A Typical Morning

8:08 am
I wake up and realize that my alarm didn't go off at 6:30. Strange. Wait...it's Saturday. OK, I have my bearings. I go to the kitchen/bathing room and put the water on for my morning instants: coffee and oatmeal. I take my hair out of a pony tail, yet it remains in pony tail position. A sure sign that I need to bathe. To prepare my self for the freezing water that rains down from a nook in my kitchen, I run in place for a minute or so...not too long, I don't want a side stitch this early in the morning. I shower. I mistake body wash for shampoo and don't realize the error until I turn the water off. Too Late. I get dressed. I eat my instant oatmeal and drink my instant coffee while checking e-mail and facebook. No emails. Not shocking. Nothing too interesting on the social network. I go through my packing checklist from the night before. I begin packing my backpack. There's a knock on my semi-open door followed by giggling. It's my two neighbor kids who are about 4 years old. They want sweeties. Sure, why not. I begin to hand them some sugar free life savers and a third kid runs up to get in on the action. Bruno Mars comes on my computer and we spend 3 1/2 minutes dancing on my stoop. The lawn mower and the sprinkler were the main moves of the morning, with a weird leg move they taught me coming in at a close second. I take out my trash and throw it in the pit that I have been told is burned on occasion. False. It is never burned. I stare at my few dirty dishes from the morning and decide not to do them until I return. A decision that I always regret, but make anyway. My house is somehow put together, my door is locked, security light on, and I'm ready to depart.

9:31 am
I walk down the dirt road to the taxi stage in my village. I signal to a driver with a head nod that I intend to board his vehicle. He nods back a confirmation. I hear my name, turn, and see a man who has both professed his love for me and tried to break into my house. He walks with (follows) me to the taxi. "Where are you going, Jen?" "To Mbarara" I say (really, to Masaka). "And you will return when?" he asks. I tell him I will return later today, when I will actually return 8 days later. He demands that I bring him back an apple from town. "Apples are expensive," I explain. His response is a look that tells me that this shouldn't be a problem for me. Because I want him to go away, I say "sure". I have no intentions of following through with this request. I'm ushered to the correct taxi and am told to sit in the front. I walk to the door, open it, and there's a woman with a small baby in the front. It is obvious that she had been breastfeeding and now 3's a crowd as she extends so that I, too, can fit in the front passenger seat. She extends, and I sit down. We greet each other in the local language and I learn that the baby is Rita. Rita is wearing a pink vest and a bib that says "Baby's 1st Christmas". Rita stares at me and throws up. Her mother cleans it up with one of the 4 blankets in which Rita is wrapped. The mother then readjusts Rita to be directly facing me. The car is full, and we start to move. I stare into Rita's judging eyes, and she back into mine. We both know what's going to happen. She just ate. The roads are beyond bumpy. She's going to throw up again, and now she's facing me. The inevitable happens about half way to town. I half shriek and grab one of the blankets to stop the baby vomit before it makes its way to me. I'm too late. My sweatshirt was a direct hit, as well as a bit of my hair. The mother is just watching unmoving and says, "Sorry, sorry". She doesn't mean it. When I have completed the clean up, the baby is turned away from me. Typical. I move my body washed hair to the left side of my body and ask myself, "Did a baby really just throw up on me?" The answer is yes. I need to get out of the vehicle stat. I yell "Masao!" to the driver, and he stops on the edge of town. I pay him 2,500 shillings and exit car left. I stand on the dirt sidewalk and take a deep breath. It's only 10 am.

Of Course

After the previous post, this makes total sense.

Best Tourist Destination for 2012: Uganda

Who wants to come visit?

My First Riot

I have survived my first riot.

