No Tigers, No Bears, but LIONS!!

I had good intentions to write this post days ago, but this week became “Goodbye, Ali!” week, so I had very many social distractions.  Ali (full name is Alastair) is one of the med students here from Manchester and it was his last week before he headed off to Tanzania.  He was my favorite friend I’ve met so far out here, so I was sad to see him go.  I’m sure he’ll have an amazing time in Tanzania though, and luckily, I met an awesome group of people – many of them long-term stayers in Gulu – on my trip last weekend. 

Speaking of trip…..KIDEPO NATIONAL PARK!!!

Last Friday our group of 11 headed north to see the animals.  Saturday morning we went on a game drive and saw…..

Loads and loads and loads of water buffalo.  It reminded me of when I was kid growing up in small-town Wright, WY, just outside of one of the largest plains buffalo ranches in the nation.  Some days they would be out by the highway and the herd seemed endless.  That’s how the water buffalo seemed that morning.  Our guide told us just to keep driving through the middle of the herd and we were literally inches from some of them.  They looked at our jeep rather angrily and some made a few rough noises, but none of them made any move toward our car.  Whew.

It's hard to take them seriously with that thing on their head....

Baboons!  We came across a large boulder that had a dozen or so climbing all over creation.  They jumped from rock to rock, crawled to have a closer look at the car and swung happily through tree limbs.  I literally could have sat and watched them all day, they were so entertaining.  

They blend into the rock pretty well, but if you look closely you can see quite a few of the little guys!

 Wart hogs!  I know it sounds weird, but these little guys are really cute.  Especially the babies.  Oh, the babies are adorable.  They run away if you get very close, tails straight up in the air like a little antenna.  I was kinda sad I got to see a Pumba but no Timon.  Maybe next time…

Why is the baby version everything cute??  Even wart hogs?!  YES!!

A LIONESS AND HER THREE CUBS!  This was truly the highlight.  Particularly since I was not expecting to see one.  I figured since lions are called The King of the Jungle, a lion would look pretty majestic out here in the wild, but I was surprised at just how majestic she looked.  She sat lazily gnawing away at a buffalo hide with her three cubs a little ways behind her.  She was huge, much bigger than I anticipated, and just couldn’t be bothered by our jeep creeping ever closer.  Consequently, we were able to get quite close.  The cubs were still quite far away, but we could see the three of them hiding in the grass and I really just wanted to squeeze one and keep them for my own. 

Look very closely in the center of this pic and you can see the cubs.  Gah!  I want one!

That night we went on another game drive.  We didn’t see nearly as many animals as we had the night before, but we still saw some, and I’m very glad I went because we saw….

Elephants!!  There was an entire herd of them, and we kept driving around trying to cut them off so they would pass in front of us, but to no avail.  We did get closer though and were quite close at one point to a mama and her baby, which, obviously, was extremely precious. 

We went back to see if we could see the lion again, but she was gone and instead we saw a bunch of vultures.  We didn’t get close enough to get good shots, but there were a couple hanging out in the trees nearby.  

More baboons

This sunset

Other highlights:

On the drive up to the park I wound up in Tiziana’s car.  She’s a 31 year-old Italian woman working for the World Food Project and has been here since June.  All she wanted to talk about was music, which was sincerely a lovely change of events.  Strangely enough, I don’t find many opera-goers here in Gulu, so someone with a sincere passion for classical music in general and choral works specifically, is a welcome rarity.  Leave it to an Italian.

Tiziana’s car is minus AC, so it was a long and DUSTY trip.  When I finally got to wash my hair it was horrifyingly dirty.  The picture doesn’t do it justice at all.  I was yelling at Tiziana to grab my camera so she could capture it, but by the time she found it and started snapping photos, most of the amazing redness had already washed down the drain. 

The first night we were there the only other American with us – Mollie – decided it was time for a round of Murder (some of you may know it as Mafia.)  It was most amusing watching a bunch of 20-something non-Americans learn to play this game I’ve been playing for years.  I always got killed off early *except* when I was actually the murderer.  And then I won every time.  People started wondering if there was something they were missing about this girl who came off as so innocent….Mwahaha.

Later that night….  My doxycycline (anti-malaria) pill bottle tells me to take it on an empty stomach with plenty of water.  Well, I didn’t eat much for dinner, and only drank water afterwards, so when I went to bed that I night and forgot to bring water with me I thought, “Oh, I’ll just swallow the pill, it’s fine, there is plenty of water in my stomach.”  About an hour later I woke up in some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced.  Massive heartburn.  Massive.  Like I wanted to literally rip my chest out.  Pretty sure my attempt to swallow got stuck half-way down and it sat dissolving in my esophagus for an hour.  Yikes.  So…that’s not a highlight, but because of that, I was sitting up in bed in extreme pain when Tiziana walked in.  She immediately knew something was wrong and went to go get some of the medical staff to see what they could do.  Our friend George is a doctor here in Gulu and three people from Manchester are here – two med students and a nurse.  So, George and Ali came to see what they could do.  Since no one had any antacids, I threw up the milk (it was warm and was in a bag, can you blame me?!) and eating was horrifically painful, there wasn’t much anyone could do.  However, Tiziana had a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird on her bed and I said something in my dazed state about loving the book.  Tiziana said, “You can have it!” and Ali said, “Would you like me to read from it?!”  I started laughing, “A Brit reading a southern American classic.  This I gotta hear.  Yes, please!”  He responded, “I’ll read it in a southern accent.”  Oh, I have never hurt so bad and laughed so hard.  What I wouldn’t give for a recording so you all could hear that.  He also turned to Irish, Cockney and Scottish.  Sorry Harper Lee, it may have been an abomination to your novel, but that was an amazing moment of my life.

