Bless the Rains Down in Africa

Rain-and-mud-spattered skirt from walking around town. 

Rainy season has officially started!  Bless the rains down in Africa!  It has been so unbearably hot here the last few weeks.  I’ve never really been a sweaty person – unless I was in my dojo doing kicking drills – but here, I sweat sitting still in the shade.  It is SO HOT.  But Monday night, the heat broke, the skies opened and the rains came.  Hallelujah.  That also meant a lot of mud, some legitimately cold winds and nights, but I tell you, I’ll take it. 

Me and the women of the Opit Co-op.  The lady on the left is my absolute fav.

I distributed supplies I got in Kampala last week to my six different cooperatives, which meant overpaying a driver to take me and Fiona in a car because of the rain.  I can’t complain though, two hours on the back of a motorbike both ways can get you a little saddle sore, so it was nice to have an excuse for hiring a car.  It was awesome to visit with many of the women, they have a great energy about them and are always so happy to see me because I'm bringing a new order.  And of course a new order means they have a payday coming soon.  This payday will come especially soon since we are trying to get them to finish the order before Sarah and I leave for the Galapagos on April 4^th.  It’s a big order for them to fill before then, but they all seem confident they can do it. 

Fiona got really excited when she saw this lake near Opit.  I get excited when people get excited, so we hiked over and heard the AMAZING chorus of hundreds of toads serenading us.

I also interviewed several Respond ReNU groups for one of the sponsors, which means I hit up ten villages this week.  Busy week!  But it felt good to have a long to-do list, you know how I like crossing things off my list.  

One of the groups I interviewed in a village named Liliya.  It kinda looks like I photoshopped myself in.

This time I was interviewing the groups as a whole instead of individuals, which illustrates a lot of things about this culture.  Many of the groups are largely women; many men out here 1. Don’t work 2. When they get money they drink it instead of save it 3. See saving money un-masculine.  It’s a fairly exasperating situation, especially since it seems everyone out here just accepts it and moves on, even the NGOs and westerners. 

In the middle of the Opit village where now-unused huts were torn down after they were abandoned post-war.

Before the war hit 20 years or so ago, the men worked and they worked hard (so I’m told,) most as farmers.  Then they all had to move into Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camps and suddenly villages that were spread out became condensed, huts sprang up between huts, and three times as many people (if not more) were living in them.  There was no land left to farm, and little means to start a new business considering people left everything they had behind to escape the terrorism.  In the camps people were largely given their food and basic supplies by emergency organizations.  Women still had children to rear, homes to clean, food to cook, and these things took all day.  Women kept their work ethic through necessity.  Men’s work, however, became largely obsolete.  So they learned to play cards and drink a lot.  

Today, even though most people have moved home and there is space again and life has returned to a peaceful state, men still play cards and drink a lot.  Women continue their chores, but because they are no longer in a state of emergency, having their food supplies handed to them freely, women have also taken it upon themselves to earn the money to pay for everything as well.  Of course this isn’t the rule, there are men who work and support their families, but largely men here are just lazy.  

The part that drives me most crazy is when I go to groups of women and hear about how they are saving for school fees through selling tomatoes in the market.  They have a baby strapped to their back, and two more in tow.  And then there is one man in the group, and somehow he ends up as the chairperson. Women do so much here and yet they are still so willing to sit back and let men make the decisions and call the shots.  And of course, men gladly call those shots, even the ones who have done nothing to earn the right to do so.  I’m not suggesting men become marginalized, quite the opposite.  I am suggesting they level the playing field a bit.  Imagine what would happen if the men took it upon themselves to work again, if they had double income houses, or if the women just had a bit of support.  The state this country is in would turn around in double-time.  Yet this is a problem I don’t know how to solve.  So I guess I understand why people don’t dwell on it.  How do you change a culture created by 20 years of war and handouts?  I. Don’t. Know.

