In Africa

Mmm Hmm

2007-11-09T13:42:00.001+03:00

Yes, that is me driving a steam roller.

Hanging Nets in Nakaseke

2007-11-09T12:47:00.002+03:00

I have so many more pictures, but it seems that recently the internet has been very slow.

Shaving With Toothpaste

2007-10-28T12:45:00.000+03:00

This morning I decide to have a shave to go with my new slacks and nice shoes. I’m tired of wearing jeans to church. I wish I would have bought these clothes earlier, or even brought some with me. But I didn’t know what life was going to be like here really. But I’m looking sharp today and feeling more appropriate for where I’m going.

I shave with the peppermint shaving cream my dad bought me before I left. I smells and looks like I’m shaving with toothpaste. And I love it.

I walk by the nurses on the way to church and they run to get their cameras because I’m all dressed up.

None of my friends come to church today.

I get home and watch Salute Your Shorts on my laptop. I snack on Pringles and some weird brand of Fig-Neutons. I want to get all the episodes and watch them with Evan when I get home.

Osama on a Belt

2007-10-27T12:42:00.000+03:00

I wake up early and get ready quickly to go to Mukono. I say goodbye to Kate and catch a matatu from Nsumba and go through Ntenjeru and then just as we are about to leave Ntenjeru the driver turns around and we go all the way back to Nsumba.

“Tugende Wa?”

“It’s OK, It’s OK”

At least I’m in the front seat. Kelley told me when I got to Africa not to sit in the front seat but this one has a seat belt so I feel fine. We get to Nsumba and the driver picks up a few people including Kate. I stick my head out the window and wave at her and she is confused because I left about twenty minutes ago.

When we get to Kisoga I get off and go see if I can find Joseph. He’s not at home and I give Kenny a call. I meet him at Mandela (the hostel his company is staying at). We sit around and talk, drinking sodas in the bar area. Kenny opens his drink with his teeth.

After a while we go out back to another sitting/eating area and watch cable TV and eat tomatoes and eggs. I can’t believe they have cable TV. We watch an old black and white movie and some boxing.

Pastor Simon is there and I realize that he’s probably not a pastor. He says for lunch he has a beer and a cigarette. He tries to buy me some drinks but I say no thanks. And teach him about the Word of Wisdom.

I get to Mukono and go to the market that Meghan told me about. I buy a cool T-shirt and some slacks. The T-shirt smells just like the second hand ones from home. I like it. Living in New York has helped me know how to haggle here. And the little Luganda I know helps too. “Don’t give me the muzungu price, give me the mutugavi price.”

I meet Frank at church and give him another photo lesson. Ema from church is here and he walks around with us. I give Frank the assignment to find lines and circles. I teach him about composition.

After the lesson Frank and I go back to the market and he helps me buy some dress shoes and a tie. Then we walk to the internet café. I show him my website and help him check his gmail. He writes back other volunteers who were here earlier this year.

While we are on the internet a guy walks by wearing a University of Florida Shirt - Go Gators! - with the cartoon gator head on the front. I stop him and tell him that I studied at that University. He looks at me like I’m crazy, but before he leaves the café a little while later he tells me, “I always knew that someday I would meet someone who went to this school!”

Frank and I go across the street to do some shopping before I go back to the village. I always stock up on milk boxes in Mukono and maybe some Pringles. I ask Frank if he would like some ice cream and he shakes his head no. He asks for biscuits (cookies) instead. Before check out I go to the freezers to get myself a cup of ice cream and Frank asks, “What is that?”

“It’s ice cream.”

“Oh! Yes I want that.”

I laugh and tell him to pick one out. As we walk towards the market again to find me a belt for my new slacks, I ask him how the icecream is. He just smiles as he continuously scoops spoonfuls into his mouth.

Then I ask, “Frank, have you ever had ice cream before?”

He hasn’t! I ask him to describe the experience and he tells me it’s like eating a bunch of éclairs (these kind of candies they have here with gooey centers). I tell him that I’m glad to introduce him to something so delicious.

At the market I’m looking at belts and come across a big belt buckle with a hologram of Osama Bin Ladin. I start laughing. “Why in the world do you have this belt buckle? Do you support this man?”

“Do you want it? You like it?”

“No I don’t like it.”

“Yes, but look.” He shows me that it’s a hologram as if the fact that I can have Osama’s face from the front, in three quarters, and in profile views all in one belt justifies my parading around with the terrorist on my waist.

“Why do you have this man on a belt?”

“He’s one of God’s children. God created him just like he created you and me.”

“Yes, he also created Adolf Hitler, do you have any belt buckles of him? Why isn’t your picture on the belt buckle or any other person? There are many of God’s children to choose from.”

As I’m saying this I see that right next to this belt is one of Saddam Hussein. This is hilarious. I’ve seen calendars of Saddam in the villages we visit. I don’t know how they get into the country but they are sold very cheap so the people buy them and hang them in their homes.

I think about buying the belt just to prove people at home that it exists, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

At home Kate asks me some questions about my faith. I tell her how I’ve come to know what is true and how everyone can learn truth by asking the Source of all truth. I tell her my faith has matured into knowledge, not just belief. We talk about Alma’s parable of the seed. We talk about trust and its rewards.

My New Favorite Students

2007-10-26T16:40:00.000+03:00

Slept in. Felt justified because I have been feeling sick.

I graded more papers.. more poor results.

I’ve seen some of their past tests, and they never seem to get a high score. But I still wonder if I have been doing these kids justice, or whether they should have a teacher with their accent. But then there are the kids that do so well. I can’t wait to hand these back and see who my new favorite students are.

Because Even I Am A Boy

2007-10-25T16:35:00.000+03:00

I wake up feeling so happy and think right away about the blessing I got from the missionaries yesterday afternoon.

I go to school and give the English midterm. I’ve been using the same lesson plans for the S1s and the S2s so they are the same test. For the first part I read out loud statements and they are supposed to answer true or false.

They have a hard time understanding everything I say and I have to write every other question
on the board. In on of the questions I said the word, “bird” and they had no idea what I meant.
Then I wrote it and asked them how they say it.

“Barday.”

“You people are ridiculous. Haha.”

I catch a girl looking at her neighbor’s paper and I mark her paper in red pen. After the test is over everyone hands in their tests. One pile for the blank cover sheets I gave them, and one pile for the test.

I notice some writing on a paper in the blank pile and see that the girl I saw cheating had used her other paper to complete the test so there would be no mark. But I know exactly who the girl is, because she was the one who skipped my lunch detention. I got to my list of students in detention and write her name really big in red pen and connect the page to her other paper.

“Everyone thinks I’m just some stupid Muzungu, don’t they?”

One of the boys helping me organize the papers says, “Not you, master. You are very wise.”

HA.

Erin comes over tonight. She has been feeling ill from the prophylactics she’s been taking because of the blood she got in her eye. She’s feeling OK now though, so her and Kate help me start grading my papers.

On the English exam I gave them and extra credit question worth up to ten points. In our class we have read three simple stories. The Pot of Gold, A Giant in the Forest, and The Wonderful Day.

To fully appreciate what I’m about to share, let me give you a brief summary of each story:

The Pot of Gold: A mean man named Grumble finds and catches an elf in the forest. He demands that the elf take him to his gold or he won’t let the elf go. The elf takes him to a tree and tells him the gold is buried under the tree. Grumble marks the tree with his red scarf and, before going to fetch his shovel, makes the elf promise not to touch the scarf. He promises and when Grumble returns to the forest he finds that the elf kept his promise, but put a red scarf on every single tree in the forest.

A Giant in the Forest: A little boy and his mother live next to a cool green forest. A big ugly giant lives in the forest and only comes out at night, to look for things to eat. Every week the boy’s mother gives him a bar of soap to take a bath in the lake in the forest. She tells him the lake is a safe place because the giant can’t swim and warns him to be home before dark. The boy sees a baby bird on his way to the lake and helps it back into the nest. The mother bird sings a song as thanks to the boy. This causes him to be late to the lake. He quickly takes his bath in the dark and starts home. He sees a giant footprint and then the giant right in front of him. He runs back towards the lake and drops his bar of soap. The giant slips on the soap and falls into the lake and the boy is saved.

The Wonderful Day: Roger Rabbit finds a gigantic cabbage in the middle of the road. He pushes the cabbage home only to find that it won’t fit through his door. He cries and then tells himself that crying doesn’t help, thinking does. So he gets an idea and calls all the rabbits in the forest to come and have a cabbage party so the cabbage won’t be wasted. The rabbits eat and get full. The oldest rabbit tells Roger to remember to call them if he ever needs a meal. When they leave the cabbage is just the right size for Roger, who says this is the most wonderful day he has ever had.

The extra credit question was:

Out of all the stories we have read, who is your favorite character? Give reasons for your answer.

We don’t always understand their reasoning, but here are a few of our favorites – the best and the worst:

An elfe

Because it had apot of Gold.

Because even if we did the exercise I got 10/10

Because an elfe had a lot of Knowledge.

Because an elfe was small and he had big eyes.

The reason on my answer is abig ugly giant.

Grumbble was the main character in the story we have ready.
Because Grumbble is unkind man.

My favourite character was Rodge rabbit.

1^st reason Rodger was small rabbit but he managed to roll a big giant cabbage to home

Rodger at first he stared, stared and stared because of his discovery

Rodger had never had awonderful day like the one he discovered

Rodger cried but it didn’t help

Grumble was my favorite character from all of the stories we have read. The reasons for my answer are Grumble was sobig.

Grumble had a good red scarf.

Grumble had a good shos.

Grumble had a big hand and head.

It is Roger Rabit

He was avery care full one

Who is your favoite character?

The giant

Reasons

He wanted to kill the boy.

He walks at night.

The boy is my favorite character from all of the stories I have read.
This boy when he found a young bird on the ground, he had to put it back in its nest. This boy when he found a ugly giant, he ran to the lake where the giant can’t swim not only that he splash his soap and the giant steped on it and fel down.

The rabbit.

It cried when the cabbage failed to fit the door

Roger cabbage was my favorite character from the stories I have read. Because he mad aparty for the other o’rabbit young and old.

My favorite character is “Giant”

Giant is my favorite actor because it tells us to fear walking at night when we are alone

My favorite is to be busyman

Because I have sean the elf

Because “ “ “ the Grumble

A giant in the forest is our favorite character from all the stories

Because a giant is a big ugly man in the forest.

It was Grumble’s story.

Because Grumble was amean man.

Because Grumbe marked the tree with his red scarf

Because the boy was so mercy full he help the baby bird

Out of all the stories we have read the story of the giant in the forest was my favourite character

The story of cabbage was my favorite character

The story of a big cabbage in the road

Out of all the stories the giant in the forest was the favorite character for me because the giant slept all day and during in the night it started to look for things to eat and the boy’s mother warned him to be home before dark.

The giant was sloghtering getting something to eat and the boy saw it on the ground with the foorprint on the ground and the boy brought his bar of soap on the ground the big ugly giant slipped down in water.

A little boy.

Because the little boy was living neer the cold green forest. The little boy was given every day a bar of soap to go and have a balth on the lake.

Because the little boy helped the babby bird to put it in the nest. When the little boy saw that it is getting dark he take his bath quickly.

When the boy saw a big anguly giant he slowen his bar of soap and when the anguly giant stepped on it he sceamed in the lake while the giant cann’t swim.

That is the way the boy saved him self from the giant. That is why my favorite character is the little boy.

Grumble

Grumble was a mean man always he was saying that elf has pot of Gold which make Grumble to get Mr. elf. Grumble asked elf to show where was the pot of Gold. The elf took him on a big tree.

The elf and a big giant’s character was my favorite character.

The first reason is that the elf was wiser than the giant. The second reason is that the giant was big for nothing with our knowledge in it’s hea to mark the tree with the same scave the elf has. The third was that the giant never know that what ever small anything is, never under mind it.

The elf.

The elf was great man because he did not breake the promise he just put the red scarf on all the tree. The elf has a point of God

The giant in the forest.

Becawe some children may sent by their perants and they tell “that you early and they just play and forgotten to go back home. They see when it is dark then they go home hence found wirld animal walking looking for food.

My favorite character is elf because they following

He excused his mother advices

He found the baby bird on the ground and he returned it inot its next.

He saw a giant and put the soap on the giant’s right and it slippered into lake.

Roger

He said him self I can sotp crying and I go to calling wood rabbits.

He can’t to push the cabbage alone

The cabbage it was big to fit through his door

The cabbage was the main character because it was in the road.

And it was too big to pass throught the door.

It was the character because it made some one to cry.

The story of agiant cabbage is my favorite character.

Because it shows me that there is a wonderful things in the world.

It shows me that there is the biggest cabbage.

It shows that all rabbits eats the cabbage

It shows that there is aful rabbits.

From my favorite character it was Giant in the forest.

Reasons to my answer. According to my reasons, the little boy Rogger did avery good job of trapping abig giant near the forest.

Another reason was about the big cabbage, the ways of Rabbits making to be small.

The favorite character of all the stories was mother of boy

Because gave his boy abar of soap every week. It wants his boy to take bath.

Out of every stories we have read, My favorite character is Crying helps nothing, thinking helps.

Thinking helps because you get ensured of the thing you about.

Thinking helps because it brings about new idea for you.

Thinking helps because what he/she wants.

Thinking helps one to engage in what is right for he or she.

Thinking brings about development.

Thinking brings about happy.

My favorite character is Grumble. Because Grumble he discovered the part of Gold. Addition no one would need to be poor at all.

It was the wonderful day.

This is because Roger’s rabbit it was agood rabbit who wants his friends

And the Roger’s rabbit he laughed because the cabbage was too big enough and he didnot Know it is going to do but he called his friend which is oldest and biggest to enjoy cabbage party.

That story tells how to love your friends.

My favorite character was the little boy.

Because even I am a boy.

Midterms and Blessings

2007-10-24T16:32:00.000+03:00

I wake up with the scratchiest throat. Maybe I slept to close to the mosquito net. I think I might be allergic the chemicals in the nets. I think I’m allergic to everything.

I am saying goodbye to the nurses and Fran gives me some extra strength cold medicine, some garlic pills, and throat lozenges. I’m so lucky they have come to Africa at the same time as me. I know that my grandparents would feel so better to know that Fran and Marilyn are here.

I give my S2 class their math exam. The class is huge and it’s difficult to make sure no one is cheating. So many of them share things like rulers and calculators. I tell them that they have to clear the calculator before passing it to a friend. I make them show me their calculators before they pass them.

After the test is over, I tell them to fold the corners of their papers so they stay together. Then they tell me that there is thread for that. One of them goes to the office and comes back with a bag of small pieces of thread. The kids poke holes in the corner of their papers with their pins and feed the thread through, tying it in a double knot.

One kid ties his on the right side of the paper and I ask if he’s left-handed. He looks scared. “Which hand do you use to write?” He picks up his right hand. I start to ask him if he takes art class, and realize that I’m just confusing the poor boy, so I let him go.

The S1 class is much harder to monitor. There are 81 kids taking the test today. There are two columns of desks that are singles, but most students are sitting three to a desk. My test is late getting started because Moses was giving them an exam when he caught them all cheating. He erased the board and created an entirely new exam.

My class was about to go to lunch, but I called them back into the room and told them I had and
appointment in Mukono, and I was not going to miss it because they decided to cheat.

I tell them they must cover their papers with their other sheet. I can’t write the entire test on the chalkboard at once, so I split the test into three sections. I catch two boys cheating and dismiss them from the room and give them zeros. I tell the class as the boys leave, how unfortunate it is that there are only two tests to determine the grade for an entire term’s worth of work, and some people are willing to jeopardize that grade by cheating.

I go around and for every wandering eye I mark “-1” in red pen on their papers. That seems to do the trick.

I can tell that many of them are having a hard time with the test and decide that I’m going to grade on a curve.

I leave school and hop on a matatu to Kisoga. Joe is meeting with the missionaries today and I’m going with him. I get to town and go to his house just as he’s leaving. I say hi to his wife and realize that she is very pregnant. It was very dark last time I saw her and I didn’t notice. His baby girl is in Kampala with the grandmother.

I am so sleepy on the way to the church and fall asleep on the matatu. I can feel the effect of whatever it is I am coming down with. But I realize that it’s probably the medicine that is making me feel so spacey.

We are a little late meeting the missionaries, but they are out front waiting for us. It is incredibly
hot today. Elder Peterson is wearing sunglasses.

They teach Joseph about the Restoration. They talk about the Sacred Grove and I think about how lucky I am that I had a chance to visit the place this summer. The missionaries ask me to give my testimony of how I know these things are true. I talk about the experience I had this summer with my friend Rachel, to go and visit the places where such miraculous things happened.

They ask Joe who he would like to close the meeting with a prayer and he says himself. In his prayer he asks to be converted to the gospel.

Before the missionaries leave, I ask them if they would please give me a blessing. I tell that I haven’t been feeling well, and on top of that there is a Typhoid outbreak where I am living. It’s such a comfort when I’m sick or in trouble, to be able to rely on and have faith in the Priesthood - to be able to have confidence that because of their authority to act in the name of God, I will get better.

I am given blessings of health, strength and protection against the illnesses that are here. I am promised blessings because of my faith. I’m so lucky the Priesthood is here. I’m glad that Joe could see it in action.

The rest of my time in Mukono is wasted trying to use the internet. I go to two different places, and they are both very slow today.

I go home and start grading the papers. I am disappointed with the low scores.

As I’m grading a get a text message from Jeff:

We are camping at 16,000 feet. Crap it’s cold. This is a large mountain.

We summit in the morning. 19,000ft. We got caught in a snow storm… in Africa.

So crazy.

The Dept. Headmistress and Head Shoulders Knees and Toes

2007-10-23T16:29:00.001+03:00

Festus, Lydia, Kate and I are eating breakfast in the morning. The kids have already gone to school (which they usually do before I even wake up). Maggie comes into the living room to tell us she has been sent home from school.

Festus tells me to go act as her parent and ask the school why they have sent her home. Maggie says it’s because she didn’t use lotion this morning on her face. I am so furious.

I stop and tell the nurses that I’m leaving and they let me know that Carol did not come in the morning for her Typhoid medication and has gone to school, despite the fact the nurses told her she had to stay at home.

I march down the road to Unique Standard and stop half way. I tell Maggie that if she hasn’t been completely honest about why she has been sent home, that she needs to tell me now. She says the teacher told her she needed to use lotion on her face.

I walk straight to the office and ask the woman there to speak with the deputy headmistress. She tells me, the all Ugandans say it, “First you wait, she’s coming.”

“I don’t want to wait. She has summoned a parent to school. I did not come to wait. I have a class to teach in Ntenjeru in twenty minutes.”

I ask where she is and go to the classroom where she is calling students and sending them home to get their school fees. After she finishes in that classroom, she comes outside and says that she’s finishing up and I can wait for her in the office. I tell her I don’t want to wait.

“I’m coming.”

“Really? It looks like you’re staying. I do not want to wait.”

“I’m coming.”

She goes into the classroom and in the end I wait anyway, but not that long.

I see Carol walking to one of her classes. I tell her to come here and I ask her why in the world she has come to school and why she didn’t take her medicine. She lies and says she took it this morning. She tells me that Festus has told her to come to school.

The headmistress comes and invites me to sit with her in the room. We begin the hour and a half conversation about corporal punishment in Uganda.

According to the Deputy Headmistress, Maggie was with a group of students who were late to school. So she made all the students lay on their stomachs on the grass so she could hit them with a stick. When the headmistress got to Maggie and hit her only once, she jumped up and refused to be caned fully! Can you believe it? Then she supposedly had the disrespect to look at the headmistress in the eyes. And on top of that, she rolled them.

Maggie interrupted to say that the headmistress did not cane her. I told her that we were talking and it wasn’t time for her to have her say. The headmistress added that she shouldn’t be standing in the first place.

Maggie knelt down on the floor and looked down. “You see how disrespectful!” the headmistress thought this lack of kneeling somehow backed her claims.

She goes on to tell me that when Maggie got up, she saw that Maggie had on make up. She told her she is wasting her time in the morning making herself look like this and that she has to go home and get a parent.

“I’m sorry, but I’m confused about why you can’t understand a child wanting to protect themselves physically. Tell me why you are continuing to cane students when it is against Uganda law.”

Same old talk… Apparently the Minister knows that all teachers cane and only passed the law for some unknown reason.

“I agree that when students misbehave there needs to be punishment. I disagree with how you choose to punish.

“You are caning the students because they choose which rules they are going to follow and which they were going to break. How effective do you think caning is to these children when they know it is against Uganda law, and you are choosing to break that law? You are teaching the students they can pick and choose and then punishing them when they do.”

She talks about how hard it has been at the school. She was just summoned to that possession three months ago. She says that the teachers aren’t disciplining in class because they don’t think it is their job. She says that the prefects are not helping, but making things worse. The head boy and girl are a joke. So all the disciplining is falling on her. And she is so overwhelmed with work, that she does not have time to think of other kinds of punishment and to supervise the children to make sure they do what she’s asked.

So, she just swat-swats and goes on her way.

“Is that very effective? Do you find the behavior improving?”

She tells me that she has tried other things. Like making the kids that are late sweep the school before they go to class. But the kids just like sweeping.

“I am very impressed that you are trying other methods of discipline. That makes me feel a lot better than from what I’ve been hearing about the school. But you can’t give up. You should consider changing the punishment time. Obviously, these late students do not care to be on time to class, so by making them sweep you are allowing them to miss even more of the class they did not care to go to.

What would happen if you made the punishment during lunch, or during their free time? Then you will see that the punishment is effective.”

More excuses. The conversation goes on and we agree that the problem is teamwork and accountability. She says that eventually she wants to put the cane down and run the school differently. I tell her she needs to meet with all the teachers and come up with a plan and a program that will be uniformly instituted by each person.

I tell her about taking attendance and also other ways of punishing students. I tell her that we do not want her caning any children from Volset. She is annoyed that I’ve said this in front of Maggie and says if they kids knew she would not hit them, they would never listen.

I tell her that if she sends a note home for us or gives us a call, we will discipline the children at home, and that they would wish for a caning after the work will have them do. I told Maggie that the conversation we’ve had is private and she is not to be telling anyone what was discussed.

The headmistress talks about how much she loves the girls of the school and wants them to be successful and not digging in their gardens in the village for the rest of their life. She explains that when she was in school, her teachers never caned anyone. She said that she loved all her teachers and did not fear them. She said that everyone behaved.

“Don’t you want that for your school here? Don’t you think these kids deserve the same environment?”

I though I was almost an hour late for class. But as I get to school I remember we are on mid-term schedule and I haven’t missed my classes. I don’t even have classes. I ask if I can have time to meet with the students to give them a study guide for their math test on Wednesday and they make time for me to talk with the students.

I give them practice questions and actual questions from the exam. They clap and are happy that I’m trying to help them get a good grade.

I get home and all the kids from the neighborhood are around. I start a game of duck-duck-goose. After our game we sing a song I learned in Primary at church. “Do As I’m Doing.” I clap and they follow, I stomp and they follow. “I can do it fast or slow, I can do it high or low…”

Next, we sing “Head Shoulders Knees and Toes” and then we have a big game or Ring-Around-The-Rosie. We stay on the ground and I decide that I should teach them the ABCs. I start the song and some of them already know it. They sing it to a different tune and rhythm. I am so impressed. Marilyn comes outside and video tapes them singing.

We end in a big “Do As I’m Doing” song, where each of the older kids gets a turn to decide what we do. Their parents shout directions from across the road. Nakato’s mom tells her to put her hands on her hips and sway from side to side. Nakato is full of giggles.

As soon as we got to the part of the song, “I can do it fast…” and we all started shaking our hips at super speeds, Nakato lost it and fell on the ground laughing until she could hardly breath. Haha.

Her and Wasswa are twins. They are both some of my favorites when we play duck-duck-goose, because you can always tell who they are going to pick. As they come closer to them in the circle, they start giggling more, until finally they can barely say, “goose.”

I love these kids.

After I’m finished I go to leave, but tell the kids to keep playing without me. I want them to still do this when I’m gone. They keep going and stay pretty organized. I run and get my camera and take some pictures of the fun.

I’m doing laundry today and get the water ready. As I’m filling the tubs I start to have another sneeze attack. Maybe it wasn’t the jackfruit, maybe it’s something in the front yard that I’m allergic to. I hope so. I love jackfruit.

Absolutely enormous planes fly overhead in my dream. We were on a boat or canoe talking. We stopped our conversation and stared as the ominous craft made its way into the distance towards the hotel built on the water of the lake.

Lunch Detention and My Nephew

2007-10-22T16:25:00.000+03:00

I’m giving the first ever Lunch Detention today at school. Some of the kids did so poorly on their homework, and some of them did no homework at all. Because there are so many people in class and there is no attendance taken at school, I have to come up with a system to make sure justice is served. Here it goes:

There are three columns of desks in each class that I teach. I call the rows up one at a time to the front of the room to retrieve their notebook. Every single student must get out of their seat, even if their book is not up here.

I stand at the front of the desks and let them pass to sit down, only if they have a book. The remaining students must sign the paper I have sitting on the front desk. I watch as they write to make sure they don’t try to write illegible.

