For all of you who have been wondering what has become of me and/or my writing, wonder no longer. My writing is back, but I am gone again. This time not back to Africa. I have quit my job at the boat company and will not return to Africa for that job. I will miss so many people, but for some reason, it is time to quit and move on to the next step.
So I have quit. I am not actively job hunting presently. That would be silly since I will be traveling on a train for the next 6 weeks or so. I plan to make a circuit around America seeing friends and learning to love my country again (hopefully).
So I am not going to write on my ferry blog anymore, because my new adventures do not have the same backdrop. However, if you would like to keep reading my writing, please go to my new blog at http://throughlighttograce.blogspot.com/. Thank you all.
If you prefer to read the progress on the ferry, please read the official Earthwise ferry blog at http://ewventures.wordpress.com/. I send many blessings to all the guys working on the ferry.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
My plan or culture rant
the following is the reworking of a rant i wrote a few weeks ago. at the time, it left the reader very confused, more so than it does now. since then, i have rewritten it, trying to convey the feeling without causing added confusion. i hope it is now somewhat understandable. i would say enjoy, ...but thats not the point of this post.
I know that I have never “fit in” exactly, but its about to get worse, or better depending on how you look at it. I don’t want to fit in at all any more.
I am dealing with major culture shock now. Still. Whatever. I never had a problem with consumerism before, but as I drive down the road I see the little boxes(stores) with things for people to buy(merchandise) with lights screaming for attention(signs). This is the country I have defended? What is wrong with my country? My culture? I see people trying to “survive”, but I find that they define the term different here than somewhere else. Here surviving is living comfortably and conveniently, keeping up with technology, etc. Forgive me, but I thought surviving meant “not dying”. That’s what in means in much of Uganda. There people want to make enough for everyone in the family to have the basic needs met and preferably to send the kids to school. Here people don’t think they are surviving unless they have the latest cell phone or whatever little gadget they consider to be essential. And a car, preferably a SUV which will survive the apocalypse should it come. And a living space tastefully decorated with an artistic kitchen for the feeding of the all-judging stomach.
Most people here have a definitive plan for their life, even if they don’t acknowledge it. And, for the most part, it looks like this; go to school and get as many degrees as possible, get a career, get a nice box/house, have a family, drive in a nice little box/car back and forth between all the buildings which comprise life. Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky… (if this doesn’t make sense, go watch the theme song for Weeds).
Yes, I realize I am overdoing it a bit. I do that to make a point. My country is ridiculous. Having those things isn’t ridiculous, it’s the “necessity” of such things which I call into question. Its not wrong to have or want such things. I ask only that you consider your dependence on whatever you have and at the very least come to a new gratitude for what you have.
That being said, I then considered the Christians living in this culture. What I find worse than watching how my culture lives is to see the Christians living the same way. I cant see much difference in their actions or anything else most of the time. And that makes me sad, no, it makes me weep. Those are my people. The ones set apart. Living in the world but not of it. …Really? Or has that line gotten blurred so much as to become invisible to the unpracticed eye. (my eyes are out of practice in this sort of distinguishing – that’s what happens when you leave a culture for a while). If you have to have an intellectual map to distinguish Christians from non, then there is a problem. A major problem.
There is something very wrong – it hurts to watch. People who acknowledge the problem rarely see a solution – that hurts even more. Those people, seeing no solution, deaden themselves to the problem – that hurts worst of all.
Because of how I see my culture now, I see also that I cannot fit it to this culture anymore, not that I ever really did. I guess what I am trying to say is this; God forbid that I ever fit into this culture. It would be just as bad to fit into the counter culture. So what then? I ask that God give me something radically different, so different that I can never fit in any of the categories. God forbid that I live life by a plan directed toward comfort and convenience. Putting me in such a box would shut down my heart, spirit, mod, whatever your term for it is. My heart is awake – but it hurts to look around America.
My goal is not to make money – even though making money is useful and makes life much easier. I wont turn down money on principle. I neither seek it nor reject it because money is not my focus. Same with fame, knowledge, power, human love. I will neither seek nor reject them. Come what may, I do not need that which God does not give me. Nor is my goal to seek out those who are like me, or think like me, or believe like me. We are spread out for a reason. (still figuring out the reason). I would love to meet others like me, but that’s not the point of my life.
I want something different. Something radically different. So different that I cant fit in. that there are no worldly terms to describe it anymore. I want a life where my plan is to trust God – that He will lead me thru life one step at a time. What job to have, where to live, who to talk to, how to live. I want my one goal and priority to be to trust God and that He will make everything else work out.
No, this doesn’t mean I am going to join a commune or live on the streets waiting for manna (or money) to fall out of the sky. Just that I follow His lead in everything I do or decide.
I know that I have never “fit in” exactly, but its about to get worse, or better depending on how you look at it. I don’t want to fit in at all any more.
I am dealing with major culture shock now. Still. Whatever. I never had a problem with consumerism before, but as I drive down the road I see the little boxes(stores) with things for people to buy(merchandise) with lights screaming for attention(signs). This is the country I have defended? What is wrong with my country? My culture? I see people trying to “survive”, but I find that they define the term different here than somewhere else. Here surviving is living comfortably and conveniently, keeping up with technology, etc. Forgive me, but I thought surviving meant “not dying”. That’s what in means in much of Uganda. There people want to make enough for everyone in the family to have the basic needs met and preferably to send the kids to school. Here people don’t think they are surviving unless they have the latest cell phone or whatever little gadget they consider to be essential. And a car, preferably a SUV which will survive the apocalypse should it come. And a living space tastefully decorated with an artistic kitchen for the feeding of the all-judging stomach.
Most people here have a definitive plan for their life, even if they don’t acknowledge it. And, for the most part, it looks like this; go to school and get as many degrees as possible, get a career, get a nice box/house, have a family, drive in a nice little box/car back and forth between all the buildings which comprise life. Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky… (if this doesn’t make sense, go watch the theme song for Weeds).
Yes, I realize I am overdoing it a bit. I do that to make a point. My country is ridiculous. Having those things isn’t ridiculous, it’s the “necessity” of such things which I call into question. Its not wrong to have or want such things. I ask only that you consider your dependence on whatever you have and at the very least come to a new gratitude for what you have.
That being said, I then considered the Christians living in this culture. What I find worse than watching how my culture lives is to see the Christians living the same way. I cant see much difference in their actions or anything else most of the time. And that makes me sad, no, it makes me weep. Those are my people. The ones set apart. Living in the world but not of it. …Really? Or has that line gotten blurred so much as to become invisible to the unpracticed eye. (my eyes are out of practice in this sort of distinguishing – that’s what happens when you leave a culture for a while). If you have to have an intellectual map to distinguish Christians from non, then there is a problem. A major problem.
There is something very wrong – it hurts to watch. People who acknowledge the problem rarely see a solution – that hurts even more. Those people, seeing no solution, deaden themselves to the problem – that hurts worst of all.
Because of how I see my culture now, I see also that I cannot fit it to this culture anymore, not that I ever really did. I guess what I am trying to say is this; God forbid that I ever fit into this culture. It would be just as bad to fit into the counter culture. So what then? I ask that God give me something radically different, so different that I can never fit in any of the categories. God forbid that I live life by a plan directed toward comfort and convenience. Putting me in such a box would shut down my heart, spirit, mod, whatever your term for it is. My heart is awake – but it hurts to look around America.
My goal is not to make money – even though making money is useful and makes life much easier. I wont turn down money on principle. I neither seek it nor reject it because money is not my focus. Same with fame, knowledge, power, human love. I will neither seek nor reject them. Come what may, I do not need that which God does not give me. Nor is my goal to seek out those who are like me, or think like me, or believe like me. We are spread out for a reason. (still figuring out the reason). I would love to meet others like me, but that’s not the point of my life.
I want something different. Something radically different. So different that I cant fit in. that there are no worldly terms to describe it anymore. I want a life where my plan is to trust God – that He will lead me thru life one step at a time. What job to have, where to live, who to talk to, how to live. I want my one goal and priority to be to trust God and that He will make everything else work out.
No, this doesn’t mean I am going to join a commune or live on the streets waiting for manna (or money) to fall out of the sky. Just that I follow His lead in everything I do or decide.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Pumpkins
So I walked into a grocery store here in the states last week with my mom. (I have passed the point where I run out of grocery stores, I have moved on to whatever the next stage is after that). I saw one of those box/barrel things holding pumpkins for sale. They had some really cool pumpkins along with the regular jack-o-lantern bright orange things. I prefer the pumpkins that resembled classical pictures, which is what I mean by really cool pumpkins. Upon closer inspection, I wondered about the edibility of this particular specimen.
What does it say about our culture that we decorate with food?
I remember carving pumpkins as a kid. I always wondered if the innards could be eaten. They are, but they don’t taste good. They actually breed pumpkins for the best jock-o-lanterns and others for actually eating. Wtf, mate? But its fairly easy to not think about that considering that they sell canned pumpkin to use in cooking. Americans don’t ever have to cook from scratch if they ever want to. We have canned pumpkin, or if that is way too much work, you can always just buy a pumpkin pie from any grocery store. They even shred lettuce for salads. Or mix shredded lettuce and various other veggies for premade salad. just don’t forget to add the serving bowl.
Ever wonder who “they” are? I do. A lot. Who are the people who make this food. More importantly, who are the people who think of these things?
What does it say about our culture that we decorate with food?
I remember carving pumpkins as a kid. I always wondered if the innards could be eaten. They are, but they don’t taste good. They actually breed pumpkins for the best jock-o-lanterns and others for actually eating. Wtf, mate? But its fairly easy to not think about that considering that they sell canned pumpkin to use in cooking. Americans don’t ever have to cook from scratch if they ever want to. We have canned pumpkin, or if that is way too much work, you can always just buy a pumpkin pie from any grocery store. They even shred lettuce for salads. Or mix shredded lettuce and various other veggies for premade salad. just don’t forget to add the serving bowl.
Ever wonder who “they” are? I do. A lot. Who are the people who make this food. More importantly, who are the people who think of these things?
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
culture shock
so i'm still dealing with culture shock. i went thru an entire week of confusion, then i progressed to anti-consumerism. so far i have been in that for a week. i almost run out of big bargain stores which i used to have no problems with.
otherwise i have been resting, seeing people, and talking thru stuff. i know thats vague, but thats all you get for now. the rest is doing its good work on my system, i am beginning to feel less like a zombie and more like i can have a life.
i went down to portland monday and tuesday to see a friend. if you have never been down there, and you like seattle, you should go. its like a miniature seattle with more homeless people and less regulations. people can buy alcohol on weekends, and smokers can smoke in the city limits. i did see a lot of weird people tho, and one muttering about a black dude checking out a white girl and how the black dude should be taught a lesson. sadly, im not joking. but see the waterfront park and the several bridges; a river goes right thru the city. go see the little neighborhoods and the rose gardens.
i stayed in a hostel, my first time in a hostel. i didn't quite know what to expect but the experience pleasantly surprised me. and its fairly cheap. yay. i could travel and stay in hostels for months without getting bored. especially if all the cities i visited had places like powell's bookstore. its the worlds biggest book store. an entire city block. i was so overwhelmed i just wandered thru the aisles trying to remember any of the books i have been looking for. i bought 2. thats it. oh well.
i haven't heard much from uganda lately. im not working so i hear even less than the guys at work do. i still am not sure about whether i am going back. my boss and i are still discussing. more like i am waiting to hear if he think he needs me to go back. i will keep updating with any news i hear.
otherwise i have been resting, seeing people, and talking thru stuff. i know thats vague, but thats all you get for now. the rest is doing its good work on my system, i am beginning to feel less like a zombie and more like i can have a life.
i went down to portland monday and tuesday to see a friend. if you have never been down there, and you like seattle, you should go. its like a miniature seattle with more homeless people and less regulations. people can buy alcohol on weekends, and smokers can smoke in the city limits. i did see a lot of weird people tho, and one muttering about a black dude checking out a white girl and how the black dude should be taught a lesson. sadly, im not joking. but see the waterfront park and the several bridges; a river goes right thru the city. go see the little neighborhoods and the rose gardens.
i stayed in a hostel, my first time in a hostel. i didn't quite know what to expect but the experience pleasantly surprised me. and its fairly cheap. yay. i could travel and stay in hostels for months without getting bored. especially if all the cities i visited had places like powell's bookstore. its the worlds biggest book store. an entire city block. i was so overwhelmed i just wandered thru the aisles trying to remember any of the books i have been looking for. i bought 2. thats it. oh well.
i haven't heard much from uganda lately. im not working so i hear even less than the guys at work do. i still am not sure about whether i am going back. my boss and i are still discussing. more like i am waiting to hear if he think he needs me to go back. i will keep updating with any news i hear.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
home safe and sound
I’m home safely. I’m fine, except I got a small cold in the first few days. Oh, and my phone isn’t working. The touch screen went bezerk and I tried to fix it over the phone with customer service, but that only worked to make it so I couldn’t even turn the phone on. yay helpful customer service.
It’s a little odd being home in the states. The streets are so empty and its cold here. I inhaled the first cheeseburger I got. I have driven, but I’m a little rusty on stateside rules of driving. Oh, and I bought beer, but the cashier almost didn’t let me have the beer because she didn’t recognize me from my ID. Oi.
It’s a little odd being home in the states. The streets are so empty and its cold here. I inhaled the first cheeseburger I got. I have driven, but I’m a little rusty on stateside rules of driving. Oh, and I bought beer, but the cashier almost didn’t let me have the beer because she didn’t recognize me from my ID. Oi.
New airport story
I have a history of interesting airport stories. I’m glad to announce I have a new one to add to the list. Thankfully this one doesn’t include any slingshots. I pack with my usual strategy to get everything home without having to pay fees for overweight luggage. The key is to pack most of the weight in the carry-on. well, at least that is the key in American domestic flights. And of course I brought my drum not knowing exactly how to get it on the plane but figuring I would take it as a carry-on. most of the workers accompanied Bryce and Andrew to take me to the airport. Maureen cried when I left. That made me sad to leave her with all those guys.
Anyways, they dropped me off with all my bags to navigate the Entebbe airport on my own. Fun times. I entered the line to go thru security with all my bags. That took a while since when my turn came to put my bags thru, they had to restart the machine since they said one of the previous bags had knocked the scanner inside. that got my vote of confidence. At the check in counter they told me I couldn’t take my drum as a carry-on. “ok, what can we do?” “Well, lets weigh your carry-on.” “you want to do what? why would you weigh my carry-on?” so we weighed it. “you need to check that bag, its too heavy.” “I cant do that, it has all my valuables in it.” I ended up putting most of the weight from my carry-on to the checked baggage. But I had to get my drum wrapped – a service they offered for a nice fee of $5. But they don’t take cards, even if you don’t have any cash. And as I was talking with the guy, another security guy brought my smaller bag over which had split a seam saying that they wouldn’t accept it till I got it wrapped also.
So I went out thru security, in thru the other security, down the stairs, took cash out, went back upstairs, out thru security, in thru security and back over to the wrapping dude. I handed him 20,000 ugs. He said he needed 3,000 more but I didn’t have that so I just handed him the last 2 American dollars I had. He didn’t look happy so I told him in no uncertain terms that that would work. He grudgingly wrapped my bag and drum. I took them back to the counter to trade for my carry-on and passport.
Next step was to go thru the passport check. And the woman found an issue with my passport and asked if I would pay the fine one that. “that depends on how much the fine is.” “$900” “nope, I don’t have that kind of money.” “can you go to Kampala and fix this then come back?” “that’s an hour and a half away and then back again, my plane leaves in an hour and half. Also, its nighttime. No, I cant.” So they decided I had to get a new visa so they could let me out of the country. Ok, whatever, that’s only $50. So a guard took me back out thru security, in thru the other security, down the stairs, thru the customs area, and into an office with another woman obviously having visa problems also. And we waited. Apparently we had to wait for the officers checking all the people off the last flight. …ok. The other woman and I both worried about making our flight which left soon. Finally one officer came in and helped the woman. “What’s wrong with your belt?” “I got sick of taking it off going thru security, so I just hung it around my neck.” Then he sat down to chat with another employee saying I had to wait for the other officer. After a few minutes I turned to him and asked if he could help me. I explained the trouble and we touched on the same points as the woman upstairs. Finally he said, “so you admit the mistake?” well duh. I cant not admit something plainly stated in the paperwork. Eventually he told me I was forgiven.
Ok, go back up the stairs, out thru security, back in thru security, and back up the line to the woman behind the glass. I told her the other guy had forgiven me and she let me go this time.
I’m happy to say I didn’t have any more actual trouble after that. just lots of waiting and waiting in lines. Oh, and the ironic thing? I went thru security about 12 times. and when I got home, I found a steak knife in my carry-on that I had forgotten about. Good job security.
Anyways, they dropped me off with all my bags to navigate the Entebbe airport on my own. Fun times. I entered the line to go thru security with all my bags. That took a while since when my turn came to put my bags thru, they had to restart the machine since they said one of the previous bags had knocked the scanner inside. that got my vote of confidence. At the check in counter they told me I couldn’t take my drum as a carry-on. “ok, what can we do?” “Well, lets weigh your carry-on.” “you want to do what? why would you weigh my carry-on?” so we weighed it. “you need to check that bag, its too heavy.” “I cant do that, it has all my valuables in it.” I ended up putting most of the weight from my carry-on to the checked baggage. But I had to get my drum wrapped – a service they offered for a nice fee of $5. But they don’t take cards, even if you don’t have any cash. And as I was talking with the guy, another security guy brought my smaller bag over which had split a seam saying that they wouldn’t accept it till I got it wrapped also.
