without them is like tea without sugar and that you love them very much." Because that's just friggin creepy Sabo. (Sabo is "sir" in Ugandan)
As for the piki piki... they are just crappy old bicycles with no gears, and rusted pedals. See above for everything I have seen them and their riders with legs of brute strength carry...
Excuse me for the prolonged period of my absence since I last graced your computer screen (almost a week and a half), however, as I have probably said before, internet is hard to come by. A two mile walk to Namulesa, then a 30 minute cab drive into Jinja, and then a 20 minute walk to The Source Cafe, where I have to spend 2000 shillings for just one hour (that's worth two 1.5 liter bottles of water). I usually spend over 2000 though since the internet in Uganda is aweful. Remember dial-up? Well this is worse. Waaaaay worse. It takes sometimes 15 minutes for my gmail to load... in html format. To top it off, i can write a whole email, and when i hit send... it just goes to a network failure page.
As for the topic of public transportation, I've already mentioned the dangers of riding a boda, and the recklessness on the roadways of all vehicles, but let me delve a bit deeper into the horrors of all things on wheels (boda bodas, piki piki's, and mutatus).
First the Mutatu: oh dear mutatu... when I say i have a 30 minute cab drive to town. I mean a 30 minute ride in a mutatu, a twelve passenger van that is the refuse of some type of asian public transportation system (as noted by the extreme amounts of chinese writing on the sides of said vans, despite there being zero asians in Uganda.) There is no doubt why china got rid of these vehicles of mass destruction. The other day I saw a door fall off, and in one, a hole in the roof was boarded up with some pieces of rotting timber, that's not to mention the terrible condition that the engines are in. Let's just say riding a mutatu is not far from riding a bull at the fair, except one doesn't have to worry about falling off or out. One does not have to worry about this due to the sardine like state in which all passengers are kept. The other day, in said 12 PASSENGER van, there were 26 of us, all crammed in with our bags, 3 chickens under a seat, and a goat. (okay so the 3 chickens were actually 14 chickens, and the goat was only a goat... only they weren't in that particular mutatu, that was a separate adventure into town.) I think that's all for the mutatu... for now....
Now onto the Boda... dear boda boda (aka, shitty 1 or 2 person yamaha dirtbike)... what can't be held on the back of you? I know that besides a driver you can fit 5 adult Ugandans at one time, or 20 chicken crates filled with chickens. I also have overheard that you carry dead bodies on occasion that are wrapped in bark cloth and then somehow attached to a long board that is then attached to you. I have also seen you carry a large dead cow, a stack of wooden boards whose length extend the whole of road so that i must jump into a ditch filled with water up to my calves, a multiple large piles of matooke, 6 or 7 children screaming Mzungu, many men who want my "contacts" aka my phone number so that can "be my friend" and call me 9 times a day to say hello, and many men who don't believe my phone is dead, so they give me their contacts and then when i run into them again inquire as to why I haven't called them, and then I don't have the heart to say its because they creep me out with their incescent calling and that you cant just tell a mzungu that they are "your very best friend and it makes you sick that you haven't seen them and that a day without them is like tea without sugar and that you love them very much." Because that's just friggin creepy Sabo. (Sabo is "sir" in Ugandan)
As for the piki piki... they are just crappy old bicycles with no gears, and rusted pedals. See above for everything I have seen them and their riders with legs of brute strength carry...
Monday, July 13, 2009
Man vs. Wild, aka "Man Camp 7"
It is a question of the ages, "What do you get when you throw four americans and a brit into the middle of the african rainforest with a couple of dull machetes, a box of matches, and a pot to boil water? For the most part, absolutely nothing, except a phone call 28 hours later asking for a ride back to "civilization."
A little bit about the expectations of man camp before going into actual experience of it...
Man camp is supposed to be a three night, four day adventure into the jungle in which each person in the group is supposed to clear a plot of land and build their own bed, house with two entrances, latrine/washroom (with a divider and walls so they have privacy from other man campers), outdoor kitchen, and dishrack. The ultimate goal of man camp is to last in the jungle the entire four days and to come out as clean as you went in with everything built and your home/plot tidy. The inventor of man camp is crazy because what actually happens in the jungle is actually just complete chaos.