So, I was in the Old Taxi Park in Kampala yesterday to catch a matatu to Entebbe for a Training for Camp BUILD, a boys empowerment camp. Taxis were at a stand still and you could hear people grumbling down the way towards the exit, a small ways from our taxi stage. We figured it was just people yelling at each other, no big deal. My friends and I get into a matatu with a few Ugandans, then ask them what the deal is, why we're not moving. "Oh, it is just some small few riots that usually happen." Hm....some small few riots? From my seat, I can see about 50 feet ahead of me, the exit from the park that is blocked by cars and people, and people standing on top of cars and yelling. We're sitting there for about 20 minutes, when all of a sudden shouting and yelling and screams start coming from the exit, of which my matatu is facing. I see about 30-40 people start running towards our car and away from the exit. Then I hear the word "tear gas" yelled by some passerby at full speed. Awesome. Things slow down, and people start shouting again. Then, it's eerily quiet, and you hear "thunk thunk thunk...pow pow...thunk thunk thunk"...and you see the smoke that is the tear gas. Everyone in my Matatu immediately close all the doors and windows and start to cover their faces with cloth, clothes, handkerchiefs, etc...I am wide eyed looking around at all of my friends, who all have a plethora of emotions on their faces. We're all quiet, just watching the tear gas stuff happen. The smoke fades, and we open the windows again. We call the safety and security officer to ask what to do. He tells us to stay in the car and he's on his way to get us. While he's on his way, another round of tear gas bombs are launched, this time, one lands right by our matatu, about 15 feet away. Close, but still not close enough to affect us. I put my hands over my eyes, covering my nose as well and buried my face in my backpack so I wouldn't breathe it. Again, the wind was blowing away from us, so the fumes weren't wafted our way. You could smell a faint odor, but eyes weren't affected, nose wasn't running, and I could feel a slight burning in my chest, which turned out to be indigestion. No big deal. After the second round, you see the police breaking things up and getting traffic moving. Because my matatu was so close to the exit and the action, we were the 2nd car out of the park. We passed about 20 armed police officers, 10 or so with tear gas cannons, a few big riot tanks, and a few reporters videoing all the action. The safety and security officer didn't have to pick us up after all and we made it safely to our destination.

Just another day in the peaceful utopia of Uganda...

Tid-Bits-Parents Visit-Bribe Backfire

First off, some random tid-bits:

A village woman, whom I have never met, approached me at a Savings and Credit training. She said, "Oh, Jen! I have a picture of you up at my house! You should come see it. When will you come see it?" It was creep-tastic.

I have recently had multiple people tell me that my nose is Rwandese. After my neighbors chimed in on the subject, I asked them if I looked more Tutsi or Hutu. I gave them an assortment of glamor poses and views from all angles. This question was discussed and pondered in all seriousness for a good half hour. The results were inconclusive.

Mama Jenny celebrated her 90th Birthday! She's such a loving and generous grandmother, the best that anyone could ask for. I am so lucky to have her.

Mom and Dad visited Uganda!

So mom and dad came to Africa for almost 3 weeks. We had such a great time. It was great to see them for the first time in over a year and even more amazing to share my new life with them here in Uganda. They even met, and approved of, my man friend. Score!

Instead of boring you with my awesome, awesome words, I'll dazzle you with pictures of the festivities.

...and this completes the magical picture journey of my parents visit. Hopefully, more pictures to come soon-ish*.


Bribe Backfire

I had, in a previous post, mentioned my first bribe solicited in Uganda. I felt fairly confident that this would turn out to my advantage, so that my legacy could live on in a name after my departure from my years serving in Uganda.

Fail.

I receive a phone call from a weary sounding Shakira, saying, "Jen. Baby Scott is here." Well, I am super excited, as I think that my bribe actually worked. My neighbor had named her first born child after me after I wore down her defenses. Excellent! ...but not really. My spirits were high for approximately 18 hrs.

I returned to my site, eager to meet Baby Scott in person. I deposited my bags on my doorstep and immediately rushed across the dirt common area, deposited my shoes at the door, and bolted into my neighbors house to meet the little fella that would carry my middle name. While putting the little bundle of baby, and about 19 blankets, into my arms, Shakira announces, "Meet your baby. Baby Ryani". Doth my ears deceive me? "Baby who", I ask in a haze of shock and confusion? "Baby Ryani", she exclaims proudly. "Seriously, Shakira? You named your baby after Ryan? What happened to Scott, or Everett?", I demand. "Jen. He is baby Ryani. Now we both have one."

As I stared down at this 18 hour old baby in disbelief, I formulated a plan to improve my bribe soliciting skills, so that the next neighbor who turns up preggers...won't stand a chance.




* Probably Never

My New Cup

This is now the only cup out of which I drink my boiled water.

Need I say more?

A very special thanks to Laura, for sending me this prized possession.

I’m still alive…how exciting!