After all the students go through this process, I start the second phase. I have the students give their notebooks to the person behind them. The people in the last row give theirs to the front desk. Then I have everyone open the books and find the two assignments. If any of them say, “SEE ME” they are to raise their hands for me to collect to books.

I go around and grab the books and put them in the front of the classroom. I have to original owners come to retrieve their books, but first they must sign the paper.

After this ridiculous process I explain to them what it means to have their names on this paper. Lunch Detention. They have ten minutes to eat their lunch, then they must meet me back in the classroom to finish or improve their work. They will continue to stay in detention day after day until they are excused by doing what I asked the first time around.

This same process is repeated for my S2 class. Afterwards we split into groups and I give them the posters I made with math questions. They work in groups to solve the problems. For the second half of the class I do what I did in S1 and review the upcoming exam, giving them some of the exact questions on the midterm.

I have fish for lunch with everyone at the Volset office. I usually would not eat fish in the States, but I don’t mind it here, because I need some protein in my life. I rush back to school to start detention.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t a hassle to get all the kids into the classroom. There were two students who did not show and I wrote their names down and gave them to a student to give to Richard.

They worked on their homework and I excused two students who had their work finished. One of them did a really great job and I was very happy to cross his name off of the list.

In the teachers lounge Harriet and the others kind of laugh about my detention, like everything else I do here. And then the same old caning discussion takes place. Harriet is drilling me about the alternative methods I’ve suggested and defends caning as successful. I end my conversation with a defeated sigh and start packing up. Harriet doesn’t look up from her newspaper but says, “I like your way of disciplining by the way. From now on I’m going to do the same thing with detaining students during lunch.”

“Really?” I’m surprised. She looks up at me from her paper and nods her head yes.

Just then, two kids show up to the room. They have been caught skipping. Richard turns to me and says, “How would you deal with this?”

I look at the girls and get a little upset. I demand, “Who pays your school fees?” They look at the floor, like every other student here that is asked something by a teacher. “Who. Pays. Your. School. Fees?”

Harriet tells them in Luganda that they need to answer me. One girl says that her mother pays, the other tells me it is her father.

“It’s easy, is it? To afford to send you to school?”

They shake their heads.

“What do you think they would say if we let them know you have thrown their money away? How do you think they are going to feel when they found out that they worked really hard for you to purposely miss class? I think maybe we should send a note home to explain what you have done.”

They do not like this idea. The other teachers take my lead and talk to them in Luganda.

Good ‘ol guilt trip. After the girls leave I tell them that sometimes talking to students is enough, but in this case if they did it again, I would send a note home and require that it be returned with a signature.

Richard brings up a good point that the parents will probably just beat them. I suggest that instead, they should be given some work around the school to teach them what it costs to have an education. Maybe they could cut the grass or work in the kitchen serving food during lunch.

After school I go the barber that gave me my 80s haircut, and had him cut off my beard. He was being so careful and gentle. He left a mustache on my face and it looked hilarious. Finally I asked if I could just do it myself. I took the electric razor and took off all the hair. Then he shaped up the back of my neck. I’m a new man. Actually I feel more like a boy. And look like one too.

Mom calls me tonight to tell me that Bishop at home said it’s ok to put up the letter I wrote to the ward asking them if they’d like to help me get some clothes for the kids here in Nsumba. She said a lot of people want to help. I’m so happy. Then she tells me that Erin is going to call me to tell me some news.

A few minutes after getting of the phone with my mom, Erin calls me to tell me that she is having a boy! Haha. She had an ultra sound and said the baby was waving at her. I told her she was crazy. She said, “I can already tell he’s going to be such a cool kid.. just the way he was moving around in there.. he’s going to be great.”

I laughed and we talked about how crazy it was that something is inside of her growing and moving around.. so weird. I’m going to make him a shirt that says, “Adam is my Uncle.” I got the idea from my cousin Amber who went to my other Cousin Kayla’s basketball game with a homemade shirt that said, “Kayla is my cousin.” Ha.

Erin’s probably going to name the kid Ephraim. But it’s going to be pronounced EFF-FROM instead of EE-FROM. Either way, he’s going to be my buddy. She’s already picking out Halloween costumes. I love Erin.

Thunder, Avacados, and a Sand Pit

2007-10-21T19:14:00.000+03:00

Last night there was an amazing thunderstorm. Rain always sounds louder on the tin roof, but this sounded like someone was dropping rocks on the house. I wake up but don’t move. I look out past the mosquito net and watch the room light up with each strike of lightning. I like thunderstorms.

I’m glad that I’m inside, then remember that I’m in Uganda and who knows how structurally sound the house is. I fall asleep and have crazy dreams that I no longer remember.
-

I’m sitting in church and Joseph, my first friend from Mukono sits next to me. He sent me a text message a week or two ago to let me know he was still at school. Then I look and see Rachel, the girl who sat too close to me on the taxi a few weeks ago. Frank comes in and sits next to me. Kenny shows up a little after that and sits in the seats behind us.

After church we go to a baptism.
-

Joseph, Rachel, Kenny, and I walk to Joseph’s house. His mom sells food and we are very hungry. I have my basin with all my supplies in it, and three liters of water. Joseph insists on carrying them for me. I say no way and put it on my head. He snatches it from me and won’t take no for an answer.

We say goodbye to Rachel before we get to Joseph’s. That girl is way to friendly to me, touching my arm and telling me goodbye. Ha. I ask Joseph if she has the hots for me. Joseph and Kenny tell me that’s just how Uganda girls are.

When we get to Joseph’s neighborhood and I see his mom and say, “Mama gwange!” (My mom!) Then all of Joseph’s brothers and sisters shout, “Adamoo!” and run to give me a hug. I don’t know if I mentioned it before but it’s common here to add “oo” to the end of a name for some reason. Jeffoo Adamoo .. I’ve never heard Kelleyoo or Erinoo before though.

Anyway, I don’t know what I’ve done to make these kids like me so much. We sit down and get something to eat. I’ve forgotten his name again, but Joseph’s little brother is so great. I can tell he is a big trouble-maker. He wears my sunglasses while I eat.

I insist on giving Joseph money for lunch. We take the short walk to his house because he wants to give me something. In his yard he climbs this tree, really high, and starts picking avocado. These avocados are massive. Kenny waits on the ground and breaks their fall. His hands are getting really red. The avocados are falling from 15 – 20 feet. Joseph gives me three avocados. Kenny takes two for himself.
-

Kenny and I are falling asleep on our ride home. We’re almost to Kisoga, when Kenny gets a phone call. They are taking a Lorry to the sand pits in Katosi and want to know if wants to come. He invites me for the ride and I get off with him in Kisoga.

On our walk to the lorry outside the Mandela, I run into Joseph and Julius. I ask Joseph where he’s been and he says he didn’t feel well today. We sit and talk outside the Mandela, waiting for the guys to leave for Katosi.

I hop into the truck. The cab is so wide. It is so different driving in this then anything else. You can hardly feel any bump in the road. Jeff rode one of these the other week and told me about it. He said half of the guys were high and that in the front seat they had a jerry can full of fuel, because something was wrong with the tank. They had tubes going into the can and back out again to the engine. In the front seat!

The guys I’m with seem much more responsible. They are not driving fast at all. Kenny introduces me again to Simon and calls him Pastor Simon. He has started his own church and they meet in Kisoga on Saturdays.

Instead of getting dropped of in Nsumba, I ride with them to Katosi to get a look at these sand pits. We pick up five guys on the way to Katosi. They have shovel and jump into the back. They get paid 2000 sh for every trip they make to the pit. They fill the entire dump truck, only using shovels. The owner of the pit gets 30,000sh a load and the truck gets 100,000sh. But they have to pay the owner of the dump truck 250,000 a day. The owners are Americans or British who invest in the trucks. They cost about $14,000 USD.

We drive down a small road that hardly seems big enough for a huge dump truck, but we somehow manage. We pass houses and people lying around in their lawns. It is very pretty and clean down here.

Kenny tells me that there is sand under their house and eventually they will have to leave. They company that owns the pit pays them to move and get a new house. “Isn’t there sand somewhere else? Why do they need to dig where people live?” Kenny says this is the only place to get sand.

We drive into a pretty small pit and drive back out. Kenny says there isn’t any good sand. They want only white sand. We drive a little further and make our way into a massive pit. We drive in and back up into one corner. The shovelers jump out and begin working. It’s hard to believe that this entire pit was made using shovels and now heavy machinery.

Kenny and I walk around and take pictures. He points out things to take pictures of and tells me what to ask and say to the workers in Luganda. We climb out of the pit and walk around the perimeter. I have some good pictures.

There are guys who work on the top of the pit with very long sticks with small spades at the end. They slice into just about three inches of earth on the surface at the edge of the pit, and slide their poles down. Because the pit is at least 30 feet deep, the dirt they have loosed collects in large amounts at the bottom, where workers shovel it into the dump trucks.

After not even an hour we are ready for the trip back home. I pass Remy and Enoch from the dorms and wave. I always seem to be riding home in some huge construction vehicle. The guys drop me off in Nsumba. I tell them if they ever see me walking on the road to stop and give me a ride.

-

HIV, Shutterspeed, and WWE

2007-10-20T19:12:00.000+03:00

I wake up to rain on the tin roof. I will never be upset about waking up because of rain. It makes me feel so happy and comfortable. Rain on a tin roof is beautiful. I go back to sleep to celebrate.

Erin calls me. She is asking if someone can please take her spot at the hospital, there has been a situation and she needs to go to Kampala. Right away I know that somehow she came in contact with Sarah’s blood. Later, I found out I was right. She was helping to take out Sarah’s IV and blood spurted up into her eye.

I call Wasswa over to the nurses. They are going to look at his elbow. The last time I saw him it looked terrible. It was the size of two half dollars. It was white and …gross. He comes timidly to the yard, despite Simba being there. All the kids are terrified of that dog.

I think he knows that we are going to help. Fran gets her plastic gloves and some hydrogen peroxide. Marilyn holds his hand as Fran pours the Peroxide over his wound and it foams.

“Bulunge, Wasswa! Bulunge..bulunge..” Bulunge means good in Luganda, and it’s the only way I know how to tell him we are trying to help him.

He is very brave and doesn’t even cry. Fran puts on a special bandage that is designed to not come off for five days. It uses the natural fluids your body produces to heal the sore. We have Gracie tell his mom not to take it off.

I go and get two tootsie rolls and give out my first “sweetie.” He deserves it. I want him to be less hesitant about coming next time we need to look at it. Later his mom sees me and says, “Thank you so much for your treatment.”

I’m going to Mukono to give Frank a photography lesson. Meghan got me a place to stay the night so I don’t have to go home and come right back again for church. I catch a matatu at the bottom of the hill. Each matatu has decaled words on the windshield, and I keep forgetting that the one that says, “Ever Smart” is dangerous.

Usually a ride to Kisoga takes about half and hour. We got there in eight minutes. There were three taxis all in a row on the road and they were fighting for passengers. My taxi decided that its best bet would be to reach the next town before they did and just drove straight through Ntenjeru.

I’ve had this feeling a couple times here, and at home. Something is very dangerous, but at the same time it’s thrilling. So half of me is angry at how fast this driver is going and the other half of me is giddy with the adventure.

I was thinking if I wanted to get out and see Joe in Kisoga, and this ride made up my mind. I get out and walk to where Joe told me he lived. I ask for him but neither Joe nor his wife are home.

I get a call from Kenny. He has been in Kampala and is calling to see if I’m in Mukono or Kisoga. I tell him I’m in Kisoga and he tells me to meet him at Mandela. I meet him there a few minutes later. He has things for me.

Last night he called and asked if I wanted him to pick me up anything in Kampala and I was confused and said, “yeah, it’s no problem, sure.”

He pulls out a pair of sandals from his bag and I laugh out loud. They have a strap to go over the foot and one to go over the big toe. They are decorated with hair/fur.. “Do you like them?”

I realize they are not a joke, and say that I love them. Haha. African style is crazy. Then he takes of his bracelet and gives it to me and pulls out a matching necklace. They are tiny beads in African colors. I tell him he can have the necklace and I’ll keep the bracelet. Then he gets out two apples and a chocolate bar.

Kenny is building a house in Kampala for his eventual family. I find out that he doesn’t have a pregnant girlfriend like he said when I first met him. He thinks it’s hilarious that I don’t understand why he told me that. Ha. He buys me a soda and we sit with his roommate and talk about a reggae singer in South Africa who was shot last night.

I walk to the Kisoga trading center to get a taxi and there are two. Obviously I want the one that is leaving first. I walked towards the parked one, because the one that was moving looked like it was leaving. Then the conductor called me over, so I started to walk past the first taxi and that conductor grabbed my arm.

I ripped his hands off of me and told him not to touch me. People in the trading center burst out laughing and muzungu this muzungu that. The conductor of the other taxi gave me a seat of honor in the front.

Then we sit for fifteen minutes after the first taxi drives off towards Mukono. Whatever.

In Mukono, I’m walking out of the taxi park and I’m just a little late for my 4pm appointment with Frank. So I consider a boda boda. I ask the first driver how much to the Mormon church and he tells me 500. I’ll walk. Then the boda next to him calls me over as if he won’t charge me that much. “How much?” I ask.

“2000.” I can’t even help it, I laugh right in his face so loud and then walk away as I’m still laughing and then with my second breath let out a big, “Wooooooo!” – Ugandan style. The driver laughs sheepishly as everyone else around him laughs. I walk towards church.

The young men have an activity today at church. They are playing football (soccer). Frank’s pretty good. They go inside for lunch. They’re having typical Uganda food, along with this “egg roll” that I’ve never had before. It is a boiled egg that has been packed in the middle of mashed potatoes and then wrapped in .. something else. I’ve forgotten what it is. Looks delicious, but there are no more left.

I teach Frank and another kid from church, Martin. (not the same Martin that wanted dance lessons in Kololo..) I teach them about shutter speed and aperture and how the two work together to give a photo the proper exposure.

It’s helpful to have my digital SLR there, so I can show them right away the difference between f/stops.

We are in a classroom at church and I am writing with chalk. After about 20 – 30 minutes Frank says he is going to go pray. “Pray? Where? Now, like as a closing prayer?”

“No outside!”

Then I realize he means he’s going to go play outside. We end the lesson and the two go outside to play more football. I take photos of them outside.

I walk with Paul from church into town. I’m going to go use the internet. I ask him about how church members here deal with the cultural view of women in Buganda, and the doctrine of the church that husbands and wives are equal partners. He says that the church definitely has a different culture about woman and I correct him. Women’s place in our church is not cultural but doctrinal. He likes the church’s view of women and says that the rising generation in Uganda aren’t as strict as their grandparents were.

Traditionally woman in the Buganda tribe are never allowed to sit in chairs. They always have to sit on the floor. Every time they see a man they have to kneel as a greeting and sign of respect. Women are not allowed to eat chicken. etc. etc..

I’m in the internet café for three hours. I’m not finished, but decide its time to leave just as Meghan shows up with the others to pick me up. We go grocery shopping. I buy a basin and some bleach to wash my own dishes and to bathe. I get my boxes of milk and juice and a thing of Pringles.

I’m going to get home and be perfectly OK with drinking powdered milk. In the mornings I have these boxes of milk, which are warm, and I still think they are delicious. The only flavor that I’ll never get again is bubblegum. I had to try it at least once. Other than that, chocolate, strawberry, vanilla and especially banana are delicious.

I’m staying with Mike and Dan. Mike is the first or second counselor in the branch presidency at church. I think he’s about my age. I can’t see much when we get to their house because it’s dark, but it smells so good. They have flowers blooming in their yard and perfectly shaped trees and hedges in their garden.

Mike and Dan’s room has two beds and a refrigerator (only used for storage). A picture of President Hinckley hangs above Mike’s bed. Dan is sleeping in his brother’s room next door. Their family’s house is two building facing each other. Each room’s door leads outside to the little courtyard.

The brothers are next door watching WWE wrestling on a black and white TV. I go inside and watch the snowy picture and laugh out loud. They ask my if it’s real or fake. I laugh some more. I tell them people will still argue about it, but it’s definitely fake. Dan is very satisfied with this answer.

I stay up talking to Mike about his mission. He served in Johannesburg, South Africa. I ask when was the last time he’s been to the Temple. He tells me it has been two years. I can’t believe it and tell him I’m having a hard time being away for three months. He says we are so lucky in the States because we have temples everywhere. I tell him maybe someday there’ll be one in Uganda. I hope so.

Enough

2007-10-19T19:11:00.000+03:00

I grade papers all day. On my boda ride home I pass Kate walking in the opposite direction holding hands with a little girl in a purple dress.

Walking around the corner to the door of the white house I pass Carol who smiles but does not look happy. I ask her what is the matter. She says she is fine, but with a little more asking, her eyes start to water, “I have been throwing up too much.” She closes her eyes and rests her head on the side of the building.

I was told not to touch any of the kids, but I don’t care and I rub her back and let her know everything is going to work out because she’s on the right medicine and she has the nurses looking after her. Marilyn comes around the corner and I ask her to come talk to Carol. Marilyn puts her arm around Carol to guide her to where the nurses say. She looks over Carol’s shoulder on the way and mouths to me, “Go wash you hands.”

It is dark outside. I’m in the living room reading when I hear someone breathing loud and shallow. I get up to see if someone is in trouble. I see the nurses standing outside of the spare room. Festus and Lydia just put Carol on the bed.

She is shivering and breathing really quickly. Her eyes are have closed. She is in pain. Marilyn goes in and wraps her in sheets and blankets and rubs her arms and legs to warm her up. Fran takes her pulse and temperature.

Lydia stands outside. I can see in her face that she is not happy in the least, which is uncommon for her. I stand outside with her and realize there is nothing I can do. Marilyn soothes Carol with calm whispered words.

“Enough! This is too much! These kids have enough to deal with as it is!” I think these things as I go back to the living room and sit with my head in my hands. Festus walks by and tries to sound lighthearted.

When I don’t meet his cheery greeting, he nods his head and says, “You see. This is Africa. We have typhoid…” His sentence is muffled as he goes into his bedroom.

All I can do is pray for Carol. So I go in my room and plead for her health.

We are eating dinner. Carol has fallen asleep after throwing up. The nurses gave her some medicine for nausea. They don’t want to give her the Typhoid medicine until they know she is going to keep it down. The nurses say she will be OK. She felt a little better because of the medicine so she went to town last night (at least a mile from the house) and then to school today.

Kate comes home with the little girl I saw her with. Her name is Nabukenya. She is very quiet and sits nicely in Marilyn’s lap as Kate gets her dinner. Nabukenya’s mother is a woman who was tested positive for HIV when they were on the fishing village trip. They tested little Nabukenya as well and she is also positive.

The mother says that the girl is four years old, but she is so small and I would guess she was two. The mother, Sarah, is sick and in the hospital in Ntenjeru. Erin is staying with her all night. They think she might have TB or Malaria.

Lydia fixes Nabukenya some food and sits her on the floor. The more I watch her the cuter she gets. She breaks off a chunk of matoke and dips it in the sauce and puts it in her mouth.

After dinner, Kate takes of Nabukenya’s dress and you can see that her stomach is huge. With her dress on, it just looks like healthy baby stomach, but now I can see it is malnutrition.

I go into the bedroom and get one of the books that were donated. Princess and the Flea, I think it’s about a dog who wants to be princess and a flea helps her somehow. The little girl didn’t know what to do with the book. I showed her how to flip the pages. She acted like she didn’t care, but after I sat back down and started eating, she stated flipping through.

I visit her later when Kate is trying to get her to sleep. I talk with her for a few seconds and she starts to cry and swats the air for me to leave. I try not to take it personally and go to my room. Ha.

Do American's Really Visit Bushes?

2007-10-18T19:10:00.000+03:00

I rearranged my room today. My table stands under my window and if someone were to pry the window open, they could easily grab things and pull them out. Someone did this to Erin in her kitchen. They took a box of cereal, which is not easy to come by here. A box of cereal here costs almost $10 USD.

Not only is it safer to move my table, I like rearranging rooms. My room is small. It feels like a new place with the bed on the other wall.

After doing the work I assigned them in class, I work with the S2 students to “brainstorm” (I have to explain what this term means) on a letter they will write to Inverness Middle School, one of the schools I substitute taught at in Florida. I ask them to raise their hand and I will write a question they have for those students on the board. I have a girl in the first row copy the questions into my notebook.

I don’t tell the kids, but the same questions they ask, they will have to answer about themselves in the letter they write to Florida.

These are the questions that were asked:

Do Americans take tests?

What subjects do you study?

How long does it take to finish school?

Which level is your last?

How many languages do you use at school?

What are your favorite subjects?

Do you study sciences? Which ones?

Do your teachers cane you?

Do you hold debates at school?

Do you play sports or games?

What do you eat for lunch at school?

How many classes do you have?

What is your climate like?

Do you have clans or tribes?

How many hours are you at school everyday?

In America, how many children does the average family have?

How do you get to school?

How much are your school fees?

At what age do you start having boyfriends and girlfriends?

At what age do you get married?

Do you celebrate your birthdays?

Do Americans celebrate Christmas?

Do American teachers get paid?

Do Americans have banks?

Do Americans dance the Calypso?

Do Americans elect their presidents?

What kind of desks do you use at school?

Do Americans have traditional dances?

Do Americans suffer from AIDS or STDs?

Do Americans use condoms?

How do Americans protect themselves from AIDS?

Do you have jackfruit?

Do you have pineapple?

Are there monkeys in America?

Do Americans grow crops or farm?

Do Americans wear flip flops?

What kind of clothes do you wear?

Do you wear school uniforms?

Do Americans have ghosts?

Do Americans really visit bushes? (camping)

Everyone is back by dinner. It is nice to have everyone back. Lydia is happy to see me and gives me a hug. I am happy that they are here. I felt like the place was a few seconds from total chaos.. Lord of the Flies and everything. I’m glad Lydia is back and can tell Dora what is happening and that we do not hate her cooking, but did not want her to cook that night because of the Typhoid stuff.

At dinner Kate fills us in on the trip. They stayed with this guy who owns a large banana farm, who with the money he makes, takes care of twenty orphans, paying their school fees and feeding them along with his own wife and family.

It is good to hear things like that.

No Tea and Quiet Knocking

2007-10-17T19:01:00.000+03:00

Jeff, Kelley, and Mom leave today for Tanzania. They are going to hike to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. How crazy! It sounds so great. Kelley has a bit of a cold, and they won’t let you go to the top if you’re sick. So we’re all hoping she gets better before they start their climb.

Today I am supposed to go to my S2 class first, and then my S1. I have forgotten and spend someone else’s class time, teaching the kids using the posters I had made. It is really successful. This method gives me the ability to go from group to group and work with only eight children at a time, instead of 77.

I am really frustrated with one group though. Not one person in the group knew how to even begin answering the problem. I called over this really clever guy to come help them out. I don’t think they understand much of my English

I go into the teacher’s lounge and have a piece of bread. They have bread and tea for breakfast at the school. Sometimes they have cassava. I look on the schedule they have posted to make sure what time I’m suppose to be in my S2 class. This is when I realize what I have done. The teachers in the room laugh because they know what I have done. The headmaster says it’s OK and helps to figure out how I can still have my math lesson for the S2s.

After we have everything figured out, Moses says, pointing to Joe, “You’ve turned him into a Mormon, by the way. He has refused to take tea.”

“He’s turning himself into whatever he’s turning into, I haven’t made him do anything.”

Moses laughs and Joe smiles as he eats his bread. “I can have Soya Cup though!” Soya Cup is a coffee substitute made from soy beans.

I talk to Marilyn about how things are going at the white house with the kids. She complains that they aren’t taking things seriously enough. She says, “Hopefully no one else gets sick, but at least we’ve all had our vaccinations.”

“… I don’t have mine.”

“What! Oh, Adam.. oh dear.” Marilyn is worried for me and says it’s foolish that I haven’t had the vaccination. She tells me to be so careful, to not touch any of the children and to wash my hands frequently. I tell her that every time I use the latrine I wash my hands with soap and water and then wipe my hands with the anti-bacterial wipes that I have brought.

Later at night, Marilyn comes to me and tells me that her and Fran have been thinking and they suggest that I buy my own basin and start doing my own dishes because Typhoid is transmitted through water, and we’re not sure in what way they clean the dishes. Also, they want me from now on to only use bottled water, instead of the boiled water they provide for us in the living room.

My family is going to flip out when they hear about this.

I am alone in the white house tonight. Everyone is still in the fishing villages and Jeff, Kelley and Mom left this afternoon. It’s kind of fun with the place to myself. I’ve been using the Volset office all week by myself. It was nice to spread out and have a place to work and think.

In the middle of the night, as usual, I have to use the bathroom so badly. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but since I’ve been here I will wake up at least once, usually twice, in the night to use the bathroom. And it’s not a simple walk down the hallway either. I have to unlock the solid metal door and walk under the stars to the latrine and try to aim in the dark.

I thought maybe something was wrong with me, but every Westerner I’ve talked to has the same problem. We all have different theories as to why this is happening. I thought maybe it was the doxicycline.. which I blame for most of the problems I have here. Jeff is convinced it is our proximity to the equator. Though, the most plausible idea is that we eat right before we sleep, and with our medications we have to drink a full glass of water. At home, we usually have about three or four hours after dinner before we go to sleep.