Upon leaving Macro, the organization that uses man camp as a way of fundraising money, we found that our group of five only had three very dull machetes and a hoe between the five of us to make 5 sets of said items. We also found that said plots we were to clear were about an acre in size and covered in trees, vines, bushes, ant hills, and rotting logs. That said, we also found that the nearest water supply was 2 miles away and called Lake Victoria. Upon returning with water from said lake we realized that boiling it would only kill the germs, but not remove the brown/ yellow tint of the water, nor the dirt particles. We also realized that we couldn't get a fire started to boil said water...
Once fire was started (with the help of a villager who happened to be walking through the jungle), dusk began falling. i had constructed a shitty hammock due to blisters the size of Uganda forming on my hands because of my attempted clearing of my plot. Two other girls had constructed a bed out of trees that sat off the ground and was covered in leaves. The boys had constructed a shelter that fell over and a shelter with no walls, but with a bed covered in leaves. When dark fell we gathered around the low burning embers of our fire (we had forgotten to collect firewood) and after what felt like 4 hours of playing 10 fingers... (it was only 45 minutes) we decided to try sleep. I went to bed in the giant bed the girls made and the boys shared the tiny one andrew had made. As We were almost asleep the boys left their bed. One due to it being uncomfortable, and one due to being afraid of sleeping alone. After another 45 minutes around the campfire, us three girls and the british boy decided to try to fit on the girls bed. It held us up and was much more comfortable in our exhausted state. However, the other american boy (andrew from st. isaacs) was afraid of sleeping alone and came to try to fit on the bed with us. It could not hold five people however, and immediately collapsed. After 45 more minutes around our dying fire, we decided to try out andrew twin sized bed of sticks. we fit 5 people rather uncomfortably on it for about 45 minutes before it too broke. After that, we took turns sleeping on the hammock while the others sat about the fire... that is until the brit saw a wild pig, got scared/excited for the hunt and broke the hammock at 3 am... that is when we all decided to try to stay up the rest of the night. I ended up asleep on the ground next to the embers of the fire with my head on a log.
The next day we were determined to complete our tasks, but instead of individually, we would do it as a group. we almost had a bed to hold four and a canopy to hang above it completed by one (with help of previous villager), and all of the leaves to cover both the bed and canopy, when the rain, thunder, and lighting started tumbling down. The rain was so thick we could not see the rest of the forest, the villager (named samuel) stayed with us for the three hours the rain came down, and kept our fire burning. It was then, in our cold, soaked, dirty state, that we decided that Mzungus were not cut out for the jungle lifestyle, and walked back to Samuel's home to sun ourselves on his porch and eat a delicious lunch of posha, fresh fish, beans, and dodo (a plant, not the bird)...
I'm pretty stoked we held out for 28 hours, but I really wish we would have tried for longer... despite how much better that nile beer and fried chicken tasted last night than the ant infested rice we were eating in the jungle.....
A little bit about the expectations of man camp before going into actual experience of it...
Man camp is supposed to be a three night, four day adventure into the jungle in which each person in the group is supposed to clear a plot of land and build their own bed, house with two entrances, latrine/washroom (with a divider and walls so they have privacy from other man campers), outdoor kitchen, and dishrack. The ultimate goal of man camp is to last in the jungle the entire four days and to come out as clean as you went in with everything built and your home/plot tidy. The inventor of man camp is crazy because what actually happens in the jungle is actually just complete chaos.
Upon leaving Macro, the organization that uses man camp as a way of fundraising money, we found that our group of five only had three very dull machetes and a hoe between the five of us to make 5 sets of said items. We also found that said plots we were to clear were about an acre in size and covered in trees, vines, bushes, ant hills, and rotting logs. That said, we also found that the nearest water supply was 2 miles away and called Lake Victoria. Upon returning with water from said lake we realized that boiling it would only kill the germs, but not remove the brown/ yellow tint of the water, nor the dirt particles. We also realized that we couldn't get a fire started to boil said water...