OK, drastic changing of gears; I want to introduce you all to my friend Pascah.  She is one of our neighbors and one of my favorite people I’ve met here.  She always has a smile on her face and is very quick to laugh.  And you know me, no one really thinks I’m as funny as I do, so when I meet someone who thinks I’m funny, they are instantly my friend.  She is tiny and adorable; the first time I met her I thought she was 14 or 15, but she’s 20 next month.  She just finished her entrance exams to enter school to become a lab technician in the hospital.  She’ll find out next week if she made it or not.  Keep your fingers crossed for her!  

Amony braiding Pascah's hair who is sporting the snowflake fleece.

I came home from another interview on Saturday and Amony (Janet’s niece living with us) was plaiting Pascah’s hair on the front porch.  It’s a pretty common sight to see women braiding each others hair.  They sit patiently for hours while the braids are put in, sometimes threaded with extensions, sometimes with their hair only.  They leave it in for about a month and then they take it out and do it all again.  

Anyway, because it was rainy and Ugandans dress like it’s December in Montana when it dips below 80 degrees, Pascah was bundled up in a big red fleecy sweater with snowflakes on it.  I asked if she had ever seen snow, and of course she had not.  I tried to describe it to her, but found it much more difficult to describe than one would imagine.  She thought when snow fell you could ice-skate on it.  I told her it was like cold soft sand that would melt if you held it in your hand….

Winnie has made it to Uganda....

Anyway, later she took the scarf she had over her left shoulder off and I saw her sweater had Winnie-the-Pooh on it and started laughing, asking if she knew who he was.  She had no idea.  With Pooh as pervasive in American culture as it is, it kind of surprised me she’d never even heard the name, though it probably shouldn’t have.  So I sat and told her about Christopher Robin and the Hundred Acre Woods.  She was fairly fascinated that this little guy on her sweater had stories and movies made about him and he had friends named Tigger and Rabbit, Kanga and Roo.  I told her I would see if I couldn’t get her a book sent from America.  So, I am now soliciting you all.  Could I get a volunteer to send me a copy of the original Winnie-the-Pooh?  Pascah would love it, I know, and I will greatly appreciate it!!

FOOD:

Remember the chapatti I blogged about a few weeks ago?  Well there are street corner vendors here who will make the chapatti, and then they’ll turn it into a rolex.  No, no, not the watch.  They beat a couple eggs and if you’re lucky they throw in some green pepper, tomato, onion and garlic.  Then they poor it on their hot skillet and make a sort of omelet.  They throw the chapatti on top, and roll it all together.  Like a breakfast burrito.  But better.   Originally it was called “roll eggs”, but it’s definitely called a rolex now.  I generally still prefer the chapatti alone, but sometimes there is just nothing better than a piping-hot rolex.

I also finally had my first taste of meat on a stick here.  It’s sold all over, but I’ve always been a bit afraid to try.  They skewer the meat and roast it over a charcoal grill and sell it.  Last weekend when I was watching the rugby match with some friends (rugby is an awesome game by the way, who knew??) and after witnessing multiple people eat them, none of them dying, I was finally brave enough to try.  And I was not disappointed.  Slow roasted sweet pork.  On a stick.  Pretty awesome. 

Ugandan Profundities

I spent the better part of this last week highly overwhelmed in Kampala.  I was there for a couple reasons; one, to buy supplies for the women to make their next order of jewelry, and two, to get one of our beaders a visa from the US embassy.

The visa is needed because in April, I will be taking beader Sarah Akot to.....

Are you ready??!!

The Galapagos Islands!  That's right folks, Sarah and I will take the murderously long flight to South America, where she will then teach elementary school children to make the beads from recycled paper.  It's all being done through the Linblad Organization which is under National Geographic, who is one of Paper to Pearls' longest standing customers.  I haven't said anything up till now because I wasn't positive it was going to happen, but now, well, it is definitely happening.  We will fly from here to DC, spend a few days (and yes, DC friends, I would LOVE to see you all!)  fly to Ecuador for ten or so days, back to DC, and then back here to Uganda.  Crazy, I know.  Totally crazy.  But I'm excited!  I find it rather ironic that I had to come to Uganda to make it South America....But whatever, I'll take it!  So anyway, because of the extended layover in DC, we had to get Sarah a visa.