Anyway, so it’s about 2:30 AM and I get up to use the bathroom. To unlock the metal door there are two metal bars that slide into holes in the wall. Sliding them into the unlock position is usually pretty loud. I slide the top one and it makes a loud clank. I hear footsteps running quickly by the door right outside. Usually Simba and Vicky, the dogs, are outside running around, but this is clearly the sound of a human.

I freeze and listen. I don’t hear anything and assume that this person must have run to hide. I think of this crazy woman who has been, for the past couple of days, sitting on our porch. I also think of one of the many guys that walk down the path with machetes. I slide the lock back in place and go to my room.

Right as I’m finish peeing in an empty water bottle, I hear a very quiet knocking on the door. They might as well been banging on the door. Quiet knocking on a door at 2:30 in the morning is just as scary. It suggests, “I know that you are inside and that you are awake, so I do not need to knock loudly. I know you can hear me.”

I stand very still and listen for more. There is nothing. I think of the locks on the door and reassure myself that they are strong. I wish there was a way of locking my bedroom door from the inside. I listen for any attempt by the person outside to get in, but hear nothing. I am never going outside to use the bathroom at night again. I am so tired and after two minutes can’t help but to fall back asleep.

Typhoid Outbreak

2007-10-16T19:01:00.000+03:00

Walking to the office from school I run into Kelley and her mom. They took Carol to a place in Mukono today to see why she is ill. It turns out she has Typhoid. They put her on some antibiotics. They ask me if I’ve ever heard of the medicine. I haven’t. They are going to ask the nurses when they get back.

I work on my lesson plans in the office. I’m buying posters and putting math problems on the top. Tomorrow I’m going to split the classes into groups. They will figure out the problem, write it out and present it to the class for their approval. This way, the kids who have no problem understanding me or math can help those students who don’t really understand me, or the math.

I come home and little Wasswa is scream-crying in his yard across from ours. His arm is bleeding near his elbow where a scab has reopened. It’s pretty big. I go across the street to ask the nurses if I can use a pair of their latex gloves.

The nurses have gathered everyone into the front yard. They have paper and pen and they are holding a seminar. I ask Kelley what’s going on.

“There’s a Typhoid outbreak. Three more kids were tested today in Mukono and they all had it.”

When I met with the health department I was told that I should get five specific vaccinations. I could only afford three. I chose to exclude Hep B and Typhoid.

I think about this as I cross the street and tend to Wasswa, who screams bloody murder when I clean his wound. I finally let him go and he ran into the kitchen/hut. His brother, Kato went to get him, but he was screaming so much and it was getting dark that I told Kato to let him go. I gave him a bandaid and showed him how he should put it on Wasswa’s arm.

The nurses are teaching the children about how Typhoid is transmitted and what must be done to prevent it from spreading to everyone. This disease is spread through feces and water. None of the kids drink boiled water. From now on they have to use clean drinking water and wash their hands. They are not to share any food or plates or silverware. The silverware thing won’t be much of a problem, because they eat with their hands. Which is obviously how they got the sickness.

Fran and Marilyn are supposed to go with the others into the fishing villages to teach this week, but they are staying behind to sort all this stuff out. I can’t imagine what would have happened if they weren’t here.

I hope I don’t get Typhoid.

I talk to the nurses and they tell me news about Mabel. She does not have pneumonia, malaria, or anything wrong with her head. The doctor says it was “hysteria.”

What? Hysteria? What the heck is that supposed to mean. The doctor suggests she gets counseling on dealing with stress. She is at home with her parents and is coming to stay again at the dorm in a few days.

Africa is so weird.

The nurses and who ever else was home told Dora and everyone not to cook, that we will eat in Ntenjeru. I wish they would have called me and told me. I was craving a rolex, but thought I should save room so I could eat dinner.

Poor Dora, the 20 year old girl who helps Lydia around the white house, doesn’t understand much English at all. All the chaos from the Typhoid scare is probably really confusing for her. I go into the kitchen and Carol is making chapati.

I ask what in the world she is doing. I told her that she has a sickness that is contagious and is transmitted through things like the hands. She is kneading dough and if the chapati isn’t fully cooked, a person can easily get typhoid from her. I tell her I’m not trying to make her feel bad, but she was told not to be in the kitchen.

The nurses have food in their rooms, and Kelley’s mom isn’t hungry. Jeff, Kelley, and I set out for Ntenjeru in the dark. When we get to the bottom of the hill Jeff mentions that there is pasta at home. We love pasta and decide it will be an easy meal that we can cook for ourselves.

Cooking at home is different from cooking here. The kitchen is a room with dirt floors and chickens. There are small clay stoves on the ground with some charcoal. I ask Dora for some help and she gets the charcoal going and adds water to a pot. They make pasta here like we make hamburger helper.. just enough water to cook the pasta.

I cut up two tomatoes and an onion and mix it with some solid cooking oil called “Cowboy.” I pour in one package of noodles in the pot. Jeff and I are so hungry so we pour in one more package. This is way too much pasta and it hardly fits in the pot.

At this time, words has gotten out that Jeff and Adam are cooking in the kitchen. All the kids crowd in the doorway and some inside the kitchen to watch us and yell out pointers. Jeff tells them that if we were home he’d make pasta so good it would make them cry. They thought it was the funniest thing that I didn’t add any salt to what I was cooking.

I tell the kids to get away because they all have Typhoid. They laugh and laugh and now it’s the biggest joke here to accuse each other as having Typhoid. And to say things like, “Good Night, Adam. See you in the morning you have Typhoid.”

“OK, goodnight Dorothy Typhoid, have a good Typhoid night.”

I heat up the sauce I made, melting the cooking oil and sautéing the tomato and onion a bit. The noodles are very soggy and starchy. I wish I could rinse them, but I’d have to cook some more water. (They call boiling water, cooking water here.) It already took about an hour for this water to boil, so we are just going to have to deal with starchy noodles.

We’ve made too much, so I have all the kids get their plates. I slop the extra noodles onto different colored plates, lids, and cups that the kids use for eating. As much as they made fun of Jeff and me, they’re plenty eager to try our food.

I bring the food inside the white house and Jeff, Kelley, and I eat while watching some Strangers With Candy on my laptop. Good times…

Whose Paying Money To Be Here?

2007-10-15T21:22:00.000+03:00

Zam Zam, one of the teachers, comes into my class to send home all the children who have not paid their fees. They are supposed to leave and come back with the money. Half of my class leaves. I review homework and teach them the definition of the word “motivation.” As in, “When you don’t do your homework, I loose my motivation for being here.”

In my S2 class they were being a bit unruly. Exactly the same way middle schoolers are in the states. I was tired of talking over them so I just stopped and sat in my stool. Eventually I wrote on the board, “Whose time are you wasting?”

They get quiet. “Am I paying money to be here?” I ask.

“No.”

“Are you paying money to be here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.. So it’s not my time you’re wasting, it’s yours? OK..”

That seemed to do the trick. Michael Clarke, the director of the Career Awareness Program that I worked for in New York, use to say the same thing. (not about paying..) “You can talk all day if you want, you’re not wasting my time. This camp is for you.”

I get home and go straight to the nurses’ room to ask them how Mabel is. They are in the same clothes as last night; they just got back and are getting situated. They tell me that both of Mabel’s parents are watching after her in Kampala. They are happy with the doctor that is tending to her. They are testing her, but are pretty sure that she has pneumonia. They are also testing her for malaria and giving her a cat scan later today.

Frank, Kenny, and Mabel

2007-10-14T21:13:00.000+03:00

Jeff and I leave Nsumba around 8am. Kelley has been in Kampala for the last couple of days because her mom has come to visit. We are meeting them both at church. When we almost reach Kisoga I call Kenny to see if he’s coming. He meets me at the matatu. The other guys have things to do today and can’t make it.

Jeff is wearing the traditional outfit for Buganda men. It sounds like people are laughing at him, but Kenny says that they are all saying he is the king and that he looks smart.

As church starts, Frank (the 13 year old who was baptized two weeks ago) walks inside. He waves and comes to sit next to me. He says he was waiting for me on Saturday. He thought we were meeting. I laugh and tell him that I meant some Saturday, not last one. But we make plans for this Saturday at 4pm. I’m going to bring my camera and give him a photography lesson. He wants to be a photographer when he grows up.

I remember that this Sunday he’ll be getting confirmed. During the opening prayer my heart starts beating and I feel like I should ask Frank if I can stand in the circle as he gets confirmed. Of course he says I can.

They call him up to the front of the congregation and ask the Elders to come up as well. I make eye contact with the Branch President and ask if it’s OK to stand in the circle. He nods yes. When we get to the front, Frank sits in the chair they’ve set up and then no one is sure who is giving the blessing.

One of the missionaries asks him who he would like to give him the blessing and he points to me. “Me?” I am surprised and someone in the front row suppresses a laugh at my shock. Frank just smiles.

I say a quick little prayer and get ready for the blessing. I place my right hand lightly on his head and the other elders place theirs on top of mine. We bow our heads and I confirm Frank a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and give him the Gift of the Holy Ghost, followed by blessings of truth and knowledge, righteous exemplary living from a relationship with Jesus Christ and success in his life.

I am happy to have the opportunity to serve Frank in this way.

During the closing of the meeting, I remember that Kenny was asking me about the Priesthood and the ability to give someone the Spirit. After the closing prayer I explain to Kenny that I had just used the authority he was asking about.

I teach him the difference between the power of the Holy Ghost and the gift of the Holy Ghost. I explain that everyone can feel the power of the Holy Ghost when they learn something true, that it’s a feeling of peace or a sort of burning in your chest. I tell him the feeling comes, but it doesn’t stay. I tell him that now Frank has the gift of the Holy Ghost, which is the right to have that feeling stay with him always. He doesn’t ever have to feel lonely because he has the Holy Ghost as a constant companion, and He will let Frank know the truth of all things.

After church I meet Kelley’s mom, Jamie. It is so fun to meet her. You can definitely see the resemblance. We walk around Mukono and she looks like she’s been here for ages.

Jeff, Kelley and Mom are going to Hilton High School to visit Lois, a girl that Jamie sponsors. Lois is Apollo’s daughter. (The man who gives me sugarcane). Kenny and I catch a taxi to Kisoga. He wants to show me where he stays. His construction company is staying at the Mandela.

We get there and I see that it’s the same place that Joe and I came a few weeks ago to watch music videos and play pool. There is a girl working there who is hanging out of her spaghetti strapped top. She is giggling with one of the construction workers. I hope she’s not a prostitute. I remember her from before, and I didn’t think that. I hope she is only flirting with this one guy and they’re a couple or something.

Two engineers come to talk to Kenny and get some papers from him. We follow them out front to a truck out front. It’s like a miniature lorry. Kenny grabs the keys and asks the engineer if he can borrow the truck to take me back to Nsumba.

This is so much better than a matatu. I laugh as we barrel down the road. People do double takes and stare when they see me in the front seat. I tell Kenny how in America we drive on the other side of the road and the steering wheel would be right in front of me instead. He drives me right to the white house. I show him around the place and then he has to leave to get the truck back to the engineers.

When Jeff, Kelley and Mom get back home we go for a hike. The day before Jeff found a trail past the one we took when we gave Harriet the mosquito nets. He says you can see out for miles.

We hike as the day winds down. Kelley’s mom wants to get back before it starts getting dark to avoid the mosquitoes. Some monkeys jump from tree to tree as we pass under them. We get to the top of the hill or mountain a half hour before sunset. Jamie and Kelley head back before Jeff and me.

We stay behind and take more pictures. We take turns climbing up a massive termite mound to get our picture taken over looking the amazing view. We can see out to Lake Victoria and the large bit of grass marsh on the shore. Someone in the jungle has a fire going. The smoke rises above the trees.

Kate, Marilyn, Fran and I are sitting after dinner talking in the living room about Mormon theology on the purpose of life. Kelley comes in and tells the nurses that Mabel is in the dorm having a sort of seizure and they need their help.

We rush out of the house and into the dorm. Some of the kids are crowding around Mabel. She has very shallow breathing and she’s sort of moaning with each breath. We ask what has happened and get inconsistent answers. We find out that she has fallen, but can’t get a straight answer whether she fell before or after her breathing was like this.

The girls are trying to get a shirt on Mabel. She has a shawl covering her chest, she must have just come from a bath. We tell them that they can’t put a shirt over her head, because there could be neck injuries.

Mabel’s father is there. He is going to take her on a boda boda to the hospital. We say absolutely not. She is semi-conscious and could have a head/neck injury. We ask if we can get a taxi and Lydia says there is none. Marilyn asks, “What about the matatu next door? Don’t you think he would drive us to the hospital if we paid him?” Lydia runs and arranges a ride.

We look for something flat to put Mabel on that will support her back. The only thing we can find is a board from a pile by the latrine. We bring it in as the father and Lydia are trying to move Mabel. We shout for them to stop so we can get her on the board, but they will not listen to us and just pick her up with her head dangling.

The nurses and I exchange crazed looks. We are so helpless! What is the use of having nurses if you won’t listen to their advice? I hop into the taxi with the nurses, Lydia, the Father and driver. The radio is blasting. This is just like when Carol fainted. We speed into town and instead of going to a hospital we stop a nurse’s station on the other side of the house Erin lives in.

I help lift her out of the taxi and into a room in the back. The heavyset nurse comes in and lifts Mabel’s eyelids. She takes her pulse and blood pressure. She yanks off the shawl covering her chest and starts pushing into her stomach. She vigorously massages her chest in a circular motion and Mabel gets loader with her short shallow moans.

I have diverted my eyes out of respect for Mabel’s privacy. Why is the driver in the room with us, shamelessly staring at the whole process? Lydia covers Mabel when the nurse finishes. Mabel’s blood pressure is very high (or low.. I can’t remember)

The nurse gives her two injections. One is valium and the other is to help the fever that she doesn’t have. “She has a history of fever. That is what her father said.”

I can’t believe it. “Her father doesn’t live with her, how can he possibly know. Lydia knows everything about this girl, you should ask her.”

She stills gives her the injection. The nurses and I make sure that she is using a new needle and cleans the area before she gives the shot.

We are helpless. She needs oxygen. She needs a doctor.

The valium calms her down a bit and she isn’t moaning as loudly. Marilyn tries to talk to her and get a response. I pray for her very hard. I realize it’s the only thing I can do, to just continually pray for her. My mom calls me. I go outside to tell her I can’t talk, but to please pray for this girl Mabel. Our connection is bad, but she hears my request and says she will pray and put her name in the Temple.

After a few minutes, her eyes have opened and she is looking around, but still she has shallow breathing and makes no response to Marilyn. The nurses are called into the other room and I kneel a the bed and tell Mabel that she will be OK and we are going to get her to a hospital. I tell her she needs to calm down and breath in very deep and slow. I ask her to squeeze my hand if she can hear me. Her hand remains motionless in mine.

The driver wants 50,000sh to go to Kampala, plus gas. The nurses don’t even think twice. But their money is back in Nsumba. We get into the taxi to go home. Mabel’s father stays behind, her mother is on the way. Why is she living at the white house if she has both parents and they live in Ntenjeru? We decide it’s not important to ask that now. Lydia and I get dropped off at home and the nurses leave to escort Mabel and her family to Kampala.

Why are all these accidents happening? Does this kind of thing happen all the time? I’ve been here for a month and a half and this just seems like one thing after the other all the sudden. Lydia says it isn’t like this usually. She looks so stressed. I tell her that she is doing a good job.

The kids held a prayer and song session for Mabel while we were away.

Stomping Around the Jungle

2007-10-13T21:12:00.000+03:00

It’s Saturday. I have laundry to do so I go outside. There isn’t any water in the barrels. This is strange because there is usually always water. I get two jerry cans and head down to the well. At the bottom of the hill I see the kids from across the street. Wasswa, Nakato. They have small jerry cans.

If you are a twin in Uganda your name is either Wasswa or Kato if you are a boy and Babedia or Nakato if you are a girl. The woman across the street has had three consecutive sets of twins. But the oldest Kato is alone; his twin died.

“Ogambaki? Ngende ku maz” (What’s the news? I’m going to water. - The best sentence I can construct to say where I’m going.)

They follow me down the path towards the well. Another young kid, Eric joins us on the trail. Usually when we are playing in the front yard I am speaking English and they are shy. Now Wasswa is talking up a storm to me but all in Luganda. Eric says he is 9 years old, but I don’t know if I believe him. Wasswa and Nakato are six.

On the way to the water the kids call me off the trail to a tree. The first branch is about eight feet up. Wasswa puts his jerry can down and climbs the trunk until he reaches the branches. “Jackfruit.” Nakato says, pointing to the large green fruit hanging randomly in the middle of a branch.

Wasswa reaches it and barely gives it a tap and starts his way back down the tree. He does this in two more trees. Just barely tapping the fruit. I’m guessing it is only good when it falls right off the tree. I imagine the kids must check the same fruits everyday on the way to the well.

I lean on the tree and rub against some ball of black stuff. I get black powder on me and brush it off. Wasswa sees and hurries down the tree to grab the ball. He rips it open and sucks out the juice. Then he goes all around the tree picking off these black pieces of ?fruit.

Nakato stays on the bottom with me. She picks up the fruit as Wasswa drops them and squeezes any remaining juice onto her hand to look at it before she licks it up.

“Tugenda, Tugenda.” (Let’s go, Let’s go.)

We start towards the well again. The kids take turns wearing my sunglasses. Then I take off running down the hill and the kids scream and laugh, following me to the bottom.

The well is really a metal pipe coming out of a small concrete wall. The first time I was at the well the water was muddy in a pool around the well. This time the water makes a crystal clear stream out into the jungle.

I fill up the two jerry cans and start exploring the stream. Wasswa and Eric follow me and we stomp all around the jungle. They call me over to the other side of the stream to catch a trail further down the hill. We come to a place that the water flows down over some rocks. We climb around the rocks, following the stream. Wasswa and Eric show me the small minnows in the stream and try to catch some.

I tell them we should look for monkeys. We run up a trail, passing a few people going to the well. I hope Nakato is guarding my jerry cans. We were going up a trail when Wasswa said, “snake.” What? Where? But we just kept going. I don’t’ think he saw one. Maybe he had seen one there before. I never hear about anyone seeing snakes here.

After making it to higher ground – a clearing in the jungle, I suggest we go back and I start to run. The kids laugh and follow me all the way back to the well. Nakato is there with Kato, who has come to fill up his jerry can.

We start back up the hill to Nsumba. You can see the muscle definition in Eric’s arms. The little guy is buff - all those trips up and down the hill to the well. On the way home I take a few breaks. Sometimes the kids call for breaks. Finally we reach the white house. The kids want to play duck-duck-goose, but I tell them I have to do laundry.

I pour each jerry can into a tub – one for the wash, one for the rinse. We have Omo, powdered detergent. Usually I wash my clothes with a bar of detergent soup. I scrub my clothes and the water turns orange. You would never know the clothes were as dirty as they were until you see the water they were washed in. Omo smells like detergent at home.

I’m hanging my clothes when I realize that I’ve lost some of my vision. I don’t’ know for sure if I really have, so I go inside to read a book, which I can’t do usually when I lose some sight. But I realize that it’s only the bottom half of my left eye’s sight that is missing.

This means I’m going to get a migraine. I realize that I haven’t had much water. The night before I hardly drank anything at dinner because I’m tired of using the bathroom twice in the middle of the night. (Which everyone does here. We don’t know why it happens. In America we never get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, but here we about wet the bed every night.)

I take some ibuprofen and a liter of water and try to get some sleep. I only sleep for an hour or two. When I wake up my head is sensitive, but no big pain or anything. I talk to the nurses when they get home about how this is my second migraine. After talking to them, I realize that I need to be drinking more water.

Cheese and Crackers

2007-10-12T21:11:00.000+03:00

I’m at the Volset office just in time for lunch. The nurses, Kate, and Erin are all preparing for the upcoming fishing village trip. Festus is helping them translate into Luganda and Lydia works on some finances in the back room. There is a trip planned for one of the fishing villages on Lake Victoria. We are going to do voluntary HIV testing, and some seminars on HIV, urinary tract infection, STDs, nutrition, and hygiene.

They go to the restaurant for lunch, and I go to get some rolexes and meet them there. The rolex guy isn’t there so I walk back and run into a muzungu. Ntenjeru is no where near large enough for there to be another muzungu that we don’t know about.

Her name is Kim and she’s come with another Ugandan, Carol. They are visiting from further down Katosi Road. She is from Buffalo, NY and I ask her if she knows Joe Tripi. (She knows a Brian Tripi) I take her to the restaurant. She is friendly and talks to us about life in Africa. She’s been here for almost a month. She doesn’t have any other Westerners in her village and I can tell she’s happy to have us to talk to.

The beans today are so good. They are lighter than the regular beans and it tastes like they were cooked in chicken broth. I mention it and right away the nurses say, “Yes! Aren’t they delicious?” We talk about how funny it is that we eat beans everyday so when there is the slightest change, we’re thrilled.

At home later in the afternoon, Kate and I hang out with the nurses in their rooms and talk about how crazy it is here. They serve cheese and crackers. So good. Their place feels like a home.

Jackfruit

2007-10-11T21:10:00.000+03:00

I started asking my classes everyday for a new Luganda word or phrase. This way, I will be getting pretty good just in time to go home and forget everything. Mwete gese? Are you ready? Mukwano gwange. My friend.

I’m in the office with Zam Zam and Joe. Zam Zam is tending to her baby boy who sleeps in the Headmaster’s office when she is teaching. She is married to a Christian, but she is Muslim. It comes up somehow in Joe and Zam Zam’s conversation that he goes to church on Sunday. She asks him if he is a Christian and he says that he is.

“Which kind of Christian are you then? There are many you know? Catholic, Protestant, Born Again…”

Joe answers, “Well, they call us Mormons, but we are really the Church of Christ.”

Then he invites her to come see what it’s about on Sunday. She says she would first like to learn about it before she goes, so that she doesn’t embarrass herself.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” Joe explains, “This church is for everybody, it is a very nice church, you can just come and it’s OK.”

I’m smiling through this entire conversation. Joe and I head towards Ntenjeru together. I ask him, “So, do you consider yourself a member of our church?”

“Yes, I want to be baptized.”

On the way to his taxi I explain to him what it means to make a covenant with God and what the specific promises are that you make when being baptized. I tell him about the Word of Wisdom and that he will have to be married to his wife. He nods his head and repeats some of the things I’ve said so he will remember them.

Walking home from school I see Alafua hanging out about 50 yards from the start of the road to Nsumba. I have a whole, very rudimentary, conversation in Luganda:

“Hey Alafua! What have you got to say?” (Alafua! Ogambaki?)

“Nothing, I’m just here.” (Tewali)

“Where are you going?” (Ogenda wa?)

“I’m going home.” (Ngende waka)

“You’re going home? Let’s go.” (Ogende waka? Tugende.) I give him my hand and he leads me up the path he’s sitting by. “Nsumba?” I ask pointing to the trail.

“Yes.” And with that we’re off. He asks me in Luganda for my sunglasses. I take them off and let him wear them for the walk. I can tell he thinks he’s hot stuff, and tries to act nonchalant as we pass kids on the way.

I think that this might be a good shortcut to use from now on. But this road takes us up Nsumba past the white house. I have to track back, but only a bit. I say goodbye to Alafua and take my sunglasses.

I get to the front yard at the same time as a little boy with a giant jackfruit. He has a huge machete and slices the giant thing in half and then smaller pieces. Some of the girls come out of the dorm and hand him 100sh and he gives them some fruit.

I’m impressed by this little businessman and buy myself some jackfruit. Jackfruit is the weirdest edible thing in nature. When you see a jackfruit tree, it just looks like any other tree but it has these large, green, bulbous, spiky fruits hanging from it in odd places. They look like they are pods from an alien planet that has invested a tree.

Inside the fruit there is very sticky sap that is impossible to get off of you. There are these sort of pods surrounded by tentacles? and inside the pods there are seeds. You have to pick out these pods from everything else. Fran says it tastes like a pair and pineapple combined and I agree. But Marilyn says it tastes like a banana and pineapple combined and I agree too.

Jimmy, one of the boys in the dorm, comes over with a bit of school paper and wipes away all the sticky white goo and cuts out the pit that is excreting it. Then he takes half of my fruit and walks away. What? Jeff and I laugh and I let him trot off because I can’t eat the whole thing.

Jeff is against the jackfruit. He refuses to eat, but can’t help and stare at the process of eating one. We talk about how weird the fruit is. I think that’s half the reason I eat it. It is just so weird.

As I finish my last pod, I sneeze. And then I sneeze again, and continue to sneeze for the next five minutes straight. Am I allergic to jackfruit? I had some before, but this is the first time I’ve had this much. I don’t want to be allergic! I’m too fascinated. I stay stuffed up for the rest of the night.

Blessings Come After Obedience

2007-10-10T21:07:00.000+03:00

I have fun teaching today. After class I go outside and see all the S4s meeting in the grass. They have to travel to Mukono to take their final exams. They have mattresses and metal trunks.

The headmaster has a pair of scissors and is telling a girl to come to him. She is looking down and holding her head. He walks up to her and puts the scissors to her head. She fights, but just barely as the headmaster starts cutting her hair in patches.