So I went out thru security, in thru the other security, down the stairs, took cash out, went back upstairs, out thru security, in thru security and back over to the wrapping dude. I handed him 20,000 ugs. He said he needed 3,000 more but I didn’t have that so I just handed him the last 2 American dollars I had. He didn’t look happy so I told him in no uncertain terms that that would work. He grudgingly wrapped my bag and drum. I took them back to the counter to trade for my carry-on and passport.
Next step was to go thru the passport check. And the woman found an issue with my passport and asked if I would pay the fine one that. “that depends on how much the fine is.” “$900” “nope, I don’t have that kind of money.” “can you go to Kampala and fix this then come back?” “that’s an hour and a half away and then back again, my plane leaves in an hour and half. Also, its nighttime. No, I cant.” So they decided I had to get a new visa so they could let me out of the country. Ok, whatever, that’s only $50. So a guard took me back out thru security, in thru the other security, down the stairs, thru the customs area, and into an office with another woman obviously having visa problems also. And we waited. Apparently we had to wait for the officers checking all the people off the last flight. …ok. The other woman and I both worried about making our flight which left soon. Finally one officer came in and helped the woman. “What’s wrong with your belt?” “I got sick of taking it off going thru security, so I just hung it around my neck.” Then he sat down to chat with another employee saying I had to wait for the other officer. After a few minutes I turned to him and asked if he could help me. I explained the trouble and we touched on the same points as the woman upstairs. Finally he said, “so you admit the mistake?” well duh. I cant not admit something plainly stated in the paperwork. Eventually he told me I was forgiven.
Ok, go back up the stairs, out thru security, back in thru security, and back up the line to the woman behind the glass. I told her the other guy had forgiven me and she let me go this time.
I’m happy to say I didn’t have any more actual trouble after that. just lots of waiting and waiting in lines. Oh, and the ironic thing? I went thru security about 12 times. and when I got home, I found a steak knife in my carry-on that I had forgotten about. Good job security.
safari
I haven’t gotten around to telling you all about my safari. Let me do so now. It was awesome. The drive of the first day wasn’t so great. We left the site late for various African reasons and headed west with Moses one of the workers. At one point in Kampala I looked out the window to take in the scenery and found a sheep staring at me. That was a bit disconcerting. Even more so since we were moving at a good clip and it remained staring at me from 3 feet away. That’s when I realized a boda with 2 men were carrying the sheep down the road. At least it wasn’t a chicken this time. We planned our first destination to be Moses’ house to eat dinner with his family. Very nice people. Especially since they waited for 4 hours to feed us. Construction in Uganda really slows traffic. And we crossed the equator. And the guys saw zebras while I slept. Oi. Finally arrived in Ibanda around 10 instead of 6. They fed us a feast of food and introduced us to the entire family. Then we slept in a hotel for about 5 hours. The attendants asked us twice if we were sure we needed 2 separate rooms.
6am we got up and started driving towards queen Elizabeth park. Western Uganda is beautiful. We actually found mist so thick that we worried we might miss the turn-off. Awesome after being drenched with humid heat for several months. When the mist did part, tea plantations stretch for miles over actual hills. Tea bushes are a strong emerald color, even without the sun hitting them. Banana trees grow in small forests. Gorgeous. Bryce isn’t one to stop on a road trip, but we pulled over several times to take pictures. Hills, hills, and more hills. Then, as I looked between the trees for the hillside next to us, it wasn’t there. Instead a flat plain several hundred feet below us stretched out to the horizon. Perfectly flat. We descended the final hill and drove down the road, passing people pushing bicycles with 4 or 6 stalks of matoke. Insane. We saw monkeys and herds of water buffalo which are quite rare. Usually you only see solitary males.
We turned down the dirt road with a sign and immediately found out that American washboard roads cant compare to washboards in Uganda. Bryce’s whole body vibrated from holding the steering wheel as he tried to miss all these little duck-birds and the large potholes. Finally found the actual park entrance and hired a guide. then we had to go find the guide who was coming back from another trip with tourists. He took us to another part where he had shown others a pride of lions.
We saw the lions. We found the momma lion as we drove 10 feet from her shady sleeping spot. We stopped to take pictures and she reared back on her haunches ready to pounce on this metallic thing which interrupted her nap. Wild lions are big. And actually wild, you can see it in their eyes. I have seen lions in a zoo, I became bored because that was the look in their eyes. Boredom and apathy. But these lions didn’t look like that at all. our guide kept saying “take photos fast then we go” in a high pitched voice like he was scared of this situation. We also found a young lion in a cactus tree. We stopped to take photos of that one also. It didn’t look like it wanted a fight, but rather that it really wanted to get away but couldn’t figure out how to move quickly from its perch in the cactus.
We also saw crested eagles and warthogs and impalas and random birds. Like the spotted mouse bird. That’s when Bryce decided to call me mousy. I must say that is a first. I don’t really consider myself mousy. Then the guide took us to the village inside the park so we could have a boat ride. We surprised him when we refused to have a boat ride, our excuse was that we build boats, why would that be such an attraction to us? Oh, and I watched a little kid beat Bryce at cards. Not once, but several times. I had to get pictures of that. the fishing village lives next to the group of hippos. They look kinda like rocks out in the water which randomly open a large mouth with funny teeth.
Oh, I got a good burger at the park lodge. I saw it on the menu and decided to take the risk. Risks are sometimes richly rewarded. I tried not to show my enjoyment too much since Bryce looked very envious at my rich reward. We sat there listening to the groups of mzungus talking amongst themselves. We tried to guess their nationality but honestly we felt very uncomfortable being around them because of the way they acted towards the Ugandans serving them. Nothing exactly bad, but we could see the superiority complex playing out in their body language. Also listening to them plan how to fix Ugandan problems with western ideals sounded ludicrous to our ears.
That night we stayed in fort portal at a small hotel. The bar upstairs was names the parrot bar. Guess why? Two large gray parrots live in a cage next to the door squawking loudly. Annoying birds. At least they shut up for the nighttime. Bryce and I found decent pizza for dinner then went back to the parrot bar for drinks, cigars, and pool. I’m still horrible at pool. But losing at pool seems less problematic when smoking a cigar.
Next day we drove back to Kampala and Entebbe. More construction. Kinda funny seeing the process of putting in culverts? Under the road everyone is driving on. Bryce and I don’t have the same reactions to anything. Take our reactions to returning to the site after a 2 day trip. Bryce felt “refreshed”. I felt revived enough to feel the impending doom of returning to the site. Bryce and I just don’t work on the same tracks.
6am we got up and started driving towards queen Elizabeth park. Western Uganda is beautiful. We actually found mist so thick that we worried we might miss the turn-off. Awesome after being drenched with humid heat for several months. When the mist did part, tea plantations stretch for miles over actual hills. Tea bushes are a strong emerald color, even without the sun hitting them. Banana trees grow in small forests. Gorgeous. Bryce isn’t one to stop on a road trip, but we pulled over several times to take pictures. Hills, hills, and more hills. Then, as I looked between the trees for the hillside next to us, it wasn’t there. Instead a flat plain several hundred feet below us stretched out to the horizon. Perfectly flat. We descended the final hill and drove down the road, passing people pushing bicycles with 4 or 6 stalks of matoke. Insane. We saw monkeys and herds of water buffalo which are quite rare. Usually you only see solitary males.
We turned down the dirt road with a sign and immediately found out that American washboard roads cant compare to washboards in Uganda. Bryce’s whole body vibrated from holding the steering wheel as he tried to miss all these little duck-birds and the large potholes. Finally found the actual park entrance and hired a guide. then we had to go find the guide who was coming back from another trip with tourists. He took us to another part where he had shown others a pride of lions.
We saw the lions. We found the momma lion as we drove 10 feet from her shady sleeping spot. We stopped to take pictures and she reared back on her haunches ready to pounce on this metallic thing which interrupted her nap. Wild lions are big. And actually wild, you can see it in their eyes. I have seen lions in a zoo, I became bored because that was the look in their eyes. Boredom and apathy. But these lions didn’t look like that at all. our guide kept saying “take photos fast then we go” in a high pitched voice like he was scared of this situation. We also found a young lion in a cactus tree. We stopped to take photos of that one also. It didn’t look like it wanted a fight, but rather that it really wanted to get away but couldn’t figure out how to move quickly from its perch in the cactus.
We also saw crested eagles and warthogs and impalas and random birds. Like the spotted mouse bird. That’s when Bryce decided to call me mousy. I must say that is a first. I don’t really consider myself mousy. Then the guide took us to the village inside the park so we could have a boat ride. We surprised him when we refused to have a boat ride, our excuse was that we build boats, why would that be such an attraction to us? Oh, and I watched a little kid beat Bryce at cards. Not once, but several times. I had to get pictures of that. the fishing village lives next to the group of hippos. They look kinda like rocks out in the water which randomly open a large mouth with funny teeth.
Oh, I got a good burger at the park lodge. I saw it on the menu and decided to take the risk. Risks are sometimes richly rewarded. I tried not to show my enjoyment too much since Bryce looked very envious at my rich reward. We sat there listening to the groups of mzungus talking amongst themselves. We tried to guess their nationality but honestly we felt very uncomfortable being around them because of the way they acted towards the Ugandans serving them. Nothing exactly bad, but we could see the superiority complex playing out in their body language. Also listening to them plan how to fix Ugandan problems with western ideals sounded ludicrous to our ears.
That night we stayed in fort portal at a small hotel. The bar upstairs was names the parrot bar. Guess why? Two large gray parrots live in a cage next to the door squawking loudly. Annoying birds. At least they shut up for the nighttime. Bryce and I found decent pizza for dinner then went back to the parrot bar for drinks, cigars, and pool. I’m still horrible at pool. But losing at pool seems less problematic when smoking a cigar.
Next day we drove back to Kampala and Entebbe. More construction. Kinda funny seeing the process of putting in culverts? Under the road everyone is driving on. Bryce and I don’t have the same reactions to anything. Take our reactions to returning to the site after a 2 day trip. Bryce felt “refreshed”. I felt revived enough to feel the impending doom of returning to the site. Bryce and I just don’t work on the same tracks.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
another update
Andrew has come here for several weeks. Let me back up and tell you why. Jon-Paul returned home safely and promptly became extremely ill. He lost a lot of weight and eventually went to the hospital. Various special doctors and others tried for several days to figure out what he had. A special disease doctor called him a puzzle. That’s not usually a good sign. Neither is seeing doctors in hasmat suites tending to a patient. But that’s what happened. Im glad to report they finally did figure out what was wrong. He has several parasites and his body reacted strongly to them because he is allergic to them. I doubt he will risk meeting those parasites again.
Bob is also sick, tho not nearly as sick as Jon-Paul was. he also does not know what disease he has yet. hopefully he will find out soon and get better quickly so that he can come back here. Whenever someone mentions bob, the others look hopeful as someone asks when he will come back.
We needed more people here. Thus, Andrew is here now. The first morning I found him sitting outside my door when I stumbled out sleepy eyed. He had been up most of the night with jet-lag. Btw, his hair is longer than mine. I chopped half my hair off a few weeks ago. It now ends at my chin level and is mostly blonde again. But his hair is long and there is so much of it that it sticks out from the top of his head towards the sides. Kinda funny looking actually. His first day here he experienced a thunderstorm and after seeing the toilets (or lack there of), built a makeshift toilet. Presently, he and Bryce are exploring the Kampala drinking scene. And they took the internet modem with them. Sigh.
The boat is mostly together as far as the structure. We lifted up the roofs last week. Now we tell the Ugandans that it has finished growing. Everyone is learning so fast. Carpentry, fiber glassing, planning, and most important to this line of work, problem-solving. I still have to repeat myself often, enunciating every word to be sure they understand. But that I can deal with.
I have decided to return home early. As in, on the 24th of august. When I heard how sick Jon-Paul was, I got myself tested for anything I could possibly have just to make sure I didn’t have some hidden disease ready to flair up as soon as I got home. Clean bill of health. Yay. But I am tired. A deep abiding fatigue no matter how much I try to sleep. This place isn’t very conducive to sleeping in in the morning either. Im tired of dealing, of being away from my family and friends. Of being here with a bunch of guys day in and day out. And Maureen, cant forget Maureen. But it just isn’t home. It cant be my home. People come here and say they leave their heart in Uganda or Africa. Im sitting here saying I left my heart in America. Seattle to be exact. I wanna go home now. It might be just for a break, but its time.
I thought it might be a good idea to change my ticket, then I rethought, then yes, then no. for several days I struggled with the pros and cons of this decision. I found the actual usefulness of fasting (just don’t do it the day your favorite food is cooked). I had people in America saying to come home. And people here practically begging me not to leave. But in the end I decided to actually take care of myself so that I can keep going in the long-term instead of sacrificing everything for the short term deadline. So I asked my bosses to co-ordinate with my parents to get me home soon. Its amazing what can be accomplished with a few phone calls if you have enough incentive. And getting their daughter home apparently was enough incentive for my parents. Ready Seattle? Here I come. Brown, blonde, and hopefully changed for the better. So if you want to see me, send an email or call when I get back.
Bob is also sick, tho not nearly as sick as Jon-Paul was. he also does not know what disease he has yet. hopefully he will find out soon and get better quickly so that he can come back here. Whenever someone mentions bob, the others look hopeful as someone asks when he will come back.
We needed more people here. Thus, Andrew is here now. The first morning I found him sitting outside my door when I stumbled out sleepy eyed. He had been up most of the night with jet-lag. Btw, his hair is longer than mine. I chopped half my hair off a few weeks ago. It now ends at my chin level and is mostly blonde again. But his hair is long and there is so much of it that it sticks out from the top of his head towards the sides. Kinda funny looking actually. His first day here he experienced a thunderstorm and after seeing the toilets (or lack there of), built a makeshift toilet. Presently, he and Bryce are exploring the Kampala drinking scene. And they took the internet modem with them. Sigh.
The boat is mostly together as far as the structure. We lifted up the roofs last week. Now we tell the Ugandans that it has finished growing. Everyone is learning so fast. Carpentry, fiber glassing, planning, and most important to this line of work, problem-solving. I still have to repeat myself often, enunciating every word to be sure they understand. But that I can deal with.
I have decided to return home early. As in, on the 24th of august. When I heard how sick Jon-Paul was, I got myself tested for anything I could possibly have just to make sure I didn’t have some hidden disease ready to flair up as soon as I got home. Clean bill of health. Yay. But I am tired. A deep abiding fatigue no matter how much I try to sleep. This place isn’t very conducive to sleeping in in the morning either. Im tired of dealing, of being away from my family and friends. Of being here with a bunch of guys day in and day out. And Maureen, cant forget Maureen. But it just isn’t home. It cant be my home. People come here and say they leave their heart in Uganda or Africa. Im sitting here saying I left my heart in America. Seattle to be exact. I wanna go home now. It might be just for a break, but its time.
I thought it might be a good idea to change my ticket, then I rethought, then yes, then no. for several days I struggled with the pros and cons of this decision. I found the actual usefulness of fasting (just don’t do it the day your favorite food is cooked). I had people in America saying to come home. And people here practically begging me not to leave. But in the end I decided to actually take care of myself so that I can keep going in the long-term instead of sacrificing everything for the short term deadline. So I asked my bosses to co-ordinate with my parents to get me home soon. Its amazing what can be accomplished with a few phone calls if you have enough incentive. And getting their daughter home apparently was enough incentive for my parents. Ready Seattle? Here I come. Brown, blonde, and hopefully changed for the better. So if you want to see me, send an email or call when I get back.
henry and hair
So I went to visit Henry and Leonard in Kampala a few weekends ago. I needed to get away from everyone I live with. That, and I had to pick up my power cord which was being repaired. So I stayed with Henry. Henry is awesome. I had no idea I needed to talk with him and hear what he had to say until half-way thru the conversation. Apparently Hildegard von Bingen is more than a writer of music in medieval times. cool. I needed a dose of good strong wisdom. I needed a fresh perspective. I needed to borrow someone else’s lenses for a bit. I didn’t sleep much that night, but I rested more than if I had slept for 20 hours. Some people just have that sort of presence which radiates peace so that those around them can rest. Even if they are running around doing a dozen things, a deep peace pervades where they are, whispering that it is ok, already taken care of is such a quiet whisper that only the soul can hear it. And after you leave them, you realize how precious that time was. I like those people a lot, even if I only know them for a short time.
Oh, I also cooked breakfast for dinner for that household. No one else besides Henry knew how to make an omelet. Oi. And the Ugandans all ate a side dish of rice and vegetables next to the omelet. I don’t understand these people some days. That night I got so sick of trying to keep my hair healthy and failing miserably at it. So I took my scissors and sitting in from of the only full size mirror I know of, chopped my hair off. Right at the chin level. It doesn’t look half bad actually. Sadly its too short to collect into a pony tail so I wear it down and curly now. The next weekend I searched Kampala for hair clips, but no luck. So I walked into a tailor shop and asked if they had any plain color fabric strips. I paid 50 cents for some red cloth to tie around my head. The person selling it to me could not understand what I wanted it for. Yay for being a crazy mzungu.