So, a bunch has happened since my last online contact, which I am told, has been over two months ago. Let me offer my most sincere of half apologies to those 5 people who actually read this…you know who you are.

I’ll start off with what I’ve been doing for the last 6 weeks. The Peace Corps asked me to be a Peace Corps Volunteer Trainer (PCVT) at the most recent training of the fresh meat from America. I was living in Wakiso Town (see “crap-hole” in dictionary) in a compound with the Ugandan trainers, going to training every day, and doing a plethora of un-active activities. I was there to answer questions, give advice, dispel rumors, teach sessions, attend meetings, and acquire per-diem. I didn’t think I was going to enjoy it at first, but as soon as the newbies got off the plane I was surprised to find that I was enjoying myself quite a bit. I not only learned that per-diem adds up to a ton of money, but that I actually have some cool projects going on at site. When you explain what you do with your organization 46 times to 46 different people, you start to think…huh…I’m actually doing Peace Corps-y type stuff. Way to go, me! I really am lucky to have the work that I have.

While at training, I:

- Was charged by a cow

- Yelled FIRE at a bar

- Ate street food every day

- Sold a quilt to a PC staffer

- Made some new friends, both from the new training group, and from the Ugandan training staff

- Pet a camel

It was tough being away from site for so long, but this was a great opportunity for me to help out with training and to change things with training to make it better in the future.

Moving on…

At one point in the past 2 + months, I was riding shotgun in a taxi with another person. Yes, we were both in the front seat, him half sitting on top of me. With limited room in the seat area, his arms had nowhere to go but right in my face. This person decided that crammed next to me would be the best time for him to compose a text message. With the phone literally 8 inches from my face, I couldn’t help but notice the message that he was typing up to send.

“To God be da groly!”

This is just a prime example of how l’s and r’s are reversed, switched, and interchanged in the languages of Uganda.

Baseball Weekend with JICA

Peace Corps organized a weekend of softball games with JICA, the Japanese equivalent of the Peace Corps. The event was held at the Ugandan Little League Baseball facility. Our being there was a fundraiser, of sorts, to buy mosquito nets for all the bunks in the facility…baseball and softball was a perk. This was so much fun! The facility has 2 fields. Instead of a fence in the outfield, there’s a nice little drop off into banana tree oblivion, that none dare pass. Should a fateful ball bounce its way down into the abyss, one of the local kids spectating would take the challenge upon himself to find and retrieve the ball. There were 3 teams, essentially. Peace Corps, JICA, and the Ugandan little league coaches. We all played one another, as well as played mixed games, getting to know people from the other teams. We feasted every night, watched a documentary of the Little League Team presented to us by the filmmaker, and envied the cargo short stylings of our new JICA friends. The weekend was a success, complete with an oversized polo shirt to prove it!

Weekend Getaway – Destination: Jinja

Apparently, Ryan and I were not the only people to have this idea. Once we arrived in Jinja at our lodgings at Nile River Explorers (on the River Nile), we found that we were not the only Peace Corps volunteers to have this bright idea. We ran into about 8 people from our training group. Doing our own thing by day, Ryan and I met up with everyone at the casino by night…where I won UGX 100,000. I’m not going to convert that to dollars, because it’s way less impressive. We ate good food, relaxed, and had a great time. One day for lunch I had a Greek salad with Thai chicken soup. I love Jinja.

Christmas….Listen Up!

My flight has officially been booked! There’s no turning back. Barring any major political issues with good ‘ol Yoweri (president) and/or Kizza (wishes he was president), I will be available from December 22 through the New Year. I am now officially accepting invitations for New Years parties, so get yours in early for due consideration.

ATTN: Accidental boyfriend will be accompanying me home for Christmas. He will be available for prodding, judgment, and intrusive personal questions from Noon to 1pm on December 23^rd. In the words of Jack Dawson, "Make it count". We’ll be at Ernie’s for lunch. Meet us there…and pay our tab.

I can’t wait to see what will set off my very first reverse culture shock breakdown. Cereal isle? Drinking from the tap? Paved roads? Only time will tell…

I’m finally back at my site

It feels great to be back in my village and in my house, even though the mice have left their mark everywhere. Nothing a little sweeping and my house girl can’t fix.