The embassy was a complete nightmare.  Take all the bureaucracy of America, mix it with all the inefficiency of Uganda, and you have waiting for your interview for seven hours (without any books or iPods or anything - they make you leave it all at the front) only to be turned down by a British woman (I'm sorry, but who the heck is she to decide who gets to go to America or not?!) for Sarah's visa, only to return the next morning and be accepted by the same British woman!  Think of your worst experience at the DMV and multiply it by about a thousand and you have my Tuesday and Wednesday of this week.  It was AWFUL, but, Sarah got her visa, so I will be coming home for a couple days, and then on to the Islands!!  Woohoo!!!

As I mentioned, I was also there to get supplies.  Sarah had done it many times before, so she was showing me where to get everything, and we gallivanted all over that crazy city.  I had many good intentions to take all kinds of pictures, but suffice it to say, I was highly overwhelmed by the experience and forgot to take even a single picture.  Also, it was so crazy that at this point, I'm not sure I could properly blog about it, so we will wait for a future order for such a thing.  It will come, and you will be entertained, I promise.

And now, The Measure of My Creation presents; UGANDAN PROFUNDITIES!  There are so many random things that make up this crazy place and culture, and I've been trying to catch them on camera.  In thinking about which ones I should post, I realized there are LOADS, many of which I haven't yet got on film.  So, there will be further Ugandan Profundities episodes to come.

First:  The carrying on the head business.  They carry everything on their head.  Literally.  Those neck muscles have got to be enormous, because some of those loads are seriously heavy.  

Second:  The cast-off food.  Most of the candy you can buy here is expired.  And most of it is awful.  Most everything processed is shipped in and most of it is the old junk that didn't sell in it's original market.  (This actually happens in a lot of industries - my phone here being one of them.)  Anyway, Uganda is terrible in the processed food category.  Which isn't a bad thing, really, so I think they should just stick to what their good at, and stop trying to sell English Christmas Pringles in March.  Though, I am the sucker who had a serious salt craving one day and bought them.  But don't worry, I checked the expiration date, they are good until next Christmas. 

Third:  This was on the TV in Jojo's Palace, my hotel my first week in Gulu.  I had just left Utah and it's snow and was sweating during breakfast one morning when I looked up and saw the sticker.  I started laughing out loud and everyone thought I was nuts for taking a picture of a TV that was turned off.  Amazing what giving your stuff to Good Will can do. 

Fourth:  The bugs.  Oh, they are everywhere.  And I am an avid bug hater.  Just ask my brother and sister-in-law, when I was living with them I was haunted by the jumping crickets that would sneak into my room at night.  I've surprised myself with being uncharacteristically calm when it comes to bugs here, but there are two things I still can't handle: weird things that fly at my face and cockroaches.  One would think I'd be used to the suckers after being invaded by our nasty neighbors roaches in Alexandria, but they were, at biggest, the size of my pinky nails.  These guys though, oy.  

Fifth: Naked babies.  They're everywhere.  And they don't use diapers.  I'm not sure what happens when "it" happens, but no one seems to worry about it.  They even carry the babies naked.  All the time.  Or have them in the bus that way.  Always makes me nervous when I see one on someone's lap, but you know, if they're not worried, why should I be?  And really, their little butts are pretty adorable. 

Sixth:  You can't see it very well, but this is what the ATM tells me every time I go to pull money out; "Please wait for a while."  Oh, that is so beautifully typical of Uganda.  "A While."  Could be 30 seconds, could be thirty minutes.  But please, be patient and just....wait. 

Seventh: Animals in all the wrong places.  Now, this lizard was not in my toilet, and I didn't even get to see it, but it was in my friend Ali's toilet in Kidepo.  The lizards are everywhere and are crazy-fast.  There really are no set boundaries here.  Chickens walk into my room, goats meander down the streets of town, lizards hang out in the toilet.  It's, you know, Uganda.  