Oh, I also cooked breakfast for dinner for that household. No one else besides Henry knew how to make an omelet. Oi. And the Ugandans all ate a side dish of rice and vegetables next to the omelet. I don’t understand these people some days. That night I got so sick of trying to keep my hair healthy and failing miserably at it. So I took my scissors and sitting in from of the only full size mirror I know of, chopped my hair off. Right at the chin level. It doesn’t look half bad actually. Sadly its too short to collect into a pony tail so I wear it down and curly now. The next weekend I searched Kampala for hair clips, but no luck. So I walked into a tailor shop and asked if they had any plain color fabric strips. I paid 50 cents for some red cloth to tie around my head. The person selling it to me could not understand what I wanted it for. Yay for being a crazy mzungu.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
one of those days 7-29-10
No, it wasn’t one of those days. That would admit that such days happen more often than they should, that is to say, sometimes. Days like this should never happen. Never ever.
We are building the boat in open air. I think most of you know that. And that works here in Uganda since the weather is perpetually summer. The heat of summer, the humidity of summer, the thunderstorms of summer. We have figured out which way the weather comes from so we keep a weather eye out for thunderstorms. Today dawned bright and sunny. A few clouds here and there, but that’s always the case.
The goal today was to get 4 of the 2nd floors epoxied together starting from the back and the bottom beam epoxied on. we got a shipment of epoxy yesterday so we had everything we needed. my patience has waned to the point of not being able to take…well, anything going wrong really. Floors, 5, 4, and 3 went on ok. Issues with drills and Ugandan screws aside, it went swimmingly. I worked on the floors with my team while Bryce and his team worked on the beam. Bryce says something about rain. I want to get floor 3 on before we tarp the thing since I see a very small cloud above us. And it goes together, and the raindrops get bigger, then they are everywhere. I yell for everyone to get the tarp over the boat fast. Not fast enough, but when its raining, its never enough. I look up again to see how long the rain will last, and all I see is gray in every direction. I cant see very far because of all the rain. What happened to the blue sky? Bryce comes up and we just look at each other as the rain starts coming between the floors we haven’t put together yet. right thru the tarp. I go out to check the rain, its still coming. And the tarp has blown off part of the boat. So Bryce and I clamp it down. where did this rain come from?!? I go to the other section and grab the corner and pull it down. I feel like I should be sailing with the tarp catching that much wind. Did I mention im soaked by this time? Don’t think about the rain pouring down your face and down into your already soaked shoes, just catch the sail and tie it down. Ask someone for a clamp, makes sure it wont fly up again. Then turn to the sky and yell at it. Give it the finger. Sing “oh Africa”. Go down and tell the workers they are free to go eat lunch if they want to brave the rain. Here I am, soaked several times over, telling the dry students hiding underneath the boat that they can go have food. Oi. Go back up and try to consol Bryce who is feeling sick with the situation.
For those of you who haven’t ever worked with epoxy, let me explain the situation. Water does not mix will with wet epoxy. We didn’t know how bad it might be for the epoxy. It could have been enywhere from ok to useless. The team back in America assured us that as long as the epoxy attached to the wood before the water soaked it, the epoxy is fine. And that’s what happened. But we didn’t know that at the time. We thought all our work that day might have to be redone. We sat there looking at a week of extra work to fix the issues one freak rainstorm dropped on us.
I had to jump in all the puddles on the way back to the dorm. Nothing else to do when the world rains on you like that. There is no explanation, no way, no words to explain the day. and our brain power had shorted with the sheer magnitude of our situation.
We are building the boat in open air. I think most of you know that. And that works here in Uganda since the weather is perpetually summer. The heat of summer, the humidity of summer, the thunderstorms of summer. We have figured out which way the weather comes from so we keep a weather eye out for thunderstorms. Today dawned bright and sunny. A few clouds here and there, but that’s always the case.
The goal today was to get 4 of the 2nd floors epoxied together starting from the back and the bottom beam epoxied on. we got a shipment of epoxy yesterday so we had everything we needed. my patience has waned to the point of not being able to take…well, anything going wrong really. Floors, 5, 4, and 3 went on ok. Issues with drills and Ugandan screws aside, it went swimmingly. I worked on the floors with my team while Bryce and his team worked on the beam. Bryce says something about rain. I want to get floor 3 on before we tarp the thing since I see a very small cloud above us. And it goes together, and the raindrops get bigger, then they are everywhere. I yell for everyone to get the tarp over the boat fast. Not fast enough, but when its raining, its never enough. I look up again to see how long the rain will last, and all I see is gray in every direction. I cant see very far because of all the rain. What happened to the blue sky? Bryce comes up and we just look at each other as the rain starts coming between the floors we haven’t put together yet. right thru the tarp. I go out to check the rain, its still coming. And the tarp has blown off part of the boat. So Bryce and I clamp it down. where did this rain come from?!? I go to the other section and grab the corner and pull it down. I feel like I should be sailing with the tarp catching that much wind. Did I mention im soaked by this time? Don’t think about the rain pouring down your face and down into your already soaked shoes, just catch the sail and tie it down. Ask someone for a clamp, makes sure it wont fly up again. Then turn to the sky and yell at it. Give it the finger. Sing “oh Africa”. Go down and tell the workers they are free to go eat lunch if they want to brave the rain. Here I am, soaked several times over, telling the dry students hiding underneath the boat that they can go have food. Oi. Go back up and try to consol Bryce who is feeling sick with the situation.
For those of you who haven’t ever worked with epoxy, let me explain the situation. Water does not mix will with wet epoxy. We didn’t know how bad it might be for the epoxy. It could have been enywhere from ok to useless. The team back in America assured us that as long as the epoxy attached to the wood before the water soaked it, the epoxy is fine. And that’s what happened. But we didn’t know that at the time. We thought all our work that day might have to be redone. We sat there looking at a week of extra work to fix the issues one freak rainstorm dropped on us.
I had to jump in all the puddles on the way back to the dorm. Nothing else to do when the world rains on you like that. There is no explanation, no way, no words to explain the day. and our brain power had shorted with the sheer magnitude of our situation.
Update;7-26-10
So we have the economy cabin reassembled. That’s the first story of the ferry. The boat looks fairly strange with all the joints waiting for fiberglass. The second floors sit leaning up against each other on top of the boat. Each day we get closer to the end. We have started the part where we cut holes all over the boat for vents and water intakes. After I pushed the first piece out I yelled “stop blowing holes in my boat!” it seemed fitting all things considered.
The student interns we have hired are all Ugandan engineers freshly graduated from university. But none save one have ever held a job. So basically they have the theories of how things work in their brain but have never seen the actual functioning. They have the work experience of most American 16yos (which is to say, none) but a much higher maturity level. It’s very interesting to teach them carpentry and how to use tools. We have had some interesting times when we ask for a tool by name and they give us a blank look instead. It isn’t even a specialized tool either. It’s just that they either have never heard of the tool, or they have never heard our name for it. Things like an open ended wrench (they call it a spanner), or a Phillips screwdriver (plus-sign or star, as opposed to minus sign). We informed them that actual star screwdrivers are different. Unfortunately, it’s the same with all our Ugandan workers, not just the students. I inventoried the tools one day with a worker. I would call out the name, and how to spell it, and he would write it down and also on a little cheat sheet which he took home and memorized.
So our group here has changed a bit. Only Bryce and I remain of the Americans. Jon-Paul and Rob both left last week. Our cook has stayed with us, and we have elevated her title to goddess of all things edible and tasty. We have Nicholas our faithful foreman and interpreter who lives nearby. Francis also lives nearby, but should not be confused with mo-zay (old man) Francis who is our driver. He prefers to clean the car at least 2x a week in his spare time even though we live on a dirt road. Then we have opus, who changes his hair style every week but wears a yellow bucket hat over it constantly to protect it.
Then our student interns. Paul, who I swear should have gone to seminary instead of becoming an electrical engineer. The guy talks constantly, either about scripture, or about how we need his help. he has one of the slenderest builds I have ever carried by a guy. Therein lies the joke when he offers his help to Bryce. The others are mechanical engineers. Chris, who has held a job and somehow has a very steady personality. He is quiet, but has a great sense of humor and irony. He shakes his head every time Paul starts talking again. Vianney, who is even quieter than Chris, and taller than the others. His English is the most understandable. Those two never complain, even though both have had malaria since meeting us. Then comes Moses, the small one. Blyce is arways his fliend, but blyce arways makes fun of his accent. All are faithful born again believers who don’t drink, smoke, or swear and don’t believe in spontaneity.
The last addition to our team here has been cloud (spelled Claude). He has traveled a bit and knows a bit about western culture which the others have somehow missed completely. Things like Rudolf the red nosed reindeer and Winnie the pooh and Zeus. He was a Buddhist monk in Thailand for a while, but has since decided to go with Catholicism out of respect for his family. He has asked how to read the bible so I supplied him with his first. His accent is the hardest to understand. Try to imagine a French African with elements of Thai and a southern twang.
I have gotten some interesting comments this week. “Julia, you must be half man.” Or “if only we were as peaceful as you look when you lie down.” I continue to surprise Ugandans for some reason.
Bryce and I get to go away next weekend to get a break. Western Uganda here we come. Hopefully we see the animals on a safari. My first African safari. Ill let you all know how it goes.
The student interns we have hired are all Ugandan engineers freshly graduated from university. But none save one have ever held a job. So basically they have the theories of how things work in their brain but have never seen the actual functioning. They have the work experience of most American 16yos (which is to say, none) but a much higher maturity level. It’s very interesting to teach them carpentry and how to use tools. We have had some interesting times when we ask for a tool by name and they give us a blank look instead. It isn’t even a specialized tool either. It’s just that they either have never heard of the tool, or they have never heard our name for it. Things like an open ended wrench (they call it a spanner), or a Phillips screwdriver (plus-sign or star, as opposed to minus sign). We informed them that actual star screwdrivers are different. Unfortunately, it’s the same with all our Ugandan workers, not just the students. I inventoried the tools one day with a worker. I would call out the name, and how to spell it, and he would write it down and also on a little cheat sheet which he took home and memorized.
So our group here has changed a bit. Only Bryce and I remain of the Americans. Jon-Paul and Rob both left last week. Our cook has stayed with us, and we have elevated her title to goddess of all things edible and tasty. We have Nicholas our faithful foreman and interpreter who lives nearby. Francis also lives nearby, but should not be confused with mo-zay (old man) Francis who is our driver. He prefers to clean the car at least 2x a week in his spare time even though we live on a dirt road. Then we have opus, who changes his hair style every week but wears a yellow bucket hat over it constantly to protect it.
Then our student interns. Paul, who I swear should have gone to seminary instead of becoming an electrical engineer. The guy talks constantly, either about scripture, or about how we need his help. he has one of the slenderest builds I have ever carried by a guy. Therein lies the joke when he offers his help to Bryce. The others are mechanical engineers. Chris, who has held a job and somehow has a very steady personality. He is quiet, but has a great sense of humor and irony. He shakes his head every time Paul starts talking again. Vianney, who is even quieter than Chris, and taller than the others. His English is the most understandable. Those two never complain, even though both have had malaria since meeting us. Then comes Moses, the small one. Blyce is arways his fliend, but blyce arways makes fun of his accent. All are faithful born again believers who don’t drink, smoke, or swear and don’t believe in spontaneity.
The last addition to our team here has been cloud (spelled Claude). He has traveled a bit and knows a bit about western culture which the others have somehow missed completely. Things like Rudolf the red nosed reindeer and Winnie the pooh and Zeus. He was a Buddhist monk in Thailand for a while, but has since decided to go with Catholicism out of respect for his family. He has asked how to read the bible so I supplied him with his first. His accent is the hardest to understand. Try to imagine a French African with elements of Thai and a southern twang.
I have gotten some interesting comments this week. “Julia, you must be half man.” Or “if only we were as peaceful as you look when you lie down.” I continue to surprise Ugandans for some reason.
Bryce and I get to go away next weekend to get a break. Western Uganda here we come. Hopefully we see the animals on a safari. My first African safari. Ill let you all know how it goes.
and im back
Sorry all. I have been away for a while. The internet shut off shortly after the bombings. Then when it did turn on again, my power cord had stopped working. No power to the comp. hence, no writing blog posts. So I have posted two very late posts that I wrote before all that happened. I have dated them so you have some idea when they were supposed to be posted.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Dad (Will) speaking
Julia asked me to let you all know that she is ok. No more bombings for now. They have had internet problems, so she has not been able to post. She and Bryce went to Queen Elizabeth Park over the weekend; relaxed there and saw lions, hippos, zebras, etc.
Friday, July 16, 2010
prayer
Many people minimize spiritual warfare. No one should. Its real and it affects everyone.
Are you a believer in Christ? Then someone hates you. It is his purpose to destroy you and his goal is for you to not want to do anything to the glory of God. He will make war against you till one of these things happens. And then he will celebrate. As whittaker chambers said, “You have enemies? Good. You have stood up for something.” Or something like that.
But for those of you who are Christians, there is good news too. For every war must have at least 2 sides. As much as you have an enemy, so much more do you have someone who will fight for you and protect you. So many people ignore the fight which God wages for us. In doing so, they diminish God and his place in the universe. He is more than your champion, He is more than your savior, He is more than anything He is to you. He is God. He is the Lord of life. His existence isn’t about you or for you. But He fights for you and saves you because He loves you. And that is awesome. It takes all the pressure off your actions and off your persistence. He is going to fight for you whether you think He should be happy with you lately or not. He just loves you.
And I want to apologize to all of you who pray for me and for this team. Especially those who persist to pray every day. im sorry. you pray for us in America, yet we rarely if ever pray as a team for ourselves. Sure, we pray as individuals, but that’s not the same. It is wrong to rely on you to pray for us, yet to not pray for ourselves. Im not usually part of the spearhead of a project, im used to being part of the support system. I am responsible to you all to take care of myself as much as possible so that your prayers can reach that much further in support of us. And we as a group are responsible to take care of ourselves as a group. But we haven’t been. This situation really struck me last week as a group gathered at my parents’ house to pray for us. I became very embarrassed of my lack of action towards our self-preservation in this most crucial of dimensions. The next day we began to pray as a team before each day. so we have entered the fight for us as a team. Not just as individual pray-ers. Sorry it took us so long.
Are you a believer in Christ? Then someone hates you. It is his purpose to destroy you and his goal is for you to not want to do anything to the glory of God. He will make war against you till one of these things happens. And then he will celebrate. As whittaker chambers said, “You have enemies? Good. You have stood up for something.” Or something like that.
But for those of you who are Christians, there is good news too. For every war must have at least 2 sides. As much as you have an enemy, so much more do you have someone who will fight for you and protect you. So many people ignore the fight which God wages for us. In doing so, they diminish God and his place in the universe. He is more than your champion, He is more than your savior, He is more than anything He is to you. He is God. He is the Lord of life. His existence isn’t about you or for you. But He fights for you and saves you because He loves you. And that is awesome. It takes all the pressure off your actions and off your persistence. He is going to fight for you whether you think He should be happy with you lately or not. He just loves you.
And I want to apologize to all of you who pray for me and for this team. Especially those who persist to pray every day. im sorry. you pray for us in America, yet we rarely if ever pray as a team for ourselves. Sure, we pray as individuals, but that’s not the same. It is wrong to rely on you to pray for us, yet to not pray for ourselves. Im not usually part of the spearhead of a project, im used to being part of the support system. I am responsible to you all to take care of myself as much as possible so that your prayers can reach that much further in support of us. And we as a group are responsible to take care of ourselves as a group. But we haven’t been. This situation really struck me last week as a group gathered at my parents’ house to pray for us. I became very embarrassed of my lack of action towards our self-preservation in this most crucial of dimensions. The next day we began to pray as a team before each day. so we have entered the fight for us as a team. Not just as individual pray-ers. Sorry it took us so long.
bombings
For those of you who have heard the news, we are all safe and well. For those of you who haven’t heard the news, kampala has experienced several bombings. The death toll has reached 76, many of them not Ugandans. The night of the final game of the fifa world cup, somalian suicide bombers exploded in the middle of several gatherings of futball fans. We know every place that was bombed. We have been to most of them, but we rarely hang out there.
Oddly, that night, Sunday night, we are usually in kampala hanging out. But that day we left around 6pm because we were bored. I went to watch the game at the local resort down the road. The only reason we knew about the bombings was cuz someone in seattle called at 2am asking where we were. Sleeping, like we always are at 2am. Of course we are safe, why wouldn’t we be. Well, cuz there were bombings in kampala. …oh.
So now few people in kampala are out after dark. All the bars close at dark. President musevani has declared a week of morning. And obama has condemned the attack. Thanks obama, that will really show them. I remember a time when bombings which killed Americans would elicit a fairly blunt and explosive reaction from my country. Americans felt safe going to random countries. Now people who blow up Americans are merely verbally condemned. That’s just sad. Nearing pathetic actually.
Here at the sight, we feel safe. We are the only mzungus on our peninsula. They would have to actually come looking for us in order to find us. We don’t hang out much at major mzungu hang-outs. And we are going to stay out of those areas for a while.
So, we are safe. We are ok. Don’t worry about us.
Oddly, that night, Sunday night, we are usually in kampala hanging out. But that day we left around 6pm because we were bored. I went to watch the game at the local resort down the road. The only reason we knew about the bombings was cuz someone in seattle called at 2am asking where we were. Sleeping, like we always are at 2am. Of course we are safe, why wouldn’t we be. Well, cuz there were bombings in kampala. …oh.
So now few people in kampala are out after dark. All the bars close at dark. President musevani has declared a week of morning. And obama has condemned the attack. Thanks obama, that will really show them. I remember a time when bombings which killed Americans would elicit a fairly blunt and explosive reaction from my country. Americans felt safe going to random countries. Now people who blow up Americans are merely verbally condemned. That’s just sad. Nearing pathetic actually.