I ask Richard, “Why in the world is he cutting her hair?” I notice there are more girls with patches cut into their hair sitting in the shade of a tree.

“In Uganda, long hair is only for married women, or if you have finished school.”

“Africa is so crazy.” I shake my head. “This culture is so different from the one I know at home.”

“That would never happen in America?” Richard asks, pointing at the haircut fiasco.

“Absolutely not. In America it is a person’s right to look how they want to look. And if you are part of a school that has a certain dress code, it would never be the principal’s place to cut their hair. They would be disciplined in another way.”

It is true that all the young girls here have short hair just like the boys. And it is so surprising how much hair plays into identifying the gender of adolescents. Luckily the girls all wear skirts, so I can use the correct pronouns.

Now the girls have to go into town to even out their hair before the trip. I think the headmaster wants to make a good impression wherever they are going. The girl’s hair was maybe only an inch and a half.

This situation and my reaction to it lead to another talk about discipline. I talk to Richard and say the same things I said to Julius. That caning is lazy and ineffective compared to other means of discipline. The headmaster hears our conversation and walks up to us.

“I have a problem sometimes,” says the Headmaster, “teachers will send children out of the classroom as punishment. This means they miss their lessons. It is not a good punishment.”

“I agree. I think some of the schools I have seen do not know how to punish now that it is against the law to cane, so they have the students leave school. Sometimes with a disruptive student, especially when they’re laughing, I have them leave the classroom to compose themselves and return two minutes later, but never for the whole class.”

“I had a meeting with my teachers,” says John, the Headmaster, “about discipline and what we can do besides caning.”

I am so impressed. I think it’s great that they are talking about it.

“Most of the teachers think that caning is the most effective way of punishing a student. Because, sometimes we have the children cut the grass.”

Ugandans cut grass using a flat metal rod that is bent just at the end in a 90-degree angle. They swish the rod back and forth, cutting just inches of grass at a time.

“But now this teaches the kids to hate cutting the grass. That is why you see these Africans with bush in their yards, because we’ve made them lazy, by punishing them like this.”

I answer back, “They don’t like cutting grass because it’s not fun. If a person doesn’t cut their grass it’s because they are lazy or busy, not because at one point they were punished. If anything, you are teaching them work ethic and that there are consequences to their actions.”

He looks at me, “Were you never caned in school?”

“Never,” I shake my head, “but I was punished in other ways when I didn’t behave. I went through my whole schooling without being hit by a teacher.” I then explain again the concept of lunch detention, after school detention, extra work, missed privileges, etc.

“It is true, though, that I was spanked plenty of times by my father. But when I think of all the lessons I’ve learned from my father, I can’t think of one that was learned from being spanked.

“For example, I remember one morning when I was younger, my dad asked me to clean my room and I didn’t want to. So I didn’t, and later in the day I was on my way to play outside when my dad stopped me. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

“’I’m going to go play outside!”

“’Oh, sorry, but that is a privilege. You have to earn those, and you have not cleaned your room. Clean your room, and you can go outside.”

“I was so mad. I did not want to clean my room. So I sat in my room and did nothing in protest. Later I wanted to go watch some television. I went out into the living room and was about to turn on the TV. ‘What are you doing?’

“’I’m going to watch TV!’ (My favorite show was coming on).

“’But Adam, that is a privilege. First, clean your room and then you can watch TV.’

“I remember pleading with him, promising that if I could just watch the show coming on that I would clean my room afterwards. I promised up and down but my dad only repeated over and over, ‘That is a privilege. You have to earn it. First, clean your room, then you can have this privilege.’

“This went on all day, until finally I realized that my dad was not going to budge. I cleaned my room and was able to enjoy the small part of the day I had left.

“My dad didn’t make me clean my room by spanking me. He taught me such an important lesson this way - that you have to work in this life for the things you want. Good things come with effort. Blessings come after obedience, not before.

“On the other hand, when I think of the times that my dad has spanked me, the only thing I remember is being spanked. I don’t remember any lessons. I just remember, ‘Oh this is the time he used that ping pong paddle.’ or ‘this is the time I was spanked in front of my cousins and got embarrassed.’

“If my dad would have given me the choice of getting spanked and watching TV or cleaning my room and watching TV I would have said, ‘Hit me!’ The most effective discipline I received growing up was not physical.”

The headmaster shakes his head yes and looks out across the campus, thinking. “You’re right,” he says. “We do not want our students to hate us and that is what happens when we cane them. They fear us. That is not a good environment for a school.”

I walk towards to Volset office to see Erin, Kelley, and the nurses walking towards the school and I remember that on Wednesdays, Erin gives her class on Life Skills. Today she is talking about the immune system and how HIV affects it. I go with the group back to school and the head master says, “Back already!” He laughs and welcomes us to school.

The seminar goes alright. The kids are so shy sometimes and don’t participate. Erin gets annoyed at the lack of responses and the chatting going on in one corner of the room and I just think, “story of my life.” Erin does a good job. The kids are always asking me about Namata.

The seminar ends and we walk outside. The principal gathers all the 190+ students in a big circle. They each hold hands and John stands in the middle to organize a prayer. They are praying for the S4s, who are leaving today to take their exams. S4 exams are so important and determine if the student can continue school. (I think it’s like the FCAT in Florida for 7^th graders and sophomores.)

The headmaster calls everyone to attention. “Our S4s are leaving today for their exams. Let us get quiet. We are going to pray to God.”

Something about the way he specified who they are going to pray to makes me feel good. Kelley and I talk about how great it is that the whole school can support their S4s in this way, and how this could never happen as a school event in the States, and how unfortunate that is.

The day ends and I start my walk back to Nsumba. I think about taking a boda boda but the walk home is a nice time to just think and sing.

I am almost to Nsumba when I pass a steamroller going in reverse. I look up and it’s Kenny, the friend I made a week or two ago. He says hey and I ask how he’s doing and when I’m going to get my driving lesson. He says to hop on up.

I climb up into the cab of the steamroller. There are two other guys already hanging from the roller besides Kenny who is driving. He gets out of his seat and tells me to sit down. He shows me a switch and makes the steamroller accelerate and then there is a joystick which controls the speed you go forward or backward. There is an illustration of a turtle and a rabbit to let you know which way is slow and which is fast.

There is a red button on top of the joystick with starts the roller compression. He tells me to press it and continue the roller backwards. I put my left hand on the steering wheel and turn my body around, resting my right arm on the back of the seat, just like I do in a regular car, and start moving back towards where I came from.

I’m laughing out loud. People in their yards, and passengers in matutus and lorries stare open-mouthed as they pass by and I just smile and wave. We go back and forth on this stretch of road on the roller. Kenny takes over again when it comes to the side of the road because we have to drive on an angle.

As we’re driving we yell out our conversation. Kenny tells me that one of the guys with us wants to become a pastor. He asks about my church and I tell him we don’t have any paid clergy. He says he wants to start a church. He says he wants that power, that you can heal people or give them the Spirit. He says he’s trying to find it. “Do you know how to get that power?”

I tell him that a man can’t give the power to himself – that it has to be given to him from someone who has authority already to act in the name of God. I tell him that I have that authority and I received it from my Father.

“How do I get it?”

I tell him if I were him I would go to the church and figure out for myself if what is being taught is true or not and if the church really is the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. “If you find it to be true, then you know where to get that priesthood authority.”

He is coming to church on Sunday. The other guys say they want to come too.

We drive almost to Nsumba and Kenny points out his boss. I ask him if I should get off the roller so he doesn’t get in trouble. He says not to worry about it. The boss calls him over and Kenny leaves the others and me on the roller for a minute. He comes back and I ask if he’s in trouble. “What? No, keep driving, he doesn’t mind.”

We pass by a moto-grater. It’s a long machine with a sled between the wheels that can be moved and different angles. It scoops dirt from the edge of the road and puts it in the middle of the road for the steamroller. It slows down as it passes by us to say hi and ask if I wanted a turn on that machine.

I hop on and ride for miles as he plows through the bush beside the road. And he lets me drive on the way back to Nsumba with the sled up.

I have photos to prove it.

8 Hours.

2007-10-09T21:06:00.000+03:00

Today is Independence Day in Uganda. October 9^th, 1962 – 45 years. Unique High School, where all the kids that live in the dorms go that are in secondary school, has a celebration/performance that the kids are putting on for their parents.

More than a few kids last night came up to me and the others to invite us to the school to act as their parents. They have been practicing for a while and last night they were dancing around and very excited about the performance. Rita explained to us that there are four houses and they are competing before a judge tomorrow and the winning team gets a goat. They can keep the goat to produce or kill it and have a big party.

We are told to arrive at 10am and we should know better. In Africa time, 10am really means 1pm. We sit inside a classroom for three hours in the small desks, waiting for the other parents and “guest of honor” – the judge. Two boys decorate the chalkboard to welcome the guests. We are impressed at their skill. Marilyn and Fran (and I) take a picture of the boys in front of their artwork.

While we are waiting, they have hooked up a television for or viewing pleasure. Music video after music video of Michael Jackson. I’m pretty excited actually because I think old school MJ is great. Don’t ever say MJ again. The videos were good except the one with Lisa Presley and Michael Jackson.. pretty disturbing.

Then they play Uganda music videos, which are funny for a while but get old really quickly. They use every special effect they can in one video.

Finally the program is starting. First, they ask Festus, or Pastor Bazira to give an invocation. Then, the school choir comes out to sing the school song and the National Anthem. I know the Uganda National Anthem by heart now and sing along with everyone as we stand.

Each house is named after a leader of another African country. The children present the traditional dances that each of their houses represent. They have all put vines and leaves around their outfits and the M.C. said something that made me unsure if this is accurate, or just what the kids think people did way back when.

When they start dancing I am happy and think it was worth the three-hour wait. Each group is pretty similar actually. Half of the students line up with their backs to the wall, clapping and singing the chorus. Then a group of students acts out different stories while they sing and dance.

This takes about an hour.

Then, each group comes back on stage to perform a play they have written themselves to illustrate the differences between a good student who makes right choices, and a bad student who makes poor ones.

I’m impressed that our kids are the stars of most of the performances. All the plays are in Luganda and only the first one was completely clear. A girl runs away from home after listening to some bad friends and loses herself in the city. She comes home and begs forgiveness and is taken back. Like the prodigal son, but.. daughter.

The rest of the plays are very hard to follow and have a lot of screaming and yelling. One of the father figures in the play often erupts and runs after people on stage. It was actually pretty scary how angry and violent he got. Most of the plays had something to do with getting pregnant and coming home with a piece of paper that said so, and having the parents scream and cry.

The main character of one play drops an empty soda bottle. It burst and at first we think it’s an accident, but realize it’s part of the play. During the five seconds between scenes they lazily sweep only half the glass off the stage. Some of the kids are barefoot and all the muzungus wince as the kids come barreling back on stage, stomping around their dialogues.

If one kid has HIV and gets cut and another gets cut and they run around that stage, they could easily get infected. Luckily Africans walk around barefoot from birth and they might as well be wearing shoes. No one looks like they’ve been hurt. But these kids are so in character that I wouldn’t doubt that they would show no reaction.

During the performances a student comes around and gives all the adults a soda and quarter of gapati. I am so hungry and am glad that they are giving us something to tide us over.

The plays take about an hour.

Next, they announce that the kids will have counseling songs. They call each house in order and the children line up on stage, all wearing their uniforms. (They have changed outfits for each performance.) As they sing their songs, Abdul and Brenda (who are in primary school and sitting between Kate and me) sing along. The songs are typically sung in schools. I ask Brenda what this one is about. She tells me it is about an old woman who wears revealing clothes like a prostitute. ..oh.

The counseling songs take about an hour.

After the songs, Festus is invited to speak. He introduces his “staff.” We stand up even though we are confused what we have to do with anything. Festus tells us later that Uganda is a country of Guests of Honor.

Festus speaks in Luganda. I ask Brenda what he is saying. She tells me, “Something about Muslims and condoms.” ..oh. Then Festus speaks “to the children” in English. He tells them that life is not easy. Getting an education is not easy. But when we come to a mountain we should not pray they mountain away. The mountain is suppose to be there. We pray that we can climb it and reach the top.

Then the Deputy Headmistress stands up to address the audience. She is wearing a smart business suit skirt combo. One side of the outfit is gold, the other black. Jeff says she looks like Two Face (the comic book character from Batman). I remember meeting her on my first day in Ntenjeru when I visited the schools with Erin. She didn’t look very friendly.

She stood up and said some things in Luganda and then spoke in English. “I do not discipline your children with the cane, I discipline using the Bible.”

I exchange glances with the nurses and Kate. We’ve been having conversations about caning this week and we’re happy to see someone who agrees with us. But then the deputy continues:

“And the Bible says, ‘spare the cane, spoil the child.’ So I cane the children. Because African children are very stubborn.”

Our faces are completely straight and as she continues we start shaking our heads no in disapproval. We aren’t sure if she is saying this part of her speech in English for our benefit, but we are not about to be convinced that hitting a child with a stick is the right method of discipline.

“Sometimes you have to open an African child’s ears by means of the buttocks.”

We shake our heads. She finishes and sits down. The headmaster takes the microphone and explains that he is very happy with the new deputy and even though the school has been getting complaints that she is beating their children, she is doing her job properly.

More head shakes.

We think the program is at an end, but then they announce that we will now have “mimes.” Kate and I give each other “WHAT?” looks.

The curtains (three floral bed sheets) open and there is a girl standing in a long, white, form-fitting evening gown with dark sunglasses on. She holds the microphone and begins to lip-sync, “When I call on Jesus, all things are possible!” She seductively moves her hips and shoulders.

I am completely confused. We went from traditional African music and dance to lip-syncing American Christian music in evening gowns and sunglasses.

During her performance, and during others that are in Luganda (including back up lip-syncers), people walk onto the stage from the audience to hand some money to the performer. This is a way they show that they think they’re doing a good job. Instead of clapping at the end, or waiting to give them flowers or something afterwards, they walk right up to the person, standing between the performer and the audience, to hand them some shillings. The person either grabs the money while staying in character, or drops the money and collects it after the performance.

The lip-syncing takes about an hour.

We think that there cannot possibly be anymore. We have spent most of our day here and have not had a break for lunch. And we are just sitting! Imagine the kids who have been performing nonstop for hours, and who have been practicing hours before that.

Next up, Creative Dancing… The dances are more African that Western. Some of them are a very suggestive, and I won’t describe them here. Supposedly the dance symbolizes a hunter and an animal. Two of the dances represent the classroom. One kid dances in front of the others as the teacher, the others are dancing in a line as if they are in their desks. The teachers use hand gestures to ask math problems, when the answer given is incorrect the student is beat on the back.

As the third dance ends, Marilyn and Fran get up and leave. I envy them. They can’t possibly be asked to sit any longer without moving, standing, or taking something to eat.

Creative dancing takes about an hour.

Then in seems like all the kids get up and start dancing around the stage to a Luganda Christian song while the judge adds up his scores and figures out who is the winner. Gracie comes inside and sits next to me. After a few minutes she mentions to me that Carol has fainted. I ask if she’s ok and I’m told that she’s just laying outside. “Is she awake or is she asleep?”

“Asleep.”

“Take me to her right now.”

I follow Gracie outside and see Carol is on the ground and a few people surround her. A man keeps telling them, “Oxygen, oxygen.” as he shoos them away. I kneel down and try to wake her. I check to make sure she is breathing and take her pulse – it’s 120. I wish the nurses were still here.

I ask and find out that the kids have had no lunch at all and most have had no water. A teacher says they mentioned to the students to take water. I can’t believe the deputy headmistress, who put the program together, would not give time for the kids to rest or eat. They should have been supervised and made to drink water.

Kate comes out and I call her over. She takes out some water and I dab it behind her ears and her neck. I try to wake her up again. I have Gracie run and get Lydia. Lydia comes out and tries to wake Carol. We sit her up and even stand her up to see if she will wake.

Someone brings some onion. Lydia crushes it up and puts it close to her nostrils. I check her pulse. It is still 120. Festus comes out and tilts her head back some more. He pinches her nostrils and I tell him that we need to keep her airway completely open. He says he is checking the pressure of her breathing. I don’t know much. I only know how to keep her airway open, monitor her vital signs, and give rescue breathing or CPR if necessary.

I tell Festus she hasn’t had anything to drink all day. He says that it is not dehydration, but she over danced. I tell him it is not the physical activity that has caused her to pass out it is the lack of nutrients to replace those used during the activity. “No, no, she over danced, that’s all.”

Her pulse is down to 108. I feel so incredibly helpless. When I get home I’m going to become a paramedic. I pray for Carol. Festus calls the ambulance, which is really a white extended-cab pick-up truck. We have to carry her down to the entrance of the school, because for whatever reason, the driver won’t enter the school.

Meanwhile the judge has been speaking to the audience inside the classroom for about half and hour and finally announces the winning house. Students cheer and yell and dance around as we walk to the ambulance. I am supporting her head. Festus says to let it loose and I refuse.

We help get Carol into the back seat. The driver has the radio blasting. Kate and I hop in the back of the truck. Some of the Nsumba kids do too and they’re all happy and laughing. I make them sit down in the bed of the truck and not on the sides. We are about 50 yards on the way to Nsumba when a kid tells the truck to stop so he can jump out. He doesn’t live with us, he just thought this was a fun ride and probably thought twice after I made him sit on the floor. AFRICA IS ASODIFJALSDKFJawef;lsdjk

We get to the bottom of the hill at Nsumba and stop. Surely we’re not going to carry Carol up the hill! Festus tells us that he is going to take her to the hospital and that we should just go home. They drop us off, and speed down the road. We wonder why on earth didn’t they just drive to the hospital that is yards from the high school in the first place.

Kate and I rush home to tell the nurses what has happened. Marilyn is worried that it is a heat stroke. “She needs an IV.” We sit and talk about how awful Africa is in times like this and how unprepared these people are for emergencies. They tell us how discouraging and horrifying it was for them the day they volunteered in the hospital. How patient after patient came in and the nurse did not wash her hands once.

Lydia comes back an hour later to tell us Carol still has not woken up. She had to run into the pharmacy in the trading center to buy an IV because the “hospital” doesn’t have any. We ask if it was a new needle and she says it was, and watched them put it in. Lydia has come to grab a few things, because they will stay over night.

In the morning Festus returns to tell us Carol slept the entire night and only just woke up this morning, weak and confused. We are so relieved that she is alive and awake.

My Name Is Not Muzungu

2007-10-08T21:05:00.000+03:00

I get to the teachers lounge and there are a group of nervous looking students grouping around the headmaster who is sitting on a stool in the grass. Julius, one of the English teachers. I ask him if the students were getting caned and ask pretty loudly if this was not illegal in Uganda. I have recently found out that it is totally illegal in Luganda to use corporal punishment, but that teachers do it anyway.

I don’t know if it was because I was saying something, or because the Headmaster didn’t really want to hit them but when he raised his stick they all ran and he didn’t chase after them but came into the room as I was in the middle of my conversation with Julius.

“Caning is a lazy way of disciplining a child and that is the reason it continues now, it seems like an easy way to punish, when it really is cruel and ineffective.” Julius tries to tell me that he’s tried other ways and they don’t work. I told him, “I don’t believe you.”

I’ve decided I don’t need to be quiet about my views on the matter. Before I was reserved because I considered myself a foreigner to their culture, but after learning that the government is trying to stop this practice, I feel no reservation in trying to change the system at this school.

I tell them about lunch detention, after school detention, extra homework, chores around the campus, missed privileges for different special activities. Julius says African children are different.

“They absolutely are not. I’ve taught in America and I’ve taught here. These kids are so similar to the kids in America. Even the classroom dynamic - the different roles and behaviors of the students are the same.

“Caning is a foolish tradition passed down from earlier generations and it’s laziness to accept this means of discipline when we know better.”

Julius laughs as he turns to walk on the path to his classroom. The words probably seem harsher here, but I spoke in a friendly matter. I tell Julius that I’m not kidding and start on my path to class.

I’m walking to my S2 class and one of the students calls out Muzungu. I get into the classroom and go straight to her and say, “Excuse me?” She looks down and doesn’t answer. I put my bag down and write on the blackboard.

On the left side I write a list:

Adam Branson

Mr. Adam

Teacher/Master

Sir

Ssebo

One the right side I write “Muzungu” and cross it out.

I explain to them that the left side is a list of the names they can call me. I tell them my name is not Muzungu. I ask if their name is Mutugavi (“black person”)

“Where I come from it is very rude to call someone the color of their skin. When I think of myself - when I think of what makes my identity, I first think of my family, then my religion, then Florida, then America, then my profession.. I think of so many things when I think of who I am. I think last of all, ‘Oh I am white.’

“You, when you think of yourselves, do you not think of Ntenjeru? Then of the Buganda tribe? Then Uganda? Then Africa? Your religion? Or do you think, ‘Oh I am black.’?

“It is OK, if you are talking to someone about me and refer to me as a Muzungu. Maybe someone is asking you which one I am, so you point and say, ‘He is the Muzungu.’

“That is fine. The same way if you were talking about two people, one short and the other tall. You can say, ‘The shorter person.’ Or you can say, ‘The tall one.’

“But when the man walks up to you, do you say, “Hey, Shorty!” Of course not! That is rude! It is the same to refer to someone as Muzungu.

“I know you grow up learning to shout, like the little kids everyday on my walk, ‘Bye! Muzungu! Bye!’ I don’t get upset at those little children, but you are older and you should know better than to refer to your teacher in such a disrespectful manner.”

I ask them if they understand the difference between describing someone as a Muzungu and calling them a Muzungu. The class is sharp and I continue right on with my lesson plan.

Both of my classes are great today. I feel like the kids are understanding me more and I am able to clear up some confusion in our math lesson about the concepts we’re covering.

On my walk home I think about how great today is and how beautiful Africa is and how much better and clearer today is compared to yesterday’s rain.

Home Alone and Hot Chocolate Marshmallows

2007-10-07T21:04:00.000+03:00

Kampala boda bodas again. This time they go in the opposite direction of traffic for a short cut.. we exchange looks and endure the craziness.

We get to conference. The two sessions are two hours long and they’ve only given a half hour in between each broadcast, so this time around seems so long. They give us lunch though, which is nice - a bun, a banana, and a juice box.

Meghan has come today and sits with us in the pew. By the way, the pews are very comfortable. They have so much padding and legroom.. we lined up early just to get one. Ha. Later, Meghan tells Marvin she can’t teach today. He says he’ll come to Mukono to learn. I tell him some people were interested in our branch so maybe we’ll make some activity of it.

For whatever reason after conference I was in a complaining mood. Something offended me and I needed to let it go, especially after the great talks about forgiveness at conference. I wasn’t terribly offended or anything but I wasn’t being positive. We were walking to get a taxi and it started to rain. Great just great. I feel like it’s my fault ha.

We stand under some trees until the rain finally trickles through. We move down the sidewalk some more and find another tree. Luckily my camera is in a waterproof bag. We are getting absolutely soaked and getting cold. We are laughing at how awful it is and see a building across the road that people are under and watching us laughing.

Finally when we can take no more we get out from under the tree and run across the street. It doesn’t seem to be raining as hard when we are out from under the tree. Haha. We get to the building and stand against the wall.

There are large wooden doors we are beside with pad locks. Kelley says, “Wouldn’t it be great if we get inside and they have nice dry clothes for us, some blankets, hot chocolate with marshmallows, and Home Alone playing on the T.V.?”

What a crazy thing to say! And I want to tell her she’s nuts, but I can’t deny it. I really want nothing more in life at this moment than exactly what she said. I wouldn’t even want any other movie besides Home Alone.

We laugh and peek into one of the open doors and find four construction workers inside. It’s a sort of garage and they invite us in to sit with them on buckets and cases of soda. One of them is only 13 and I ask if he’s in school. He says he can’t afford it, so he works for a while and then goes back to school until money runs out and starts again. I tell him whatever it takes, to finish his schooling.

The rain stops and we find a taxi home. Jeff and Kelley stay in Mukono for another night and go straight home. It takes forever. When I get home I meet Kate. She is a new volunteer form Australia who will be staying with us for a month. She studied microbiology.

Deja Vu

2007-10-06T21:03:00.001+03:00

We leave early in the morning for Kampala. We buy snacks for conference. The chocolate yogurt was warm by the time I ate it and tasted weird. I threw it away and Jeff and I starting eating our generic Pringles, which turned out to be nothing like Pringles at all but more like those rice cake health snakes. We’re disgusted. We catch three boda bodas to Kololo and I feel even more in a gang because these are actual motorcycles. After walking everywhere, it’s really fun to be on a motorcycle.

We sit down in church and get ready for the broadcast. And we see President Faust. Was it just a rumor that he had died? Then with the first speaker we realize that this is the conference from six months ago. We are so confused. We follow along with the Ensign we’ve been reading all week.

We asked and found out that because Kololo doesn’t have satellite, and for every stake that doesn’t around the world, they watch the last General Conference. They said eventually they’ll get a satellite. I ask what will do for the conference they will have missed if they start getting current ones and the missionary suggests they’ll have a makeup day or something. Ha.

Marvin is here. Did I write about him? He’s the kid who saw Meghan and I swing dancing and wants lessons because he’s supposedly in some music and dance group. I tell him we can’t since Meghan isn’t here.