Upon return, I have discovered an important discovery worth discovering: My neighbor, Shakira, is preggers. Shakira, who I didn’t know was pregnant before I left a month and a half ago, is, in fact, almost 9 months in. How this could have gone unknown to me for so long, is a mystery, but one I don’t care to solve. The important thing to note out of all this is recognizing an opportunity when it presents itself. So, I have officially solicited my first bribe. I have told Shakira that if she names her baby “Jenny”, “Scott”, or “Everett”, that I will buy her baby clothes. This has made me feel even more integrated into Uganda, where bribes are part of the culture. This is just one more way (if any) in which my influence (if any) and legacy will live on in Uganda and in my village after I leave. Sustainability, ya’ll…dig it!

My future work at my organization for the next few months will now consist of Microsoft Excel training, so that we can eventually build a small database for the office. We also hope to train the farming groups on quilting so that they can make their own blankets and save money. This will be a big success if executed correctly. Now, it is just a matter of raising money for scissors and sewing needles for each of the 64 groups.

On a completely unrelated note, thank you so much to those who have sent me packages!

You Want Candy? Dance For It!

As of late, I have been asked to help redesign the Peace Corps Uganda Pre-Service Training. This means that I will take part in the redesign, help to schedule the training, be present at training for a few weeks, and conduct trainings sessions of my own. It’s going to be time consuming, challenging, and fun. I can’t wait.


I have recently come to wonder why it is that I feel so hesitant about giving out candy (sweeties) to the gaggle of children that constantly surround my house. At first, I thought that my hesitations stemmed from the fact that they throw rocks at my metal door until I open it to their dirty outstretched hands, hoping that I give them a sweetie. Then, I wondered if perhaps it was due to the harsh, demanding nature of such orders (You give me my sweetie!) coming from people who are 2 feet tall. Lastly, I pondered the suggestion that it could be a consequence of their expectations, grown from the previous Peace Corps Volunteer in my village who’s legacy suggests that she gave out her candy day and night to any kid who wanted it (preach).

None of these perfectly logical reasons are why I am so dubious about placing a single piece of candy into each of these tiny little outstretched paws. The reason is that I feel like I’m not getting anything in return. Not a “thank you”. Not a “weebale”. Definitely not the courtesy of throwing the wrapper in the grass instead of leaving it on my porch. I want something in return, dang it…and I want instant gratification. I want to feel like I’m getting my shillings worth out of this little transaction. I want satisfaction, and I want it now.

So, here is the new policy that I have implemented. They must dance. That’s right. Dance. So now, whenever a group of kids surround me and demand that I give them a sweetie or else, I turn, face them, and say, “Mubanze Mwazina!”. This loosely translates as “Dance for it!”. Some stand there, puzzled, with a blank stare, wondering why they would have to dance to receive food. There are those that are too shy to dance hide behind the taller kids. Others drop it like it’s lukewarm, knowing that the sweet sweet reward is a delicious morsel of loveliness that only the bravest of children will know.

So dance on, children, for the 2-cent candy that I dangle over your little head. Make me proud. Dance on.

Sister Visit and Stuff

The past week has been somewhat of a roller coaster, but Psalm 119:147 has helped me through it. Prayer is a powerful thing. Do it.

The quilters are completing orders now, and have just secured a deal with Lakeview Resort Hotel to sell quilts in the Hotel Craft Shop on a commission basis. I think this is a good thing.

The Sisters
The visit from the sisters was a hit. We went on two safaris, rafted the Nile, bathed infrequently, and had a blast. Apart from the safaris and the Nile, it was just like home.

We started out by hanging around the Nile. Tourist style shopping and a boat cruise on the Nile River combined with white water rafting and equatorial sunburn is a recipe for success.

Next up, a safari. Our tricked out safari tour vehicle was a 5 passenger Toyota Corona with 6 people in it and a cracked windshield. The driver of this little gem thought that we weren’t getting our moneys worth ($18 per person) by seeing the lions at a safe distance that were lying down away from the road, and decided that we needed a closer look. A much closer look. This daring young ssebo turns off the dirt road into the National Park and drove straight at them until they had to get up and avoid being run over by a taxi. Worth every penny, even if we were almost charged by a lioness.

