Like all good Type A endeavors in Africa, my well laid plans for my safari have been thwarted. The tour company called this morning to say that one of the other travelers who had booked for my trip had fallen sick, and without him/her, there wouldn't be enough people for the trip. So instead, I'm supposed to be going from Saturday to Monday. But, what I've realized here is that you can't really count on anything. In any case, I'm hoping to head out on Friday morning to explore Kampala- including the tombs of the kabakas (kings)- and then stay the night for a departure to Murchison Falls on Saturday. But, we'll see. I'm hoping that at some point in the next three weeks, I'll be able to make this trip happen.
Aside from that, I've very much settled into my routine here. And it is quite a routine... in that there is basically no variation from day to day. The one thing I vary is whether I go to Jinja or Bujagali in the afternoon. I had experimented with just going home at night, because at 5 pm I'm exhausted, but if I do that Moses' wife gets worried that I haven't eaten supper (which I generally don't because lunch is monstrously huge), and at 10:30 pm, when I'm already asleep, a knock will come at my door with a huge stew of a mystery meat and a pot of cormeal mash as big as my head. And I have to eat it, otherwise they'll be offended. So now I always go somewhere, just so she can assume I've eaten and not feed me supper.
Anyway, one of the parts I am most struck by about my time here is my 25 minute walk from Kyabirwa to Bujagali, where I can have a smoothie, and, when the internet is working, use the internet. It's basically a backpacker outpost filled with wazungu who are here for adventure travel. But they have pretty nice accomodations. It's the walk itself, though, that I look forward to the most.
The road to Bujagali, like all roads here, is made of the red earth that is the source of everything. It is so red, and so ubiquitous, that I have come to look like the characature of the "Red Man" in Peter Pan. I'm starting to worry that my feet are permanently stained. It takes me over an hour just to wash my feet at night. Anyway, this road runs past the school where I teach in a straight line for about a mile and a half to the little outpost of Bujagali on the Nile. It is lined with tons of plants that I'm only now beginning to be able to distinguish between-- coffee, banana, beans, cassava, potatoes, and jackfruit, for example.
As I walk along, my sandals kicking up a trail of red earth, little children look up from their compounds, and exclaim, "Mzungu!!!!" Then they come running, their little bare feet pounding the earth. Often they are only wearing a shirt, and the shirt may be adult size, so one bare shoulder sticks out through the neckhole. "Mzungu, hallo! Mzungu, what is my name!!" they call. "Mzungu, I am fine!" Essentially it's a string of all the English they've come to know. Sometimes the younger ones, who still don't speak any English at all, will wave their little hands and say "Mzungu, Jambo!"
Those who are savvier in the ways of the world will come up and hold on to the strings of my backpack. "Mzungu, give me pencil." or "sweetie," or "money." Once I made the mistake of walking along this road with a bag of freshly cut pineapple. They are very compelling, these kids-- so that time I couldn't help but put the juicy pieces of fruit in their outstretched hands. Usually I say, "sorry, don't have pencil." It sucks because... sometimes I do have pencils, and I definitely have money. But one of the challenges of Africa is figuring out how and when and why to give. It is the most difficult question I've encountered so far.
Some of the most interesting things I've seen have been along this road. Yesterday as I was walking along, I heard a horrible bleating coming from behind me. I turned just in time to see two bicycles coming by, each of which had two goats tied with all four legs together sitting on the back of the bicycle. Their cries were awful. They probably knew what was in store for them. I've definitely had more than enough goat stew for my taste. And I hate to say this, but I prefer my food distribution channel to be longer than it currently is.
On Sunday, as we were walking along this same road back from church, we heard a thundering in the distance. Soon, three cows came stampeding down the road, being whipped with sticks by some children. "EXTEND!!" they yelled. Extend means "get the hell out of the road." It took me a week and a half to figure this out. For a long time I thought everyone was yelling "X-ten! X-ten!" and I couldn't figure out what it stood for.
I'm the only white person I ever see along the road, with the one exception of the Bujagali tourists who are going to a kayaking spot along the road. They are incredibly annoying, because they come on motortaxis attached to their African guides with their kayaks strapped sideways to the back of the motorbikes. The stupid kayaks take up the whole road, and everyone has to jump into the bushes. They don't even know to yell "Extend!" I thought about doing some kayaking here, or at least some rafting, but apparently it's among the most dangerous in the world, with class 6 and 7 rapids. Last week a kayaker drowned. So, I think I'll stay along the shore sipping smoothies, thanks very much.
My favorite part of the road is when I approach huts that belong to my students. Then, rather than yell, "Mzungu!" the children yell, "Madam Shannah!" and come running. That's my favorite part of the walk. It's probably my favorite part of life, actually. In Texas, the best feeling in the world was when my littlest student would spot me across the gym in the morning and take a running leap into my arms for a hug, yelling, "Mi Baro!" Which actually meant, Miss Varon.
Anyway, many of my students live along this road, and I try to stop in and pay my respects to their parents or grandparents. Their grandparents in particular are so honored when I come by, which is a strange feeling. They sometimes bow all the way to the ground to thank me for coming to see them. It's challenging, because none of the older people speak English, so the students are stuck translating between Lasoga and English, but it's still kind of neat.
On the way back from Bujagali, the sunsets are unbelievable, streaking the sky with purple and orange and pink and red. I try to make my way back by 7 pm, when everything is officially dark.
Amazingly, the people here can all see in the dark... but I can't. It's all I can do not to step on a toad on the way to the latrine at night with my headlamp on the highest setting. Sometimes I amaze myself with my own incompetence.