Here at the sight, we feel safe. We are the only mzungus on our peninsula. They would have to actually come looking for us in order to find us. We don’t hang out much at major mzungu hang-outs. And we are going to stay out of those areas for a while.
So, we are safe. We are ok. Don’t worry about us.
Friday, July 9, 2010
lifting walls
The question is how to get the pre-fabricated walls on top of the ferry. In the Everett shop, we had cranes to do all this sort of work. The only figuring we had to do was how to strap each piece so it doesn’t break. But here we don’t have cranes of any kind. We work in the open air, working on our tans during sanding and epoxying. So how does one lift a wall on top a 7 foot tall hull?
Well, when lifting, we separate people into three categories; short, medium, and Bryce. Im in the short group. So we gather around the wall next in line to be hoisted up. After a bit of headscratching and bolstering up the courage to move the wall, we sigh. Bryce begins with a short synopsis of the plan to get it up the boat and mentions whether its breakable. Then he gets at one end of the wall and everyone else sorta sidles up around the wall awaiting instructions. Unfortunately, we are never evenly spaced so we have a few minutes of ordering people to places, much like a seating chart. Then we are ready to lift. And one, two, three, lift! Up goes the wall, and much grunting ensues as we walk towards the hull. Perhaps we spin the wall so that Bryce is at the front, but only by instruction. And lift! Bryce, with the meager help of everyone one in the medium category lifts one side to barely above the edge of the hull. Careful not the drop the other side to the ground. Short people lift with lumber to extend their arms, or run around the boat to help from on top the hulls. That route takes us up the eucalyptus ramp, onto the upper hull wall, down the makeshift steps, over the other walls lying on the floors, and over to the edge where we can see a bit of the wall sticking up over the side. Our job is to lift on the top edge while the others lift from the ground and pull the wall onto the floors. As the wall moves more onto the floors, medium people come up to help the short people. But we all must remember to not break or bend the wall. And those on top the boat must watch out for all the foam pieces and to not step on the other walls. Place the wall in the correct place with foam underneath it. Then gather around the next wall and repeat the process. Its really fun with bendy walls. They can look like this ~ sometimes getting them onto the boat. But with the bends spread out a lot more than that symbol.
We are beginning to realize that almost all the phrases we use to describe movement and direction are in fact colloquialisms not found in Ugandan vocabulary. Such as “move down” or “spread out evenly” or “what are you doing there?!”. Ah the joys of English and engrish coming together.
Well, when lifting, we separate people into three categories; short, medium, and Bryce. Im in the short group. So we gather around the wall next in line to be hoisted up. After a bit of headscratching and bolstering up the courage to move the wall, we sigh. Bryce begins with a short synopsis of the plan to get it up the boat and mentions whether its breakable. Then he gets at one end of the wall and everyone else sorta sidles up around the wall awaiting instructions. Unfortunately, we are never evenly spaced so we have a few minutes of ordering people to places, much like a seating chart. Then we are ready to lift. And one, two, three, lift! Up goes the wall, and much grunting ensues as we walk towards the hull. Perhaps we spin the wall so that Bryce is at the front, but only by instruction. And lift! Bryce, with the meager help of everyone one in the medium category lifts one side to barely above the edge of the hull. Careful not the drop the other side to the ground. Short people lift with lumber to extend their arms, or run around the boat to help from on top the hulls. That route takes us up the eucalyptus ramp, onto the upper hull wall, down the makeshift steps, over the other walls lying on the floors, and over to the edge where we can see a bit of the wall sticking up over the side. Our job is to lift on the top edge while the others lift from the ground and pull the wall onto the floors. As the wall moves more onto the floors, medium people come up to help the short people. But we all must remember to not break or bend the wall. And those on top the boat must watch out for all the foam pieces and to not step on the other walls. Place the wall in the correct place with foam underneath it. Then gather around the next wall and repeat the process. Its really fun with bendy walls. They can look like this ~ sometimes getting them onto the boat. But with the bends spread out a lot more than that symbol.
We are beginning to realize that almost all the phrases we use to describe movement and direction are in fact colloquialisms not found in Ugandan vocabulary. Such as “move down” or “spread out evenly” or “what are you doing there?!”. Ah the joys of English and engrish coming together.
homesick
I live in a land not my own. In a place where I don’t belong, but to live and work for a time. In a land where the customs and rituals make no sense. Where the people have different ideals and desires than i. I do not understand these people. I live among them but do not live as they do. I tell them stories of the land I long for, and I see it sometimes sparks longing in their own eyes. My heart abides in another land. i long with indescribable longing for my own land, the one where I belong. I know that I will see it soon, and that knowledge is enough to comfort me. But for now I sojourn in this foreign land.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
party
This Sunday the pastor returned. This time the service started early to make time afterwards for the party. The pastor has been gone for a long time in America so I expected the party to be large and exuberant. I didn’t expect what actually happened. Worship started as usual. Dancing, singing, kids wanting to sit with me. And as we listened to one worship leader expounding on prayer, a growing commotion outside slowly grabbed the attention of the church. Shouting, yelling, celebrating. The parade of Ugandans in brightly colored clothing poured into the courtyard outside. The speaker announced the arrival of the pastor. The parade entered the front of the church to shouts and singing. So many colors on the dresses. The singing people drowned out the loud speakers. The parade circled around the front of the church. Around and around singing “praise God, thankyou jesus.” Or something like that. The woman next to me was kind enough to translate what we were singing. The only reason I figured out which one of the paraders was the pastor was from the way he held himself. Almost as if this welcome was too much for him. I don’t even think the body language was intentional. Right after his parade came the Americans. Somehow I was asked to come up front and sit with the other Americans as one of the special guests. Guess what my question was? I asked if I could take the kids who were sitting with me. So me and the 2 little girls were escorted up the front seats. The girls took turns sitting on my lap. We watched various people or groups singing in honor of their pastor returning. One woman was very good, the pastor and his wife got up and sang with her. The man next to me informed me that this woman was their daughter. So I took a picture of the public reunion of a family. Reverend Dorsey gave an excellent sermon.
I wanted to tell these people that before that morning I didn’t think they could express anymore joy in their singing or dance with more feeling. I was wrong. All I could think about was David leading his people and the ark back into Jerusalem. Imagine the rejoicing. Imagine the love and joy. Do you ever feel so happy you could just get up, shout and dance for joy? These people experienced this, and they gave vent to these feelings. They wouldn’t stop praising God for the safe return of their beloved pastor. Oh that Americans would show a tenth of the joy these people expressed. Quit worrying about how you look and just dance for joy. The day was about the pastor. Even the kids knew that.
The service ended, but most people stayed in waiting for the party to start and the lunch to be served. Us Americans went out to the courtyard among the kids for some air and a little quieter area. There were easily 100 kids in the courtyard, all trying to touch one of the Americans. I started taking pictures of the kids. They all crowded up to the camera. So I would get a group of them and tell them to stay, back up a few feet and try to take a picture before they all surged forward. Then I would show them a picture of them. So much fun to these kids. I got several pics of the other Americans entertaining groups of kids just by their looks. I spent some time coaxing kids away from each of the Americans so they could have a reprieve from the constant touching. And I found that several of the kids are ticklish. Evil grin.
The church service ended at about noon. We finally ate at 4. Until that time, the people were singing and dancing or watching others sing and dance. For 4 hours. Wow these people love celebrating. Finally we came back in to eat. The table with the guests of honor were served first. A woman with a pitcher and basin went around so we could wash our hands. Then the plates of freshly cooked Ugandan food appeared. I could see some of the servers getting worried till one arrived with a small plate of forks for most of the Americans. They hadn’t figured on anyone needing to eat with anything besides their hands, so they had to go find forks somewhere. Seeing the shortage of forks, I opted to eat with my hands. Pastor Wilson was so surprised and kept asking if I was ok eating like that. About 5 o clock rolls around and some Americans have a flight to catch. The rest of us piggy-back on that excuse to leave the festivities early. Church lasted 7 ½ hours for me that Sunday. Don’t get me wrong, I love celebrations. Just not for 7 hours in full view of the congregation.
Welcome home pastor Wilson. Your flock missed you. Cant you tell?
I wanted to tell these people that before that morning I didn’t think they could express anymore joy in their singing or dance with more feeling. I was wrong. All I could think about was David leading his people and the ark back into Jerusalem. Imagine the rejoicing. Imagine the love and joy. Do you ever feel so happy you could just get up, shout and dance for joy? These people experienced this, and they gave vent to these feelings. They wouldn’t stop praising God for the safe return of their beloved pastor. Oh that Americans would show a tenth of the joy these people expressed. Quit worrying about how you look and just dance for joy. The day was about the pastor. Even the kids knew that.
The service ended, but most people stayed in waiting for the party to start and the lunch to be served. Us Americans went out to the courtyard among the kids for some air and a little quieter area. There were easily 100 kids in the courtyard, all trying to touch one of the Americans. I started taking pictures of the kids. They all crowded up to the camera. So I would get a group of them and tell them to stay, back up a few feet and try to take a picture before they all surged forward. Then I would show them a picture of them. So much fun to these kids. I got several pics of the other Americans entertaining groups of kids just by their looks. I spent some time coaxing kids away from each of the Americans so they could have a reprieve from the constant touching. And I found that several of the kids are ticklish. Evil grin.
The church service ended at about noon. We finally ate at 4. Until that time, the people were singing and dancing or watching others sing and dance. For 4 hours. Wow these people love celebrating. Finally we came back in to eat. The table with the guests of honor were served first. A woman with a pitcher and basin went around so we could wash our hands. Then the plates of freshly cooked Ugandan food appeared. I could see some of the servers getting worried till one arrived with a small plate of forks for most of the Americans. They hadn’t figured on anyone needing to eat with anything besides their hands, so they had to go find forks somewhere. Seeing the shortage of forks, I opted to eat with my hands. Pastor Wilson was so surprised and kept asking if I was ok eating like that. About 5 o clock rolls around and some Americans have a flight to catch. The rest of us piggy-back on that excuse to leave the festivities early. Church lasted 7 ½ hours for me that Sunday. Don’t get me wrong, I love celebrations. Just not for 7 hours in full view of the congregation.
Welcome home pastor Wilson. Your flock missed you. Cant you tell?
Sunday, June 27, 2010
the wind
There are things about this trip I do not attempt to understand. These are the things under the direction of the Spirit. Don’t laugh, those promptings can powerfully direct life. “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” The word John uses for wind and spirit is the same word (3:8). He does that a lot with words meaning two things yet each meaning helps the readers understanding of the other side of that word. Stop trying to understand the decisions of some people according to what makes sense in your brain. It is the spirit that directs them, and it blows where it wishes. Without regard for what makes sense to our intelligence. This is why I say im not ready to come back to the states yet, even tho many people miss me and I miss American life so much. Im not done here. Not sure when I will be done. I guess I will know when it is time.
About 6 months before I came to Africa to immerse myself in a drastically different culture, I switched campuses. I didn’t understand it, but I felt called to attend the UW campus of Marshill even tho I had very little in common with the students there. Their struggles with campus life probably looked nothing like mine. I thought that was crazy. It turned out I was only able to attend that one for about a month. I guess God was testing me to see if I would follow his insane promptings. That strange affair probably had something to do with my readiness to live in Africa for a while, even with only 4 days notice for leaving.
So there are things that would only make sense if you were looking from the perspective of God on high overseeing the ages. It makes no sense if your goals in life are money or comfort. No sense at all.
About 6 months before I came to Africa to immerse myself in a drastically different culture, I switched campuses. I didn’t understand it, but I felt called to attend the UW campus of Marshill even tho I had very little in common with the students there. Their struggles with campus life probably looked nothing like mine. I thought that was crazy. It turned out I was only able to attend that one for about a month. I guess God was testing me to see if I would follow his insane promptings. That strange affair probably had something to do with my readiness to live in Africa for a while, even with only 4 days notice for leaving.
So there are things that would only make sense if you were looking from the perspective of God on high overseeing the ages. It makes no sense if your goals in life are money or comfort. No sense at all.
Friday, June 25, 2010
second soroti trip
I went to soroti again last week. This trip was a lot more eventful than last time, mostly cuz I rode the coach up to soroti. I wanted to experience it for once. There was this conference in soroti last week about trauma counseling. Since that is something related to what I want to do eventually with my life, I felt it behooved me to go. That, and I was so ready for a break. A vacation. Anything different and away. By the end of the workday, im physically exhausted. By Sunday, after 6 days, im mentally and spiritually exhausted also. I had the option to go on Saturday and for the entire week, but I didn’t want to skip out on that much work. So I went on Tuesday instead. Early that morning I left the dorm before the guys were up. I needed to get to soroti long before the light ended. So that’s what I did. Yes, I went alone. Bravery or stupidity; doesn’t matter much to me cuz it was an adventure. I had moms pointing me out to their kids on the bus. In the hour before the bus even left, peddlers would climb on the bus and try to sell the passengers some millet cakes or waters and orange juice. You could even buy a plate of food which they dumped into a bag for you to eat with your hands. The orange juice looked good, but it came in bottles with labels for mineral water. It didn’t look professional. Every time the bus stopped in a town, I had dozens of food peddlers crowding around the bus trying to hawk their skewers of meat or roasted corn or roasted bananas. Thankfully I had a female sitting next to me. She would laugh at people’s reactions to me, especially the peddlers. The coach actually is quite a nice experience. Seats bigger than an airplane and a fairly smooth ride. Its cleaner than the little taxis.
I finally got to mbale which is 2/3 of the way to soroti. The bus mostly emptied there then I sat waiting for the bus to keep going to soroti. It didn’t. instead, the conductor had us file off and go to a taxi-van and get on. There were a few more people than seats, but that’s not unusual. He paid the driver then I lost track of him. As the taxi sat there, the locals inside starting getting somewhat irate at the situation. The coach said it was going all the way to soroti. But there we were sitting in a taxi. I could only catch some of what was going on so I started asking the people next to me. They took pity on this somewhat confused mzungu and explained a few passengers were threatening to call the police on the conductor. Ah. Understand that mbale is on the border between teso and Buganda so there is at least 4 languages flying about. The taxi driver refused to take us after we had already gotten in. so they brought another taxi and most of us boarded that one. Several passengers refused the inconvenience. Oh well, most space for the rest of us. I just wanted to get to soroti soon so I didn’t complain. And we are off. Thankfully we didn’t have to pay out anymore money. I got a window seat – yay. Part of the time I half-slept where my body, while hugging my bag, relaxes except my ears and brain. Its very useful ability for traveling alone. When I decided to “wake-up” several Ugandans flashed me grins and sincerely asked how I had slept. After a bit, we stopped by another taxi that had broken down and picked up a few of their passengers. We had a bit of an issue in another town when the people there demanded parking fees even tho they clearly weren’t policemen and it was public highway. I arrived safely in soroti 2 hours ahead of the sunset. I got a soda and sat near the shop to wait for a pilgrim person to pick me up. (they shops sell mostly soda in glass bottles, so they want the bottle back.)
I stayed with Phyllis and aaron in their house. They let me have my own room and bathroom and tub with a showerhead. And hot water, and oatmeal, and even a handtowel. I kinda stared at the handtowel like I had never seen one before. Oh, and a mirror. The excitement dimmed a bit when I realized the water pressure wasn’t great, but having hot water was awesome. I reveled in getting myself totally clean each evening.
The first morning I was basically bouncing as I ate my oatmeal and orange tang. I could see aaron trying not to laugh so I finally blurted out “I don’t have to work today.” Ah. They took me to town, made sure I knew the names of where I was going and where they lived then dropped me off to find my own way. That’s how it went each morning. I went to the conference all day; learned and ate with 50 ugandans all wanting to learn to better counsel. I walked around town one day – it isn’t very big. I always made sure I got back to the house by dark. I met several non-pilgrim Americans who live there permanently. One morning I arrived before most people. I usually helped the teachers with running the things smoothly. Thankyou alumni office for teaching me that skill. But that morning I had no work. So I walked up to the women dancing near the front and started copying their steps. So they taught me most of the easier footwork of the ateso people. I was still dancing when most of the others arrived. Several people got pictures and videos of me dancing with these Ugandan women. Everyone seemed to like me after that. Later that day a thunderstorm interrupted proceedings. As soon as they announced an impromptu break I headed for the door. There is nothing like warm rain after sitting in a chair for several days. Pure joy. Yup, that’s the word. Joy. Odd word actually. Over-used and under experienced. Anyways, all the Ugandans thought I was crazy. Funny, but crazy. Most of them fear storms. I love them.
Ok, so let me describe the conference. 6 women counselors from New York area have started coming to soroti once a year to give a conference in conjunction with Pilgrim about counseling, mostly to teach others how to counsel. The Ugandans learning this information work as teachers, pastors, counselors, prison guards, and social workers. I think I was the youngest there and definitely the only boat builder. This year the topic was trauma counseling. We went thru what trauma is and does to people, how to stabilize traumatized people, and how to care for yourself as the counselor so you don’t get 3nd degree trauma from listening to it. But these Ugandans listening had a ton of experience in dealing with traumatized clients. This is an area that recently dealt with the Lord’s Resistance Army so many of them had former child soldiers for clients. I don’t know which I learned more from; the American counselors presenting the material, or the Ugandans who lived this work for many years. The stories they recounted of different clients astounded me. After a while I just wanted to cry cuz of the stories. The things child soldiers went thru, child rape, or even just normal life to these people. These people are resilient. There were several sessions of watching two counselors play a specific client and the counselor. The first was a new Yorker who wouldn’t move even tho her ex kept calling and threatening to kill her. The second was a boy who was abducted by the LRA twice (that was hard, yet amazing to hear about then watch). The third was a Ugandan boy looking for a new place to sleep. So different from American trauma. Also, the cultural differences became clear to me as the Ugandans asked questions about the material. Things like time and special boundaries to make it easier on the counselor, or why confidentiality included not telling the spouse. Well, why wouldn’t it be ok for the client to come to the counselor’s home if they needed to in the night? The funniest was a Ugandan reminding everyone to not cross their legs when talking with a client. The Americans were very confused till they figured out that’s disrespectful here.