After our game drive in a car that could have been toppled by a newborn elephant with its eyes closed and trunk tied behind it’s back, we went to the fancy hotel that overlooked Lake Edward in the national park. Over fruity drinks, we enjoyed the beautiful view from the hotel at which we couldn’t afford to stay. We then walked to our hostel down the road with dirt paths and community bathrooms that only flushed if you knew its’ secret handshake.

The next morning we boarded a small ferry for a boat tour around the lake where we saw Crocodiles, Monkeys, Water Buffalo, lots of animals with horns, and Hippos. We passed fishing villages, took great pictures, and even ran over a Hippo or two in the boat along the way. Very cool.

I’m so happy that my family now has an idea of where I live, what I’m doing in the Peace Corps, what my bathroom looks like, how cold my shower water is, how much privacy I don’t have, the amount of dirt that I deal with, and how many children stare at me all day long.

Sister Visit: Success

Words of Wisdom

I was recently at an event with my organization that was held at a school in the area. I noticed that there were small signs nailed on every single tree on the grounds. I approached each sign to see what they said. This is what I discovered.

Field Day and Mud Mansions

Shorts that Fit
During training, I ordered a Peace Corps Uganda soccer jersey. I had no intention of playing on the PC team, I just wanted a soccer jersey with my name on the back of it. I finally received my jersey a few weeks ago to find that it came with shorts as well! I was super stoked, since I didn’t bring but 1 pair of athletic shorts with me. After cutting out the underwear-ish lining, something white caught my eye. It was a tag. The size tag. XXXXL shorts…I wish I could say they were too big, but they fit wonderfully. This little fact does wonders for my self esteem.


Sermon Tag Team
So, I am in my usual restaurant in Mbarara where I come to work a couple times a week. I met a man who I have seen here many times but never spoken to. He is a pastor outside of Mbarara and wants me to come talk to the women there about quilt making. He went into a big to-do about God providing (a muzungu), praying, and his vision for his place outside of town.

Then, another man walks up and says, "Sista...do you want me to beat him for you? Is he talking too much?". He was joking, introduces himself to me, and he too is a pastor. This man goes on and on and on about God, trying to "save" me. I think that if I show him my bible in my bag, that he will know I'm a Christian and leave me alone. Nope. Wrong. He takes one look at the bible and says, "That's good, but it won't help you. The only thing that can help you is your relationship with Jesus Christ, because he wants to be your father. You have your father in America, but he doesn't love you.". Great, I'm thinking. Here we go. 30 minutes later into his sermon directed at me in the restaurant, he grabs my bible, gives it to me, and says, "turn to Psalm 139 and start to read at verse 13.". I do, because I don't want to screw up whatever roll he's on. I turn and start to read aloud, conscious of everyone in the restaurant looking at my table. After every verse, he repeats the last few words with emphasis, and then explains them in his own African-English way. After. Each. Verse...Until the end of the chapter. When I finish the last verse, he shakes my hand and leaves. Then the other pastor looks at me and says, “Jane…you pay for my tea.”

Field Day with my Organization
My organization recently had their annual ‘field day’, where members get together for lunch and an afternoon of trainings. This was my first field day with my organization and it was great! There were short speeches, long speeches, tree planting, banana management trainings, locally catered lunch, dancing, songs of praise for the organization, and much more. It was fun to see the excitement that these people have for my organization, RUHEPAI (rural health promotion and poverty alleviation initiative).

When it was over, I was standing by the tent waiting for my work colleagues to gather their things to leave. I noticed that there was a girl standing a short distance away from me, slowly inching closer. Then, all of a sudden, she was gone. This happened a couple times. I noticed that none of these people were actually looking at me, they were just scooting extremely close to me, pausing, then walking away. I finally caught on. They all wanted pictures with me, and were doing it “Say Anything” style. They were getting close enough to me for the man photographing the event to snap a picture. When they saw that I had noticed what was happening, they started asking me for a picture. So, the photographer found a good spot, and took my picture with a woman. Then, another woman came up and took her place, and another picture was taken. I look to the side, and a line has formed. I stand in the same place for about 20 minutes, with an overly enthusiastic smile plastered on my face, while person after person comes and gets their picture taken with the Muzungu. I even had a baby thrust into my arms at one point.

Sisters Coming
T-minus 2 days until my sisters arrive in Uganda!!!! Except for you, Laura. Sorry.

Mud Mansions
When the rains come, the kiddos get together and see who can make the best mud mansions.