Once fire was started (with the help of a villager who happened to be walking through the jungle), dusk began falling. i had constructed a shitty hammock due to blisters the size of Uganda forming on my hands because of my attempted clearing of my plot. Two other girls had constructed a bed out of trees that sat off the ground and was covered in leaves. The boys had constructed a shelter that fell over and a shelter with no walls, but with a bed covered in leaves. When dark fell we gathered around the low burning embers of our fire (we had forgotten to collect firewood) and after what felt like 4 hours of playing 10 fingers... (it was only 45 minutes) we decided to try sleep. I went to bed in the giant bed the girls made and the boys shared the tiny one andrew had made. As We were almost asleep the boys left their bed. One due to it being uncomfortable, and one due to being afraid of sleeping alone. After another 45 minutes around the campfire, us three girls and the british boy decided to try to fit on the girls bed. It held us up and was much more comfortable in our exhausted state. However, the other american boy (andrew from st. isaacs) was afraid of sleeping alone and came to try to fit on the bed with us. It could not hold five people however, and immediately collapsed. After 45 more minutes around our dying fire, we decided to try out andrew twin sized bed of sticks. we fit 5 people rather uncomfortably on it for about 45 minutes before it too broke. After that, we took turns sleeping on the hammock while the others sat about the fire... that is until the brit saw a wild pig, got scared/excited for the hunt and broke the hammock at 3 am... that is when we all decided to try to stay up the rest of the night. I ended up asleep on the ground next to the embers of the fire with my head on a log.
The next day we were determined to complete our tasks, but instead of individually, we would do it as a group. we almost had a bed to hold four and a canopy to hang above it completed by one (with help of previous villager), and all of the leaves to cover both the bed and canopy, when the rain, thunder, and lighting started tumbling down. The rain was so thick we could not see the rest of the forest, the villager (named samuel) stayed with us for the three hours the rain came down, and kept our fire burning. It was then, in our cold, soaked, dirty state, that we decided that Mzungus were not cut out for the jungle lifestyle, and walked back to Samuel's home to sun ourselves on his porch and eat a delicious lunch of posha, fresh fish, beans, and dodo (a plant, not the bird)...
I'm pretty stoked we held out for 28 hours, but I really wish we would have tried for longer... despite how much better that nile beer and fried chicken tasted last night than the ant infested rice we were eating in the jungle.....
Best Invention ever award
goes to.... the washing machine... This morning I spent three hours washing 7 items of clothing by hand... three of these items were underwear, two pairs of pants and a long sleeve shirt. After getting into a boda (motorcycle) crash in the mud after driving twenty minutes through the rain from Jinja on friday and toughing it out through two days in the jungle Bear Grylls style at "Man Camp" on saturday and sunday, my clothes had about 12 inches of mud on them.
So more on the weekend....
Friday Andrew and I left for Jinja from St. Isaacs at about 12:30 to pick up a giant sign he had made for the "St. Isaacs Training Center" After arriving in Jinja, we soon learned that the sign maker had misspelled a word on the sign during the morning, and we had to now wait until 4 for it to be delivered to Namulesa... We were a bit peeved as it took us 30 minutes to walk to Namulesa and 30 minutes on a taxi to get to Jinja only to find out that the sign wasn't done at the time the carpenter had promised (He had already extended the deadline 4 times)... It was beginning to thunder so we decided to jump on a boda so we could get home faster before the rain started. As soon as we hit the highway (if you can call it that) the rain started pounding down on us. I was in a tank top and flip flops as well as in pain, my glasses covered in water, and feet in mud as we drove through puddle after puddle of mud, rainwater, and potentially sewage. Upon arriving at the beginning of the 2 mile stretch of dirt rode to get to St. Isaacs, Andrew and I realized we were in a very precarious situation. Although no longer raining, there was much potential that the roads were flooded, or very slippery. We made it not even half a mile on the bike when the bike spun out going up the hill and flipped over landing on top of Andrew, Me, and the Boda driver. The driver seemed to be unscathed, but Andrew hurt a testicle (he's been complaining about it since Friday night) and my leg has a huge gash from getting caught on the kickstand. After paying off the boda driver (since we did not want to get hurt again) we began walking (actually more like slipping) up the hill, through the mud, and foot deep rivelets of water, with about 30 school children stalking behind us laughing at the dirty Mzungus (they had been walking a half a mile in the mud and had not one spot of it on their clothing...) Andrew's flipflop broke about 3 minutes into our hike and he was forced to walk the next mile and a half barefoot through the sludge.
When we got back to the house an hour later we were met with a troop of Ugandan volunteers that worked with the St. Isaacs program, and a bag containing a giant tent.
We quickly overcame our fears of contracting diseases such as jiggers, which supposedly turn your feet black and make them fall off in order to teach a bunch of Ugandan men how to build said tent. 30 minutes, a lot of language issues, and many mistakes and laughs later, we had the tent up and ready... what a frustrating, ridiculous day....
So more on the weekend....