 

Eighth:  Misspellings.  They are ALL over.  These just happen to be the two I have pictures of.  One is intentional, and one is not.  Obviously, they just left the 'S' out of RESPOND.  The other, "FUNITURES," is supposed to be "furniture."  They don't pronounce many of their 'R' sounds here (something I blame on the British) so why, when you say "fuh-ni-chuh" would you put an 'R' anywhere in there?  You wouldn't.  Clearly.

OK, that's all for now.  I hope you enjoyed.  Like I said, there will be many more to come.  

Food is a short one this time; I craved sugar like a mad woman this week.  Which is very odd for me, I usually crave salt if I'm craving (remember the Pringles?)  But not this week.  And Gulu is, as I mentioned before, really really awful at candy and sweets.  And I'm not much of a chocolate person (unless it comes from the Austria/Germany/Switzerland region of the world.  And maybe Belgium.)  So when I stumbled across these goodies - caramel!! - I was thrilled, to say the least.  I went through three packets in no time flat and just purchased these two babies to get me through the rest of the weekend. They're hard candy and, contrary to their mountain love name, they are made in Taiwan.  But I close my eyes and pretend I'm back in Austria and that I can walk into any number of pastry shops and order any number of amazing sugary goodness-es.  Pretty sure I won't be partaking of any other Guluian candy after having found these.  Thank you, Prince Supermarket! 

My Time in Hades

My many traveling companions.

Last week David and I decided I would go to a small town a few hours north of Gulu called Kitgum to get some interviews for him (I’ll explain in a bit.) Sunday night he told me he would call at 7:40am and let me know if there was an 8:00am bus, but most likely I would be on the 9:00 or 10:00 bus.  Instead he called me at 7:25am, waking me up and telling me he’d be there in ten minutes to pick me up for the 8:00 bus.  He showed up about three minutes later saying me “We have to go, now!”   I barely had time to brush my teeth and wash my face before climbing on the back of his motorbike on our way to the bus park (where busses bussing all over creation hang out between transit.)  I soon realized why the big hurry.  The so-called “bus” was actually one of Uganda’s so-called “taxis.”  In actuality, it is a 15 passenger van, of which there are a million here.  They pack people in like sardines and ship them off to their desired destination and the one I was supposed to be on was filling up fast.  David had NOT warned me this would be my mode of transportation and  I was not prepared.  After being told I needed to sit in the middle of two seats that were not on an even plane, and arguing incredulously, “That is not a seat!” I wound up being the last one in, sitting next to the door instead.  With my bag under my legs and my feet up on the wheel-well I was congratulating myself on landing the best spot on the bus.  As the driver was literally pulling away, this kid (about 17) picked up my backpack and put it on my lap, straddled my legs and sat where my feet had been two seconds before. I was within kissing distance of the boy, face to face, for the next two and a half hours. 

The face I stared at for  2 and 1/2 hours.  Yes, he was this close.

Our 15 passenger van was now carrying 23.  Of the five rows of seats (that should hold three people each) mine took the cake, carrying eight people.  No joke.  Four adults on the three seats, three children being held or sitting on the floor, and then my new best friend sitting rather uncomfortably close in front of me.  Oh, and my big backpack on my lap (because everyone else packs their stuff a mile high on the roof of the vans.  My computer and visa and everything else was not going up there.)

Somehow though, I made it to Kitgum.  As I mentioned earlier, I was going for David’s organization.  He needs some reports to send to sponsors, and the reports need to include some personal stories and facts about individuals who are currently using the savings and loan business.  They have a growing branch in this smaller-than-Gulu-but-larger-than-just-a-village town.  So I went to interview 10 individuals and find out about their monetary situation before joining Respond ReNU and their current situation; how much they were saving, what they were saving for, if they had taken loans, that kind of thing.  Through this I would try to decipher if there were any problems or successes.  I was really excited to do this.  I enjoy getting out to the surrounding areas and meeting the local people and seeing the way they live.  I found my two days and 10 interviews to be rather frustrating, however.  Over and over I talked to people who, yes, they were saving more now than before they had joined a Respond group, but they just did not have the first clue about what to do with their money or just what savings or a loan could really do. 