Okay, I'm off now to pick up the copies of an exam that I just left to get done. It's quite a production... the other teacher for my older class suggested that we give an exam before I leave, so I painstakingly hand wrote six pages of an exam, complete with comprehension stories, and I dropped it off at this ramshakle photocopy place here in Jinja around the corner. The guy's copier has got to be from 1987. And he thinks he can get the thing done for 95 students in one hour. We'll see. It's Africa, after all-- anything is possible.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Going on Safari
Today I booked one of the pieces of this trip that I've been looking forward to the most-- my safari adventure in Murchison Falls National Park. Murchison Falls is supposed to be amazing-- it is a waterfall on the Nile and essentially the water shoots out horizontally through a narrow part of the river. We will also be doing the traditional safari animal stuff that you are supposed to do in Africa. I'm so excited! I've never been on safari. I leave on Thursday the 1st out of Kampala, the capital, so I'll head to the capital from Jinja after I finish my classes on Wednesday. I feel guilty about not being with my students every day of this trip, but I promised myself this safari while I'm here, so I've got to do it. I'll be back in class again on Monday with new stories for them.
Of course, for a while there, Murchison Falls wasn't the safest place in the world, because it's in the northern part of Uganda, which borders Sudan. And there was this rebel army up there called the Lord's Resistance Army, that has been coming into Uganda and ultimately became involved in a conflict that has been playing out in the International Criminal Court. So anyway. I hear all that fighting has died down now, and it's supposed to be quite safe. And this is one of two things in Uganda that were listed in my new favorite book, "1000 Places to See Before You Die." It is my personal mission to see at least half before I die. So far I've seen only about 80. So I need to tick this one off, because if I average about 8 things a year from now until I'm 80, I'll have done it! The other thing in Uganda listed in that book is to go gorilla tracking, but you have to get a permit in advance for that, and it's quite expensive, plus I hear the fact that gorillas are encountering so many human beings in their natural habitat is making them aggressive, and I'd feel bad contributing to that. Plus, I only really like stories and movies about gorillas, not live gorillas. So I figured I'd pass on that one.
Anyway, I'm off now to buy some "sweeties" (candy) for the kids in my African family and to visit the gardens at the source of the Nile. Cheerio...
Of course, for a while there, Murchison Falls wasn't the safest place in the world, because it's in the northern part of Uganda, which borders Sudan. And there was this rebel army up there called the Lord's Resistance Army, that has been coming into Uganda and ultimately became involved in a conflict that has been playing out in the International Criminal Court. So anyway. I hear all that fighting has died down now, and it's supposed to be quite safe. And this is one of two things in Uganda that were listed in my new favorite book, "1000 Places to See Before You Die." It is my personal mission to see at least half before I die. So far I've seen only about 80. So I need to tick this one off, because if I average about 8 things a year from now until I'm 80, I'll have done it! The other thing in Uganda listed in that book is to go gorilla tracking, but you have to get a permit in advance for that, and it's quite expensive, plus I hear the fact that gorillas are encountering so many human beings in their natural habitat is making them aggressive, and I'd feel bad contributing to that. Plus, I only really like stories and movies about gorillas, not live gorillas. So I figured I'd pass on that one.
Anyway, I'm off now to buy some "sweeties" (candy) for the kids in my African family and to visit the gardens at the source of the Nile. Cheerio...
Friday, September 25, 2009
Ghost Stories
When I was little the only thing that scared me really were ghost stories. Well, and horror movies. I wasn't really ever afraid of anything else. However, I have now added three more things to the list.
1) The Bats. I simply cannot deal with them. The other night I found out from Moses that there isn't one bat that comes to visit the latrine at night; in fact, there are four. And they don't just come to visit when they see my light. Oh no. THEY LIVE IN THE HOLE. Like... down there, if you know what I mean.
2) Black Mamba snakes. I've never been afraid of snakes. I was always the first one to raise my hand when the science center guy came around to our elementary class and asked who wanted to touch the boa. But these guys, these black mambas, are apparently a big deal. So Moses was talking about them the other night, and I was like, "oh, but they're not around here, are they?" And he said, "Oh no. They live in the bushes. Except one day John was bitten by one right here where we are sitting." Right. Of course. In the bushes. And then, the next day, what did they find in the sick bay at the school? A black mamba. I tried to make a joke about the black mamba... telling Moses that we have them too, only in my country they are cocktails or rollercoasters. He was excited. "You have them too?? They are black, and about this long...?" He held out his arms to full length. Um, no. We don't have them.
3) Kidnappers and Beheaders. Now, I've never been one to overreact really. So, when I asked my students to do some sentences with the construction "Let's... shall we?" (total B.S., but I don't get to decide what we teach them) , and one kid put "Let's kill the kidnappers, shall we?", my first thought was, "How clever and imaginative! I wonder how he thought of that." But then the next day I was walking to town with a student, and she told me some kidnappers had broken into her house and tried to take her and cut off her head. So then this started to sound fishy. Two inventive kids with the same story?? So I asked Moses. Apparently, there is a Bugandan tradition of kidnapping children and beheading them, and then burying the head under the foundation of a new building for good luck. My jaw dropped to the floor when I heard this. I'm all for preservation of cultural practices-- I really am. But this one was a lot to handle. My poor students!!! Apparently mzungu heads (like mine) are worthless, as is any head of a child whose ears are pierced or who has been circumcised. No wonder there are so many little girls running around with pierced ears with nothing but pieces of hay stuck through their ears. It really is amazing. It's a different world here.