Friday Andrew and I left for Jinja from St. Isaacs at about 12:30 to pick up a giant sign he had made for the "St. Isaacs Training Center" After arriving in Jinja, we soon learned that the sign maker had misspelled a word on the sign during the morning, and we had to now wait until 4 for it to be delivered to Namulesa... We were a bit peeved as it took us 30 minutes to walk to Namulesa and 30 minutes on a taxi to get to Jinja only to find out that the sign wasn't done at the time the carpenter had promised (He had already extended the deadline 4 times)... It was beginning to thunder so we decided to jump on a boda so we could get home faster before the rain started. As soon as we hit the highway (if you can call it that) the rain started pounding down on us. I was in a tank top and flip flops as well as in pain, my glasses covered in water, and feet in mud as we drove through puddle after puddle of mud, rainwater, and potentially sewage. Upon arriving at the beginning of the 2 mile stretch of dirt rode to get to St. Isaacs, Andrew and I realized we were in a very precarious situation. Although no longer raining, there was much potential that the roads were flooded, or very slippery. We made it not even half a mile on the bike when the bike spun out going up the hill and flipped over landing on top of Andrew, Me, and the Boda driver. The driver seemed to be unscathed, but Andrew hurt a testicle (he's been complaining about it since Friday night) and my leg has a huge gash from getting caught on the kickstand. After paying off the boda driver (since we did not want to get hurt again) we began walking (actually more like slipping) up the hill, through the mud, and foot deep rivelets of water, with about 30 school children stalking behind us laughing at the dirty Mzungus (they had been walking a half a mile in the mud and had not one spot of it on their clothing...) Andrew's flipflop broke about 3 minutes into our hike and he was forced to walk the next mile and a half barefoot through the sludge.
When we got back to the house an hour later we were met with a troop of Ugandan volunteers that worked with the St. Isaacs program, and a bag containing a giant tent.
We quickly overcame our fears of contracting diseases such as jiggers, which supposedly turn your feet black and make them fall off in order to teach a bunch of Ugandan men how to build said tent. 30 minutes, a lot of language issues, and many mistakes and laughs later, we had the tent up and ready... what a frustrating, ridiculous day....
Thursday, July 9, 2009
kanigoga
I basically live on a farm. for the past two days I have hoed weeds, dug holes, and torn apart chicken coops and goat pens. I live in a home with no electricity or running water, and my baths consist of pouring jerry cans of water over my body. The bathroom is a hole in the ground about 200 yards from my room. I cut the top off a water bottle in case i had to pee at night. The mosquitos are aweful and there was no where to tie up my mosquito net so i had to pull a mcguiver and tie a piece of dental floss between the door and the wall of my room to hang the net on.
To buy water or soda, charge my cell phone, or catch a taxi to jinja i have to walk 2 miles one way to the nearest town of namulesa on a rode full of tiny children whose parents do not have the money to pay school fees yelling, "Mzungu, how are you" Mzungu basically is their term for foreigners, specifically american or british foreigners.
There are a lot of children around all the time. the farm also has a small nursery school on it so i'm surrounded by 4-6 year old ugandan children asking me to play soccer, chase them, or give them biscuits. they are freakin adorable. isaac, my host families son is a little terror. I taught the children to play spoons the other night with a deck of cards made out of half titanic playing cards that we found on the ground covered in mud, and half made out of paper that i brought. Isaac didn't even play the game. he just waited, hovering over the pens we were using as spoons until someone grabbed one. However, he did start to draw on the cards i made to make them match his. he wrote titanic and drew little stick figures of kate and leo on the backs... it made me laugh.
Food is alright here. there are so many carbs that i really don't mind all the grunt work and walking. anyway... i have to go buy some tarp for planting and then head home. update more tomorrow.
To buy water or soda, charge my cell phone, or catch a taxi to jinja i have to walk 2 miles one way to the nearest town of namulesa on a rode full of tiny children whose parents do not have the money to pay school fees yelling, "Mzungu, how are you" Mzungu basically is their term for foreigners, specifically american or british foreigners.
There are a lot of children around all the time. the farm also has a small nursery school on it so i'm surrounded by 4-6 year old ugandan children asking me to play soccer, chase them, or give them biscuits. they are freakin adorable. isaac, my host families son is a little terror. I taught the children to play spoons the other night with a deck of cards made out of half titanic playing cards that we found on the ground covered in mud, and half made out of paper that i brought. Isaac didn't even play the game. he just waited, hovering over the pens we were using as spoons until someone grabbed one. However, he did start to draw on the cards i made to make them match his. he wrote titanic and drew little stick figures of kate and leo on the backs... it made me laugh.