Another thing which I could watch from my vantage point was the disconnect on religion. The Ugandans took it for granted that counseling included things like forgiveness and God’s love. The New Yorkers didn’t necessarily. There was one Episcopal and several cultural jews and one unknown. We started each session with prayer and singing and each day with a sermonette. By the end of the conference, the Americans were clapping along to the Ugandan worship songs. Most of the teaching did not include anything about God or even god. But the Ugandans tended to naturally put everything presented in Christian terms. The principles of counseling made good sense according to Christianity – go figure. We all got to mingle for morning tea, lunch, and afternoon tea. Not sure if I will get used to this whole tea business. But hearing the stories made it totally worth it. Hearing about women having so many kids so early, or talking with women whose brideprice was counted in cows. It’s a different world with different ideas here.
The conference ended with a feast. So more talking and listening. But we also got to hear a guy named sam play an adungu (sp?) and sing ateso psalms. That was so counter culture I cant even describe it. But it sounded good. Very peaceful yet happy.
I was able to visit the school pilgrim runs up in soroti. I played volleyball with the older boys (girls don’t know how to play it here) and walked around the grounds taking pictures of students. Btw, they have incorporated parts of soccer into volleyball; kicking the ball is allowed. However, I never saw the ball kicked in the right direction. I played a few games, and lots of kids wanted to play. I walked around and by the time I came back, only a few were playing. So I played again and by the time I left the group was back all wanting to play. Im not even that good at volleyball.
The trip back was in a pilgrim van with mark and steve and talia. She is a Columbia student so we talked most of the way back. I got my girl time in so im set for a while. She told me about the weird practices of exorcisms in the soroti area. She was fascinated so eventually I told her a bit of what I know on the subject and even told her a short version of my testimony. She reacted with interest, saying she had never met a Christian like me. That’s a comment I get a lot. Im ok with that. Not insult or compliment, just how I am.
I finally got to mbale which is 2/3 of the way to soroti. The bus mostly emptied there then I sat waiting for the bus to keep going to soroti. It didn’t. instead, the conductor had us file off and go to a taxi-van and get on. There were a few more people than seats, but that’s not unusual. He paid the driver then I lost track of him. As the taxi sat there, the locals inside starting getting somewhat irate at the situation. The coach said it was going all the way to soroti. But there we were sitting in a taxi. I could only catch some of what was going on so I started asking the people next to me. They took pity on this somewhat confused mzungu and explained a few passengers were threatening to call the police on the conductor. Ah. Understand that mbale is on the border between teso and Buganda so there is at least 4 languages flying about. The taxi driver refused to take us after we had already gotten in. so they brought another taxi and most of us boarded that one. Several passengers refused the inconvenience. Oh well, most space for the rest of us. I just wanted to get to soroti soon so I didn’t complain. And we are off. Thankfully we didn’t have to pay out anymore money. I got a window seat – yay. Part of the time I half-slept where my body, while hugging my bag, relaxes except my ears and brain. Its very useful ability for traveling alone. When I decided to “wake-up” several Ugandans flashed me grins and sincerely asked how I had slept. After a bit, we stopped by another taxi that had broken down and picked up a few of their passengers. We had a bit of an issue in another town when the people there demanded parking fees even tho they clearly weren’t policemen and it was public highway. I arrived safely in soroti 2 hours ahead of the sunset. I got a soda and sat near the shop to wait for a pilgrim person to pick me up. (they shops sell mostly soda in glass bottles, so they want the bottle back.)
I stayed with Phyllis and aaron in their house. They let me have my own room and bathroom and tub with a showerhead. And hot water, and oatmeal, and even a handtowel. I kinda stared at the handtowel like I had never seen one before. Oh, and a mirror. The excitement dimmed a bit when I realized the water pressure wasn’t great, but having hot water was awesome. I reveled in getting myself totally clean each evening.
The first morning I was basically bouncing as I ate my oatmeal and orange tang. I could see aaron trying not to laugh so I finally blurted out “I don’t have to work today.” Ah. They took me to town, made sure I knew the names of where I was going and where they lived then dropped me off to find my own way. That’s how it went each morning. I went to the conference all day; learned and ate with 50 ugandans all wanting to learn to better counsel. I walked around town one day – it isn’t very big. I always made sure I got back to the house by dark. I met several non-pilgrim Americans who live there permanently. One morning I arrived before most people. I usually helped the teachers with running the things smoothly. Thankyou alumni office for teaching me that skill. But that morning I had no work. So I walked up to the women dancing near the front and started copying their steps. So they taught me most of the easier footwork of the ateso people. I was still dancing when most of the others arrived. Several people got pictures and videos of me dancing with these Ugandan women. Everyone seemed to like me after that. Later that day a thunderstorm interrupted proceedings. As soon as they announced an impromptu break I headed for the door. There is nothing like warm rain after sitting in a chair for several days. Pure joy. Yup, that’s the word. Joy. Odd word actually. Over-used and under experienced. Anyways, all the Ugandans thought I was crazy. Funny, but crazy. Most of them fear storms. I love them.
Ok, so let me describe the conference. 6 women counselors from New York area have started coming to soroti once a year to give a conference in conjunction with Pilgrim about counseling, mostly to teach others how to counsel. The Ugandans learning this information work as teachers, pastors, counselors, prison guards, and social workers. I think I was the youngest there and definitely the only boat builder. This year the topic was trauma counseling. We went thru what trauma is and does to people, how to stabilize traumatized people, and how to care for yourself as the counselor so you don’t get 3nd degree trauma from listening to it. But these Ugandans listening had a ton of experience in dealing with traumatized clients. This is an area that recently dealt with the Lord’s Resistance Army so many of them had former child soldiers for clients. I don’t know which I learned more from; the American counselors presenting the material, or the Ugandans who lived this work for many years. The stories they recounted of different clients astounded me. After a while I just wanted to cry cuz of the stories. The things child soldiers went thru, child rape, or even just normal life to these people. These people are resilient. There were several sessions of watching two counselors play a specific client and the counselor. The first was a new Yorker who wouldn’t move even tho her ex kept calling and threatening to kill her. The second was a boy who was abducted by the LRA twice (that was hard, yet amazing to hear about then watch). The third was a Ugandan boy looking for a new place to sleep. So different from American trauma. Also, the cultural differences became clear to me as the Ugandans asked questions about the material. Things like time and special boundaries to make it easier on the counselor, or why confidentiality included not telling the spouse. Well, why wouldn’t it be ok for the client to come to the counselor’s home if they needed to in the night? The funniest was a Ugandan reminding everyone to not cross their legs when talking with a client. The Americans were very confused till they figured out that’s disrespectful here.
Another thing which I could watch from my vantage point was the disconnect on religion. The Ugandans took it for granted that counseling included things like forgiveness and God’s love. The New Yorkers didn’t necessarily. There was one Episcopal and several cultural jews and one unknown. We started each session with prayer and singing and each day with a sermonette. By the end of the conference, the Americans were clapping along to the Ugandan worship songs. Most of the teaching did not include anything about God or even god. But the Ugandans tended to naturally put everything presented in Christian terms. The principles of counseling made good sense according to Christianity – go figure. We all got to mingle for morning tea, lunch, and afternoon tea. Not sure if I will get used to this whole tea business. But hearing the stories made it totally worth it. Hearing about women having so many kids so early, or talking with women whose brideprice was counted in cows. It’s a different world with different ideas here.
The conference ended with a feast. So more talking and listening. But we also got to hear a guy named sam play an adungu (sp?) and sing ateso psalms. That was so counter culture I cant even describe it. But it sounded good. Very peaceful yet happy.
I was able to visit the school pilgrim runs up in soroti. I played volleyball with the older boys (girls don’t know how to play it here) and walked around the grounds taking pictures of students. Btw, they have incorporated parts of soccer into volleyball; kicking the ball is allowed. However, I never saw the ball kicked in the right direction. I played a few games, and lots of kids wanted to play. I walked around and by the time I came back, only a few were playing. So I played again and by the time I left the group was back all wanting to play. Im not even that good at volleyball.
The trip back was in a pilgrim van with mark and steve and talia. She is a Columbia student so we talked most of the way back. I got my girl time in so im set for a while. She told me about the weird practices of exorcisms in the soroti area. She was fascinated so eventually I told her a bit of what I know on the subject and even told her a short version of my testimony. She reacted with interest, saying she had never met a Christian like me. That’s a comment I get a lot. Im ok with that. Not insult or compliment, just how I am.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
more random bits
First of all, congrats to albert and april for the birth of their daughter mercy. Happy day of birth mercy. Welcome to your first taste of life, mercy.
Bob leaves tomorrow. Sad thain boat team of Africa. We shall miss bob. He counsels us as to the stupid things we are about to embark on. also, he teaches us in areas he has experience in that we don’t. he has a positive attitude which is hard to come by in this line of work. As preparation for leaving he did last minute shopping in kampala for gifts and I hemmed his pants. Random I know. Sharron, keep him safe, for he has survived Uganda with the food here and the boda rides. It would be a shame for something to happen in safe America. Good luck bob. You are a good man and this group will miss you. For all you wondering, no, this isn’t a eulogy at all. but seriously, who will buy soda for us all each night?
Jon paul walked back the other day bearing our lunch and a headless snake with a sprig of chili stuck in his bandana. He did not kill it, that fact has bummed him a bit. But he did cut off the head and skin it. I think it was a green mamba. The locals were stoning it when he saved its skin. Quite literally actually since that’s all he kept. The locals have nicknamed him “the man with no clothes” in lugandan because he never wears his shirt when walking around and most of the time around the dorm he goes barefoot.
The boat is moving along in its process. We have the floors and beams ontop of the hulls but not fully attached yet. once those are in place, the rest of the boat will move much faster. It feels like we have repositioned the hulls for weeks. Each time we get closer, tho never perfect. If the hulls aren’t perfect, the whole boat will remain crooked. Not ok. So we inch over each day towards perfection. Moving a 2 ton hull with wooden levers and man power can get exasperating. Oh well.
There is a lizard in one of the containers. And we found a bat trapped in one of the hulls. Frogs and insects constantly get inside and promptly stuck. We walk thru hundreds of dragonflies sporting every color of the rainbow. Actually, not so much green, but every other color. What is a group of dragonflies called? Imagine standing in the center of the galaxy with all the stars spinning around you. Now imagine all those stars are dragonflies. That’s what its like.
We hear music every day going down the road. Ice cream boda! Kinda like an ice cream truck, only… in the form of a boda. Strapped to the back is an orange Gatorade looking ice water holder full of pink and yellow ice cream. 200 shillings for a small cone. Awesome. We go down to the village and buy sweet cakes and bubble gum and soda. Or zebra which is a truly aweful form of rum. If you mix it with coke its drinkable. The fifa world cup plays every evening so we walk over to the resort to watch the games. It feels like a movie to walk thru the warm evening to the pole and thatch building housing rustic chairs and a tv, Those south Africans really like buzzy horns. When we hear the bee hive, we know the tv is playing the football match. Not American football, soccer.
We have all reached a level of tan not possible in seattle, even in the hottest of summers. Our tan lines stand out quite a bit. My arm hair stands out against my brown arms. Bryce and jon-paul tend to wear epoxy shorts and good shoes for their African work uniform. I add a cami or a shirt to the outfit for my uniform. Bob is the odd one, sporting long pants and a button shirt compliments of ex officio. In communication with the locals, we tend to use nicknames based mainly on their physical appearance. There is Red Hat, and Ben (not his name), Gray shirt, Stripes, etc. they in turn call Bryce Mr. Bright cuz the closest pronunciation is “blyce”.
Bob won the other night at settlers of catan. But he didn’t realize it for two rounds until I was about to get 11 points and win. Then he counted up his points and cut me off. I was so close.
The stupid mud wasps tried to build a nest on a pair of my pants. I guess they figured they wouldn’t move. They had only been there since the night before. Stupid mud wasps.
Bob leaves tomorrow. Sad thain boat team of Africa. We shall miss bob. He counsels us as to the stupid things we are about to embark on. also, he teaches us in areas he has experience in that we don’t. he has a positive attitude which is hard to come by in this line of work. As preparation for leaving he did last minute shopping in kampala for gifts and I hemmed his pants. Random I know. Sharron, keep him safe, for he has survived Uganda with the food here and the boda rides. It would be a shame for something to happen in safe America. Good luck bob. You are a good man and this group will miss you. For all you wondering, no, this isn’t a eulogy at all. but seriously, who will buy soda for us all each night?
Jon paul walked back the other day bearing our lunch and a headless snake with a sprig of chili stuck in his bandana. He did not kill it, that fact has bummed him a bit. But he did cut off the head and skin it. I think it was a green mamba. The locals were stoning it when he saved its skin. Quite literally actually since that’s all he kept. The locals have nicknamed him “the man with no clothes” in lugandan because he never wears his shirt when walking around and most of the time around the dorm he goes barefoot.
The boat is moving along in its process. We have the floors and beams ontop of the hulls but not fully attached yet. once those are in place, the rest of the boat will move much faster. It feels like we have repositioned the hulls for weeks. Each time we get closer, tho never perfect. If the hulls aren’t perfect, the whole boat will remain crooked. Not ok. So we inch over each day towards perfection. Moving a 2 ton hull with wooden levers and man power can get exasperating. Oh well.
There is a lizard in one of the containers. And we found a bat trapped in one of the hulls. Frogs and insects constantly get inside and promptly stuck. We walk thru hundreds of dragonflies sporting every color of the rainbow. Actually, not so much green, but every other color. What is a group of dragonflies called? Imagine standing in the center of the galaxy with all the stars spinning around you. Now imagine all those stars are dragonflies. That’s what its like.
We hear music every day going down the road. Ice cream boda! Kinda like an ice cream truck, only… in the form of a boda. Strapped to the back is an orange Gatorade looking ice water holder full of pink and yellow ice cream. 200 shillings for a small cone. Awesome. We go down to the village and buy sweet cakes and bubble gum and soda. Or zebra which is a truly aweful form of rum. If you mix it with coke its drinkable. The fifa world cup plays every evening so we walk over to the resort to watch the games. It feels like a movie to walk thru the warm evening to the pole and thatch building housing rustic chairs and a tv, Those south Africans really like buzzy horns. When we hear the bee hive, we know the tv is playing the football match. Not American football, soccer.
We have all reached a level of tan not possible in seattle, even in the hottest of summers. Our tan lines stand out quite a bit. My arm hair stands out against my brown arms. Bryce and jon-paul tend to wear epoxy shorts and good shoes for their African work uniform. I add a cami or a shirt to the outfit for my uniform. Bob is the odd one, sporting long pants and a button shirt compliments of ex officio. In communication with the locals, we tend to use nicknames based mainly on their physical appearance. There is Red Hat, and Ben (not his name), Gray shirt, Stripes, etc. they in turn call Bryce Mr. Bright cuz the closest pronunciation is “blyce”.
Bob won the other night at settlers of catan. But he didn’t realize it for two rounds until I was about to get 11 points and win. Then he counted up his points and cut me off. I was so close.
The stupid mud wasps tried to build a nest on a pair of my pants. I guess they figured they wouldn’t move. They had only been there since the night before. Stupid mud wasps.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
speaking in tongues?
A group from a "miracle center" rented some of the dorms to stay and have a retreat. does anyone know about these kinds of centers? They kept us up the first night with their praying and singing. But the second evening they chanted down by the shore. And they were loud with their pacing and yelling in tongues and screaming. Now, don’t get me wrong, I believe the gift of speaking in tongues still exists and can be used for great good. However, like any of the gifts, it can be misused and faked. I wasn’t terribly surprised when John Paul said he felt moved by the Spirit to go talk to them and confront them with their chaos. Bryce sent him off with a prayer, I encouraged him that he knew more than he thought. Next time I looked, john paul sat in one of the chairs reading his bible, surrounded by people chanting, screaming, shaking, yelling, and writhing on the ground. I went down to check out the situation. Some of you know my past, and how it has affected me. I tell you, there was something wrong happening, something strange. John paul assured me he wanted to do this on his own. So went back to the dorm and watched. He stood up and talked to them for a few minutes as they all listened, then read part of Corinthians where it talks about prophets and speaking in tongues. Then he prayed for them all and walked back to the dorm. He left on a walk to go compose himself. As soon as he left, they started up again, only this time twice as loud and fervent. So I sat there and prayed against whatever they were doing until my parents called. Why didn’t I go over and do something about their actions? I don’t know. I don’t know if it was fear or just my inability to act. Maybe the Holy Spirit moved john paul to act, but not me. Whatever the reason, I didn’t. thankfully, they left the next day.
birthday
Im now 24. I have only had a few ideas of where I would be at age 24, none of which included basically camping in Uganda building a boat without electric tools. Never thought I would be popular walking through a village. Or that I would be sitting on the shores of lake Victoria dreaming about a cheeseburger from any fastfood joint. How have I come to rely on the kinds of things I have always thought less of people for relying on? I want to walk down the street without being yelled mzungu at. I want hummus, sushi, Guinness, Hershey, and a steak. I have always wanted to travel, but honestly Africa wasn’t on the top of the list. Im so getting a cheeseburger when I get off the plane. I want a hot shower every day.