So aside from my three new phobias, all is going well. I really love the teaching and I'm learning a lot. The notion of me sitting in the back of the room working with a few students-- the one I fantasized about before coming-- was total fiction, of course. I basically teach straight through the day with just a break for lunch. And I was really pissed that there were all these lovely, appropriate instructional-level storybooks just locked in a cabinet that the kids never saw, so I started an after school reading program that I do until 5 pm every day. They are just so hungry for books! Imagine sitting crammed onto a bench with four other kids, all sharing the same one stupid workbook as the ONLY reading material you see all day? It's tragic. Especially when there actually are books! I just cannot comprehend why no one wants to teach kids with, um, you know-- books.
I'm also encouraging them to write, and I love reading their stories. They are so clever. I get beautiful stories of people tending crops, and animals with personalities, and sad stories about people dying from AIDS or malaria. These kids have so much to say. I feel overwhelmed by being the only person who is listening and reading their thoughtful, painful work at the school. And then-- I'm leaving in three and a half weeks. Poof! And it's back to normal for them. It's hard to think about. I wonder if I've done more harm than good.
I'm guessing my energy should probably really be focused on helping the teachers nudge their practice along... I mean, they're the ones that are staying. But it is such a Sisyphean task. I don't even know where to begin. I started with sitting down with one teacher and talking about individual students with her-- thinking about how we could target specific students that are lower and how I could read with them before school or during the break. We broke the 80 students into groups that I could work with differently. It was clearly the only time she'd done that... and she seemed really grateful. I guess I just need to keep doing things like that. I mean, the American system is definitely broken... but I've got to say, it sure as hell doesn't look that bad from this vantage point.
Okay. Off to consume my luxury of life-- a pineapple and banana smoothie. I'll sit looking out over the Nile, and contemplate life. And snakes, bats, and beheaders, of course.
1) The Bats. I simply cannot deal with them. The other night I found out from Moses that there isn't one bat that comes to visit the latrine at night; in fact, there are four. And they don't just come to visit when they see my light. Oh no. THEY LIVE IN THE HOLE. Like... down there, if you know what I mean.
2) Black Mamba snakes. I've never been afraid of snakes. I was always the first one to raise my hand when the science center guy came around to our elementary class and asked who wanted to touch the boa. But these guys, these black mambas, are apparently a big deal. So Moses was talking about them the other night, and I was like, "oh, but they're not around here, are they?" And he said, "Oh no. They live in the bushes. Except one day John was bitten by one right here where we are sitting." Right. Of course. In the bushes. And then, the next day, what did they find in the sick bay at the school? A black mamba. I tried to make a joke about the black mamba... telling Moses that we have them too, only in my country they are cocktails or rollercoasters. He was excited. "You have them too?? They are black, and about this long...?" He held out his arms to full length. Um, no. We don't have them.
3) Kidnappers and Beheaders. Now, I've never been one to overreact really. So, when I asked my students to do some sentences with the construction "Let's... shall we?" (total B.S., but I don't get to decide what we teach them) , and one kid put "Let's kill the kidnappers, shall we?", my first thought was, "How clever and imaginative! I wonder how he thought of that." But then the next day I was walking to town with a student, and she told me some kidnappers had broken into her house and tried to take her and cut off her head. So then this started to sound fishy. Two inventive kids with the same story?? So I asked Moses. Apparently, there is a Bugandan tradition of kidnapping children and beheading them, and then burying the head under the foundation of a new building for good luck. My jaw dropped to the floor when I heard this. I'm all for preservation of cultural practices-- I really am. But this one was a lot to handle. My poor students!!! Apparently mzungu heads (like mine) are worthless, as is any head of a child whose ears are pierced or who has been circumcised. No wonder there are so many little girls running around with pierced ears with nothing but pieces of hay stuck through their ears. It really is amazing. It's a different world here.
So aside from my three new phobias, all is going well. I really love the teaching and I'm learning a lot. The notion of me sitting in the back of the room working with a few students-- the one I fantasized about before coming-- was total fiction, of course. I basically teach straight through the day with just a break for lunch. And I was really pissed that there were all these lovely, appropriate instructional-level storybooks just locked in a cabinet that the kids never saw, so I started an after school reading program that I do until 5 pm every day. They are just so hungry for books! Imagine sitting crammed onto a bench with four other kids, all sharing the same one stupid workbook as the ONLY reading material you see all day? It's tragic. Especially when there actually are books! I just cannot comprehend why no one wants to teach kids with, um, you know-- books.
I'm also encouraging them to write, and I love reading their stories. They are so clever. I get beautiful stories of people tending crops, and animals with personalities, and sad stories about people dying from AIDS or malaria. These kids have so much to say. I feel overwhelmed by being the only person who is listening and reading their thoughtful, painful work at the school. And then-- I'm leaving in three and a half weeks. Poof! And it's back to normal for them. It's hard to think about. I wonder if I've done more harm than good.
I'm guessing my energy should probably really be focused on helping the teachers nudge their practice along... I mean, they're the ones that are staying. But it is such a Sisyphean task. I don't even know where to begin. I started with sitting down with one teacher and talking about individual students with her-- thinking about how we could target specific students that are lower and how I could read with them before school or during the break. We broke the 80 students into groups that I could work with differently. It was clearly the only time she'd done that... and she seemed really grateful. I guess I just need to keep doing things like that. I mean, the American system is definitely broken... but I've got to say, it sure as hell doesn't look that bad from this vantage point.