I meet Madeline. She is has a Masters in Art Therapy. SVA offers this and I thought about going to school for this for just a while. She is with a group of people from the Chicago Institute of Art.

After the meeting we go to Kampala and get a person pizza. It is so so good and I wish I was eating it right now. The dough was fresh. It was a cheese pizza with tomato, green olives, and feta cheese. Madeline is friends with a Ugandan man named Simon and he’s come to eat with us. His English is very good. He is a teacher at school. We get into a conversation about caning and it’s pretty surprising how he defends the practice.

“Africans are stubborn. They will not learn any other way.” He talks about how when he was in school they would take tests and for every question you got wrong you were caned. I ask him if he was familiar with learning disabilities. Three Americans vs. a Ugandan on the ethics of corporal punishment.

He also said that if you do not beat your wife, you do not love her. He says if you don’t beat your wife, then she asks why you don’t love her. We told him how ridiculous that sounds. He seems to be such a rational person otherwise.

We decide to go to Mukono instead of staying in Kampala for the night. It will be about 30,000 sh cheaper. We check into the hotel that is the floor above where I use the internet. The room is nice sized with a bathroom! And a showerhead by the toilet. No hot water, but it didn’t matter because I didn’t end up taking a shower. I hang up my mosquito net, talk to my mom on the phone, and go into town to look for real Pringles.

Pringles are the only snack food that you can get here that’s familiar. I think the reason they’re so popular is their packaging allows them to be imported without crunching all the chips. I go to four stores looking for bbq and settle with cheezums. True story.

Stay In School, Kids!

2007-10-05T21:02:00.000+03:00

Rebecca, Kelley and I visit a hospital. One of the nurses shows us around. She has a very tiny nurse hat on top of her head and I ask to take a picture, but she says no. I have one of her in front of us as we follow her through the hospital. Pregnant women everywhere, obviously. We hang up just a few nets and aren’t allowed to hammer in the wall for the others. We tell them how they can buy lumber and make four posts to hang the nets. We get the hospitals promise that they will hang the nets and that the pregnant women can take the nets home with them.

We go into a three-story building that looks just like the one Jeff and I explored yesterday. The stairs slant and there are no outside railings to keep people from falling off the ledge of each floor. Each level of the building has patients on mattresses on the floor. There is a little girl in a Hello Kitty nightgown. She looks like any familiar picture of a hungry African child. Her face is sunken, her arms terribly thin, her belly bulging. With her weak arms she lifts a large cup of porridge to her mouth. I smile when she looks at me, “Oli otya?” (How are you?)

She whispers, “Gendi.” (I’m fine, or, I’m here.)

I ask the nurse on the way out if she will be alright. The nurse says the girl has a liver problem. I’m comforted that she had three family members around her who I can tell love her, but I’m still upset.

We are going to visit one of the Volset volunteers for lunch. She is the headmistress of Nakaseke Parents Primary School. The walk is long. We pass a mansion belonging to the owner of the college across the road from him. It is a two-story, bright orange house with white trim. I take a picture and Rebecca laughs

We meet up with Jeff, Geoffrey and the Headmistress on the way to the school. When we arrive she shows us around her school. As soon as some of the kids see us from their seats in the classroom they erupt in screaming and cheering.

The school has a program for new mothers. They meet and talk about nutrition and health care. Some of them live at the school. Kelley and I hang nets in one of the dorms on the beds of students with HIV.

The Headmistress really wants us to address her school. We can tell it’s important to her, and she has already assembled the 400+ students into the main building. We walk in and they are completely quiet. There are chairs for us in the front. The headmistress says, “Good Afternoon.” to the children, who immediately stand and in unison answer her greeting.

“Good Afternoon, Headmistress. How are you?”

“I am well, and how are you?”

“We are well, thank you.” They sit down in unison and smile in our direction.

“How many of you want to be friends with these Americans?”

The rush of their hands going into the air is audible.

We each get a turn to address the students. We keep the comments very brief. Jeff says, “Stay in School, kids!” haha. Kelley and I follow his lead. I tell them that getting an education is one of the most important things they will ever do. I tell them I am so impressed with them already and hope they continue all the way through S6. “Your life will be so much better with an education than it could possibly be otherwise.”

The headmistress translates of American English into Ugandan English for the children in case they haven’t understood us.

After lunch, Kelley and I head off to the Nakaseke Primary and Secondary schools to take pictures of the sponsored Volset students and get thank you letters for their sponsors. The Headmistress (is it obvious by now that I have forgotten her name?) pays three boda bodas to take Kelley, Geoffrey and I to the schools.

I start laughing on the ride to the schools because I feel like I’m in a scooter gang.

When we get back to the house Kelley goes to the trading center to get her hair washed and conditioned. Jeff and I sit in the house reading. Kelley gets back and has a towel over her head. The beauty salon told her to let the conditioner sit and come back in 30 minutes.

Jeff and I go to get a rolex. I miss the ones in Ntenjeru – these aren’t as juicy. We hear some commotion and go the side of that building we explored. There is a group with some speakers, a keyboard and microphones. They are singing and doing skits about HIV. They want to encourage people with HIV to come to their hospital to get treatment.

All the kids in the village are right up front dancing away to the songs like it’s their job. I laughed so hard. I felt bad at some points of the performance because a quarter of the audience was facing the opposite direction, staring and the three muzungus.

Omwana Asula Wa?

2007-10-04T21:01:00.000+03:00

I wake up and go into the living room. It has two upholstered chairs, a small coffee table and a bench. Rebecca is there. She has brought eggs and Gapati for breakfast with fresh milk from a cow. It has been boiled and is hot in the thermos. I add it to my Soya and it is wonderful. (except for some floatees.. like the skin of cooled soup.)

Have I described hanging mosquito nets? Jeff goes with Rebecca. Kelly and I go with an L.C., Godfrey. L.C. stands for “Local Council,” elected officials that act as sort of mayors of the villages. We split up to cover more ground so we can meet our goal of 100 nets in two days.

Godfrey takes us around to different houses with pregnant woman and families with young children, and some suffering from HIV - the most vulnerable to the harmful effects of Malaria. We first want pregnant women, because Malaria in pregnant mothers can cause birth defects in the baby.

Godfrey doesn’t understand much English. He takes us to an old woman who must be nearly 100 years old. As we follow this woman to her house Kelley asks, “Godfrey, does she have HIV?” He says no.

“Is she pregnant?” I ask, although it’s a ridiculous question. We explain to him again that we first want to provide all the pregnant woman in the village with nets and then after them we can give to the others in need. It is sad that we have to look at it this way, but we don’t have enough nets to give to everyone and we want to help those most at risk.

We are happy to give this woman a net though, because after seeing her home we realize that is she got Malaria, she probably couldn’t afford the medication to treat it.

One house we went to already had nests. We are confused why the think they need another one. Another house has a net, but it is filthy and has holes in it that they’ve tried to patch. We are glad to give them a net because we know that they will actually use it.

Some houses are mud and sticks, some are concrete. Sometimes we have to nail into the walls. Usually the concrete is soft and is easy, today it seems to be difficult. We use a “jinja” (rock) to hammer them in.

Godfrey is understanding now and taking us to the right houses. He teaches us to say, “Omwana asula wa?” (the baby sleeps where?) We always make sure we’re putting the nets over beds the babies sleep in. Now we hang nets over the parents’ bed as well as the kids’ because we don’t know if when we leave the parents move the net over to their own beds.. who knows.

At one house we go to, or sort of block of houses, we put up a net over the bed of a woman with HIV and a pregnant woman who is “deaf and dumb” – as they say in Uganda. Though this woman was not dumb. She had her own sign language and the L.C. seemed to know some of it. I used some basic universal signs from ASL – like tracing the outline of a house with your hands. She kneels on the ground and takes our hands laughing and thanking us. She is a very happy woman.

We meet back up for lunch and stick together to hand out the remaining nets. Geoffrey comes with us. He helped with construction of the school when the Irish were here. We give him a net as well because his wife is pregnant. (we were half way through putting it up when he let us know this woman was his wife. We thought it was another villager he took us to.)

We finally finish around 5 o’ clock. We’re exhausted. We get so much sleep and work a few hours and get so tired. I don’t know if it’s the sun and our position, so close to the equator or if it’s the doxycycline I take for Malaria prevention. My Florida pride says it isn’t the sun.. but maybe I’m wrong.

We go to the trading center and walk around. There is a three-story building that is deserted. The entire wall on the backside has fallen and the insides are exposed. There is a painting on the wall of the first floor. A mural of some California town. Palm tress and water. A big diner on top of a hill. The wall is dirty and paint slightly faded.

It looks like those building you see in WWII photos of cities where there was fighting or bombs. Jeff and I climb the concrete steps, which slope towards the opening. We explore the second story, going into rooms and carefully walking towards the edge. Birds are the only tenants here and swoop in and out of the room into nets they've built in the corners and doorways. One grazes Jeff's arm as it swoops into the room we just left.

It is eerie and shortly we decide to leave, feeling like we’re going to somehow fall or get sucked out of the opening.

We later learn that the construction workers were supposed to put concrete columns on all sides of the building but put in fake ones on the back. When the building was falling the owner’s wife was running back and forth rescuing children and the building crushed her to death.

100,450sh

2007-10-03T21:00:00.000+03:00

Wake up. Put the clothes on the line in the back to the one in the front to get some sun. Eat breakfast and talk to the nurses. We’re going to Nakaseke today. We’re staying until Saturday morning and then going to Kololo for General Conference. I guess last week they had it in the States and we’re watching it this weekend.

We get to Kampala on the way to Nakaseke and eat a Western restaurant. Wacky Wednesday hamburgers. Delicious.

After lunch, I stop at the place where I exchanged my money exactly a month ago. I have my receipt and decide it won’t hurt to see what can be done about the 100,450 sh that wasn’t given to me.

I get out my notebook and turn to the page that I wrote all the numbers down exactly a month ago when I figured out what had happened. I sat down and explained what happened – how I was suppose to receive 783,000sh but really only got 682,550.

I don’t know if this is the same woman I spoke with a month ago. This time there is a moan behind the glass with her. “That is why I gave you a receipt,” she says, “so you could count the money.”

“I realize I should have counted, but there was so much money that I put it in my bag right away, trusting you that it was the right amount. I live far away and was in my small village when I realized what had happened. This is the first chance I’ve had to come back here.”

“Do you have the money now?” She asks.

“No, I had to pay the place where I stay and have such little left over now.”

She talks in Luganda to the man for a bit – I know there’s no reason I should expect anything. She looks on the receipt and punches 783,000 into the calculator and asks how much I counted when I got home. I tell her and she subtracts from the calculator. As she hits enter I say, “That’s 100,450sh.”

She talks to the man just a bit more and takes out two 50,000 bills and a 500sh coin and slides it under the slot!

I’m disoriented for a second and fumble with my notebook. I thought at best she might give me half and her is the whole thing – in face 50sh more! I try not to look too happy and suppress laughing. I tell her she doesn’t know how much this means. I thank her and tell her I’ll come back here and tell everyone to go here as well. She just raises her eyebrows (a way Ugandans say “yes”).

I go to the sitting area and show Jeff and Kelley. They’re speechless for a second. “That never happens.” We wait to get outside before we really freak out. I feel weak. It’s only $58, but I need it. I can’t believe I would be taken at my word when they would be justified in telling me I had no proof.

Jeff and Kelley can’t believe it. “First your luggage and now this? Did you pray about it, cause we didn’t. We never thought you’d have a chance.”

I just smiled as we walked through traffic to get to the shop where Jeff buys the nets.

“My grandparents pray for me everyday. I think this one is because of them.”

And I smile some more.

(I know more people than my grandparents pray for me and I am so grateful.)

Everything goes so smoothly in getting the nets. Each huge bag has 50 nets and weights about 75lbs. one short man puts them both on his head and walks to the taxi park through buildings or “shopping arcades” and our matatu has a rail on top! We get inside right before it starts to rain.

We arrive in Nakaseke trading center and people stare. I help Jeff and the conductor unload the two huge bags from the top of the van. A man meets us to take us to where we are staying. The African’s laugh and are impressed as Jeff and I each take a bag. I carry mine on my head and can’t imagine how that man carried two.

We drop the bags off at the Nakaseke Volset office and go to the house where we will be staying. It has a nice sized living room and dining room, three bedrooms, a bath area, a small kitchen area and a garage. It is not totally finished – no kitchen or latrines outside and no electricity. So the owner has not moved in yet. The ceilings are decorated with large shapes inside each other in plaster. (I forgot to take a photo).

We put up our own mosquito nets and then go to the trading center to relax before our day of work tomorrow. There are three rolex stands. One has a sign that says pizza and we get excited, but they don’t have the ingredients. We go to the guy who has a fancy large umbrella over his stand. He is wearing an apron and has assistants, and a spatula! (instead of a large knife) He even chops up some onion into our eggs – we are so confused.

I say to Jeff as we ate our rolexes across the street (and Kelley eating her two eggs in a plastic bag) staring at the rolex stand, “Maybe he went to business college..”

Dinner is late as usual. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but Ugandans (or maybe just the Buganda tribe) eat dinner right before they go to bed. 9 – 10 o’ clock at night.

Rebecca, the woman taking care of us from Volset, brings us some hot water and Soya (this coffee substitute made from tropical soy beans, with protein and other vitamins). I bought some last week and didn’t like it – but I realized it was because I was putting way too much in my cup AND that’s news folks!

Fun Times in the Front Yard

2007-10-03T14:17:00.000+03:00

Gracie, and every kid in Uganda, is amazingly strong.

Just before this, she picked Kelley up and took her

from the back to the front yard. True.Story.

The miniture version of what the guys play

in the Ntenjeru trading center all day long.

A Sketch Book and 6B Pencil

2007-10-02T20:58:00.000+03:00

At lunch Joe asks me about America and if things are easier there. I tell them that people have to work for what they have in America and being a Muzungu doesn’t automatically mean that you have it made. I say, “Just like in Uganda, some people live in Kololo and some people live in Ntenjeru. Some people in the US have a lot of money and some don’t.”

But I explain that school before college is free, and even then there is government aid. I tell him people usually live in much better conditions that most live in here and that schools are more than four brick walls.

He asks me what it takes to get to America and I tell him right away, "I have absolutely no idea.” Maybe it’s a little short. He looks surprised as if I’m lying. “I grew up in the US,” I tell him, “I never had to get in somehow, I was already there. I think you have to have a specific reason for coming that has to be approved – a visa. Other than that I don’t know.”

Joe says, and has been saying, that he is going to give me some of the 15 acres of land that he has inherited from his father. He talks to me about starting an NGO or building a school on that land for disadvantaged youth. I tell him I have no money, but I’ll think about it and may be someday I can do some fundraising. We’ll see.

I go into town and buy a 60-page sketchbook and a 6b pencil. I asked the boys this week if any of them take art. Patrick showed me some drawings. I knew right away what each one was – a jackfruit and a clay stove. He told me that he isn’t taking the class anymore because the teacher told him he needed to have a sketchbook, not loose paper, and specifically a 6b pencil.

I get upset that this would keep a child from having art class – just because his paper is not bound and pencil not the right softness. It’s art class for crying out loud! I talk to Festus and he tells me that the kids understand what supplies they need and it is up to them to get all the necessary materials. I don’t know if Patrick can’t afford the supplies or if he just hasn’t taken the initiative to find them. Either way, these are kids – teenagers with no parents to push them in the right direction. 2000 sh is no skin off my back.

I walk home to Nsumba. I think about taking a boda boda but decide the walk won’t kill me and I’ll save some money. I get to the house just as I realize that it will probably be locked. I am right and have to wait outside.

I sit on the porch and read with my sunglasses on. A car pulls up and I remember we’re getting two new volunteers – retired nurses. The car parks, Festus and Lydia get out. The driver goes around to the back and starts unloading seven suitcases and some water jugs from the trunk. I go over and help the nurses with their groceries and bags.

The nurses are from Canada – Ontario and Nova Scotia. Marilyn and Fran. They are probably in their early or mid 60s. I give them the grand tour and answer questions. I tell them things I wish I knew when I got here. It is fun having new people. They sleep in what will later be the clinic. It’s connected to the girls’ dorm, not the white house. They don’t like that, because at night they will have to walk outside to eat in the living room and they don’t want to be bitten by mosquitoes. I tell them I don’t remember ever being bitten and Marylin says it only takes one.

They settle in and I call Patrick into my room to give him the sketchbook and pencil. He is so happy to get them. I go outside and do some laundry. I have no clean clothes for the trip to Nakaseke tomorrow. I hope they dry in time. I use a brush like the Ugandans do on my denim and then on some of my shirts. I don’t think my blue button up has ever been so clean.

I get pretty wet in the process and go out front to play duck-duck-goose in the sun to dry off. I washed my hat and just put it on my head wet. After duck-goosing it the top of my hat has clay fingerprints all over.

Erin comes over for dinner tonight with another Peace Corp friend, Jessica. She brings NO BAKE COOKIES! They taste just like the ones my mom makes – with some peanut butter. The Peace Corp has a little cookbook they give to volunteers that has familiar recipes from the States, using local ingredients. Great idea.

Marilyn and Fran went to nursing school together and have worked in practically every area in that field. Fran has a yogurt maker at home.

After dinner I go into the study room to tell the kids “Gyebale” (well done). Patrick is there and calls me over to show me the two drawings he has already made in his sketchbook, using an old newspaper for models and design ideas. Just $1.15 can mean a lot to someone.

Are they both men, or is that one a Lady?

2007-10-01T20:55:00.000+03:00

I ate two rolexes for lunch. They were delicious.

I charge my laptop in the Volset office and watch some Mighty Boosh. A guy who helps with Volset comes in and watches half of it with me. I try to explain to him that it is suppose to be funny, because he is not laughing. He asks me if Vince is a woman or a man. Hah. It’s the island episode and they are stranded. They build small straw huts for shelter. The volunteer asks me where the show is from. I tell him it’s from England. “Oh, so they build homes like that there too?”

"Even Take My Picture!"

2007-09-30T14:11:00.000+03:00

The photographer that came around,

which caused the girls to go crazy and put on make-up

(That huge green hat was brought by the Irish volunteers.)

Sports Day in Kololo

2007-09-30T14:06:00.000+03:00

Thanks to Meghan for this action shot

That's Meghan reffing the basketball game.

Fish and Chips

2007-09-30T14:02:00.000+03:00

Class is Getting Bigger

2007-09-30T13:59:00.000+03:00

I Didn't Walk Alone

2007-09-30T13:56:00.000+03:00

Joe meets me at church. Church feels great. Frank sits next to me during priesthood meeting. I look through his Book of Mormon. It is worn out. He has to wake up at 6am everyday for school, but he wakes up a little bit earlier so he can read the scriptures. This kid is so great. As I was flipping through, he showed me his favorite verse. It was about baptism. Every time I see Frank he seems to be glowing.

After the meetings I stay for Frank’s baptism. Another girl, about my age, is also getting baptized. I think there is a baptism every Sunday. The water in the font is slightly brownish. I love baptisms.

We were singing a hymn today, I’m not sure which one, and suddenly I was filled with such gratitude about my simple walk home last night in the dark. I realized that it is incredible that I could call upon God and ask him, as his son, to keep me safe. I thought about how there is no darkness for Him, and how lucky I was that since I couldn’t see anything on that trail last night, I could lean on Him who can see everything. And while I was feeling this gratitude there came a confirmation that I did not walk alone last night.

-

In the evening a photographer came up the house on a bicycle. All the girls ran and got dressed into clothes that looked like they were going clubbing. Kelley and I were in awe. Where in the world did these girls get these clothes?? And they had make up on and everything. The guy charges 1000sh per photo. The girls took pictures with me or with Kelley.

Then I got out my camera to take photos of the photographer taking photos of the girls. And then EVERYONE wanted their photo taken. I told them that if they wanted a print they had to ask the photographer who had come. I didn’t want him to lose business. It was so funny.

“Even me! Even take a photo of me, Adam.”

-

We were explaining to Jeff who came to the porch, what is going on with the girls. He had been with Jimmy telling him how to use this test kit to tell if you have Malaria. He was feeling sick and this clinic didn’t even test him for Malaria, but gave him some of the strongest meds you can take for it.

Then the girls told me I had a visitor. I looked up and saw Harriet and her son Charles. The woman I spoke with about a week ago who has HIV. She has just gotten back from Kampala and was on her way home and stopped like I asked her to. Jeff runs to get the nets and a whole troop of us follow Harriet to her house. Jeff, Kelley, some girls who acted as interpreters, and me.

It was late and the sun was setting as we walked up the hill, deeper into Nsumba. It was beautiful. We could see Lake Victoria and all the jungle stretching on till the horizon. We get to her house that has a nice yard and two trees that look like oak trees. Her five other children came running to greet her. I think they were left on their own for this whole week. The oldest couldn’t be more than 7 years old.

We hang the nets in her house. It is a brick house but has mud walls inside to divide the rooms. The children sleep on foam mattresses on the floor. A bag of goat food hangs above their bed. It is a neat house considering.

She kneels on the ground to thank us. And tells us she will walk us back to the main trail. We tell her we don’t need her to, but she wants to so we agree. I think it’s important to let people do nice things for you. In this case it gave this woman a way of thanking us.

I’m going to go back to visit her and her children. I want to help out around the house and maybe do a photo project with Harriet and her kids. It was so beautiful where she lived.

On the walk up she said to me, “You see, Adam. I am positive, but I’m still active and living my life.” I told her I thought she was doing a great job and that her and her son looked so great.

We walked home in the dark and Jeff and I scared the girls by saying really quickly, “WHAT WAS THAT!” It was hilarious. They were scared of foxes. What is with these people and foxes? And getting your head chopped off? When I came home yesterday Festus said he was worried I had gotten my head chopped off.

Anyway, bye.

Basketball Skills and Garden City Giggles

2007-09-29T13:54:00.000+03:00

I wake up early so I can catch a Matatu to Kampala and then a boda boda to Kololo where the sports day activity is being held for all the wards in the area. I try to call Joe to see if he’s going, but I can’t get a hold of him. I get to Kampala so quickly and it only costs me 3000sh. I walk around a half and hour looking for a grocery store so I can buy something to eat for breakfast. Finally I find a store and by some yogurt.

I find a corner with some motorcycles waiting for passengers. I ask a man in a helmet how much to Kololo he tells me 3000sh. I ask the other guy in a helmet how much and he says 2000sh and I try to haggle, but it’s hard because I don’t know how far away the suburb is from Kampala. I agree and get on. We zip through traffic and I pray the whole time that we won’t die. Ha.

I tell him to take me to the air strip in Kololo. This is what Kelley told me to say. We get there and I can’t see a church. The driver pulls over and asks a man walking on the sidewalk where the church might be. The guy says he can speak English so the driver has me ask him. “Oh, you mean the church with the guys who walk around in white shirts and tags?” hah “Yep!” and he points us to the church.

The building is so nice. This neighborhood is nice. It could be a neighborhood in the States. There are huge palm trees on the lawn. Right when I get off the motorcycle I see Joe and Meghan walking across the street! Perfect timing.

Slowly all the wards show up for the activity. We start with the 100-yard dash. Joe and others are skeptical that I’ll be much to reckon with. I said, “Yeah, but check out the shorts.” I’m wearing basketball shorts ha.

I get second place in my heat and at the finish line everyone cheers and grabs me and takes me to the score keeper along with Ivan, who is also from our ward who got first place. He was running in jeans and still he beat me.

I was running against real Africans. Nice.

Next we play volleyball. The guy who is refereeing is very strict. Meghan and I are sure he’s making some of his own rules. Luckily I had just played volleyball at summer camp. Our camp was challenged by another camp to a game. All the staff who wanted to play were not automatically on the team, we had to try out. It was a lot of fun. So I was ready.

The team we are playing against have matching jerseys that say USA. The Mukono Branch cheers us on and claps. Their cheers really helped us I think. Except the first time I heard “down with the USA” I said, “hey!” But then realized they were meaning the other team.

Next we play basketball. Joe asks if I won’t be tired. Meghan and I tell him that Americans play sports all day long. Basketball is great. Meghan refs during the first match and plays with us for the next round when Mukono played the USA team again. Fouls all over the place. And I wouldn’t mind, but they are called every ten seconds. I think I made most of the shots for our team. Most people in Uganda play soccer, not basketball.

I jam my finger.

After basketball we have lunch. They’ve prepared Chipatti and a boiled egg, watermelon, a banana, and some juice. So good. The food is served Ugandan style in plastic bags.

After lunch, James Bond (a guy in our ward) finds me and asks me to come play volleyball with them in a friendly match against the USA jersey guys.

I meet a boy named Frank. He’s 13 years old. Meghan tells me he wants to be a photographer when he grows up. I tell him I’m a photographer and give him my website and email. I tell him that sometime I’ll give him a photography lesson. He is so friendly and polite and I’m very impressed by him. It turns out that he’s getting baptized tomorrow!

I ask Meghan if his family is getting baptized as well and she lets me know that he’s an orphan. Technically he has a mother, but she lives in Kampala and has nothing to do with his life. He lives with his uncle who doesn’t really seem to want to support him at all.

-

There are people dancing in the hallway and when they see me they ask me to teach them some American dancing. I tell them that I know how to swing dance and let them know that African Americans in Harlem invented the form of dancing in the late 1920s.