My birthday was last week. Actually, it wasn’t bad. Even tho the Ugandans don’t really celebrate birthdays. They wanted to give me an extra helping of posho and a spanking and toss water on me while I slept. None of which I opted for experiencing. In holding with more American traditions, I didn’t have to work at all. Bryce missed most of it, being in kampala and all, but he did bring back flowers and a little chocolate cake. It melted by the time it reached me, but chocolate still tastes like chocolate. And the best part was hearing from my family all within 24 hours of each other.
The rest of the week kinda sucked. No internet at all. frustrating work as usual. By the time Sunday came around, I was crawling emotionally. But the good news is that kampala has internet. I opened up my email and found dozens of birthday emails and a whole facebook page of happy birthday wishes. So awesome to receive that. Thankyou all for that.
also, i dont come back to the states till at least mid-september.
My birthday was last week. Actually, it wasn’t bad. Even tho the Ugandans don’t really celebrate birthdays. They wanted to give me an extra helping of posho and a spanking and toss water on me while I slept. None of which I opted for experiencing. In holding with more American traditions, I didn’t have to work at all. Bryce missed most of it, being in kampala and all, but he did bring back flowers and a little chocolate cake. It melted by the time it reached me, but chocolate still tastes like chocolate. And the best part was hearing from my family all within 24 hours of each other.
The rest of the week kinda sucked. No internet at all. frustrating work as usual. By the time Sunday came around, I was crawling emotionally. But the good news is that kampala has internet. I opened up my email and found dozens of birthday emails and a whole facebook page of happy birthday wishes. So awesome to receive that. Thankyou all for that.
also, i dont come back to the states till at least mid-september.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
learning
What I learned in Uganda so far; How to ride a boda boda with just holding on with my legs. And I learned how to wash my clothes by hand. I guess im doing an ok job considering the water turns a reddish brown color. But have you ever tried to get red dirt out of white socks? And don’t hang your clothes out the day your neighbors plan on burning the garbage. I have to wash most of those clothes again cuz they got smoked instead of dried. The soap is the same for dishes and clothes and floor. One soap cleans all. Also, geckos bite. Not hard or pinchy, but they do bite. I caught a medium size gecko who was crawling around my clothes while they dried. I wanted to wait till a bigger one since I was scared I would crush a little one just by picking it up. So I caught a decent size one, and it bit me. Wretch. i have learned how to understand ugandan accents. how to be ok with being the center of attention. how to ride a boda sidesaddle when wearing a skirt (not very often). how to spot someone planning to pick my pocket. how to bargain for a non-mzungu price. ill never be as good as john paul and bryce, but getting better. how to keep a straight face when something stuns me.
like the other night; we came home in the dark and everytime we walked under a light, there was a literal cloud of bugs. they were so thick that we could see the air currents inside the cloud. when i got to my room, i found that maureen had left the light on for me. therfore a cloud of bugs inhabited my room. i managed to clear my bed of most of the bugs, but getting all of them was impossible. the mosquitoes had a field day with my skin that night. the next day i asked maureen about it and asked that she turn off the light when she goes to sleep so it doesnt attract bugs. thats when she told me she didnt know the light attracted bugs at night. that revelation stunned me.
It isn’t paradise here. Being in Uganda is cool and all. its beautiful for sure. But not all goes well. Getting tools here is probably the hardest. If it isn’t cheap Chinese sub-standard equipment, its second hand and might not work. Also, the plug-ins might short. You can get good tools if you shop at the south African store and spend 2 or more times the price in America. The lumber here is another problem. Its hardwood which has been rough hewn to generally the right size, generally being the key word in that sentance. The sides might not be parallel or straight. And 2x4s aren’t really 2x4. They are bigger and heavier. One 2x4 here weighs as much as 5 or 6 2x4s in the states. Good luck drilling thru one by hand, or pounding a nail thru the wood.
All of us are seeing first hand how to accomplish logistics better. Do you have any idea how much food 10 construction workers can eat? Maureen is busy all day just cooking for us. Food, transportation, materials, power, tools, etc. any one of these things and a dozen others can go wrong and interrupt work. Also, we have to buy all our water for drinking. Sheesh, we could have one person permanently in charge of fixing issues that delay us. None of us want that job placed solely on our shoulders. So we all work at it, but there is no way to “fix” a day of storms or a power outage. Our site is fully uncovered, so any rain delays us. And sorry everyone, our internet was down again this week.
like the other night; we came home in the dark and everytime we walked under a light, there was a literal cloud of bugs. they were so thick that we could see the air currents inside the cloud. when i got to my room, i found that maureen had left the light on for me. therfore a cloud of bugs inhabited my room. i managed to clear my bed of most of the bugs, but getting all of them was impossible. the mosquitoes had a field day with my skin that night. the next day i asked maureen about it and asked that she turn off the light when she goes to sleep so it doesnt attract bugs. thats when she told me she didnt know the light attracted bugs at night. that revelation stunned me.
It isn’t paradise here. Being in Uganda is cool and all. its beautiful for sure. But not all goes well. Getting tools here is probably the hardest. If it isn’t cheap Chinese sub-standard equipment, its second hand and might not work. Also, the plug-ins might short. You can get good tools if you shop at the south African store and spend 2 or more times the price in America. The lumber here is another problem. Its hardwood which has been rough hewn to generally the right size, generally being the key word in that sentance. The sides might not be parallel or straight. And 2x4s aren’t really 2x4. They are bigger and heavier. One 2x4 here weighs as much as 5 or 6 2x4s in the states. Good luck drilling thru one by hand, or pounding a nail thru the wood.
All of us are seeing first hand how to accomplish logistics better. Do you have any idea how much food 10 construction workers can eat? Maureen is busy all day just cooking for us. Food, transportation, materials, power, tools, etc. any one of these things and a dozen others can go wrong and interrupt work. Also, we have to buy all our water for drinking. Sheesh, we could have one person permanently in charge of fixing issues that delay us. None of us want that job placed solely on our shoulders. So we all work at it, but there is no way to “fix” a day of storms or a power outage. Our site is fully uncovered, so any rain delays us. And sorry everyone, our internet was down again this week.
kids and wedding
I went for a walk today just to get out of the compound. The guys were gone in anthony’s truck getting lumber…for 3 hours (actually 8 by the time they came back). All along the road there are houses and gardens and villages. And in everyone of those, there are kids. Little kids just in shirts. Older kids carrying babies. Groups of kids in school uniforms. More kids in clothes of indeterminant color. Snotty-nose kids. Even one albino child led by an older sibling. But they all had one thing in common – “hi mzungu!” “bye bye mzungu!” I walked along feeling very popular. Just walk along, wave at the children, say hi, say bye. When I turned around to walk back home, a group of kids in school uniforms stood there watching me. So I walked over and shook there hands. That was just the coolest thing to these kids. They each shook my hand, doing a little curtsy, and then ran a few feet away to look at me with a big grin. So I walked away and became aware I had an entourage. 2 kids holding my hands, and 3 following closely; all grinning. Now all the kids we passed wore very envious looks instead of grins. One group of kids also started following, making the entourage more of a parade. At the village I called it off by turning down another road… to a school. There are a lot of kids around here.
I ask Maureen why the kids always yell mzungu. (btw, the plural of mzungu is wzungu). She told me its cuz these children know that mzungus love children more than black adults normally do, often more than their own mothers do. She said the adults often expect the kids to know what to do without first teaching them. That’s sad. Those children are looking for love when they yell to get my attention.
We went to a wedding last week and I can tell you that weddings are not quiet affairs here. This wedding looked and acted much like our American weddings. Well, mostly. The first clue of differences came in an ear-splitting screech; “aiyaiyaiyeeeee” or something like that. Those continued throughout the music. As the bride and groom walked down the aisle to the altar, several related women stepped out of the pews and proceeded to dance in front of the couple while screeching. I think the screeching is wishing good luck or something cuz the bride and groom seemed to welcome it. A worship team from the church supplied the music, standing upstage and dancing in their casual clothes. The wedding party was decked out, right down to the little ring-bearer practically pulling a little girl down the aisle. Most of the women wore traditional dresses with the spiky sleeves. I have to say, our patch of wzungu definitely stood out in our nice western clothes. After every step of the wedding process, the screeches would start up again. After the actual ceremony and the couple had hugged, not kissed, everyone went up and congratulated them and gave them money. and everyone danced and screeched. Not a quiet affair at all. we did dance with the others a bit. Not Kevin of course, he doesn’t dance.
We went to the reception, which started about 3 hours after the wedding ended. Ugandan food, lots of soda, excellent cake, and lots of Ugandan dancing. I learned that this was a cross-kingdom marriage with people from several parts of Uganda in attendance. They had cheesy American love songs playing while people waited. And 2 people playing MC who were hilarious, especially when they talked about the toilets – “the place of convenience so your bladders don’t have to burst”. All in all it was a fun experience. Different, yet not.
I ask Maureen why the kids always yell mzungu. (btw, the plural of mzungu is wzungu). She told me its cuz these children know that mzungus love children more than black adults normally do, often more than their own mothers do. She said the adults often expect the kids to know what to do without first teaching them. That’s sad. Those children are looking for love when they yell to get my attention.
We went to a wedding last week and I can tell you that weddings are not quiet affairs here. This wedding looked and acted much like our American weddings. Well, mostly. The first clue of differences came in an ear-splitting screech; “aiyaiyaiyeeeee” or something like that. Those continued throughout the music. As the bride and groom walked down the aisle to the altar, several related women stepped out of the pews and proceeded to dance in front of the couple while screeching. I think the screeching is wishing good luck or something cuz the bride and groom seemed to welcome it. A worship team from the church supplied the music, standing upstage and dancing in their casual clothes. The wedding party was decked out, right down to the little ring-bearer practically pulling a little girl down the aisle. Most of the women wore traditional dresses with the spiky sleeves. I have to say, our patch of wzungu definitely stood out in our nice western clothes. After every step of the wedding process, the screeches would start up again. After the actual ceremony and the couple had hugged, not kissed, everyone went up and congratulated them and gave them money. and everyone danced and screeched. Not a quiet affair at all. we did dance with the others a bit. Not Kevin of course, he doesn’t dance.
We went to the reception, which started about 3 hours after the wedding ended. Ugandan food, lots of soda, excellent cake, and lots of Ugandan dancing. I learned that this was a cross-kingdom marriage with people from several parts of Uganda in attendance. They had cheesy American love songs playing while people waited. And 2 people playing MC who were hilarious, especially when they talked about the toilets – “the place of convenience so your bladders don’t have to burst”. All in all it was a fun experience. Different, yet not.
blog update
alrighty readers. i have uploaded more photos and actually captioned most of them. enjoy.
also, i fixed the settings so now you can all post more easily. sorry i didnt figure out that setting earlier. you still have to pass one security thing, pretty much checking if you are a real person and can read. but that should help you comment on my blog. now you have no excuse :P
also, i fixed the settings so now you can all post more easily. sorry i didnt figure out that setting earlier. you still have to pass one security thing, pretty much checking if you are a real person and can read. but that should help you comment on my blog. now you have no excuse :P
Sunday, June 6, 2010
weekend
This weekend focus hosted a group of Americans and Kenyans for the first leg of their short-term mission trip. All of the Thain team were excited to have so many Americans wandering around our area. I would wake up in the morning and walk outside before my coffee. Everywhere I looked would have at least one college student from intervarsity Christian fellowship praying or singing. I had a hard time deciding whether that was annoying or cool. But before my coffee it was definitely annoying. I would still be trying to wake up my foggy brain and several girls all greet me by name as they walked past. God’s fanclub in my yard. Growl. After my coffee and when the group didn’t have meetings, I would wander over and talk with various people just to hear Americans speak. They all got to know me pretty well, I can only remember about 5 names. All of them didn’t believe the story about the boat till they heard it from one of the team or saw it themselves. Its hard to miss 2 giant white hulls sitting on the beach. All of us got to take the group for a short nature walk along the shore. We all enjoyed being surrounded by 20+ Americans pestering us with questions and being awed by our answers about our being in Uganda. Tis a pity I didn’t get to take at least one on a boda ride, but I think that was against the rules like everything else fun. I did get to meet an American missionary in kampala from Michigan. I think I will get to see her again.
Oh, and the American group of girls had an interesting affect on Bryce and john paul; they started climbing trees and showing off in any way possible without actually going over and talking to the girls. They even had a conversation for 15 minutes where they impersonated each other. They know each other’s responses really well. Bob and I almost fell off our chairs laughing. Sadly, I didn’t get to record the convo.
Finally Sunday morning came. My day to not work. My day to go into town and get away from everyone I normally see. The day I get to go to my church and worship with dancing and singing people. So I got all ready, packed my bag for the day…and a storm began rolling in. A huge storm that darkened half the sky as it approached and turned falling leaves into bullets. God sure knows how to make an entrance on His day, doesn’t He? My plans to be on time for church seemed to be thwarted. I stared at the storm and mentally shook my fist at it and God. Then I heard in my heart God saying, “This is My day. It is My church. You get to go because you are Mine.” …oh. Right. Nervous laugh. After that little readjustment to my thinking, the storm slowed enough for me to try and beat the storm to kampala where it was heading. I did, and I even arrived at church early. A young girl fell asleep in my arms during church. I just sat there holding this kid, watching her troubled dreams, and knowing she needed some love. Btw, the storm never hit kampala that I could see. Oh, the irony.
Oh, and the American group of girls had an interesting affect on Bryce and john paul; they started climbing trees and showing off in any way possible without actually going over and talking to the girls. They even had a conversation for 15 minutes where they impersonated each other. They know each other’s responses really well. Bob and I almost fell off our chairs laughing. Sadly, I didn’t get to record the convo.
Finally Sunday morning came. My day to not work. My day to go into town and get away from everyone I normally see. The day I get to go to my church and worship with dancing and singing people. So I got all ready, packed my bag for the day…and a storm began rolling in. A huge storm that darkened half the sky as it approached and turned falling leaves into bullets. God sure knows how to make an entrance on His day, doesn’t He? My plans to be on time for church seemed to be thwarted. I stared at the storm and mentally shook my fist at it and God. Then I heard in my heart God saying, “This is My day. It is My church. You get to go because you are Mine.” …oh. Right. Nervous laugh. After that little readjustment to my thinking, the storm slowed enough for me to try and beat the storm to kampala where it was heading. I did, and I even arrived at church early. A young girl fell asleep in my arms during church. I just sat there holding this kid, watching her troubled dreams, and knowing she needed some love. Btw, the storm never hit kampala that I could see. Oh, the irony.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
new chapter
First of all, congrats to the Wisniews on having a healthy baby. Happy day of birth, Ronan.
Well, a whole new chapter of this trip has started since the team here moved to focus. Focus is a Ugandan Christian retreat center and sometimes has groups of Christians staying here. We get a dorm with 2 rooms, the round conference room, and access to all facilities. I was going to stay in the dorm with the guys, but since our cook Maureen is also a girl, they decided to put our beds in the kitchen room of our dorm. So we sleep in the kitchen. The guys got the hint after being kicked out several times and me asking for a curtain; they are building us girls a screen divider for the room. The guys all sleep in the other room. We each have our own bunk bed so we sleep on one level and store our stuff on the other. Yay for living out of a suitcase again.
Maureen is an awesome cook. She cooks good Ugandan food and is learning American food. We tell her every day we love her for cooking for us. Its quite the difference from what the house guys fed us in ntinda. This food has more than one kind of seasoning. Also, I don’t think any of us know how to cook for 12 people 3 times a day, and definitely not over coal stoves.
Maureen also prays out loud in lugandan every morning, starting at 5:30 or 6. I have slept in a room with no one else for several years now. Someone’s voice in my room wakes me up. But im slowly getting used to it. Other than both being females, we don’t have much in common. We speak mostly the same language in English. But I had never heard of “source pans” as she put on the list of needed kitchen utensils.
We are far out from town. If we are lucky, we can catch a boda or taxi to the main road. The locals in the villages have begun to recognize us crazy mzungus. This is basically the jungle; bob has seen monkeys. I see amazing birds every day in every color of the rainbow. Look up pictures of great blue turacos, that’s what I see playing around in our trees, those and hornbills. also we think the African fish eagle lives in one of our trees. You get used to the ants crawling on you – just brush them off. Same with the green and brown spiders, but I brush those off faster. If I turn on my computer at night, I get a swarm of tiny insects trying to get to the light even if its within my mosquito net. Kinda annoying.
We can watch the sun rise over lake Victoria in the morning, and the moon at night. During the day we watch the thunderstorms move across the bay and sometimes even come toward us. One recent night we had a terrific thunderstorm, terrific in the old sense of the word. The kind where each thunder shakes the walls, where the rain runs off the roof in literal sheets of water. Several times the thunder and lightning struck simultaneously, shaking everything. But other nights we can see both the southern cross and the big dipper. Orion is directly above us. The stars are spectacular.
We have internet …sorta. You have to fight for the signal constantly and it might just disappear for several hours. Oh, and if it is there, you can only receive it outside. It takes a lot of patience. Im not even going to try uploading pictures on that bandwidth. Fun times.
We hire some locals during the day to help with moving pieces of the boat. We have had to dredge up our knowledge of levers and basic wheels which we learned in gradeschool. Cuz that’s basically what we use to do work here. We actually moved the several ton hulls using levers – pretty cool actually.