Okay. Off to consume my luxury of life-- a pineapple and banana smoothie. I'll sit looking out over the Nile, and contemplate life. And snakes, bats, and beheaders, of course.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Three Good Things, A Lesson and a Caution
Three Good Things
1. Antibacterial Hand Sanitizer. I have recently become obsessed with this, after my first bout with traveler's tummy. I essentially interact with 250 children on a daily basis, none of whom wash their hands... it just isn't done here. I thought I brought enough Purell wipes, but there truly aren't enough in the world for the life that I live right now. And, there is no Purell to be found here. So the most exciting thing that happened to me this week was that I found a traveler who had hand sanitizer but no sunscreen who was willing to trade his bottle of sanitizer for my bottle of sunscreen. I brought way too much sunscreen anyway. I was elated to see the little gob of green good pass over my germ covered hands... it was heaven.
2. My head lamp. I have totally come to love my head lamp. I wear it so much-- for nearly five hours a day-- that I go to bed sometimes forgetting it is on. It's only when I realize that I can't fall asleep... and that the reason I can't fall asleep is because it is too light... that it dawns on me that my head lamp is still on, projecting forward from my head like a third eye. Kind of like not being able to find your glasses, and realizing that they are on your face.
3. My dry erase boards. Oh, the glory of dry erase boards! I couldn't teach without them. When I first broke them out in the class, it was as if I had introduced something magical. In reality, they are the $1.99 ones you can get at CVS that are for teenybopper lockers or dorm room doors. But kids and teachers here had never seen them before. Sometimes they will pay attention not because what I am saying is interesting (because it isn't... the stuff I have to teach makes me want to cry... who gives a crap about the word "unless"? Do we really need to dedicate an entire day to teaching that stupid word?), but because I write them on shiny white boards and can erase them with the flick of a finger.
A Lesson
Don't Bother Being Type A in Uganda. In the US, I am an anal retentive maniac most of the time. I am obsessed with planning. And punctuality. And I like to follow rules. These concepts are absurd here. I determine when I am teaching by triangulation... based on who isn't teaching. If the classroom is empty, you're just supposed to go in and assume it is your turn. You might teach for thirty minutes... you might teach for two hours. There is no way to know. You just wait until someone else shows up and then you stop. Life is one big "go with the flow." It's as though I've cosmically been slapped upside the head and told, "You've been way too annoying in your country. How about a little dose of African easygoingness, eh?" I can think of at least one person who will be excited to see if there is any carryover effect when I come home.
A Caution
If you ever come to Uganda, don't read the book "Last King of Scotland" while you are here, in bed, late at night with your headlamp. No one told me the main character is a doctor of tropical diseases! The descriptions are gruesome. Now I think every itch is some obscure parasite that has invaded my body. (Mom, Dad-- no obscure parasites have invaded my body). I really hope I don't come home with elephantitis. I already have monstrously big feet, for crying out loud.
1. Antibacterial Hand Sanitizer. I have recently become obsessed with this, after my first bout with traveler's tummy. I essentially interact with 250 children on a daily basis, none of whom wash their hands... it just isn't done here. I thought I brought enough Purell wipes, but there truly aren't enough in the world for the life that I live right now. And, there is no Purell to be found here. So the most exciting thing that happened to me this week was that I found a traveler who had hand sanitizer but no sunscreen who was willing to trade his bottle of sanitizer for my bottle of sunscreen. I brought way too much sunscreen anyway. I was elated to see the little gob of green good pass over my germ covered hands... it was heaven.
2. My head lamp. I have totally come to love my head lamp. I wear it so much-- for nearly five hours a day-- that I go to bed sometimes forgetting it is on. It's only when I realize that I can't fall asleep... and that the reason I can't fall asleep is because it is too light... that it dawns on me that my head lamp is still on, projecting forward from my head like a third eye. Kind of like not being able to find your glasses, and realizing that they are on your face.
3. My dry erase boards. Oh, the glory of dry erase boards! I couldn't teach without them. When I first broke them out in the class, it was as if I had introduced something magical. In reality, they are the $1.99 ones you can get at CVS that are for teenybopper lockers or dorm room doors. But kids and teachers here had never seen them before. Sometimes they will pay attention not because what I am saying is interesting (because it isn't... the stuff I have to teach makes me want to cry... who gives a crap about the word "unless"? Do we really need to dedicate an entire day to teaching that stupid word?), but because I write them on shiny white boards and can erase them with the flick of a finger.
A Lesson
Don't Bother Being Type A in Uganda. In the US, I am an anal retentive maniac most of the time. I am obsessed with planning. And punctuality. And I like to follow rules. These concepts are absurd here. I determine when I am teaching by triangulation... based on who isn't teaching. If the classroom is empty, you're just supposed to go in and assume it is your turn. You might teach for thirty minutes... you might teach for two hours. There is no way to know. You just wait until someone else shows up and then you stop. Life is one big "go with the flow." It's as though I've cosmically been slapped upside the head and told, "You've been way too annoying in your country. How about a little dose of African easygoingness, eh?" I can think of at least one person who will be excited to see if there is any carryover effect when I come home.