They loved it. I danced with this girl Maggie in our ward. I showed her some basic moves and I taught her the back flip.

Meghan came around and we danced some swing for a while. She is good at following my lead and she teaches me some moves I didn’t know. I give Frank my sunglasses while I dance and he wears them as he watches.

Joe is getting tired and it is getting pretty late if we want to get home at a reasonable time. I ask Meghan if she wants to go to Kampala because I’m dying for some famililar foods and I hear there is a section of Kampala that is really westernized.

Joe takes us to Garden City. Meghan and I are speechless and only manage to giggle as we walk up to this place. We could have been in America. It is like a mall. We walk inside and see escalators and feel air conditioning! We go to an ATM and get out some shillings with our American bank cards.

We find a restaurant that serves cheeseburgers. They are 6,000sh. Which seems so expensive but really it is only $3.37. That is cheaper than a meal at McDonalds. We convince Joe to get something to thank him for taking us to such a great place. We sit down and they bring us our food. Oh, I could have cried. It was just like a meal at home. And the ketchup for the fries was Heinz and they had BBQ sauce. I felt like I was cheating by eating this food.

After eating and giggling about our dinner, we go to the grocery store. It is just like a grocery store at home, but just smaller. We go up and down every isle looking at all the variety. I thought that I would buy so much, but I only buy milk boxes so I can have breakfast. I think about buying some cereal. They had familiar brands. But it was expensive, so I didn’t get any.

After we check out we go and get milk shakes. They don’t taste exactly like the ones at home, but they are definitely milk shakes and they definitely tasted good. We head on home with full stomachs and full hearts. Ha.

On the taxi ride home my family calls. It was Alec’s first time to the Temple and he tells me all about it. He says it was great and that he felt the spirit so strongly there. I talk to my family about the sports day and eating American food. It was the most American day I’ve had. It was so great. Not only the food, but I’ve been wanting to do some exercise for a while. It feels good to have my body be so tired. I am happy.

We get to Mukono and say goodbye to Meghan. We get to Kisoga and I say goodbye to Joe. Then the taxi waits in Kisoga, as usual. There are only three of us in the matatu, plus the driver and conductor and they wait for more people to ride.

Then, 19 school children load unto the Matatu. Yeah. Right. The taxi is liscened to hold 14 people. It always has more, but 24 people in a Matatu?? I am sitting against the side of the taxi and one of the students pokes my leg to tell me to scoot more. I laughed and lifted my bag to show them that I couldn’t possibly move anymore and even if I could I’m not budging.

The kids are so incredibly loud. I didn’t sign up for this! Why am I paying 2500sh to ride in a school bus? I finally ask the kids why they shouting. I should have kept my mouth shut. They screamed in delight that the Muzungu was trying to quiet them down and they laughed and laughed. It was torture.

Finally they get dropped off at Unique Standard and the taxi sits there and waits. I know the conductor from the HIV seminar we gave last week. And I’m glad he calls me by my name. After sitting there for some time I finally get off the taxi to leave, but Connie (said like Cone-y, short for Cornelius) says he’ll take me to Nsumba.

The taxi is waiting for a boda boda to drive by. Finally one does and Connie pays the driver some money to take the remaining passengers all the way to Katosi so they can drop me off and go back to Mukono for more passengers.

They drop me off at the bottom of the hill to Nsumba (the road is very hard for taxis to drive on) And I start my walk up to the house. It is so dark. It isn’t so far to the house, but still I pray that I’ll be safe and don’t end the prayer until I arrive at home. It was nice to see the dim glow of our few light bulbs as I made it up the path and into the yard. I prayed thanks that I arrived safely.

Jim School and Florida Rain

2007-09-28T13:53:00.000+03:00

Kelley and I go to Jim Education Centre (a primary school) to take photos of the children we sponsor. The headmaster is named Josephus and we meet him in a shop that he’s working in. He’s covering for someone. He is young and jolly.

Most of our kids go to Jim School. We see Shakirah and Muyungo. It is so good to see them. We finish in a few hours right before it rains. We get a taxi to Mukono.

It rains so hard. Just like a good Florida rain. Our taxi pulls into a gas station to let us out under the canopy. The canopy doesn’t really sheld us from the storm so we run into the convienent store. I laugh because it is just like an American gas station. It is comforting.

I Drop the Rock

2007-09-27T13:49:00.000+03:00

I’m having a hard time today at school. I’m teaching English and the kids are not listening very well. I think maybe my lesson plan isn’t very successful. The kids seem bored. I seem bored.

The S2s are especially rowdy today. It’s hard to manage a class when they have no idea what you are saying. And like I said before, sarcasm or clever words does not work in putting the kids in their place. I am beginning to think maybe caning isn’t such a bad idea.

When I end the lesson the kids all ask me for my phone number. The S1s asked me the same thing. I wrote on the board with chalk as all the students rushed to write it in their books: 077 GET LOST. Two seconds later they all laugh. “Master!” I let them know before I leave Uganda I will give them all my information.

A girl walks by the classroom doorway and says Muzungu. I was just ending the class so I jumped out of the doorway, which on this side is about two feet above the ground. I say, “Excuse me?”

The girl makes a pathetic attempt at hiding and I stand my ground and tell her to come to me. After slowly coming and saying, “Please, master.. no” she comes up to me. She looks so scared. I very calmly explain that my name is not Muzungu, but Mr. Adam. I let her know that where I come from it is very rude to refer to someone by their skin color instead of “sir.”

I turn the corner of the building and understand why the girl looked so scared. First I see groups of students all looking in the same direction. Some of them are snickering. There are two girls laying on the ground crying as the headmaster hits them with a long twig.

I am disgusted - at the children who laughed, at the headmaster, at the whole situation. I tell myself right away to not think or even joke about caning being a good idea. I try to fix my face into a neutral expression as I walk by, but it is difficult.

I walk up to the other teachers and ask them what those girls did wrong. They don’t know. They ask again if we ever do this in the States. I tell them that if that happened in the States it would be all over the news and in every newspaper and the headmaster would lose his job and maybe go to jail.

“Are you going to take pictures and get us in trouble?” they joke.

“But it’s not illegal here.” I say

“It is illegal to hit a child with a fist or cane a child more than ten times.”

“What kind of system is that??” I ask, “If the person caning is doing it with such force, maybe the student dies at nine!”

I ask Lydia later what the law says. She says you cannot cane more than five times. Later in the week someone tells me the limit is three.

-

I am in a lousy mood walking home. I am glad for the shortcut so I don’t have to walk on the road with all the other students. I walk on the road towards Nsumba just as all the students get out of Unique Standard High School. Great.

A group of boys walks by laughing, one of them is playing a harmonica. “What is this called?” they ask. Without looking at them or slowing my step I say, “harmonica.”

Kids stare and I keep a straight face. I think about how I have to be a good example because they don’t have much experience with Muzungus. But I can’t be bothered to look friendly.

I walk by a group of four girls who say, “Adam! Welcome back.” I tell them it is such a relief to be called by my name and not Muzungu. Just as I’m explaining this, a matatu is driving straight for us going so fast. There is no where for us to go before the taxi passes going at least 50 mph. It misses us by inches. There is an entire road but it is taking advantage of the newly smoothed area to the right.

I lose it and turn and scream at the taxi as another one right behind it wizzes by us just the same and I yell some more. I tell the girls we could have been killed. I pick up a huge rock and hold it tight in my hand. I will break some glass. I am waiting for the next taxi who thinks they have no time to be safe.

No more taxis or trucks come near me. It was probably just coincidence, but I like to think they didin’t want to mess with me and my rock. I think about how my parents or grandparents would not want me to throw any rocks and to avoid conflicts.

I think about how hard everything is here and how much I have to deal with. Such selfish thoughts. Then I pass the woman who lives across the white house. She has so many children. Volset pays her to fetch water for the house. She does this all day long, back and forth from the well with no shoes.

She says, “Oh Adam, welcome back!” As soon as I see this woman I realize how fortunate I am and how selfish it was to pout all the way home from school. I drop the rock I’m carrying and continue up the path home, shedding my pride with each step.

Oh, You Must be Confused.

2007-09-26T13:48:00.000+03:00

I’m in my S2 class checking homework. One of the students sitting next to a boy with lighter skin asks me if the boy and I are brothers. I ask him why. He says that we are both white.

“Oh. I’m confused.” I pick up a piece of paper and ask the class what color it is.

“White!”

I put the paper next to my skin. “Am I the same color as this paper?”

“No!”

I put the paper next to the skin of the lighter skinned boy. “Is he?”

“No!”

“Oh, so maybe I’m not confused,” I look at the boy who asked the question, “maybe you’re confused.” Then I casually walk to the next row to continue grading papers.

Later the same boy asks me, “How’s Muzumba?” Obviously this is some attempt at being clever by combing “Nsumba” (where all the Volset volunteers stay) and “Muzungu” (the word for light skinned people.)

“Oh, I get it!! You’ve put those two words together because some Muzungus live in Nsumba!! Oh, that’s clever!”

The sarcasm is always lost on these kids. Which serves me right, because I shouldn’t use sarcasm in classroom management.

-

I go to the Volset office and work on the website. I buy some soda and meet some construction workers who are in town for a few days, working on the roads. I make friends with this guy Kenny. Everyone I meet is 24 years old. We go to get some rolexes. The guy didn’t have any eggs or tomatoes so Kenny buys the ingredients and I pay for the chapattis.

We walk over to where he’s parked his steamroller. He tells me that he’ll let me drive it sometime. And I laugh. How crazy would that be?

I go back to the office to work some more. The power goes out. I can continue working, but I’m zoning out so I walk home. I run into Kenny and some of the workers on the road and stop to talk. We talk about soccer, swimming and anything else.

There are kids in the road collecting all the rocks that have been churned up by the Road Grater. I ask Kenny why they would collect rocks. He says their parents probably sent them out to get them to decorate their house, use in their bathrooms, or to make cement.

He asks me if I have any kids. I say no. He asks why. I tell him I’m not married yet. And he waits for the part where I tell him why that matters. I explain to him that in my opinion children are entitled to be born into homes where there is a mother and father that can care for them as a family.

-

Jeff and I sit outside the white house talking. Gracie walks by. She’s one of the girls living in the dorm. She’s the one who picked up Ultimate Frisbee like nobody’s business. I say, “You crack me up, Gracie!”

She is so confused and after some minutes explaining the phrase, I think she still thought I was odd.

-

We have pasta for dinner. I put so much on my plate. This is so great because I haven’t been eating a lot because of my stomach. Lydia made a sort of pasta sauce with tomatoes and green peppers. I am so happy.

No Shirt, No Shoes, No School

2007-09-25T13:46:00.000+03:00

Dreams about the Queen of England. She lived in the house across the street from our back yard. There was a dinner party and she was quite senile. I think there were some kind of cookies involved.

I wake up with a few minutes before I have to leave. One of the girls is outside the dorm. She had been sent home for wearing shoes with holes in them. I was upset and got ready quickly to go talk to the school and to tell them if this girl can’t be taught today for imperfect shoes, than I don’t think they should be able to teach until their classrooms are more than four brick walls and an old chalkboard.

The story was lost in translation a bit and I find out by the girl that she wore different shoes than was part of the uniform and the secretary told her to go home and repair her old shoes and come back tomorrow. She could have worn her old shoes. I have to leave. Jeff says he and Kelley will talk her to get them fixed in Ntenjeru.

I see Festus, Lydia and Nulu in town and tell them what happened. Festus says he understands that the girl should have told them (her guardians) about her shoes and she knew better, but still understood my point that she should have still be n aloud to attend school. He says the problem is her sponsor hasn’t sent enough money for shoe repair and if we ask for more they will think it’s going into Festus’ pocket. So Volset has to pay for things like that. (Thank goodness she has the money to go to school.)

That is why Kelley and I are doing our project of sponsor thank you letters. So the sponsors will see that their donations are really making a difference in an actual person’s life.

School is alright. More kids have done their homework, but I have to get onto them about talking while I am. “Just because you’re whispering to each other in Luganda doesn’t mean I can’t hear you, and doesn’t mean it’s not rude to do so while I’m talking.”

I need to check myself and use more positive reinforcement – but they did need to be told. At least I’m using something like stickers. The kids laugh with each sticker. I realize that the students might not know some of the animals on the stickers. A killer whale is generalized ad a fish. I explain to them how it’s a mammal just like us.

I read a story to the class, “The Pot of Gold – an Irish Folk Tale.” I have them break into groups and read together and then answer ten questions. It’s going well. I take some photos of the classes. Looking at the photo on the back of my camera, I realize how large the class really is, and how well behaved they are considering.

In between classes I lay on the bench outside and look up at some trees. The Luganda teachers asks me why I’m sleeping in the daytime and if I’m a night dancer. Ha.

Joe sings a gospel song he has put together.

I walk home slowly. I am dizzy. My stomach is OK but this dizziness is worrying me a bit.

Walking home, I follow small footprints made in the orange dirt road and remember the same color road of our home in Umatilla. I remember my brother and I putting our bikes upside down on the road and working the pedals with our hands until the wheels were spinning fast. Then we would feed sand rocks into the spokes, shaping the rocks into different shapes, or making them disappear all together.

I whistle on the way home and stop when I hear a man clapping and singing some way into the trees from the road. It sounds like Africa.

I come home and read a book of Erin’s that we’ve all been sharing: Where There is No Doctor – A Village Health Care Hand Book.

I fall asleep and wake up to all the African noise. Africa is not quiet. Roosters, screaming children, strange birds. I’m telling you those roosters are so so loud. They don’t casually cock-a-doodle-doo they scream on the top of their lungs every single time like it’s the last thing they will ever do.

I read about how to help a woman give birth.

Jeff and Kelley are going to Kampala for a few days.

Festus puts a light bulb in my room! It’s just slightly brighter than the lantern, but it’s lovely.

Homework, Hike For Hope, Say Please

2007-09-24T13:45:00.000+03:00

I slept in today - crazy (familiar) dreams of flying around my house in Florida and extra windows. Evan came home and he was like a younger, less cynical Evan. Ha. Erin and I teased him good-naturedly. It was good to have him back. I wish I were there for his homecoming in October.

My stomach feels off balance, like any wrong move might be disastrous. (maybe not quite disastrous.) I just feel NO appetite and if I think about certain foods for too long I know I will puke.

I go to leave for school and run into Abdul coming home in his school uniform. He is sick. I give him some children’s books (that some one left at church to donate, and Jeff gave to me.) I told him to relax in bed and read them. I also gave him two bottles of (boiled) water to drink before I get home.

The S1s haven’t done their homework – only 17 out of 66. I give them a lecture (after giving the 17 some stickers I brought from the US) I give the same lecture to the S2s, who have just a slightly higher percentage of homework doers. It’s difficult, because why would a kid do homework if they do not get graded for it at all?

I asked them if it’s easy to come to school, to find the funds or if they think it’s easy for me to prepare lessons and walk all the way form Nsumba everyday. (Which isn’t really that bad.)

“No, Master.”

Then why waste your money and time being here if you don’t do the homework? How am I supposed to know what you are comprehending? When you don’t do your homework you tell me you don’t care if I’m here or not. Maybe I should go to Unique Standard (the other high school that is much closer to Nsumba)

“No, No!”

Then I let the ones that were sleeping and talking know that no one is going to force them to be smart. The government in Uganda does not make you get an education. So why come here and mess around? I tell them that I want all of them to get an education and that is why I’m here. But if they are going to be disruptive I’m going to ask them to leave because they are wasting both of our time.

They really aren’t bad kids at all. Please believe if homework wasn’t graded growing up – I would be in the same boat. I wanted to tell them I give the same speech in America, but didn’t think it would help my argument very much.

In between classes I go to the Volset office. I buy some Krest soda (bitter lemon.) It’s like carbonated lemonade. I still have no appetite.

Jeff is here and we talk about stories from life and home. The more I learn about Jeff the more impressed I am with him. He is genuinely interesting and he’s as interested in my stories as I am in his.

Today he told me about how in 2001 he walked with five friends from Key West, Florida to Quebec, Canada. ! They decided to do it, and threw it all together in only three months. They had a website and got sponsors to pay for it all, like Annie’s Mac&Cheese, Columbia, Cliff Bar, etc. It was called Hike For Hope and people visited their online journal and donated thousands and thousands of dollars to charity.

There are great stories from the trip that Jeff told me, that I won’t write all about here since they are his. But I will tell you that he got tendonitis during the trip and traveled across the entire state of Virginia in a second hand wheel chair bought from the daughter of a deceased Vietnam veteran.

What?

On the walk home from school some primary school teachers talk with me. They ask me, after finding out what I do with Volset, if I can take pictures of their kids who need sponsors and get them support from the US. I have no idea how to do this, but give them my number and tell them I’ll meet with their head mistress some time this week.

Walking up the path into Nsumba, a woman tells me to give her my bottle of water. I ask her if she can’t say please. She does and I give her an extra bottle I have in my bag. She and her little son are dressed smartly – very clean.

She tells me that she has AIDS and so does her son. (She doesn’t know the difference between HIV or AIDS, I’m sure she doesn’t have AIDS but is HIV positive.) Her name is Harriet and he is Charles. They’re on their way to Kampala to buy more medicine. She takes out a bottle of medication because she says I don’t believe her. But I do believe her and already feel badly that I asked her to say please. (Because if she understood English well, she would have probably said please.)

Harriet got the virus from her husband, who left her, and now all her kids have it as well. I ask her if she has a mosquito net. She says she doesn’t and says, “No, Thank you, I don’t have enough money.”

“They’re free!” I’m happy that I can get her a net through Jeff’s project. Then I feel silly that I would feel good about such a small thing when the poor woman and her children have HIV. But, again, I remember the quote from Mother Teresa: “We can do no great things – only small things with great love.”

We say goodbye. I walk towards home, meeting Wassua on the way, who runs to join me in my walk, holding my hand for the few yards to the house and I wonder to myself.

We are so privileged in the US and other places in the world. Maybe the reason we never think of these people, or when we do think of them – do nothing, is because we feel our contribution would be so small. But small things go so far here. A new outfit for a child, some money for just a notebook and pens, would mean so much to them..

Thanks Guys

2007-09-23T17:27:00.001+03:00

I have only three minutes left on the internet. I just wanted to thank everyone who is reading my posts and commenting. Every single comment really makes me feel great. I feel supported when I read them.

I will try to update again next week.

Thank you again!

Haircuts and Pool Tables

2007-09-23T17:05:00.001+03:00

The before shot of my incredible haircut. I don't think I'll post an after shot just yet. Let's just say that if there was an 80's themed party I would be set.

Playing pool in Kisonga.

Alafua and Wassua

2007-09-23T16:54:00.001+03:00

This is Alafua (really spelled Arafua, but in Luganda r's are pronounced as l's.)
I wrote about seeing him on the road marching home from school, so proud in his school uniform. There are no sidewalks, and really no two sides of the road.

These small children share this small road with huge "Lorries." And two years ago, one came barreling down the trading center and killed a small girl. The driver drove straight through to the next town to report it, because he knew if he stopped the villagers would have probably killed him.

There are men usually standing in the back of these trucks, on the mounds of sand they are transporting from wherever. They usually shout and wave or put their fists in the air and cheer when they pass by us muzungos.

Or sometimes they hog the road and cause us to climb the ledge to safe ground as they pass. Yesterday Jeff walked with a rock and I think the drivers steered clear.

Wassua was bleeding so I ran and got my first aid kit. Just like the girl on the island, he was mesmerized and quiet as I cleaned his wound and applied the bandage. I also patched up another child. Now in Nsumba the children (mostly Alafua) show me when they have scratches. I have to decide whether they need bandaids or not. usually I just give them a thumbs up and tell them they will live.

Teaching

2007-09-23T16:47:00.001+03:00

This is my Senior One class. It grows everyday.
Wednesday had the most students with 66. There is suppose to be 95.
The kids just finished with a holiday, so some of them are slow to getting back.

The HIV Seminar Erin and Kelley gave, with Lydia interpreting into Luganda on Thursday.

A Sunday Afternoon Walk

2007-09-23T16:37:00.001+03:00

2007-09-23T16:34:00.001+03:00

the Church in Mukono

2007-09-23T16:31:00.000+03:00

More Island Photos

2007-09-23T16:14:00.000+03:00

In a total role reversal, this father takes care of his five children after his wife left him and deserted her family. He met us as we were walking from the West to the East side of the island. We put up mosquito nets over all the beds in the house.

A mother to whom we gave a mosquito net.

I think I wrote about this, but in this village there were posters up in so many of the houses that we went to. I asked the chairperson who was showing us around and he said that they there is a person in the village who is trained in teaching and has been teaching the adults in the village English. I told him how wonderful that was and he was very proud.

My friend who waited outside every house we went into so that he could hold my hand as we walked to the next house.

Island Photos

2007-09-23T16:01:00.000+03:00

The second village that we visited.

This is where we slept while we stayed on the island. The first night we slept on the clay floor, but the next night, while we were away, the woman of the house put down mats for us to put our sleeping bags on.

There were amazing grass fields on the island.

An old fisherman who asked me to take his photograph.

Construction

2007-09-23T15:27:00.001+03:00

Men dig a pit latrine. This pit goes down about 40 feet. Ten more to go for it to be legal. There is a man all the way down there shoveling clay.

John working on the rafters with his stylish hat made from a paper bag.

The brothers go back and forth between here and the well to get water enough for the concrete.

Muyungo is doing his part for the construction of the school. We get the dirt from the latrine that they are building. The dirt is burrowed in and we spread and pat it down for a foundation before we pour in the concrete.

They guys put together the frames for the roof.

Food

2007-09-23T15:08:00.001+03:00

A typical Ugandan meal.
From the beans clockwise:
Beans, Matooke, Greens, Cabbage
In the middle:
Posho

Church and Pencil Tops

2007-09-23T13:41:00.000+03:00

We wake up and leave for church at 8am. We have sweet bananas in the house so I grab a few for the walk.

A matatu doesn’t pick us up right away like last Sunday I stop by Joe’s to see if he’s coming. A man out front tells me he’s already left.

Jeff and Kelley meet Sam, who is coming with us to church. I look for Joe and can’t find him. I wave to Richard, a math teacher at the school where I work. It looks like I’ve missed Joe. Sam says maybe he’s in Kisoga.

We arrive into the trading center at Kisoga and there is Joe in a white polo shirt with ENGLAND in red across the front. He’s eating popcorn. He runs over to the taxi to tell me he has no money for the ride. I tell him I’ll pay, remembering how he paid for me all day on Wednesday.

The ride is much quicker than usual and we arrive in Mukono with 40 minutes to spare. We take our time walking to church. Kelley leaves to go drop off some things for a couple of girls who go to school here.

We walk up the hill to church and go inside. Many people shake our hands and tell us we are “most welcome.” Elder Masdfjksdfilj (that’s not really his name – I can’t remember it – but it does have 13 letters in it.) jokes and acts like he thinks Joe is from England.

After meeting a lot of people we go into the chapel and sit in the second row. Kelley arrives right before sacrament and is surprised when she is asked, along with Jeff, to get up and talk about their testimony of the gospel – what they believe and why.

It is a “missionary Sunday” so the Elders speak and teach the lessons. Sunday school is on obedience and what the motivations are for being obedient – whether we keep the commandments out of fear of punishment, or for promised rewards, or the best reason - because of our love for God.

Sam raises his hand in the middle of the lesson and says, “Thanks so much, this was a good lesson for me. I learned a lot.” It was funny because it was the middle of the lesson not the end, but I’m impressed how brave and open the visitors are here in asking questions and giving their thoughts.

The teacher is from another African country and English is his third language. Before he was called to Uganda he didn’t know any English at all. He was nervous but his father showed him a scripture in the Book of Mormon, which explains that God will never give us a commandment we can’t accomplish – that He will always prepare a way so we can achieve the things he asks of us. He’s only been out on his mission for about for months, and already he is fluent.

After Sunday School Joe asks me for “one of those books.” The Elder who gave the lesson sits with him and shows him some good passages to read and think about and gives him a Book of Mormon.

The priesthood lesson is about honoring our priesthood and living worthily to exercise it. The lesson becomes a lesson about what the priesthood is, because so many people were visitors and had questions. Especially this man David, and also Joe. Some were confused because here, all male members have the priesthood, and not just a select paid clergy or minister.

We also talk about womanhood. The Elder explains that the priesthood does not work with out womanhood and that womanhood does not work without the priesthood. “They need each other.”

There is a sports day planned on Saturday for all the congregations in the area. Joe and I are going. He wants to play badminton. I’m going to show them some basketball skills..ha. I love basketball.

It’s funny because it’s just suppose to be a friendly atmosphere to meet people from other areas, but the Mukono Branch keeps talking about their honor. “We should not bring shame upon our branch by poor performance.” Haha.

Meghan (the Muzungu from Utah) and I sit and laugh at the great people are here. She is a teacher and is spending her time here training teachers in a different teaching method that his used in the US. I ask her if her kids ever ask her to sing or dance and she says, “Oh yeah! All the time.”

“Madam, sing Shania Twain!” (The love her here. Jeff says they're obsessed with Dolly Patron.) I think this is great and I’m a bit relieved that it wasn’t just some weird vibe I was putting out that made the kids believe I loved to perform.