To be fair, David has really done a nice job setting up the business so that when a group joins they go through eight training classes where people are taught not to “eat” their money – when they open the box they should use their savings to buy something that will be an investment, whether to improve quality of life or their business, and not just food.  They’re taught about what amount of loan is reasonable for them to expect, especially in the beginning, and what kind of things are best for them to invest in, i.e. something they can make profit off easily enough pay back the loan and have some left over.  All that said, this is a highly uneducated group of people we’re dealing with.  Just because you get someone to join a group where they have to save something every week, and just because you tell them to spend wisely, doesn’t mean they understand money.  It doesn’t mean they know how to write a budget so they can save the most possible each week.  It doesn’t mean they really know what to save for.  Especially since Kitgum is a fairly new branch, people had quite a few mis-conceptions.  I talked to person after person where this was a typical dialogue:

                “How long have you been saving money?”
                “About five months.”
                “And how much have you been able to save during that time?”
                “About 100 thousand shillings so far.”
                “Good for you.  How long until your group opens the box?”
                “We open the 1^st of May.”
                “And how much do you hope to have saved by then?”
                “I hope to have saved 300 thousand shillings.”

The first couple people, I just wrote what they told me and continued on thinking, “Oh, I’m sorry, you’ll never make it.”  After a while, those words started coming out loud.  People most often responded with a blank stare.  Sometimes they would say something about the interest they were supposed to earn off of their savings.  I started doing the math for them, explaining how much they need to save in order to reach their goal, how much, given what they’ve typically saved in a week so far, they can actually expect to save and just what kind of interest they could earn.  I tried to help them see it wasn't magic, money wouldn't just appear.  Then I would ask what they’re saving for. 

                “I am saving for my business.”
                “Good, that’s good, but what specifically are you saving for?”
                “Specifically for my business.”

I finally made everyone tell me something truly specific they were saving for and I also made them all give me a very loose five-year plan as to what they wanted to be able to obtain long-term through the savings and loan.  

Me interviewing one of my more frustrating interviewees.

My last question was always something along the lines, “Is there anything else I should know, good or bad, about how things are going within your savings group?”  At least four people told me they needed to be empowered.  “Yes!” I would think, “that’s exactly what you need!”  Until they went on, “We need to be empowered by you giving us money so that we can live.  We are too poor, we need more money.”  And then I would just get frustrated again.  I tried hard to explain empowerment came from the mind and heart and not from a hand-out, but I’m afraid too many NGOs have gone before me, handing out the money, for my words to have made any difference.  

Frances, my least frustrating interviewee.  He's done really well and vastly improved his nice store.

The two days was spent having these conversations, walking from village to village in unbearably hot weather, which left me very….I'll say it again, frustrated – there’s no other word for it.  These people were better off for their association with Respond, yes, but they had so many struggles to overcome.  They are uneducated, often illiterate, they are living in a desert waste-land where even if they invest in more or better seeds for their farms, there is no guarantee it will ever rain again to produce more food and therefore more profit.  No one has ever taught them a Family Finance class.  They have never read a book entitled Starting your Own Business!  Many of them have never learned basic math skills, much less how to write and balance a budget. 

I sat in that unbearable heat waiting for my bus Tuesday afternoon with George Otim who is running the business in Kitgum and who acted as my interpreter.  I pulled out my travel alarm clock which has a thermometer in it and discovered it was 102 degrees.  We were in the shade.  I asked George why it was so bleeding hot in Kitgum?  He responded, “Maybe God doesn’t care about Kitgum.”  

The traveling chicken.  Before eight people had their feet on him.