A Caution
If you ever come to Uganda, don't read the book "Last King of Scotland" while you are here, in bed, late at night with your headlamp. No one told me the main character is a doctor of tropical diseases! The descriptions are gruesome. Now I think every itch is some obscure parasite that has invaded my body. (Mom, Dad-- no obscure parasites have invaded my body). I really hope I don't come home with elephantitis. I already have monstrously big feet, for crying out loud.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Born Again
Today is Sunday, so it is church day in rural Uganda. Only the children from Moses' family went, though-- the two girls put on their nicest dresses and got their family bible, and the two of them, Sophie, the other volunteer, the four year old boy, Danny, and I trudged down the road to the church. On the way we passed several other churches, and the singing and clapping and drumming could be heard from quite a distance away. When we got to our "church", I saw that it was actually just a shelter, a bunch of sticks in the ground with slabs of wood slapped over them and a crude tin roof overhead. We sat down on the wooden benches, and the preacher was delighted to see two mzungu attending his service. He called on me to read... so there I was, on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, reading from the book of James in what they call a "Born Again" church in a Ugandan village. It was a nice passage, and I actually thought the message was universal, so somehow I felt quite at home. Then the people in attendance got up and gave testimonials in Lusoga. The man next to us translated for us... it turns out everyone who got up was talking about how blessed they felt that God has brought visitors to their church. I definitely felt like an imposter. Then the pastor asked us if we wanted to give a testimonial. It was clear that "no" was the absolute wrong answer. So, I got up and just thanked them for having us and talked about how blessed I felt to be able to worship with them. It went over quite well. The best part came next-- the singing and dancing. There were three boys with drums in the corner of the church, and they banged along to the songs. I obviously had no idea what we were singing because everything was in Lusoga, but I picked it up and had a fabulous time, and I think they appreciated the effort and enthusiasm.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Snow Day
Yesterday, Friday, it was pouring rain when my alarm went off at 6:50 am. Why I have an alarm when I have a perfectly adequate rooster who lives 3 feet from my door, I do not know. Anyway, I opened the door of my little room, and no one was stirring. So, I figured I'd wait... we generally don't have breakfast until 7:30... which is the time of the first class up at the school (this of course was confusing to me at first, being as anal retentive as I am. How can you start class and have breakfast at the same time? It turns out that in Ugandan time, everything is at least 1/2 an hour later than stated. So class really starts at 8. ish.). Anyway, so there I was, eagerly anticipating my breakfast of two small bananas, a muffin, and a slice of bread along with hot milk freshly milked from the cow, and no one was getting up. 8:00 came, the rains continued, no one got up. 9:00. 9:30... finally the rains stopped and people emerged. I was crazed. We had already missed nearly two hours of school! But then one of the children said-- "We do not go to school when it rains." I nearly fell over. This in a country where barely any of the 14 year olds can string together a sentence in English, the official language of the nation. But then she explained that the school worries that they will get sick if they walk in the rain... and it totally made sense. It is sometimes hard for me to think about all of the competing priorities here. But it's true, many of them walk a half an hour to school in bare feet, and doing so in the rain can't be a good idea. I'm just really troubled, because it's not like it rains here as infrequently as we get a snow storm in Boston. I mean, I bet Uganda is in the top 5 African nations in terms of rainfall. We will be sleeping in a lot in the next month, I'm guessing.
Yesterday, when we finally did get to school-- around 10:30 am-- the cutest thing happened. One of the girls who is not even in my class came up to me, knelt on the ground, bowed her head, and presented me with a small hen's egg as a gift. It had to have been the sweetest gift I have ever received. They don't have much here, but the spirit of generosity is tremendous.
Today we went up to teach the bunch of kids that show up to school on Saturday-- no rhyme or reason to this, it just so happens that some kids choose to go to school on Saturday, so some of us show up to teach them. They are working on writing letters, so I asked them to write some to students in the U.S. They are actually the cutest letters ever. My favorite quote: "So, you are American? You must love Obama. He is African, like me!" They don't have TV, but every child in this country knows about Obama and totally worships him. It's really interesting. There seems to be an "East African" identity, which I hadn't thought about. Our country is so big, we wouldn't really ever get excited about lumping ourselves in with Canada or Mexico, for example. But Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania-- it seems there is a bunch of solidarity among them. So if Obama is Kenyan, well then, he is African like me.
Today is Rosh Hashanah. As you can see, I'm not really observing it per se. Apparently there are Jews in Uganda, but they aren't close to my village, and since I've just gotten here I figured I wouldn't risk attempting a half-day journey by a series of overpacked minibuses to find out about Jews who may or may not be there and who may or may not be excited to see me. Instead, I sat by the Nile river and read some passages I brought with me and did some quiet reflection. I hope that counts. It's kind of neat because we're supposed to throw crumbs into a flowing body of water to symbolize casting off our sins. I'm thinking the Nile is a pretty badass venue for sending away some sins. Tomorrow when we go to the river to wash our clothes, I will send some crumbs along with the gobs of Ugandan mud that has caked my clothes.
I think Ugandans have as many words for mud as Eskimos have for snowflakes and Peruvians have for potatoes. Every time I point to a lump of sod and ask what the Lusoga word is for it, I get a different answer. As if I am pointing to different mud than the time before. Or something.
This mud situation makes for a really interesting approach to roads. All the roads are dirt, and instead of there being a right lane and a left lane, there is a "high road" and a "low road." The high road is the mound in the middle of the road that is less wet, and the low road is basically the two rivets on the sides that are perpetually gunky. Older people with bundles on their heads and motorbikes are given priority for the high road-- everyone else will step to the low road when they come by.
This has necessitated the immediate purchase of "Wellies" in the market (these, I guess, are boots, and the brits call them Wellies for Wellingtons). I am quite a sight in my big black Wellies and my North Face adventure pants. I feel kind of guilty showing up to teach like that, but there really isn't any deep commitment to fashion here, as long as you aren't wearing a miniskirt or showing too much of your legs. The other volunteer, Sophie, who is staying at the same place with me had an interesting experience with this leg thing. One day when we were in town she went to a tailor to ask the woman to sew up the seam of a miniskirt she had just created from jeans she had cut up. This was a serious miniskirt, and the woman was mortified. Sophie was only able to get her to do the skirt by promising not to wear it in Africa. I'll stick to my adventure pants, thank you.