After church I update my blog and have some yogurt and a delicious green apple! for lunch. My stomach is feeling way shaky after dinner last night. (Jeff isn’t doing so hot either.)

On the matatu ride home a girl sits next to me and smiles. I start reading one of my books, Faith Precedes the Miracle. She asks me if I’m saved. I think for a moment and I start to explain that I was a “joint heir with Christ” but just settled with a “yes.” She asked what church I go to and I told her “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

And she smiled and said, “The Mormons.”

“Yes. The Mormons.”

I continue reading and I’m convinced she is sitting closer to me than necessary. Her name is Rachel and she wants to come to church next Sunday. I tell her I’ll save her a seat. I ask her if she’s in school. She says yes and I ask what level. “Two.”

“S Two?”

“Yes.” I take this opportunity to let her know that I teach S2s in Ntenjeru (hoping maybe that she will realize that no matter how close she sits to me – nothings going to happen.. ha.)

I look out the window and think about a conversation I had with Jeff last night, talking about Josephine’s daughter who will not stop calling me. Jeff said it’s crazy how if I wanted a wife I could probably get one right away. I laughed because the poor girl would be in for a surprise when we got home and I have no money and probably have to live with my parents for a while. And then I realized that she would probably be thrilled regardless.

Anyway, Rachel gets off the taxi and a woman with a young child sits by me and we talk. She is nice and wishes me success. The conductor tries to charge me 3000Sh and I say no. Thinking about it later, it is funny that I just said no. I say that I’ve ridden many times before and it’s always 2500sh and the sign at the taxi park says 2500sh and just because I’m a Muzungu doesn’t mean I’m dense.

The passengers laugh and the woman next to me says sometimes people are rude. ( I think maybe she doesn’t want me to feel that all Ugandans do that – I know they don’t.)

I only hardly eat dinner. Lydia made some sort of plain omelet that was delicious and I stuck with that and some spaghetti noodles. I feel like I’m on the verge of being on the verge of throwing up.

We sit and talk after dinner. Then we hear someone crying loudly outside. We investigate and find Abdul. It’s hard to understand what’s going on - something about a pencil.. I guess the older boys (15 and 16 yr olds) were picking on him.

Kelley wants the boys to be told off. Jeff says boys will be boys and I enter into summer camp mode. I stop two girls from the dorm who were going to get involved and I go to the boy's dorm to ask them why Abdul is upset. I made sure to do a lot of asking. I’m not sure what authority I have in the matter.

The story was Abdul picked up a pencil top or pen cap and one of the older boys said it was his and told Abdul to give it back. He refused and hid it in his bed. The older boy got off his bunk and pulled the 10 year old off the bunk to search for the cap.

I give the boys the same speech I gave 100 times at camp. (and that was given to my siblings and me countless times by my dad as we were growing up.) If the pen did belong to the older boy, then Abdul was wrong. But as soon as you touched him and physically moved him, you also became wrong. I explained how it must feel being the youngest boy in the dorm. I let them know how important it is to feel safe here - that this place is their home and what happened made Abdul feel unsafe.

The boys are very polite and came to their own correct conclusions with my simple questions. I tell them if this kind of thing comes up again, to go get Festus or an adult to act as a mediator.

It sounds more preachy here than when I actually talked with them.

Burritos!

2007-09-22T14:54:00.000+03:00

Laundry day. Jeff and I are outside washing our clothes and Aisha comes out and takes over, seeing how pathetic we are. ( I thought I was doing pretty well.) This Aisha is not the girl that stays in the dorms, but a woman that Festus hired to help around the White House. Sometimes he refers to her as the “brown lady” because she is lighter skinned.

Well she is Muslim, and today is not her Sabbath so she sets to work. Her hands are so fast and efficient in washing the clothes. We’re almost mesmerized. We listen to the radio as people have a discussion about Chogum and the country’s emergency preparedness plan. A man suggests that the country have a Youth League that responds to disasters, and that the country have a few helicopters they can fly around.

I was going to go to Mukono today, and I still might. Josephine’s daughter keeps calling me. I don’t know if it was lost in translation or what but she thinks I’m suppose to meet her today and it’s like I’m late or something. I don’t think I’ve ever met her before or even spoken to her. So weird.

-

Abdul follows me from the main room where I have typed all my entries, into my bedroom and sees the frisbee. He asks to play so I go outside and we throw it back and forth. He is so good already. It's only his second time playing. Some of the older kids come and we teach them how to throw the frisbee.

It starts to get old, and I wonder if I can teach them ultimate frisbee. I divide the team into boys vs. girls. There are two boys and me, and four girls. I am surprised at how quickly they understand the game. It still wasn't perfect at first, of course. Gracie, who is 12, understood the game right away and helped me to explain the rules to the others. It was a really fun game. (Needless to say, my team won.. 10 - 6)

After the game I start a big duck-duck-goose game for the smaller kids who couldn't play ultimate. First, I have to tie Simba up, because the kids are absolutely terrified, and he chases them around the yard. I make sure to use the very long rope, and not the small chain they usually have, to tie him up. I put him in the front, so at least he is with all of us.

It is really sad how they treat the dogs. Jeff and I try to rescue them whenever we can. Yesterday I moved Simba from his short chain in the sun to a shady spot and gave him some water. That dog cries non-stop for hours on end. They keep Vicky in the "house of the dogs." It is a small storage space with a door. She never barks. I think she is used to sleeping during the day and running around at night when they finally let her loose. (She eats the chickens during the day.)

So, we start this big duck-duck-goose game and it is great fun.

-

We are waiting for dinner when Erin comes over with her friend Ky. They grew up together and he just happens to be volunteering in Uganda at the same time. And you will never believe what we had for dinner...

BURRITOS! They bought ingredients in Mukono. We already have beans every night, so we have that covered. They bring gpatis (the flat bread used for rolexes.) They also have a block of CHEDDER CHEESE, some avacodos, tomatoes, GARLIC, CILANTRO,... I can't believe it.

We teach Lydia and Festus the art of burrito making. Festus is not impressed, but Lydia is. We tell her we will teach her how to make it.

I'm worried about my homecoming pattymelt dinner.. Because I've been eating the same foods for weeks, and just from the new food, I can feel my stomach is a little shaky. It was worth it though.. so good.

Bye Namata!

2007-09-21T14:51:00.000+03:00

Today Kelley and I are going to the schools that have kids that are sponsored by Volset. So many kids recently have had their sponsors in the US or the UK just randomly drop them, or be really lazy about when they get their money in. We think that if they understood that their money is actually going towards a child’s education, and that when they stop paying without letting us know, it means that the child cannot attend school until we find them a new sponsor.

So, we are going to these schools and I am taking photos of the children and Kelley is helping them write thank you letters to let the sponsors know that they really are making such a difference.

It goes quicker and easier than we expected, and hopefully we’ll have this whole project finished in two months. We walked to a school that was about three or four miles down this road. The same road that leads to the orphanage I visited in my first week. The sun is hot. Today it is easy to remember that we are right on the equator. We walk for miles, sit down for ten minutes, and then walk for miles again.

Erin’s Buganda name is Namata and the small children around the village sometimes substitute this name for Muzungo. We are miles from Ntenjeru and some little girl says, “Bye Namata!”

What is even stranger is when we are a mile from town and some kid says, “Bye Adam!” People are constantly saying my name and I have no idea who they are. But I like it so much better than being called muzungo.

We meet Jeff and Ronnie in town and go to the restaurant that is becoming our little hangout. We say goodbye to Ronnie after lunch and go home, visiting John on the way. We sit on teh front porch and relax. I peel the rest of my sugarcane (which apparently doesn't become sweeter as you let it sit, but dries out..)

H. I. What? V.

2007-09-20T14:50:00.000+03:00

Late night text from Fiona: You must be a thief coz you have stolen my heart. You must be tired coz you’re running through my mind. And maybe I’m a bad shooter coz am missing you. Gdnyt!

Ha.

I don’t have school until 2pm so I sleep in and clean my room. Festus thanks me for keeping it so tidy.

I walk down the road towards Ntenjeru and some small boy in school uniform yells up the road, “Adam! Ori Otya!” I can’t make out who it is and I’m so surprised as I get closer to see that it is Alafua! For the first time I see him in clothes that don’t have holes and tears in them. “Were you at school?” He deliberately nods his head once and says, “yes!”

He is so young, maybe five, and he’s walking alone down this road that huge trucks speed down every five minutes. I ask if he’s going home and he says yes. He then grabs my hand and starts walking with me towards Ntenjeru. He is smiling so big and marching up a storm, so proud in his clothes.

I take the shortcut to the school and worry that maybe Alafua won’t be able to find his way back home one I get to school. I ask him, “Are you going home, or going back to school?”

“Yes.”

“Um.. OK you have to go home now. I need to teach school.”

“Yes. Tugede.” (which means let’s go.)

I try to un-hold his hand, but he squeezes even tighter. I take him to some woman who are washing outside their house and ask them to translate for me. (Kids in Uganda do not learn English until they are almost out of primary school.)

As the woman talk to him he holds my hand tighter and wipes the tears that are dropping from his straight face. I feel terrible. I get out my books and show him that I’m a teacher. I don’t think he understands. And who knows, maybe the women are telling him to leave the muzungo alone.

Finally he understands that he can’t walk with me anymore. He turns and starts walking up the path. I look back and see him reach into the back of his shorts and pull out a huge white handkerchief, that he uses to wipe his face. He looks back at me, kicks the dirt and walks on.

I meet a girl and her two brothers, one she is holding, on a path in the banana trees on the way to school. I wish I could stay longer to take pictures, but settle for the few I had time for.

After class ask me to sing and dance or take their picture and say forget about it, because no one has done their homework. I think they will do it next week.

Josephine, the manager from Mukono, calls me and has me speak to her daughter who asks me when I’m coming back. I tell her I’m not sure, but that Joe and I plan on going maybe on Saturday.

I go to Ntenjeru and meet Erin and Kelley. They are doing a seminar on HIV at the trading center. I have three passion fruit juices. Places prepare this juice and pour them into sandwich sized plastic bags and tie them. They’re kept in a fridge and you drink them with a straw. They’re suppose to boil the water they use and I’m scared to ask if they do, because it is delicious.

We wait for a good while before people decide to sit down for our seminar. As it progresses more and more people show up until we have a good crowd. Kelley and Erin, with the help of Lydia – who translates into Luganda, ask the group what they know about HIV, how you can get HIV, how you can prevent HIV, why is HIV still a problem when we know how to prevent it, and open the discussion to their questions.

It was pretty good. There are some very smart people, and some stupid young men who have such misconceptions about how HIV is spread. They take too much risk in assuming that they might not get the virus.

I walk home with Kelley, who stops at this man, John’s house to drop off food. Jeff and Kellie have provided the man with surgery that he needed so badly. He is suppose to rest for a month, which he is having a hard time doing with the boredom, so they are helping his family with food.

Oh Say Can You See?

2007-09-19T14:38:00.000+03:00

Before class I get to school and go to the teachers lounge. Which is really just a small concrete room with a table and stools and a huge 2005 calendar showing some soccer team. They ask me if I’m having some tea and I tell them no thank you. Then one of them says this is the third time that I’ve refused to “take tea” (which is how they say it here.) and asked if I was worried they were going to poison me.

Then Richard says, “No, it’s because of his religion” Richard says he used to go to my church in Mukono but that he can’t afford to take a taxi there every Sunday. The Chemistry teacher, Joseph says he would like to go to my church and asks me what it’s about.

I tell him that one thing about our church is we believe God is the same yesterday, today, and
forever, and if he spoke to prophets in the past, he will continue to speak through prophets today. That God is not finished speaking to us, that his work did not end with the Bible, but continues on even today.

The teacher who is a Jehovah’s Witness, and a good man, asks me what I say about the passage in the Bible that says there will be no one after Jesus. I ask him to please show me this passage, because I don’t believe it says that anywhere in scripture.

He quickly flips through the pages, searching for these words, as the others continue to ask some questions about the church. I explain how the Bible is a record of God’s dealings with His people in Jerusalem, and how God loves the entire world and speaks to people in other places as well. And they are asked to write their revelations just as the prophets were in Jerusalem. I told them the Book of Mormon is a record of God’s dealings with His people anciently on the American continent.

Then this man shows me the passage he has found. It is in Hebrews and says something like, “Thus Jesus, having come at the end of days, has …..” And he points at the “end of days” and says, “see!” I ask him who wrote that passage. He says Paul. I ask him, if everything ended with Jesus, why do you consider Paul’s words to be scripture?

The whole room hooted and laughed and the man just smiled. “Do you consider Paul a prophet?” I say that he was a leader of the church, an apostle, and that apostles are also prophets.

“What about,” he starts, using the familiar argument, “in Revelations where it says if you add to these words you add a curse, if you take away any words it is no good?”

I ask him if he knows that the book of Revelation was written chronologically before some of the books in the Bible. I tell him, and the few listening in the room, that Matthew didn’t get a huge blank book and start writing on it, and then having finished, pass it to Mark, then to Luke and to John and then finally, some time down the road, John the Revelator gets this book and decides he is going to finish it. The End.

The books of the Bible were all separate, and it is man that compiled the scriptures and put them in the order they thought appropriate. All the writings of Paul are placed in the Bible from the longest book to the shortest. When did it ever say that God was finished with revelation?

He can’t think of anything to say but that we have a lot to talk about.

Today I teach math to the S2s before the S1s. I end the S1 class and start packing my bags. “Master! Mr. Adam! Sing for us!”

“What? Why??”

“Sing for us some American music. What about your National Anthem?”

I tell them that if I sing my National Anthem they have to sing theirs. They agree. I sing the Star Spangled Banner and they applause. They ask me what it means. I explain how it was written during the Revolutionary War when we were fighting for our freedom and independence. (Even though it was the war of 1812.. ha. I knew it didn't sound right, but my dad commented and let me know.) I tell them the flag was raised during the day amidst all the cannons and gunshots and the author of the song saw the flag as the sun set.

I told them the fighting continued throughout the night and in the morning, with the first rays of the sun, the author looked out and saw that the flag was still standing, and it inspired him to write this song, which represents to us that no matter what happens, through all difficulties, our nation, and the desire to be free, will endure.

I felt so proud to be American. Haha.

Then all at once they stood and began to sing their anthem. It was simple and pretty and talked about Uganda being a land of freedom and that if they stood together it could not fall. I really enjoyed their singing.

After Lunch all the students have an official debate. The two opposing sides sit across from each other and there is a House Speaker with secretaries at his side. The four proposing and four opposing speakers have their name written on the board with the prefix: Honorable. The proposing argument is: Boys should be given the first priority to education.

I guess the issue is that sometimes a mother does not have enough money to send all her children to school. So should she send the boy before the girl, or the girl before the boy. In my opinion gender shouldn’t determine which child goes to school.

Those proposing say that in the Bible, God made Adam first and then Eve. So it should be with education. (I want to tell the girls that the Bible also says the First shall be Last and the Last shall be First, but I keep quiet.) The opposing said that God made Eve to help Adam and how can she help Adam without an education? The proposing said all major discoveries have been from men and that it is this theory (giving a man’s name) or that theory and not the Shania Twain Theory. Haha. The girls said: educate a woman - educate a nation.

I don’t think there was one clear winner on the subject.

After school I walk with the Chemistry teacher, Joseph to town. I say I’m going to get a haircut and he comes with me. Jeff got a hair cut yesterday and it looks fine. They shaved his face too and it only cost 500Sh! So, I walk in, confident that everything will be great. I tell the barber to just trim the sides a bit, but do not shave it. OK OK

BUZZ! Right into the side of my head above my ear he shaves the hair off. “Like this?”

“No! ha but it’s too late now, isn’t it? Go ahead..”

So he shaves all around my head and leaves the top. I look like Vanilla Ice. Haha I’m not upset as I would be in America because everyone will just assume this is what muzungos do to their hair. But I will wear a hat to school tomorrow. (As if I haven’t been doing that everyday anyway.)

Then Joseph says we should go to Kisonga (said like Chasoga.) It’s the biggest village between here and Mukono. I asked how much it would cost and he says, “No, no you are my guest!” Why do these Africans want to buy me everything? It’s the opposite of what you would expect.

We get to Kisonga and go to a bar and he orders us soda after soda and we sit and watch Ugandan music videos. Which are very funny. Joseph, or maybe I should call him Joe, to differentiate between him and Joseph from Mukono.. Joe told the girl to put in some English videos. He is from the border of Uganda and Kenya, so he doesn’t speak Luganda very well, mostly Swahili.

The girl puts in a new DVD and it’s the Back Street Boys. Haha I love it and think that this DVD will be filled with funny videos from my middle school days. But I was wrong, the DVD was every music video the Back Street Boys had ever made. And the Africans sat and sang along. Haha.

There was a woman who managed the shop named Josephine, who after I took some pictures of her and the shop, asked for my number and made me write down hers. She said if I was ever lonely she had some daughters I could spend time with. Haha.

We go next door to play some pool. The balls are a bit smaller than the ones in America and they are only colors with no numbers, except the 8-ball, which looked like a miniature of ours. The owner of the place came up to us and played a game of pool. Of course he was brilliant, owning the pool table and everything. He shows us what is what and then gives us three free games.

Robby calls me! It is so great to talk to someone from home. He has called me about three times I think, only for a few minutes, but it's still great. He is driving down the highway listening to the Uganda music playing in the background on my end. Crazy.

Joe keeps asking me what I want to eat and I tell him I am OK. Finally he says that it hurts him that I won’t eat. He wants me to have a good time and to buy my dinner. So we order some Matooke and Fish before we head on home.

We catch a taxi to Ntenjeru. There is no one else in the matatu and we sit in front. I make sure to put my seatbelt on. We get to Ntenjeru and the taxi is going no further, so Joe gets us a motorcycle to Nsumba. He lives between here and Nsumba and he pays for the driver to drop me off after him.

The guy drives behind Joe’s building right to his room. He wants to show me his place. “This is my girl,” he says pointing to a woman cooking something on the steps. I had no idea he was married, or living with this woman. We get inside and there is a baby sleeping on the couch. “Who is this?” I say. “This is my girl.” Haha. I say goodbye and head on home.

The driver drives allt he way into the courtyard of the White House. I say, "Webale" and he drives off. I poke my head into the boy's dorm to say hi. There are five boys staying there now. One of them is turning eleven. His name is Addul (everyone says it like Aba-doo) He is following along as I type this out right now on my laptop. His reading skills are very good.

Master, Dance For Us!

2007-09-18T14:28:00.000+03:00

I teach English today. My S1 class has grown to 66 students. As I end my S2 class they call out, “Master!” (which is what they call teachers here. ..awkward I know.) It is also Uganda tradition for woman to kneel when addressing their elders. I’m not sure I’ve seen any of the male students do it, but whenever a girl is handing something to a teacher, or comes to the office with a question, she kneels. When I gave tootsie-rolls to the daughters of the woman whose house we were staying at during the Island trip, they knelt as I handed it to them to say thank you.

Anyway, so the students call out for me and ask me to dance. What? I am so confused. “Why in the world would I dance for you??”

“Please, master, dance!” haha So I say I will dance if they will dance. Some of them try, but they are too shy. I start dancing the Calypso, a Ugandan dance I saw at the Introduction and they immediately cheer and shout. I moonwalk out of the classroom to their utter delight.

After class I stayed for lunch. The teachers were outside on a bench under a tree by the office. Richard and the woman I don’t think likes me ask me what I do with Volset. I tell them about Jeff’s mosquito net project and how we go to villages and give them to woman who are pregnant or have small children, or those who are HIV positive. He asks why we don’t care about “the singles.” I tell them that we don’t have endless supplies of nets, and those people have the biggest risk of dying from Malaria, and that if pregnant women have Malaria it can cause birth defects in the baby.

Then Richard asks me what a muzungo looks like when he has AIDS and that maybe muzungos can’t get AIDS. I tell him how utterly wrong he is. I tell him I’m not sure what a person with AIDS looks like, that if I’ve seen one, I wasn’t aware of it. He couldn’t believe it and him and the woman talk in Luganda about it.

I explain to them that while HIV is still a problem in the US, it’s not nearly the epidemic it is in Africa because we are, from such an early age, educated about the virus: what causes it and how to prevent it.

I think the woman is coming around to me. I tell her I went to a burial the day before and she says to Richard that I am very inquisitive. I think this is meant as a compliment, then she tells me I could have got my head chopped off. What? Why is everyone worried about me getting my head chopped off?

I tell them the ladies said the same thing and warned me about foxes. Now they start on how I couldn’t possibly kick a fox and maybe the foxes in America are domesticated. I tell them they absolutely are not and that foxes are small. Then I say fine, if a crazy fox is after me, I will climb a tree. Then they ask what I would do I were in the tea plantation. I say I would hop on top of a tea plant and they laugh and laugh.

Banana Tree Funeral

2007-09-17T14:27:00.000+03:00

I start teaching today. I’m wearing the same thing I wore yesterday to church so that I look as smart as I can for the kids. I’m teaching math to Senior 1 and Senior 2. They are around the age of middle schoolers – my favorite age group.

They giggle. There are about 45 kids in my S1 class and only 30 something in my S2. I felt the same way I did on my first day of subbing at the high school. Nervous at first, but after a few minutes I was fine.

During class Fiona (the girl from Mukono who likes to have white friends) text messaged me this: Iam nt aclock dat I can sms u 24hrs ade bt ma hrt wil b lyk aclock dat wil nt stop carin,lovin & prayin 4aspecial person lyk u. hope life is kul. I MCU.adam sms me

What?

There is a woman who teaches Luganda at the school. I meet her and get the feeling that she is not impressed with me at all. I don’t know if she spoke any English at all while I was there. I did hear her comment on the way I said one of my Luganda words though, while everyone else was just impressed that I knew how to answer the question that was asked.

I finish school at about 4pm and start to walk home. I pass by quite a few people going in the opposite direction. One of them is a man, Ezekiel who is the pastor at the 7^th Day church in Ntenjeru. He is starting an organization like Festus did and wants my opinion on things and wants me to visit his organization in West Uganda. I told him I would love to see other parts of the country, but I couldn’t this weekend.

I walk on and pass more and more people walking in the other direction. I pass three women and I say, “Jambo” and then they tell me they are going to a burial and that I should come to. A woman just up the road died yesterday and they are going to pay their respects.

I hike with them on the same path that Jeff, Kelley, and I took yesterday, and then further still, hiking forever. I tell Florence that I had been this way only yesterday and she tells me that she has lived here six years and has never been up this way.

We get to the burial, which is on the top of a big hill. People are gathered in an area of banana trees and vanilla vines. They have put in a shallow hole, maybe four feet, and sealed it with brick and mortar. There are two preachers. Women are laying in the shade of the trees. There is a group of people surrounding the grave.

The second preacher begins to sing in Luganda, “Nearer My God to Thee.” They lower the casket into the grave with ropes and her family cries out. She has left behind four children and they cry the loudest. The people nearest to the grave start singing along, and slowly the music spreads to the rest of the congregation. I hum along, not knowing the Luganda words.

Men, like the ones that are building the school, start mixing cement and rocks with shovels and hoes. It is strange because they smile and laugh occasionally. So do others in the crowd, as another preacher starts his remarks. It was similar at the baptism. But all during the service her family sits under the banana trees a little way off and cry.

We leave as they seal the woman inside her grave. As we walk back I see the shortcut that we took yesterday to get home. I wave goodbye to the ladies and an old woman who joined us while walking says, “uh uh!” (Which means no, Ugandans use a lot of humming and uh uhs to communicate.) They said that I would get my head chopped off. I try to explain I took the same route yesterday and it was fine, but liking to make old woman happy, I follow them the long way home.

They tell me that a fox could attack me. I tell them that I will kick a fox. We get to Florence’s house, and she tells me that someday I need to come and take photos of her and her children. A man with a bicycle starts walking with me and tries to teach me some Luganda. He is impressed with how much I know already. (Which really isn’t much. I only know basic greetings.)

Church!

2007-09-16T14:26:00.000+03:00

Church! I’ve been dying for some church in my life. We were running just a little late so we walked fast once we got to Mukono. I did not want to miss sacrament. There are no pews in the chapel and the floors are carpeted, not tiled – but the building looks very similar to the ones in the US. The church feels like home.

There are two other muzungos here. One is a missionary and the other is a girl that plays the piano/keyboard, Megan. The branch president’s daughter bears her testimony. She has been in a boda boda accident this week. She spoke about how amazing it was that she survived. She said she knew it was a blessing from her Father in Heaven because she had prayed before leaving the house. “Never leave home without praying,” she says. The Spirit backs up her words and I know that I need to follow this advice.

We sing “Israel, Israel God is Calling” and I am full. This past week was getting hard. I was missing my family and friends, questioning why I was in Africa, or what difference I could possibly make here. But now Heavenly Father comforts me and reminds me that He wants me
here. I feel so much love.

I knew before I came here that I was suppose to come. How easily I let myself forget that. Now I can act with more confidence here. It is good to be in situations like this – to be uncomfortable and to rely so much upon God. It lets you – or makes you- remember what is important.

Sunday school here only uses the Gospel Principles handbook. (I think. I’m going to check this next Sunday to see if there is another class.) We talked about talents.