I got on the bus (which was a real bus this time) and sat next to my assigned window seat.  A small family sat across the aisle from me in three seats.  A mother, father and their three children.  A big Acholi man came and sat next to me and from the very beginning was encroaching on my half of the space.  He definitely took up two-thirds of the leg room.  And then someone informed the lady sitting behind me she was sitting in his seat.  She was supposed to seat in the same row as that family across from me.  One would think she could find another seat, one with a bit more space, but one would be wrong.  They packed that bus the same way my van the day before and been packed.  People stood up in the aisle when there was no seating left.  So, in the three seats were now crammed three grown adults, three children, and, you guessed it, a chicken.  A live one.  Sitting under their feet.  Did I mention it was 102 degrees outside, in the shade?  So the whole way back, I was just inhaling dust through the open window, sweating profusely because the man next to me was basically sitting on top of me, and feeling extremely frustrated by the events of the past two days.  And yet, somehow, I was happy as a clam.  Watching the dusty scenery go by outside my window, I pondered this, trying to figure out how that could be.  Why was I so happy?  Why in the face of what I just experienced and discovered was I allowed to feel such calm, serene happiness?  I still haven’t figured out the answer.  But I know I love it here.  I know it makes any problems I ever thought I had seem infinitesimal.  It makes me wonder why I should ever leave. 

The next morning at the office, David and I talked over what my impressions had been and I told him of my frustrations.  I am proud to say he took my suggestions to add a couple pages to the savings booklet he passes out to every member of the organization.  The very first thing they will see now is a space for four goals for each saving cycle, how much each costs, and how much their weekly savings needs to be.  Next are a couple pages for people to keep track of how much they’ve saved each week and to show if they are on target with their goal savings.  It’s already in the booklets that were printed on Thursday.  That is the great thing about working with grassroots organizations.  There is no bureaucracy to cut through, just an obstinate Irish guy who is surprisingly good at taking criticism and suggestions from me.  I know the extra pages won’t solve all problems.  Obviously.  But hopefully it will at least help a couple people improve their monetary situation.  

On a lighter note, I would say the highlight of my week was that I actually got to visit one of my Paper to Pearls groups this week and buy some necklaces from them.  There is a lady in Seattle who makes a couple personal orders a year – large orders.  She sells the necklaces and uses the proceeds to pay for Ugandan orphans’ school fees.  She doesn’t pay herself for the work at all.  Kind of amazing.  So this is an order that she had placed back in November, but because of all the project manager transitioning, etc., it had not yet been picked up.  So I got to go buy a ton of Zebra Grass necklaces from a group in a village about thirty minutes’ drive outside of Gulu, called Awer.  It was a lot of fun to be with the women, they are all so warm and friendly, especially since I am there to give them money!  I’m including a little bit of a video that one of Suzy’s (Seattle lady’s) friends took.  She came to meet the women and see how things were done.  You can see me and Fiona and all the Awer women.  Lucy, the woman in orange is the chair person of this particular co-op.  She is really smart and makes awesome necklaces.

Alright folks, I have tried again and again to upload this video and it's just not working.  Maybe someday I'll internet that works properly and I'll get it on here.  Until then, just use your imagination :-)

OK, onto the food.  Since much of my week was spent in tiny villages, I ate a ton of rice and beans.  But there was one morning when Concy brought me this amazing dish for “tea” (breakfast.)  It’s called Nyoy - though I really have no idea how to spell that.  It consists of several types of beans – including chickpeas, which I love – and onions.  Now, I’ve never been a huge onion fan.  I love the smell of onions, I love the flavor they give food, but I have a hard time just eating onions, especially if they’re raw and I have to bite them.  Ew.  It’s a texture thing.  But these onions.  They are fried to a crisp and taste kind of like the fried onions you buy in a can and put on salads and what-not.  These are fresh however, and are just amazing.  I have no idea how they’re made, but I will find out!  It’s safe to say that while eating that dish, it was the first time in my life I sat picking out the onions so I could eat them instead of throw them out.