So apparently this internet cafe in Bujagali where I am (not really an internet cafe, more like a campsite for adventurous mzungus who go rafting on the falls) has showers. And they are hot showers! I am so excited. Signing off for now...
Love,
Shan
Yesterday, when we finally did get to school-- around 10:30 am-- the cutest thing happened. One of the girls who is not even in my class came up to me, knelt on the ground, bowed her head, and presented me with a small hen's egg as a gift. It had to have been the sweetest gift I have ever received. They don't have much here, but the spirit of generosity is tremendous.
Today we went up to teach the bunch of kids that show up to school on Saturday-- no rhyme or reason to this, it just so happens that some kids choose to go to school on Saturday, so some of us show up to teach them. They are working on writing letters, so I asked them to write some to students in the U.S. They are actually the cutest letters ever. My favorite quote: "So, you are American? You must love Obama. He is African, like me!" They don't have TV, but every child in this country knows about Obama and totally worships him. It's really interesting. There seems to be an "East African" identity, which I hadn't thought about. Our country is so big, we wouldn't really ever get excited about lumping ourselves in with Canada or Mexico, for example. But Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania-- it seems there is a bunch of solidarity among them. So if Obama is Kenyan, well then, he is African like me.
Today is Rosh Hashanah. As you can see, I'm not really observing it per se. Apparently there are Jews in Uganda, but they aren't close to my village, and since I've just gotten here I figured I wouldn't risk attempting a half-day journey by a series of overpacked minibuses to find out about Jews who may or may not be there and who may or may not be excited to see me. Instead, I sat by the Nile river and read some passages I brought with me and did some quiet reflection. I hope that counts. It's kind of neat because we're supposed to throw crumbs into a flowing body of water to symbolize casting off our sins. I'm thinking the Nile is a pretty badass venue for sending away some sins. Tomorrow when we go to the river to wash our clothes, I will send some crumbs along with the gobs of Ugandan mud that has caked my clothes.
I think Ugandans have as many words for mud as Eskimos have for snowflakes and Peruvians have for potatoes. Every time I point to a lump of sod and ask what the Lusoga word is for it, I get a different answer. As if I am pointing to different mud than the time before. Or something.
This mud situation makes for a really interesting approach to roads. All the roads are dirt, and instead of there being a right lane and a left lane, there is a "high road" and a "low road." The high road is the mound in the middle of the road that is less wet, and the low road is basically the two rivets on the sides that are perpetually gunky. Older people with bundles on their heads and motorbikes are given priority for the high road-- everyone else will step to the low road when they come by.
This has necessitated the immediate purchase of "Wellies" in the market (these, I guess, are boots, and the brits call them Wellies for Wellingtons). I am quite a sight in my big black Wellies and my North Face adventure pants. I feel kind of guilty showing up to teach like that, but there really isn't any deep commitment to fashion here, as long as you aren't wearing a miniskirt or showing too much of your legs. The other volunteer, Sophie, who is staying at the same place with me had an interesting experience with this leg thing. One day when we were in town she went to a tailor to ask the woman to sew up the seam of a miniskirt she had just created from jeans she had cut up. This was a serious miniskirt, and the woman was mortified. Sophie was only able to get her to do the skirt by promising not to wear it in Africa. I'll stick to my adventure pants, thank you.
So apparently this internet cafe in Bujagali where I am (not really an internet cafe, more like a campsite for adventurous mzungus who go rafting on the falls) has showers. And they are hot showers! I am so excited. Signing off for now...
Love,
Shan
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Bat in the Latrine
Wasuzotia (good morning), everyone...
All is well here in Kyabirwa. A few tidbits for the past few days are:
1) Porridge is as bland tasting as it sounds. And you have to eat it when it is offered to you.
2) When you see these flying ants crawling around these banana leaf wrapped bundles, which look to you like yummy tamales, guess what? The bundles are actually just packages of the flying ants, wrapped up in a package to save you from having to catch them yourselves.
3) It is actually possible to shower in two minutes (family, you should be impressed). It helps when your water is freezing rainwater that you pour over your head.
4) It is best to try to get to the latrine either before or after the monsoon rains. Not in the middle of them.
5) If you are going to the latrine in the night, and you are wearing your headlamp so you don't trip over the cow, it is QUITE LIKELY that you will be followed by a bat. And he will get there first. And then, it is him or you. Probably him.
Another thing I've been thinking a lot about is being a mzungu... which means white person (really, it means white European, but the children on the road don't distinguish). It's quite interesting. You'll be walking along and they will just call out, "mzungu!" It makes me wonder which is worse... someone noticing a difference and not saying anything, or having it be so out in the open that it is totally okay to call it out. White people here refer to ourselves as mzungus, too.
This whole "white minority" experience reminds me a lot of my time in the Rio Grande Valley. Actually, Kyabirwa has a lot in common with Mercedes, Texas, in how insular it feels, and how much like an outsider I feel. This whole thing is giving me a lot to chew on.
The teaching is going really well, and is really interesting. My day starts like this. I go in to the class. They stand up and say, "You are welcome, madam." Then I say, "Good morning, children." They say, "Good morning, madam." Then I say, "How are you today?" Then they say, "We are very well thank you, madam." Then I tell them they can be seated. The whole time, I am wondering if they have any idea what the exchange has been about. It is very sweet, and extremely programmed. The teachers do this the same way every day.