Food is alright here. there are so many carbs that i really don't mind all the grunt work and walking. anyway... i have to go buy some tarp for planting and then head home. update more tomorrow.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Mzungo, How are you?
In an internet cafe in Jinga about an hour from Mukono, and three hours from Kampala. I just got here yesterday afternoon after a CRAZY weekend in Kampala. I rode a boda for the first time on Friday evening and it was the most exhilerating experience of my life. In Uganda, there are no lanes, only relative ideas of where lanes should be. Because it is very expensive to get a drivers liscence for a car, many men in uganda drive motorcycles called bodas. these bodas take passengers from place to place like a private taxi. In Kampala, it is a dangerous experience as drivers race eachother through streets, over potholes, and brush up against other cars, mutatos (taxis) bodas, and pedastrians... all with their passengers in tow. After getting to Backpacker's hostel on the outskirts of the city, I walked to a local market and bought chipati (a glorified/greasy/delicious tortilla) and an avocado the size of my head, and made myself dinner for around 50 cents. While eating I met a few travelers from the UK, concordia university in irvine, oceanside, and canada, all who have been traveling from between 5 weeks and 5 months. I have officially decided I will be backpacking the whole of africa in the near future.
A bunch of us decided to go out clubbing for the evening so we pregamed with packets of gin (alcohol come is 2 shot plastic packets for about 500 shillings apiece (25 cents) and went out dancing with a couple Ugandans who worked at the hostel and their friends , one of which had the name Marvlous... which is pretty freakin rad.
we got home at 4:30 in the morning, and then woke up saturday and went to the market again for breakfast. I got my usual staple food of chipati and avocado the size of a human skull and went back to the hostel to chill until the rest of the crew woke up. Once they were up we headed to the most amazing place yet. Oweno. this is the ugandan marketplace in kampala where ugandans can buy just about everything they need from salt fish, to curries, to machetes, to dresses. the sights, sounds and smells were incredible, good and bad, and because we were Mzungo's which basically means foreigner, we were hammered by salesmen. we even had one guy try to sell my friend spenser women's jeans for almost 20 minutes. This market place was HUGE and the walls were towering. it was a maze of humans and goods that I was definitely not wanting to get lost in. once we got out we took another crazy boda ride back to the hostel where we met up with some more americans and went together (with some candadians in stow) to a fourth of july celebration thrown by the embassy. We got hamburgers, hotdogs, potato salad, coleslaw, and coke, and then was serenaded by a ugandan woman singing/reading the national anthem, and a little ugandan children's choir singing God bless america. the finale was a fantastic fireworks show. but really, the best part of the night was that while waiting for our special hire to come pick us back up, we were kindly invited onto the porch of some ugandans for beers and chitchat. I think the thing i like most about uganda so far is the fact that relationships are far more valuable than business, and how are you is the first thing that must be said to any stranger.
A bunch of us decided to go out clubbing for the evening so we pregamed with packets of gin (alcohol come is 2 shot plastic packets for about 500 shillings apiece (25 cents) and went out dancing with a couple Ugandans who worked at the hostel and their friends , one of which had the name Marvlous... which is pretty freakin rad.
we got home at 4:30 in the morning, and then woke up saturday and went to the market again for breakfast. I got my usual staple food of chipati and avocado the size of a human skull and went back to the hostel to chill until the rest of the crew woke up. Once they were up we headed to the most amazing place yet. Oweno. this is the ugandan marketplace in kampala where ugandans can buy just about everything they need from salt fish, to curries, to machetes, to dresses. the sights, sounds and smells were incredible, good and bad, and because we were Mzungo's which basically means foreigner, we were hammered by salesmen. we even had one guy try to sell my friend spenser women's jeans for almost 20 minutes. This market place was HUGE and the walls were towering. it was a maze of humans and goods that I was definitely not wanting to get lost in. once we got out we took another crazy boda ride back to the hostel where we met up with some more americans and went together (with some candadians in stow) to a fourth of july celebration thrown by the embassy. We got hamburgers, hotdogs, potato salad, coleslaw, and coke, and then was serenaded by a ugandan woman singing/reading the national anthem, and a little ugandan children's choir singing God bless america. the finale was a fantastic fireworks show. but really, the best part of the night was that while waiting for our special hire to come pick us back up, we were kindly invited onto the porch of some ugandans for beers and chitchat. I think the thing i like most about uganda so far is the fact that relationships are far more valuable than business, and how are you is the first thing that must be said to any stranger.
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