The other day we received several Ugandan university students as workers. We had to figure out where to put them in the already cramped guys room. I didn’t know Uganda had nerds, but here they are. We will see if any of them can do any actual work.
The idea is to have Sunday in town and work the rest of the days. We will see how that works out since we don’t have a car dedicated to us presently. We have to borrow someone’s car from kampala (an hour and half away) or take public transportation.
Oh, and the “facilities” are pit toilets which were built 10 years ago. Not fun times. It gets better with the showers which are a row of cement rooms with a metal roof. You have to bring your own water if you want that. The guys decided to shower in their swim trunks using the hose.
Don’t get the wrong impression, this place might be a natural paradise with lots of insects, but living here is hard. Working is even harder. And the team here has none of the “familiar” to make it that much easier. Welcome to Africa. We all seem to be showing a little more barbarian as time goes on here. America, do you really want us back?
Well, a whole new chapter of this trip has started since the team here moved to focus. Focus is a Ugandan Christian retreat center and sometimes has groups of Christians staying here. We get a dorm with 2 rooms, the round conference room, and access to all facilities. I was going to stay in the dorm with the guys, but since our cook Maureen is also a girl, they decided to put our beds in the kitchen room of our dorm. So we sleep in the kitchen. The guys got the hint after being kicked out several times and me asking for a curtain; they are building us girls a screen divider for the room. The guys all sleep in the other room. We each have our own bunk bed so we sleep on one level and store our stuff on the other. Yay for living out of a suitcase again.
Maureen is an awesome cook. She cooks good Ugandan food and is learning American food. We tell her every day we love her for cooking for us. Its quite the difference from what the house guys fed us in ntinda. This food has more than one kind of seasoning. Also, I don’t think any of us know how to cook for 12 people 3 times a day, and definitely not over coal stoves.
Maureen also prays out loud in lugandan every morning, starting at 5:30 or 6. I have slept in a room with no one else for several years now. Someone’s voice in my room wakes me up. But im slowly getting used to it. Other than both being females, we don’t have much in common. We speak mostly the same language in English. But I had never heard of “source pans” as she put on the list of needed kitchen utensils.
We are far out from town. If we are lucky, we can catch a boda or taxi to the main road. The locals in the villages have begun to recognize us crazy mzungus. This is basically the jungle; bob has seen monkeys. I see amazing birds every day in every color of the rainbow. Look up pictures of great blue turacos, that’s what I see playing around in our trees, those and hornbills. also we think the African fish eagle lives in one of our trees. You get used to the ants crawling on you – just brush them off. Same with the green and brown spiders, but I brush those off faster. If I turn on my computer at night, I get a swarm of tiny insects trying to get to the light even if its within my mosquito net. Kinda annoying.
We can watch the sun rise over lake Victoria in the morning, and the moon at night. During the day we watch the thunderstorms move across the bay and sometimes even come toward us. One recent night we had a terrific thunderstorm, terrific in the old sense of the word. The kind where each thunder shakes the walls, where the rain runs off the roof in literal sheets of water. Several times the thunder and lightning struck simultaneously, shaking everything. But other nights we can see both the southern cross and the big dipper. Orion is directly above us. The stars are spectacular.
We have internet …sorta. You have to fight for the signal constantly and it might just disappear for several hours. Oh, and if it is there, you can only receive it outside. It takes a lot of patience. Im not even going to try uploading pictures on that bandwidth. Fun times.
We hire some locals during the day to help with moving pieces of the boat. We have had to dredge up our knowledge of levers and basic wheels which we learned in gradeschool. Cuz that’s basically what we use to do work here. We actually moved the several ton hulls using levers – pretty cool actually.
The other day we received several Ugandan university students as workers. We had to figure out where to put them in the already cramped guys room. I didn’t know Uganda had nerds, but here they are. We will see if any of them can do any actual work.
The idea is to have Sunday in town and work the rest of the days. We will see how that works out since we don’t have a car dedicated to us presently. We have to borrow someone’s car from kampala (an hour and half away) or take public transportation.
Oh, and the “facilities” are pit toilets which were built 10 years ago. Not fun times. It gets better with the showers which are a row of cement rooms with a metal roof. You have to bring your own water if you want that. The guys decided to shower in their swim trunks using the hose.
Don’t get the wrong impression, this place might be a natural paradise with lots of insects, but living here is hard. Working is even harder. And the team here has none of the “familiar” to make it that much easier. Welcome to Africa. We all seem to be showing a little more barbarian as time goes on here. America, do you really want us back?
Sunday, May 30, 2010
family relationships
Ugandan culture revolves around family relationships. The family spans much more than just the immediate family. If you hire someone, they will begin bringing you their relatives for you to hire also. If you need a certain kind of person, they will bring whatever relative fits that description the best. And its just the accepted way to go about business here. Also, there are rarely any orphans without some family to take them in. I know a man about 30yo with several dependants, none of them his kids or wife. They are just family with him as the closest relative with a job.
Because of this cultural focus, Ugandans understand familial relationships much better than work-related or others. When I went to Soroti, Hannah asked me who my father was in Uganda. Puzzled, I tried to explain my dad was still in the states. No, who is your father here, who looks after you. For example, her father here is Calvin. The answer for me is Henry. He is the father to all those living in his house. If anyone has a problem with how I act, they go to Henry first with the issue. That is why when people ask if im his wife, I correct them with “daughter”. Claiming status as daughter or sister is much easier than trying to say im just a friend.
How anyone acts here reflects on their father, their family, and also their tribe. Who needs punishments when a system like that is upheld? That system also affects work relationships. Say someone introduces me to another person to work with. If I act badly, that person will go to the one who introduced us and take the issue to him. What I do reflects on the one who introduced me. Its much harder to act up and still keep a job.
Because of this cultural focus, Ugandans understand familial relationships much better than work-related or others. When I went to Soroti, Hannah asked me who my father was in Uganda. Puzzled, I tried to explain my dad was still in the states. No, who is your father here, who looks after you. For example, her father here is Calvin. The answer for me is Henry. He is the father to all those living in his house. If anyone has a problem with how I act, they go to Henry first with the issue. That is why when people ask if im his wife, I correct them with “daughter”. Claiming status as daughter or sister is much easier than trying to say im just a friend.
How anyone acts here reflects on their father, their family, and also their tribe. Who needs punishments when a system like that is upheld? That system also affects work relationships. Say someone introduces me to another person to work with. If I act badly, that person will go to the one who introduced us and take the issue to him. What I do reflects on the one who introduced me. Its much harder to act up and still keep a job.
random
So on the drive home, jp gets a call from his girlfriend. She hangs up cuz he is in the car with all of us. Hey, can I sit on top of the car till we hit the main road? Jp finally convinced us it was in his best interest to call his girl back privately… on top of the car. So he climbs out the window of the moving car and proceeds to talk with his girl while we drive thru the villages towards the Entebbe road. All the adults we passed just stared, their faces asked what in the world these crazy mzungus were doing now. Honestly, those of us in the car also wondered.
Oh, the other day I walked past a restaurant playing evanescence. …and I didn’t have a bad reaction, for the first time in over 5 years. I leaned against the rail looking over the city listening to just another song which used to contain fear for me. I smiled at the victory and enjoyed the rest of a perfect warm evening.
Even tho the dirt here is mainly red, most of the rocks are quartz. The beach rocks consist of old pottery and cement, broken shells, and quartz. I found a hunk of smoky quartz as big as my fist. Its quite beautiful. In the store i find mainly malachite from the Congo next door. They sell it in raw form, or as beads and figurines.
Now, for those of you planning to visit kampala, be aware that this city will assault your senses till you get used to it. Smells constantly demand your attention, including sewage, burning garbage, roadside vendor’s cooking, and car exhaust. Ants tend to eat edible garbage before it rots too much. Next comes the noise. Cars, motorcycles, 1000’s of people walking and talking, police whistles, the radio stations on trucks, not to mention the constant American hip-hop or rap played by most stores. Take a noisy city and condense it. That’s kampala noise. Now add the sites of all that I just mentioned. the food isn’t too spicy thankfully.
The only words I have found to describe Uganda are bizarre and rudimentary. Rudimentary because this place seems to be governed only by what is and what isn’t physically possible. There isn’t much how-its-normally-done controlling how something is done because there isn’t a “normal” way to do something. Whatever works, goes.
It is because of this state of affairs that I call Uganda bizarre. You just wouldn’t find this sort of stuff in the US; furniture stores on front lawns, bodas carrying 10 mattresses on the back, welders welding with no protection for themselves or passerbys, or banana trucks with people perched on piles of green bananas all rolling over potholes. This stuff you just have to see to envision. Uganda is also rudimentary because you must ask more basic questions that you would think of in the western world. In the US, the first question is usually “where do I get it?”. Here the first question is “CAN you get it?”. Better to ask “is it possible?”, rather than “is it legal?”. The standard for acceptable risk is much more lenient.
Oh, the other day I walked past a restaurant playing evanescence. …and I didn’t have a bad reaction, for the first time in over 5 years. I leaned against the rail looking over the city listening to just another song which used to contain fear for me. I smiled at the victory and enjoyed the rest of a perfect warm evening.
Even tho the dirt here is mainly red, most of the rocks are quartz. The beach rocks consist of old pottery and cement, broken shells, and quartz. I found a hunk of smoky quartz as big as my fist. Its quite beautiful. In the store i find mainly malachite from the Congo next door. They sell it in raw form, or as beads and figurines.
Now, for those of you planning to visit kampala, be aware that this city will assault your senses till you get used to it. Smells constantly demand your attention, including sewage, burning garbage, roadside vendor’s cooking, and car exhaust. Ants tend to eat edible garbage before it rots too much. Next comes the noise. Cars, motorcycles, 1000’s of people walking and talking, police whistles, the radio stations on trucks, not to mention the constant American hip-hop or rap played by most stores. Take a noisy city and condense it. That’s kampala noise. Now add the sites of all that I just mentioned. the food isn’t too spicy thankfully.
The only words I have found to describe Uganda are bizarre and rudimentary. Rudimentary because this place seems to be governed only by what is and what isn’t physically possible. There isn’t much how-its-normally-done controlling how something is done because there isn’t a “normal” way to do something. Whatever works, goes.
It is because of this state of affairs that I call Uganda bizarre. You just wouldn’t find this sort of stuff in the US; furniture stores on front lawns, bodas carrying 10 mattresses on the back, welders welding with no protection for themselves or passerbys, or banana trucks with people perched on piles of green bananas all rolling over potholes. This stuff you just have to see to envision. Uganda is also rudimentary because you must ask more basic questions that you would think of in the western world. In the US, the first question is usually “where do I get it?”. Here the first question is “CAN you get it?”. Better to ask “is it possible?”, rather than “is it legal?”. The standard for acceptable risk is much more lenient.
container 5
The day started out not too bad. We got a text at 6:30am stating that the 5th container would arrive at the site that morning. But let’s be honest, this is Africa. So we slowly get up, walk around, eat some bread and tea for breakfast. We check on the containers, come back and talk about the boat till noon, when we see the cranes arrive to unload the container from the truck. but where is the truck? “oh, it is only 20 minutes behind us.” …right. An hour later the truck rolls in, on time by African standards. Americans, im not joking. So we tell them what we need them to do, show them where we want it set, and show them the area we prepared for the cranes. The guys have a lot of experience with this sort of machinery, so they know what is and isn’t possible.
The Ugandans with the cranes spend the next 3 hours lifting and releasing the container cuz its stuck to the truck. then they say it is too heavy, even tho they have been lifting the container and the truck together. So we allow them to unload the two heavy stacks of wood. They pull one halfway out, put a strap around the middle, then try to switch which strap is attached to the crane hook. The guy switching the straps is also the counterweight on the stack of wood. Who can see this coming? They drop the stack of wood. Flips right out of the back of the container. Bryce directs and guides the second stack.
And guess what? They still fail at lifting the container off the truck. shocker. A half hour later somehow, magically even, the container lifts free. They drive the truck out, and set it down. But they need to reposition the container so we can get into the 4th container. But one of the cranes drives out of its perfect position, and gets ready to leave. He cant back up into the position again. Its uphill into a garden. He can only drive down the hill, but he has decided he is too sick to finish the job, therefore the whole crane must leave. Then the other drives away from his position. …what is happening. With enough anger, the guys convince the second driver to try again. He cant do much pushing the container from the wrong end. Much arguing ensues. Finally the head Ugandan agrees to have everyone come tomorrow and try again if we got the ground ready, again. They agreed to do it for free. Dang straight it will be for free. Tis a pity we paid in advance for the day of failed work.
We had the ground ready within an hour of when they all left. That’s American work for you.
We have noticed that we could have done any construction job around here better than they did. Or anything having to do with construction. Cutting trees, big machinery, making wood boards, building houses, or any concrete. The problem is getting the materials of good enough quality. Or the tools. The age of good construction has not arrived in Uganda yet. One man asked Bob if American concrete work was as good as Ugandan. Bob found new depths of tact when he responded that it was at least as good. The concrete here crumbles at the touch. The bricks aren’t square. Scratch that, nothing is square. Welcome to building in Uganda.
The next day it rained so the cranes didn’t want to start till 3pm. Oh, and it changed from two cranes to one. I left to go buy a fridge in town (turns out it doesn’t work properly, but we can exchange it). The guys had to hire Ugandans to unload and load most of the container so the crane could move it. Good grief. only 2 days to place one container. not bad for ugandan work.
The Ugandans with the cranes spend the next 3 hours lifting and releasing the container cuz its stuck to the truck. then they say it is too heavy, even tho they have been lifting the container and the truck together. So we allow them to unload the two heavy stacks of wood. They pull one halfway out, put a strap around the middle, then try to switch which strap is attached to the crane hook. The guy switching the straps is also the counterweight on the stack of wood. Who can see this coming? They drop the stack of wood. Flips right out of the back of the container. Bryce directs and guides the second stack.
And guess what? They still fail at lifting the container off the truck. shocker. A half hour later somehow, magically even, the container lifts free. They drive the truck out, and set it down. But they need to reposition the container so we can get into the 4th container. But one of the cranes drives out of its perfect position, and gets ready to leave. He cant back up into the position again. Its uphill into a garden. He can only drive down the hill, but he has decided he is too sick to finish the job, therefore the whole crane must leave. Then the other drives away from his position. …what is happening. With enough anger, the guys convince the second driver to try again. He cant do much pushing the container from the wrong end. Much arguing ensues. Finally the head Ugandan agrees to have everyone come tomorrow and try again if we got the ground ready, again. They agreed to do it for free. Dang straight it will be for free. Tis a pity we paid in advance for the day of failed work.
We had the ground ready within an hour of when they all left. That’s American work for you.
We have noticed that we could have done any construction job around here better than they did. Or anything having to do with construction. Cutting trees, big machinery, making wood boards, building houses, or any concrete. The problem is getting the materials of good enough quality. Or the tools. The age of good construction has not arrived in Uganda yet. One man asked Bob if American concrete work was as good as Ugandan. Bob found new depths of tact when he responded that it was at least as good. The concrete here crumbles at the touch. The bricks aren’t square. Scratch that, nothing is square. Welcome to building in Uganda.
The next day it rained so the cranes didn’t want to start till 3pm. Oh, and it changed from two cranes to one. I left to go buy a fridge in town (turns out it doesn’t work properly, but we can exchange it). The guys had to hire Ugandans to unload and load most of the container so the crane could move it. Good grief. only 2 days to place one container. not bad for ugandan work.
quick response, lethargic response
It was one of those African days where nothing goes right, but if it does, it takes at least twice a long as it should. Henry and I searched for a rolex (Ugandan breakfast burrito) on the way back to the site from kampala. It took a while to find, but finally I bought one. So then are driving the rest of the way to the site, when we see a boy fall off his bike. He scrambled up off the road, but as we pass we saw blood. We stop to check it out, and I grabbed my small first aid box. Henry informed me my band-aids weren’t going to work.
Blood spurted and ran down the boy’s hand. Lots of blood. I saw a broken glass bottle by the bike and several Ugandan children standing around. He had sliced an artery. Let’s take him in the truck. Henry put some clean paper around the hand and showed me where to press. The boy and I got into the back of the pickup, and henry drove us to the clinic. I tied my shoelace around the boy’s arm, but I couldn’t get the shoelace out of the shoe, so I had to cut the shoe off the shoelace. The doctor was out. So we got back in to the pickup and drove to the next clinic. The doctor was out. Third clinic; same thing. By now there is a pool of blood in the back of the pickup. I would get the bleeding stopped, then it would get bumped and start bleeding again. So much blood. Henry decided to quit checking every clinic and just take the boy to a hospital in Entebbe. So I brace myself holding the pickup, and the boy; telling him to breathe deep breaths and not to worry. He told me he is called Francis and he is 14yo. I notice he hasn’t cried at all yet. He did throw up from the shock tho. Henry is a genius driver; he didn’t hit anything or anyone. That is a miracle considering all the people and cows, and bodas, and goats, and bikes, trucks, etc wandering all over the road. He even slowed down for the evil speed bumps, well most of them. The second to last hid in the shadow of a tree. Henry hit it going pretty fast, and both of us passengers in the back flew up. I hit my head on the roof of the canopy pretty hard. Immediately I found a sizable bump up there. Henry swerved over to a group of bodas and pays one of them to lead us to the nearest hospital in Entebbe. And we drive off again, onto the paved road.