All the classes are taught out of these Ugandan textbooks. That is great, of course, in that they are culturally relevant to an extent, but what is interesting is that even so, a lot of the concepts are over the heads of these particular Ugandan children because of how rural their lives are. We read a story about a girl who goes with her grandfather to a hospital, and they couldn't conceptualize it. The grandfather in the story is supposed to write down that his occupation is "farmer." How do you explain to children for whom farming is just LIFE-- kids who milk cows in the morning and pick potatoes or cassava or beans at night every day of their lives-- that for some people it is a job, and you should write it on a f0rm in the line that says "occupation"? Seriously, teaching in rural Uganda is stretching my mind tremendously in terms of what sort of assumptions we can and can't make about what children know.
The songs continue to be a big hit. I have begun to invent them-- because we had another lesson on carpentry and I didn't know any songs with the words foundation and scaffolding in them, so I had to make one up. I have also dipped into my deep reserve pool of childhood classics and spread "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" widely as well. The other teachers seem to get a kick out of the songs (er, out of me?) as well.
Okay, got to run back to the village now. It gets dark at 7 pm, so that's when I turn into a pumpkin.
Love to all.
All is well here in Kyabirwa. A few tidbits for the past few days are:
1) Porridge is as bland tasting as it sounds. And you have to eat it when it is offered to you.
2) When you see these flying ants crawling around these banana leaf wrapped bundles, which look to you like yummy tamales, guess what? The bundles are actually just packages of the flying ants, wrapped up in a package to save you from having to catch them yourselves.
3) It is actually possible to shower in two minutes (family, you should be impressed). It helps when your water is freezing rainwater that you pour over your head.
4) It is best to try to get to the latrine either before or after the monsoon rains. Not in the middle of them.
5) If you are going to the latrine in the night, and you are wearing your headlamp so you don't trip over the cow, it is QUITE LIKELY that you will be followed by a bat. And he will get there first. And then, it is him or you. Probably him.
Another thing I've been thinking a lot about is being a mzungu... which means white person (really, it means white European, but the children on the road don't distinguish). It's quite interesting. You'll be walking along and they will just call out, "mzungu!" It makes me wonder which is worse... someone noticing a difference and not saying anything, or having it be so out in the open that it is totally okay to call it out. White people here refer to ourselves as mzungus, too.
This whole "white minority" experience reminds me a lot of my time in the Rio Grande Valley. Actually, Kyabirwa has a lot in common with Mercedes, Texas, in how insular it feels, and how much like an outsider I feel. This whole thing is giving me a lot to chew on.
The teaching is going really well, and is really interesting. My day starts like this. I go in to the class. They stand up and say, "You are welcome, madam." Then I say, "Good morning, children." They say, "Good morning, madam." Then I say, "How are you today?" Then they say, "We are very well thank you, madam." Then I tell them they can be seated. The whole time, I am wondering if they have any idea what the exchange has been about. It is very sweet, and extremely programmed. The teachers do this the same way every day.
All the classes are taught out of these Ugandan textbooks. That is great, of course, in that they are culturally relevant to an extent, but what is interesting is that even so, a lot of the concepts are over the heads of these particular Ugandan children because of how rural their lives are. We read a story about a girl who goes with her grandfather to a hospital, and they couldn't conceptualize it. The grandfather in the story is supposed to write down that his occupation is "farmer." How do you explain to children for whom farming is just LIFE-- kids who milk cows in the morning and pick potatoes or cassava or beans at night every day of their lives-- that for some people it is a job, and you should write it on a f0rm in the line that says "occupation"? Seriously, teaching in rural Uganda is stretching my mind tremendously in terms of what sort of assumptions we can and can't make about what children know.
The songs continue to be a big hit. I have begun to invent them-- because we had another lesson on carpentry and I didn't know any songs with the words foundation and scaffolding in them, so I had to make one up. I have also dipped into my deep reserve pool of childhood classics and spread "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" widely as well. The other teachers seem to get a kick out of the songs (er, out of me?) as well.
Okay, got to run back to the village now. It gets dark at 7 pm, so that's when I turn into a pumpkin.
Love to all.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
First Two Days
Jambo, loved ones!
I am safely in Uganda. It is amazing, I totally love it! I live in a
small village called Kyabirwa, which is pronounced "Chabirwa."
What to tell you... okay, so my lodgings are at Moses' house in a
cement block structure next to the main house. It is a small room
(but, I still think it is a smidge bigger than Kathy's room in our
apartment in New York!). I have a bed with a foam mattress and a
mosquito net (even though I haven't seen any mosquitoes), a table, a
chair, and a set of shelves. Taking a shower involves taking a bucket
of boiled rainwater out to a open air cement structure in the back
yard and pouring it over my head. This is actually less awful than it
must sound. I brought nice soap and shampoo, so it is all good. The
bathroom is a latrine, which is really a pit in the ground in a mud
hut a bit away from the house. To get there, I need to maneuver around
a large cow, but other than that it totally works.
Moses is incredibly nice, as is his wife Florence. They have eight
children and I adore them, especially the four year old, Daniel. They
are teaching me Lusoga, which is the native dialect. So far my
favorite word is chicken, which is n'koko. I can also say good
morning, how are you, I am fine, good afternoon, and a host of other
important words- like jackfruit. My goal is to learn 1000 words before
I leave, and to be basically conversational in lusoga. Wish me luck.