Yesterday, Joseph, the guy who said he wanted to be my friend texted me to ask when I was going to be in Mukono. I told him, “I’ll be there tomorrow for church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) from 10-1. Feel free to come, or I’ll call you after we get out.) And on the way to Priesthood meeting I see him in the foyer. He comes with me to class. They use the Duties of the Priesthood handbook instead of Teachings of the Prophets. We talked about the Word of Wisdom and Joseph raises his hand and answers questions.

After church we go to a baptism. There are so many missionaries here, about three sets I think. All of them but one are from other parts of Africa. After the baptism Joseph takes me to visit his family. We walk to his neighborhood and people stare. One woman calls out in Luganda, “Oh, Joseph, your mother’s going to be happy when she sees the muzungo you’re bringing home!” I ask Joseph why she would be happy. I’m thinking that maybe they think I have money.

We arrive at the place his mom works. She owns a restaurant like the one we go to in Ntenjeru. Joseph has me sit down and he goes to get me lunch and a soda. While we wait for the food he introduces me to his siblings. His little brother is a cool kid and does balancing tricks on the branches of the structure we’re sitting under.

I ask Joseph how much the soda was so I can pay him back and he refuses. “No, no you are my guest!” After the meal we go to visit his home and then he walks me back to the taxi park. He wants to go to church next Sunday and says the only reason he hasn’t been going is because he has no company, but now I can be his company. Then we say goodbye. He doesn’t ask me for anything at all.

I talk about it to Jeff and Kelley and we realize that most people just like to have foreigners visit. I think about how my British friends came to stay with my family after camp and how whenever I introduced them to my family, they would love to just sit and talk to them.

I see Joyce and Molly at the taxi park. They start school tomorrow and won’t be staying at the White House. They go to Hilton High School, probably the best school in the area.

After I get home I go on a walk with Jeff and Kelley. We pass by some kids who shout out Muzungo! and give us sugar cane. I love sugar cane! How nice. We walk to the top of the tea plantation to an old deserted house. We can see out really far and even to Lake Victoria in the distance. We find a short cut through the jungle to Nsumba, bypassing Ntenjeru. It might not be as short as taking the road, but I’ll try it tomorrow when I start teaching at school.

I'll Fly Away, Oh Glory

2007-09-15T23:22:00.000+03:00

Before going to Mukono to use the internet Jeff, Kelley, and I do some laundry. Everyone else has gone to church. Festus has locked the tap to the water tank. (Maybe he forgot to unlock it before church, or maybe because it’s his Sabbath he doesn’t want anyone doing laundry.)

We ask Aisha why it’s locked and she says it’s because he thinks “they” waste the water. “They? I thought it was We.” So Jeff helps me to tip over the water tank to pour out some water for laundry. It is really heavy and we lose grip and the whole thing falls over and water starts gushing out everywhere. We laugh so hard and try to put the cylinder tank right again. Talk about wasting water! (We probably only spilt 5 gallons.)

After using the internet I go the taxi park to pick up a matatu to Nsumba. Ly
dia is already in the taxi and I sit next to her. There is a terrible smell in the van. It is incredible. I’m not sure but I think it might be the man next to me with a cardboard box/cage full of chicks.

At home the girls and Mayungo are singing in the study room. Luganda hymns. After dinner we go and join them. They ask us to sing some of our hymns so we sing, “The Lord is My Light.” And then “The Spirit of God.” They clap and then we all sing, “I’ll Fly Away” really loudly. Our favorite song for the girls to sing is “Hasten On, Glad Day.”

the Introduction

2007-09-15T17:42:00.000+03:00

Neighboorhood kids

2007-09-15T17:34:00.000+03:00

Nakato and baby

Alafua

NaKato

Duck Duck Goosie

2007-09-15T17:29:00.000+03:00

Delicious Rolex

2007-09-15T17:24:00.001+03:00

Rainy Day

2007-09-15T17:20:00.000+03:00

This Takes So Long

2007-09-15T17:12:00.000+03:00

I am in Mukono and uploading my entries. I have been on the internet for around 3 hours. There are so many more photos that I would like to upload, but the connection is so slow. It is hard to edit which ones to include.

But you are all invited to a slideshow presentation sometime.. haha. Acutally, I think I'm doing one for my family because I get home the day before Thanksgiving and they'll all be around.

I miss you. And I miss American Food so much.
Patty Melt Patty Melt Patty Melt! and Mac and Cheese.
What?
okgoodbye.

I Am A Math Teacher

2007-09-14T17:11:00.000+03:00

I went to the office to use the electricity to type up all the journal entries. This has taken me all day. I took a break for my appointment with the head master of the high school. I actually met with the math teacher who gave me my schedule and some books. I meet with the English teacher on Monday.

I am teaching a lot of math classes. I have one class that has 95 students! WHAT? Haha. I am praying that I do a good job, and that the kids will be able to understand my English. I have to prepare some lesson plans. I wish I had some nicer clothes to stand in front of the kids with. I will try to be as dressy as I can for my first day. But they’ll understand, because I am a muzungo, and everything they do is crazy anyway.

We were talking today about how a lot of people seem to think that we all carry around guns. The kids at the Island asked to see my pistol yesterday. Haha..

I’m going to try to go to Mukono tomorrow to update my blog. Good times. Maybe I will stay the night there so I don’t have to pay again to go to church on Sunday. We’ll see.

I wish my family would call me.

And if you would like to call me feel free! It is free for me, but you will need a calling card.

The phone number is: 256753366470

Under African Skies

2007-09-13T17:09:00.000+03:00

Last night after dinner (I had seconds!) we played cards (Presidents) under the stars. The sky on this island is huge. We could clearly see the Milky way streaming across the sky. We played by candle light with a hundred small white flies all over.

Erin had questions about the Church. She is stuck on issues of homosexuality and the role of women in the Church. Jeff and I tried to address both. I was trying to explain how womanhood is just as important as priesthood then realized and said that coming from me it isn’t going to mean anything. I told her she should ask women in the Church. I said, and Jeff agreed, that I never met a woman in the Church that felt like they were being made to be submissive or pacified.

Kelley (who was baptized maybe a year and a half ago) was in the tent and joined the conversation from the dark, 10 yards away. She said that she has never felt so honored or empowered in being a woman as she does now in the Church. She eventually came out of the tent and we all talked about faith and our motivation for living by it.

Jeff and Kelley were so good at expressing how things work. Kelley talked about how she had the exact problems with the Church that Erin is feeling. She said what really attracted her was the fact that everyone in the Church told her never to take their word for anything – to always ask God, the source of all truth, for confirmation of the things she was being taught.

We talked about how much love Heavenly Father has for us. How He did not create us to send us to some everlasting hell. We talked about progression. Under the stars, the conversation was much more amazing than the version I try to put together here.

-

We get on a boat and wait at the other end of the island for an hour until the boat is full. Sleep. My seat is slanted and uncomfortable. It is chilly. Some of the Ugandans are making jokes with each other and one laughs with such a loud high-pitched voice. Ha.

We get to the mainland and are carried to shore. I think the man purposely carries me the female way (like over the threshold) instead of the male way (piggy-back.) It is impossible to keep your pride as a muzungu in Uganda.

There is a man wanting to see our id cards. We ask to see his and he shows us his military id. Special precautions for Chogum. Nuru says it’s ridiculous to the man and the crowd that has gathered. She is funny and somehow articulate in her Ugandan English.

Ugandans don’t have government issued ids. Why ask for an id that I can just create? And she went on a rant about Chogum and the Queen and how Ugandans will never be able to tell that she was even in Kampala and she most definitely will not make it down to such a small village. The man said, “Yes, but there are many ways to kill a goat.” And we said thankyoubye.

We eat and haggle haggle for a fair taxi price to Nsumba. We are home and there is a black and white goat. It is fiat and I hope it is pregnant. I saw a baby goat on the Island the size of a small puppy. I want one,

-

I just watched the goat get butchered. They ripped the skin off, emptied the stomachs, and crocheted the intestines. I wasn’t as grossed out as I thought I would be. I didn’t see it’s throat being cut, so I think it made it easier to imagine this goat as a different one that I was petting a few hours previous.

The Island Part 2

2007-09-12T17:06:00.000+03:00

We go to the village after a breakfast of peanut butter and banana sandwiches, which we also had last night for dinner. We put up mosquito nets with the Chairman’s help. Jeff went with Moses and Kelley and I went with Juliet. We first give nets to pregnant woman and then families with small children (malaria can cause birth defects.) We put up over 50.

Then we walk about five miles to the East side of the Island to meet Erin and Nuru (who have been meeting with people Volset gave small loans – to see how their investments are doing. Most of these people are HIV+)

We eat lunch. Beans with Chapti (kind of like flat bread they use in rolexes) cut up in the bowl. We welcome the variation.

The fishing villages, particularly, have drinking problems. They make their own brew. Four men, sitting around a jerry can full of their own alcohol with drinking straws, invite me to drink as I walk by. Thank you but no thank you.

The nets have chemicals in them to kill mosquitoes and now my face is on fire. Even after I take a shower (in the bushes by the house) my eyelids burn.

There is a little girl in the village who has cut her finger with a razor blade. She must have been playing with it. I think her mom might use it for her work. I use my first-aid kit for the first time. I am very careful to not get any blood on me. The girl didn’t know what was going on or what was on her finger (a Band-Aid) but she seemed content with the whole situation.

One of the kids in the village waits for me outside each house we put up nets in, so he can hold my hand as we walk to the next. Most of the kids, after they get over the shock and fear of seeing a muzungo, come and hold my hand and fingers and stroke the hair on my arm. One time a kid looked up at me and said, after further inspection, “the same.”

We finish giving out the 100 nets. All in one day - a new Volset record.

Fields of grass – the sun setting. Dinner is ready (when it’s still light out!)

Africa is beautiful right now.

The Island

2007-09-11T17:05:00.000+03:00

We leave for Volset around 1pm. One of the leaders from Irish group apologizes to be for Barry and his brother for giving me a hard time. I tell him it isn’t a big deal at all. He says, “No, they were out of line. They let down their program and their country.” Haha pretty dramatic, but I really appreciated him talking to me. He told me they did not represent the attitudes of the rest of the group. I can tell those guys are trying to make it up by being really friendly and telling me I am a hard worker.

We wait for the boat in the village we got gas from before the Introduction. Still feeling the effects of the migraine. An extra Mirinda soda made it feel better. We go from a taxi with 24 people to a small boat with too many for a seat. We each pay a man in a blue vest to carry us from the shore out to the boat.

Erin uses her Luganda to trade some pieces of bread for a sprite. Everyone laughs. Fiona (the girl from Mukono) calls me and asks if I’m Adam and tells me she will text me. The text went a little something like this:

“its m fiona.munange thres nthing in ths world tht i value lyk having a whte friend. Whrver u r knw tht i wil kp u as my no. 1 frnd. Hve a great day, fifi”

haha.. I have no airtime so I don’t text back, but what would I say even if I could?

I read for a while then stare out. The sun is setting and the sky and water bleed into each other until I can’t tell where either begins or ends. At this moment I like Africa again and am happy.

We arrive to our port at dark. The boat pulled right to shore this time, so I just jump off instead of getting carried. We hike up hill through tall grass and almost run into a cow with horns. We get to the house and no one is home. They supposedly know we are coming. After waiting we open the door by reaching through a hole in the wall.

We put up mosquito nets. Jeff and Kelley put up a tent under the church (an unfinished mud structure.) Leaving Erin, Nuru, (a volunteer who comes to help from Mukono) and me in the house.

The woman gets home and is not expecting us, but is totally fine with us there. Only in Uganda can you break into someone’s house, set up beds, and then be asked when the owner comes home what we would like for dinner tomorrow.

Construction and Migraines

2007-09-10T17:04:00.000+03:00

I think the boys are trying to make p for the jokes last night, they’ve asked me three times this morning if I’m coming with them to build the school today. When I said I was coming they said it was a big help and their glad I’m coming and that I look like Leonardo DiCaprio. What? Anyway.. that’s what I’m doing today.

I help to level the beginnings of the foundation or a few rooms. People bring in clay and Erin and I spread it around the room and pack it down. Later I go to fetch water through the jungle. There are butterflies everywhere. It is so hot.

After lunch I take a five-minute nap and wake up with missing vision, which means a migraine is coming. I go home and take some ibuprofen and go back to the van, but it left. I don’t want it to look like I’m not a hard worker, or that I was making excuses. I love to work hard. I take a shower as my vision comes back along with my headache.

I sleep for few hours, waking up because of pain. I wonder if my malaria medication (which causes sensitivity to the sun) has caused this to happen. I dream about home and familiar food. I come out for dinner. My head feels better, my brain just feels loose.

After dinner the Kenyans, Australian (who is visiting with them), Jeff and Kelley, and I ask Nuru about her Muslim faith and then the Australian asks me about Mormon faith. It was a good conversation.

My phone is charging. It has been dead for two days. I wish home would call. I almost don’t want to write it, but I feel homesick and tired. Pessimistic about why I’m here. People at home would tell me to come back, but I don’t want to give up. I think I’ll feel better when I start teaching. I can be happy here.

We have it so comfortable at home. Everything is so comfortable and easy and clean. I ask Festus how much a child’s outfit would cost and he says not to buy any for the kids. He says other volunteers have bought them clothes and the kids keep them and save them and wear rags until the nice clothes they have saved don’t fit them anymore. “If you want to help them, give them and education, give them food.”

I think they still need clothes. Erin has a quote hanging up in her house that helps me when I’m feeling like this. It’s by Mother Theresa. “We can do no great things – Only small things with great love.”

I cannot change all of Uganda. But maybe I can be a good teacher to some kids in Ntenjeru. Maybe I can teach the neighborhood kids to play games and get along.

If I wasn’t here someone else would be. But Erin says it’s the same thing at home. I teach at home and if I didn’t someone else would. But I might bring something to these kids with my teaching that someone else might not have.

We’re going to the Islands tomorrow.

The Introduction

2007-09-09T17:03:00.000+03:00

Today we go to the Introduction. I ride there with Festus, Dan (who drives) and two woman (Waboe and Roobe) who are visiting from Kenya form a sister program to Volset. We drive in the opposite direction for 15 minutes to get gas at a village right on Lake Victoria. People are wading in the water all along the shore filling jerry cans (the yellow ones) with water. Long fishing boats scatter the shore. Then we visit ( 15 more minutes out of the way) another sister program to show the Kenya girls.

I am missing home as we drive. The roads are so incredibly bumpy and uneven. WE drive through huge puddles of opaque orange water. I sleep most of the way.

We get there and eat before we go in. Festus says that way we are full and look really polite and patient during the ceremony. We had bought food, yogurt, and soda in Mukono. (I eat dairy every chance I get.) A man comes up with money thinking we are selling from our trunk.

I change into the traditional shirt and put on Festus’ coat. Most of the men at the Introduction are wearing a shirt like this. It starts to rain so we wait in the car for about an hour before going inside. Festus doesn’t want it to look like we are coming in just because of the rain. And I think he wants to wait for the Irish who are still pretty far away. (I don’t think most of them want to come.)

I like the Introduction as much as I like American weddings. It is very long and in a different language, but sometimes the crowd would burst into laughing. Sometimes I would pretend I knew what was going on and I would laugh too. The Kenya girls were just as lost.

The groom’s side sits across from the bride’s and each has a spokesman with a microphone. Then women and men (equivalent to the bridal party and groomsmen) take turns to come out and dance for the different sides. There are people with cameras and a videographer (with an old school camera that fists the whole VHS tape, like the one my brothers and sisters and I used to play with.)

Eventually, the groom side (30-40 people) go out and come back with the dowry to place in front of the bride and her grandmother (or maybe that’s her mother) and bridal party. Cases and cases of soda, salt, sugar, food, greens, a big butchered animal, a rooster, and a goat (both alive.) The goat starts eating a small banana tree. Also luggage and a piece of furniture wrapped in shiny wrapping paper, and small gifts for the bridal party and also fathers and grandfathers.

Then the bride and groom cut a small, decorated cake. The man sits in a chair as the bride, with her party, feed a piece of cake to the groom, and give him sips orange and citrus Fanta.

Festus has to leave and drop of Lydia’s daughter in Kampala at her university. I go with the Irish to leave and we make it to the car, but Julius says it is rude not to eat. So we go back and wait in line. They let us go right after the wedding party. I don’t like it and say that we don’t deserve to just cut in front of other family. They say they understand we have to get home. Erin says she used to try to fight it, but Ugandans are sometimes persistent at placing a Muzungo traveler in a seat of honor. The food is typical Ugandan food, but a bit better with more spices.

On the ride home the Irish are Irish. I told them they might as well be speaking Luganda, I have no idea what they are saying half the time. They are surprised that I feel safer in America than another country like Uganda. I think they have this idea that we live in constant fear of terrorist attacks. I read about Osama’s video in a Uganda newspaper.

We pass through Kampala and I go into a grocery store that looks almost western. The Indian owner introduces himself and shows Erin and me his commercial drivers license from Atlanta, Georgia. He used to drive up and down I-75. I buy chocolate milk mix and a 3 oz. bottle of Louisiana hot sauce. Made in the USA! I’ve been dying for some – it was on my list of things I wish I brought.

I try to sleep on the way back but the roads make it impossible. Two of the Irish boys find out through conversation that I’m a virgin. They try to tease me about it – but I told them maybe if it wasn’t my choice to be a virgin, I would be embarrassed, but I live the way I do on purpose – so I’m not ashamed of it one bit. I am annoyed at how clever they think they’re being.

I get home and go right to bed. Who knows what I’m doing tomorrow.

2007-09-08T17:03:00.000+03:00

Last month, today, I turned twenty-four. Last week, today, I was leaving Florida for Africa. And today it rained.

I wake up for a trip to the latrine and then come back to bed. It is so quiet with out the Irish here. I dream about swimming pools on each floor of a massive three floor complex. There are hammocks hanging 15 feet above the water. The roof collapses and all three pools collide. I think it might be my fault for bouncing too much in the hammock. I help to rescue those stuck under deep water in the rubble.

I wake up. It’s OK that I have slept in because it is Saturday and Volset operations are on hold for the weekends. Many here are 7th Day Adventists and do not work on Saturday. They have gone for prayers and only Jeff, Kellie, and me are left behind.

WE go outside and do our laundry. We use a bar of blue laundry soap, which dyes our clothes as we scrub, and comes off when we rinse. We hang them on the line in the courtyard area.

We are going to go visit an old man and Jeff is going to p lay his guitar for him. We walk to Ntenjeru. “Muzungo Muzungo” We meet Jeff and Kelley’s friend, Sam, who is a carpenter in Ntenjeru. He is my age and wants to teach Physics after University.

We walk up to a house that Jeff and Kelley had lived in two years ago. It is only about $30//mo. Compared to $350/mo at Volset. But we would have to get our own food and buy a bed, and change the locks. We are considering it. I would miss the kids in our neighborhood so much.

We leave for lunch at a restaurant downtown (which is really a small room.) When I eat a meal I usually leave my favorite food until last. This is not a good strategy here because I am filling up on Matooke. It is just like a think paste of heaviness.

Sam and I run across the road to buy a soda. (You have to bring the bottles back to where you bought them when you finish.) There are also no trashcans here – or trash pick up. I save my trash for the bin at the White House. Ugandans just toss theirs on the ground. The trash eventually gets digested into the clay, or it is collected and burned.

As we eat, it starts to thunder and pour. We finish our meal and watch the rain. It is very windy and rains in all directions. A pig funs from this place to that, trying to find shelter.

Uganda stops when it rains. We sit in the cool restaurant in silence with the woman cook and four children. The light coming in the door is beautiful. I take photos of a boy leaning against the table – looking out through the doorway.

Sam starts singing a Luganda spiritual to the music of the rain hitting a tin roof. We are full. Later Jeff plays his guitar. The rest of us fall asleep to the music. I wake up when my dream’s soundtrack, Jeff’s guitar, stops playing. I try to hold on to my dream, but it leaves too quickly and I remember nothing but that my dad was in the dream.

We decide the roads are not in good condition for a long walk to the old man’s house and instead visit Erin. We sit in her living room and talk about America and Waffle House and Taco Bell, bridal showers and bachelor parties. Sam tells us Ugandan tradition of weddings and funerals and asks for ours. We talk about the dangers of pit latrines.

We go into town and wait for ages for a rolex. All of Ntenjeru is listing to the football game on the radio. Uganda vs. Kenya. Ntenjeru erupts each time their team scores.

I start to be in a bad mood for some reason – I think it is because of stress from lack of funds. I get impatient at being started at. Muzungo Muzungo Muzungo.. Look! They’re eating a rolex like us! Look! They walk on the road like us! But I get over it. Kelley points out that they stare because we do not make any sense. They just don’t understand why we would come here, and what are motives are.

I feel so much better as we make it to the White House and Wasua comes running to me and gives me a hug, “Duck-duck-goosie!” I start a game and all the neighborhood kids somehow know and show up to play. I start teaching them a new game, but Simba (the dog) come to play and the children run away screaming.

Now I sit in my room after my shower and before dinner and write sloppily in my notebook. I am starting to miss my family and friends and 10 ½ more weeks seems excessive. But then I think of the projects I want to do here and realize that I’ll need all the time I can get.

I was reading the Book of Mormon this morning. King Benjamin’s great sermon to his people before he died. There was a verse that really seemed important to me:

“14. And ye will not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer that they transgress the laws of God, and fight and quarrel one with another… 15. But ye will teach them to walk in the ways of truth and soberness. Ye will teach them to love one another, and to serve one another.” (Mosiah 4: 14-15)

These kids are not my children, nor do they go hungry. But they do go naked. With the rattiest of clothes. So worn and dirty. And for the past few days I have noticed them fighting and arguing. I tell them everyday to be nice and not fight or I will not play duck-duck-goosie. I ask Aaron, the oldest of the bunch, to watch after them and make sure they don’t fight.

I don’t have money, but I’m thinking maybe I could get donations from people at church or friends – it would not cost much at all – and I could purchase a new outfit for every kid that comes to play. Something durable because they wear the same thing day after day.

I love these kids. They are so beautiful. I want them to learn how to lift each other up and to love each other more, to build a community. I will research how much it might cost to get them clothes. I can hear one of them crying right now, a few houses away.

I told Lydia I’d like to learn how to cook a traditional Uganda meal before I leave, so I can fix it for my family. That way they will know what I ate everyday for three months. Ha.

Kale.

I Would Like To Be Your Friend

2007-09-07T17:00:00.001+03:00

I wake up at dawn and go back to sleep. Crazy dreams about my backyard and new additions to our house. I wake up and eat bread and honey with warm (powdered) milk and sugar. The Irish are Irish. We’re going to Mukono to buy traditional shirts for the Introduction we’re going to on Sunday. This is where the groom officially announces his attentions and his family meets hers – it’s suppose to be crazy.)

Lydia is doing my laundry – hand washing. I am very thankful. I’m wearing clothes I haven’t worn yet and it makes me feel happy.

-

The Irish are going to Jinja and will pass Mukono on the way so Festus, Kelley, Joyce, Molly, and I tag along for a ride to Mukono. I wish I had these entries typed so I can use the internet while there. We go to a grocery store and I make friends with two of the woman who work there. I buy milk boxes and a bag of yogurt, which you eat with a straw, and also a small bar of Cadbury’s chocolate.

I meet Festus in the internet café across the street. I only email my Uncle Keith and then get off to save money. While Festus is using the internet I wait outside and watch Mukono as it starts to rain. A young man comes up to me and shakes my hand and introduces himself – Joseph. He is waiting for a computer in the café. Then he says, “ I would like to be your friend.” I say OK and then after a moment he gets out his phone and asks for my number and calls so I can save his.

He is in secondary school and has one year before University. But his mom can’t afford to help him, so he’ll probably just end up working in Mukono. I tell him how I had three jobs and took at loans. I tell him an education is worth everything in life and he should do whatever it takes to get to University. He wants to be a journalist. I tell him I used to work for a small paper in my hometown.

Festus comes out and we go upstairs to eat. I have chicken and chips (French fries.) The ketchup is watery and tastes nothing like the ketchup at home.

We go to pick up some things at stores along the street. In one of the stores, while Festus is shopping, a young woman who was working there says hello and then, “I like to have while friends.” And I say, “Oh good, I like to have black friends.” ha… She gets my phone number. Her name is Fiona.

Next we buy the traditional shirt so I can wear it to the Introduction. Festus is letting me borrow a suit coat. The shirt is 15,000 shillings. (only $8.43) Not so bad, but I don’t have a lot of money to spare.. This will make a good souvenir though.

We run into a girl who came here to volunteer and never left. Then we find Kelley and she walks with us to the taxi park, where we get a matatu to Nsumba. (After paying 100 shillings to pee in a bathroom that was really a room with a drain directly to the outside..) The roads are wet and I think for sure we are going to get stuck. Somehow we make it. Kellie and I talk about my brother and his mission and the church – good conversation.

The rest of the day is pretty normal. I am too tired to think of more. Jeff, Kellie, and I just talk after dinner and laugh and share stories.

Goodnight.

2007-09-07T16:55:00.000+03:00

Kelley and Shakirah

Franko and Junia eating sugarcane

The one and only Festus