We drive in the gate of the hospital, the guard looks in the back of the pickup and says we must take the boy to the second gate. So we drive to the second gate and take the boy into the room labeled “triage”. Ok, the boy is in medical hands, I can relax now. I sit down, hug my knees and cry for a few minutes. Yes, im admitting I cried. Henry locked the car and invited mein to get cleaned up. I forgot that now I have blood on my arms and legs. Ever tried to wash your legs in a sink? Its kinda hard. So Henry washed them for me. I got some pain pills for my head and curled up on one of the beds watching them care for the boy. Or rather, fail to care for the boy. They seemed to be more interested in my bump on the head and headache than the boy who started to bleed little rivers again. They asked Henry if I was his wife. No, no, im his daughter (that’s the closest relationship to ours that Ugandans understand). I had hoped the medical staff would act different than the rest of Uganda. But no. the nurses put on their aprons and gloves, take them off again, put them on again. I saw them cutting pieces of gauze, but realized they were making straps for the aprons. They finally wrapped his hand in gauze, then left it. The blood quickly soaked thru, and started running down to the floor again.
So much blood. Where is the doctor? the doc finally got there, looks at the boy, answers his cellphone, walks out again. Comes back, checks on me. Good grief, stop worrying about my bumped head and treat the boy. Finally, Henry puts on gloves and tried to stop the bleeding. After a few minutes he stopped and came over to my bed, sweating and looking pale. Apparently the mixed smell of blood and long-unwashed body can make someone nauseas. “Henry, you look white…I mean, more white than you already are.” He smiled, then started to faint. He is a fairly solid guy to catch. So I laid him out on the bed and told him to stay. The doctor came over to check on us, still not having done anything about the boy. I told Henry if I ever cut off my hand, just send me to Kenya for medical care – I would be faster that way.
Finally the nurses shooed us out to go sit on a bench. Henry told me when he was starting to faint, he actually wanted to laugh at the ridiculous little doily pinned to one of the nurse’s hair. We saw several different sort of doilies, all ridiculous and small, but no little hats. So we sat out there joking about doctors and Ugandans. He kept apologizing for my bumped head. So much so that I told him if he didn’t stop feeling guilty, that I would punch him. He stopped apologizing. The nurse came out with the boy’s pants and shoes. “here are his shoeses and his closes (clothes), when he goes, he goes with it.” We just started giggling at that. They obviously didn’t want his clothes that had blood and vomit on them. They finally stitched up and patched up the boy. They gave him a tetanus shot, but no painkillers, and didn’t wash the blood off the rest of him.
We finally got the boy back in truck, rolled down the windows and turned on the fan since this time we all got into the cab of the truck. We drove rather more sedately back to the site, where the guys all helped to clean out the truck and disinfect it. I got to call mom and hear her voice. We took the boy home, I gave him some pain pills so he could sleep, explained to his mother how we ended up having him with us, and then finally drove back to Kampala. John Paul mentioned as how this was one of those days where going home you just feel like you got kicked all day long.
Apparently the guys didn’t have an easy time of it either.
The boy never cried. He lost 1 ½ liters of blood. 3 liters is critical. And that was with Henry’s crazy driving into town. I don’t understand the lethargic manner of the Ugandan doctors and nurses towards the amount of blood. Why didn’t they help him faster? I hurt the next day pretty bad cuz my back doesn’t respond well to trauma. But I knew I would probably get hurt when I got into the back with the boy. Just like Henry knew he might hit something. But we both knew that boy could die if he didn’t get stitched up fast, or fast-ish.
Blood spurted and ran down the boy’s hand. Lots of blood. I saw a broken glass bottle by the bike and several Ugandan children standing around. He had sliced an artery. Let’s take him in the truck. Henry put some clean paper around the hand and showed me where to press. The boy and I got into the back of the pickup, and henry drove us to the clinic. I tied my shoelace around the boy’s arm, but I couldn’t get the shoelace out of the shoe, so I had to cut the shoe off the shoelace. The doctor was out. So we got back in to the pickup and drove to the next clinic. The doctor was out. Third clinic; same thing. By now there is a pool of blood in the back of the pickup. I would get the bleeding stopped, then it would get bumped and start bleeding again. So much blood. Henry decided to quit checking every clinic and just take the boy to a hospital in Entebbe. So I brace myself holding the pickup, and the boy; telling him to breathe deep breaths and not to worry. He told me he is called Francis and he is 14yo. I notice he hasn’t cried at all yet. He did throw up from the shock tho. Henry is a genius driver; he didn’t hit anything or anyone. That is a miracle considering all the people and cows, and bodas, and goats, and bikes, trucks, etc wandering all over the road. He even slowed down for the evil speed bumps, well most of them. The second to last hid in the shadow of a tree. Henry hit it going pretty fast, and both of us passengers in the back flew up. I hit my head on the roof of the canopy pretty hard. Immediately I found a sizable bump up there. Henry swerved over to a group of bodas and pays one of them to lead us to the nearest hospital in Entebbe. And we drive off again, onto the paved road.
We drive in the gate of the hospital, the guard looks in the back of the pickup and says we must take the boy to the second gate. So we drive to the second gate and take the boy into the room labeled “triage”. Ok, the boy is in medical hands, I can relax now. I sit down, hug my knees and cry for a few minutes. Yes, im admitting I cried. Henry locked the car and invited mein to get cleaned up. I forgot that now I have blood on my arms and legs. Ever tried to wash your legs in a sink? Its kinda hard. So Henry washed them for me. I got some pain pills for my head and curled up on one of the beds watching them care for the boy. Or rather, fail to care for the boy. They seemed to be more interested in my bump on the head and headache than the boy who started to bleed little rivers again. They asked Henry if I was his wife. No, no, im his daughter (that’s the closest relationship to ours that Ugandans understand). I had hoped the medical staff would act different than the rest of Uganda. But no. the nurses put on their aprons and gloves, take them off again, put them on again. I saw them cutting pieces of gauze, but realized they were making straps for the aprons. They finally wrapped his hand in gauze, then left it. The blood quickly soaked thru, and started running down to the floor again.
So much blood. Where is the doctor? the doc finally got there, looks at the boy, answers his cellphone, walks out again. Comes back, checks on me. Good grief, stop worrying about my bumped head and treat the boy. Finally, Henry puts on gloves and tried to stop the bleeding. After a few minutes he stopped and came over to my bed, sweating and looking pale. Apparently the mixed smell of blood and long-unwashed body can make someone nauseas. “Henry, you look white…I mean, more white than you already are.” He smiled, then started to faint. He is a fairly solid guy to catch. So I laid him out on the bed and told him to stay. The doctor came over to check on us, still not having done anything about the boy. I told Henry if I ever cut off my hand, just send me to Kenya for medical care – I would be faster that way.
Finally the nurses shooed us out to go sit on a bench. Henry told me when he was starting to faint, he actually wanted to laugh at the ridiculous little doily pinned to one of the nurse’s hair. We saw several different sort of doilies, all ridiculous and small, but no little hats. So we sat out there joking about doctors and Ugandans. He kept apologizing for my bumped head. So much so that I told him if he didn’t stop feeling guilty, that I would punch him. He stopped apologizing. The nurse came out with the boy’s pants and shoes. “here are his shoeses and his closes (clothes), when he goes, he goes with it.” We just started giggling at that. They obviously didn’t want his clothes that had blood and vomit on them. They finally stitched up and patched up the boy. They gave him a tetanus shot, but no painkillers, and didn’t wash the blood off the rest of him.
We finally got the boy back in truck, rolled down the windows and turned on the fan since this time we all got into the cab of the truck. We drove rather more sedately back to the site, where the guys all helped to clean out the truck and disinfect it. I got to call mom and hear her voice. We took the boy home, I gave him some pain pills so he could sleep, explained to his mother how we ended up having him with us, and then finally drove back to Kampala. John Paul mentioned as how this was one of those days where going home you just feel like you got kicked all day long.
Apparently the guys didn’t have an easy time of it either.
The boy never cried. He lost 1 ½ liters of blood. 3 liters is critical. And that was with Henry’s crazy driving into town. I don’t understand the lethargic manner of the Ugandan doctors and nurses towards the amount of blood. Why didn’t they help him faster? I hurt the next day pretty bad cuz my back doesn’t respond well to trauma. But I knew I would probably get hurt when I got into the back with the boy. Just like Henry knew he might hit something. But we both knew that boy could die if he didn’t get stitched up fast, or fast-ish.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
bizarre
I got a djembe drum. I have wanted one for a long time, but they are fairly expensive in the states. Here I bought a full size one for $25. Pretty awesome if you ask me.
Julia and rob were both here for about a week. Julia left today. Sunday the guys gave her a grasshopper to eat. So ever since then she has been randomly mentioning that she ate a bug.
Sunday I went to church obviously. And on the way thru the slums I was accosted by a cigarette and beer wielding Ugandan walking like a gay man. Sounded like a gay man too as he explained he was a transsexual; a woman trapped in a man’s body. I told him he would last real long in Uganda. I turned to go the other way and he followed me for a while shouting he believed in the god, bible, homosexuality, beer, faith, love, basically everything. Eventually he left me alone. Got tired of me walking and saying go away. I think Uganda can be bizarre.
The other day at the site, I threw a bag of garbage outside to collect later. A girl came over and asked what it was. I told her it was garbage and that I didn’t want it. She grabbed it and ran off. A few minutes later I found her and 2 other kids sorting thru the contents of the bag. They took most of it. They wanted our garbage. It wasn’t even really anything interesting, just product wrapping and cardboard. This gives a new meaning to poor and rich. I cant imagine living like that.
Julia and rob were both here for about a week. Julia left today. Sunday the guys gave her a grasshopper to eat. So ever since then she has been randomly mentioning that she ate a bug.
Sunday I went to church obviously. And on the way thru the slums I was accosted by a cigarette and beer wielding Ugandan walking like a gay man. Sounded like a gay man too as he explained he was a transsexual; a woman trapped in a man’s body. I told him he would last real long in Uganda. I turned to go the other way and he followed me for a while shouting he believed in the god, bible, homosexuality, beer, faith, love, basically everything. Eventually he left me alone. Got tired of me walking and saying go away. I think Uganda can be bizarre.
The other day at the site, I threw a bag of garbage outside to collect later. A girl came over and asked what it was. I told her it was garbage and that I didn’t want it. She grabbed it and ran off. A few minutes later I found her and 2 other kids sorting thru the contents of the bag. They took most of it. They wanted our garbage. It wasn’t even really anything interesting, just product wrapping and cardboard. This gives a new meaning to poor and rich. I cant imagine living like that.
Monday, May 17, 2010
unloading
I set my alarm for 5:30am, but actually the bat flying around my room woke me up. Bryce had relayed the plan to us the night before; leave at 6, arrive at the focus site by 7, unloading crane arriving at 7:30, etc. I wander down around 6, muble something about a moth in my room cuz a bat just seemed too…exotic. Bryce tell s me it is a bat. He had a good look already since it hit him in the face. I get coffee, blessed coffee, thank God for coffee, and wander back upstairs to find the bat and get my trusty bag. Cant find the bat. Leave window open hoping it will get the hint. We all load the back of the truck with whatever wood we haven’t used and any tools we might need. Then add mattress, then bob, leonard, and opus. Henry, Bryce and I cram into the front. And we are off by 6:30, not bad for Africa. Stop for petrol, no petrol attendant. Drive to other petrol station. We head out from that one going the wrong way (you must forgive henry, he only had 2 hours of sleep cuz he and Bryce had a very long day yesterday). We make record time going to the site, joking about Uganda all the way. Arrive at the site at 7:30 in the middle of a large rainstorm with no Ugandans in sight. They tend to disappear in the rain so we cant get started unloading the containers from the truck. Thankfully we have a canopy over the back otherwise it would suck for the guys in the back. Henry and Bryce decide to sleep till the rain passes. I sit wedged between them writing the above. Good morning Africa. In between rain, I wander over to the dorm and find clumps of ants eating away at anything having to do with food. Find come potato chips to bring back to the guys when the rain finally lets up enough to walk back without getting soaked. I warn them to blow off the chips before eating to free them of ants. Leonard wanders round in his dad’s huge jacket munching away at the chips.
The cranes and the truck drivers arrive around 9 or so. So now 20+ Ugandans stand around arguing in Lugandan about how to unload the containers. Since the road is muddy from all the rain, they want a different truck and crane to do the job. Oi. I trade places with henry so he can go help Bryce deal with the locals and I can watch our truck full of tools. There is a kid hanging on the window sill watching me write. It took almost 5 minutes for him to ask for money. amazing. At 11:30am, most of us go to Entebbe for food since the rain started pouring again. Coming back, we pass one of our containers driving into town….is it supposed to be doing that? Then Rob and Julia showed up so we had an earthwise meeting, the minutes of which remain closed as with all business meetings. The sun came out, they left and we waited for the Ugandans to return. 5pm the Ugandans return ready to work. They unload 3 containers into place before dusk. Now why couldn’t that have happened earlier? Bryce wants me to inform you all that he was bothering me again with his incessant teasing. The first thing out of the containers was henry’s guitar. Bryce finally received his moving boxes…8 months after packing them into the container in Seattle.
For the last container, everyone stops and slowly meander out to the road. There is some labor dispute so they don’t want to work. Thru our interpreter, we find that they don’t want to finish the job till their boss pays them in order to make sure they get paid. Oh, and the boss has to personally drive the money to the site from kampala, over an hour away at this point in the traffic day. Good grief. Nothing anyone says motivates them to keep working while the boss drives. Btw, the last container sits directly in the driveway so our little truck cants get to the road. We are trapped. The boss is on the way, so they set up the cranes to lift as soon as he gets here, but they don’t lift, just get ready. The boss arrives, suddenly everyone disappears with him to discuss the money issue. Its pitch black, us mzungus have nothing to do and no way to do it in the dark. We already put as much paint on the dorms as we can without waiting for it to dry (that paint is easily the worst I have ever worked with or heard of, the dorm has 5+ layers so far…). This is fun. All most of us can do is keep our tempers in check. What are the legal penalties for punching someone? At about 11:30pm, everyone returns to lift the container off the truck and into place. The two crane trucks do not know how to maneuver around, or around each other. I just waited for one of them to hit the other while repositioning. One almost tipped from lifting too far off the center of gravity. The other crane truck tried to drive up and over a dirt hump next to the road to get out. He guns the engine, drives straight up the hump, goes airborn for a moment and lands squarely on the hump. He sheepishly backs back down to wait. The Ugandan picked to come apologize to us for the time delay looked quite stunned at the response. Almost seemed like he expected we would be totally understanding. We aren’t.
Midnight we leave; exhausted, hungry, and frustrated. I head straight to bed, too tired to check for that bat. I think the guys actually ate dinner. Tomorrow is Sunday. Funny how we have one of those just when we need one most. The day of rest, blessed day of rest.
The cranes and the truck drivers arrive around 9 or so. So now 20+ Ugandans stand around arguing in Lugandan about how to unload the containers. Since the road is muddy from all the rain, they want a different truck and crane to do the job. Oi. I trade places with henry so he can go help Bryce deal with the locals and I can watch our truck full of tools. There is a kid hanging on the window sill watching me write. It took almost 5 minutes for him to ask for money. amazing. At 11:30am, most of us go to Entebbe for food since the rain started pouring again. Coming back, we pass one of our containers driving into town….is it supposed to be doing that? Then Rob and Julia showed up so we had an earthwise meeting, the minutes of which remain closed as with all business meetings. The sun came out, they left and we waited for the Ugandans to return. 5pm the Ugandans return ready to work. They unload 3 containers into place before dusk. Now why couldn’t that have happened earlier? Bryce wants me to inform you all that he was bothering me again with his incessant teasing. The first thing out of the containers was henry’s guitar. Bryce finally received his moving boxes…8 months after packing them into the container in Seattle.
For the last container, everyone stops and slowly meander out to the road. There is some labor dispute so they don’t want to work. Thru our interpreter, we find that they don’t want to finish the job till their boss pays them in order to make sure they get paid. Oh, and the boss has to personally drive the money to the site from kampala, over an hour away at this point in the traffic day. Good grief. Nothing anyone says motivates them to keep working while the boss drives. Btw, the last container sits directly in the driveway so our little truck cants get to the road. We are trapped. The boss is on the way, so they set up the cranes to lift as soon as he gets here, but they don’t lift, just get ready. The boss arrives, suddenly everyone disappears with him to discuss the money issue. Its pitch black, us mzungus have nothing to do and no way to do it in the dark. We already put as much paint on the dorms as we can without waiting for it to dry (that paint is easily the worst I have ever worked with or heard of, the dorm has 5+ layers so far…). This is fun. All most of us can do is keep our tempers in check. What are the legal penalties for punching someone? At about 11:30pm, everyone returns to lift the container off the truck and into place. The two crane trucks do not know how to maneuver around, or around each other. I just waited for one of them to hit the other while repositioning. One almost tipped from lifting too far off the center of gravity. The other crane truck tried to drive up and over a dirt hump next to the road to get out. He guns the engine, drives straight up the hump, goes airborn for a moment and lands squarely on the hump. He sheepishly backs back down to wait. The Ugandan picked to come apologize to us for the time delay looked quite stunned at the response. Almost seemed like he expected we would be totally understanding. We aren’t.
Midnight we leave; exhausted, hungry, and frustrated. I head straight to bed, too tired to check for that bat. I think the guys actually ate dinner. Tomorrow is Sunday. Funny how we have one of those just when we need one most. The day of rest, blessed day of rest.
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