I adore the school. I will be teaching English (which is really
English as a Second Language) to Primary 5 and Primary 6, which is
basically students who range from 12-16. I'll be standing in for and
tag teaming with their regular teachers. There are about 100 students
per class. I'm working really hard to learn their names. Today we did
prepositions in Primary 6, which necessitated a rousing rendition of
"The Wheels on the Bus." Envision 100 15-16 year olds singing while I
jumped around at the front conducting. It is hard to engage 100
children at a time, but they were into it-- they went to lunch singing
the song and teaching it to other kids. Anyway, I really hope I do a
good job. The expectations for the volunteers are quite low, so I need
to figure out another way of figuring out if I am doing a good job.
The teaching they are used to is mostly rote instruction and copying.
The kids do not know how to answer the question, "Why?" This whole
thing will be quite challenging, I think.
One thing that is interesting is that it gets really dark really early
here, so even if I go out in the afternoon after school (and by "go
out" there are very few places to go... but I mean, to Jinja where I
am now, to use the internet, for example), I have to be home by 7 pm.
Then I am in bed by 9 pm. I am very glad I brought 3 LED lamps with
lots of batteries, and a bunch of books. I am also journaling a lot,
which I love. The roosters start cock-a-doodle-dooing at 5:30 am, but
it isn't light until 7 am, so it makes for some great thinking time as
well.
The food is pretty good so far. Yesterday for lunch we had rice and
beans, and then for dinner I had the best french fries ever with pork.
Today for lunch we had mashed plantains, sweet potato (which is not
orange, but is somehow still different from "Irish potato"), and
cabbage with tomato sauce. The portions are huge. Please don't expect
an emaciated Shannah upon return.
So, my life has pretty much found its rhythm for the next five weeks.
It's all pretty simple. The one aberration will likely be that I will
go on a 3 or 4 day safari to Murchison Falls National Park sometime in
the next few weeks... both to see the waterfall and to see some large
game. I'll keep you posted.
I miss you guys. Pratt, the children were fascinated by pictures of
Speaker on my phone. They had a hard time understanding that in the US
we have dogs as pets... here the dogs are wild, and you don't keep
them as pets. Animals are also not named here (probably because we eat
them). When I asked Florence what the name of the calf was, she looked
at me quizzically and said "calf." Of course.
Lots of love, and thanks for your patience with my adventure.
I am safely in Uganda. It is amazing, I totally love it! I live in a
small village called Kyabirwa, which is pronounced "Chabirwa."
What to tell you... okay, so my lodgings are at Moses' house in a
cement block structure next to the main house. It is a small room
(but, I still think it is a smidge bigger than Kathy's room in our
apartment in New York!). I have a bed with a foam mattress and a
mosquito net (even though I haven't seen any mosquitoes), a table, a
chair, and a set of shelves. Taking a shower involves taking a bucket
of boiled rainwater out to a open air cement structure in the back
yard and pouring it over my head. This is actually less awful than it
must sound. I brought nice soap and shampoo, so it is all good. The
bathroom is a latrine, which is really a pit in the ground in a mud
hut a bit away from the house. To get there, I need to maneuver around
a large cow, but other than that it totally works.
Moses is incredibly nice, as is his wife Florence. They have eight
children and I adore them, especially the four year old, Daniel. They
are teaching me Lusoga, which is the native dialect. So far my
favorite word is chicken, which is n'koko. I can also say good
morning, how are you, I am fine, good afternoon, and a host of other
important words- like jackfruit. My goal is to learn 1000 words before
I leave, and to be basically conversational in lusoga. Wish me luck.
I adore the school. I will be teaching English (which is really
English as a Second Language) to Primary 5 and Primary 6, which is
basically students who range from 12-16. I'll be standing in for and
tag teaming with their regular teachers. There are about 100 students
per class. I'm working really hard to learn their names. Today we did
prepositions in Primary 6, which necessitated a rousing rendition of
"The Wheels on the Bus." Envision 100 15-16 year olds singing while I
jumped around at the front conducting. It is hard to engage 100
children at a time, but they were into it-- they went to lunch singing
the song and teaching it to other kids. Anyway, I really hope I do a
good job. The expectations for the volunteers are quite low, so I need
to figure out another way of figuring out if I am doing a good job.
The teaching they are used to is mostly rote instruction and copying.
The kids do not know how to answer the question, "Why?" This whole
thing will be quite challenging, I think.
One thing that is interesting is that it gets really dark really early
here, so even if I go out in the afternoon after school (and by "go
out" there are very few places to go... but I mean, to Jinja where I
am now, to use the internet, for example), I have to be home by 7 pm.
Then I am in bed by 9 pm. I am very glad I brought 3 LED lamps with
lots of batteries, and a bunch of books. I am also journaling a lot,
which I love. The roosters start cock-a-doodle-dooing at 5:30 am, but
it isn't light until 7 am, so it makes for some great thinking time as
well.
The food is pretty good so far. Yesterday for lunch we had rice and
beans, and then for dinner I had the best french fries ever with pork.
Today for lunch we had mashed plantains, sweet potato (which is not
orange, but is somehow still different from "Irish potato"), and
cabbage with tomato sauce. The portions are huge. Please don't expect
an emaciated Shannah upon return.
So, my life has pretty much found its rhythm for the next five weeks.
It's all pretty simple. The one aberration will likely be that I will
go on a 3 or 4 day safari to Murchison Falls National Park sometime in
the next few weeks... both to see the waterfall and to see some large
game. I'll keep you posted.
I miss you guys. Pratt, the children were fascinated by pictures of
Speaker on my phone. They had a hard time understanding that in the US
we have dogs as pets... here the dogs are wild, and you don't keep
them as pets. Animals are also not named here (probably because we eat
them). When I asked Florence what the name of the calf was, she looked
at me quizzically and said "calf." Of course.
Lots of love, and thanks for your patience with my adventure.
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