The next morning after our game drive we had an enormous breakfast.  Mollie, (the other American girl) had actually organized the whole trip and assigned everyone food to bring.    Remember the chapatti I blogged about last week?  That morning I had it with Nutella and banana slices.  I’m sure the crepes we make back home with the same toppings are just as good, but somehow, when it’s a novelty in remote east Africa, it just tastes like I would imagine food in paradise.  Though it hurt like Hades going down since the heartburn wasn’t gone.  It was worth every painful bite.

When you aren’t out on the game drives, there isn’t much else to do in the parks.  So, after another evening of Murder dissolved into conversation, people slowly began drifting off to bed.  We needed a new game.  So I busted out Spoons.  I don’t know why it was so much fun listening to Sarah in her English accent yelling, “Four of a kind! Four of a kind! Four of a kind!” instead of grabbing a spoon, and listening to David go on endlessly about his spoon strategy (fyi – the only strategy in Spoons is “be quick about it!”) but it sure was.  It didn’t hurt that I won every time as well. (Well, kinda.  I couldn’t remember what you did when it got down to two players, so top two won.)  It also didn’t hurt that they all seemed to enjoy the game as much, if not more, than I did. 

Just before we went in for the kill.  I can't remember exactly, but I would guess Sarah (to my right) got four of kind and David (to my left) missed the spoon.  Thanks to Ali for taking the shot (who had already lost. Ha.)

There is an elephant named Bulbul who hangs out in the camp.  Apparently, his father did the same.  Consequently, he is not shy of the campers whatsoever.  The morning before we left he came sauntering right through the middle of where we were staying.  He was inches from my friends George’s car.  He was massive and looked at me through his left eye as I chased after him to get the photos.  Maybe not my smartest move ever, but totally worth it.

Aren't you glad that's not your car?!

Two little monkey’s jumping on my bed.  OK, not really on my bed, but there are these two monkeys that hang out in the camp, like Bulbul does, and if you gave them the chance, they would jump on your bed.  Guaranteed.  They are quite playful and apparently quite vicious.  Mostly I just loved watching them hop around and get into things just the way you would imagine two monkeys doing.  Our last morning there we had some avocados and bananas hanging out in the dining hall that we were deciding what to do with.  No decision necessary, before anybody realized, the monkeys had stolen them all.  Sneaky little buggers!

Monkey-see, Monkey-do

Double Trouble.  Truly.

When we got back, we all showered (I was even dustier from the drive home if that’s possible and Tiziana let me come over and shower in her real, live, water-pouring shower – bless that child) and met back at the Ethiopian restaurant in town.  Easily my favorite place to eat in Gulu, the food is great and the company was great.  The weekend, was great.  

Yummy food, and we're all shiny-happy clean!

All the happy travelers.  Two Americans, three Italians, one Ugandan, four Brits, and one Irishman.

You Asked for It

This is elections week.  What that means is one big vacation for all of Uganda.  Many businesses closed yesterday, (our office closed for a half-day,) NO ONE is working today, and who knows what tomorrow will bring?  The polls open in the morning and campaigning is going strong.  I don’t have a firm grasp on Ugandan politics, but I know in addition to electing a president, people are electing parliament as well.   I think it’s absolutely nuts that the town shuts down for three days.  Could you even imagine if every November everyone just took three days off because they needed to go place a five-minute vote?  Ridiculous.  But it’s Uganda.  And it means that there is a nice-sized group of expats with a long weekend.  We're taking advantage by going north to Kidepo National Park. It's right up next to the Sudanese border.  I’ve been told it’s too dry right now to see lions up there, but I should see loads of elephants.  I have some friends that went to Murchison Falls last week and they saw lions and hippos and all sorts, so I’ll have to make my way there soon as well.  Anyway, because it’s been a short week I don’t have much to report, but I thought I would post a few things. 

"Campaign" trucks drive around blaring music from these ridiculous speakers.  That's the favorite form of campaigning around here.  When this one isn't driving, it's parked (music still blaring) in front of our office.  Next door is a candidates office.  Lucky us. 

The little blue box that will send me your love.

First of all, I got a P.O. Box.  It’s in working order, but is sitting empty, so I would LOVE to see it full!! I looked it up before I left and it appears to be $0.98 to send a postcard or letter.  So send away!  There is nothing like getting real mail when you’re in a far away place.  And anyone that sends me mail will certainly be getting postcards in return!!  And who doesn’t want a post card coated with authentic African dirt??  So, please address all mail to Morgan Olsen, P.O. Box 993, Gulu, Uganda.  That's it.  The postal guy assures me it will make it to the right place with that address, so send away!!

Second, I thought I’d write a bit about my office life.  Since Barbara came and bought a large load of jewelry she hasn’t been able to put in a new order yet and I'm not sure when the next one will come.  That is a small source of frustration for me, since I don’t have much to do until there is business for these women.  Luckily, I’ve had lots to occupy me the last couple weeks with getting everything settled and trying to learn my way around the town.   

Me and David

When I say, "my office," it isn’t really my office at all.  There is a guy here from Ireland who is running a savings and loan business.  They create groups of people who get a box and every week they’re required to put some amount of money into it.  No one can take money out until everyone in the group agrees to open the box and use the savings.  The most common thing the box is opened for are school fees.  The group can also decide to loan money out to individuals, generally to improve their business, which of course has to be paid back.   David (Irish guy) has been here for a couple years and the business is now doing really really well.  I’ve gone with him a number of times to hear the spiel he gives to a group that is just starting up.  Each group has a sponsor, I’m not sure where the sponsor comes in to play, but David needs pictures and stories to send to them.  He’s asked me to help out and, given all my free time lately, I gladly accepted.  Anyway, all this is to say, this savings and loan business, Respond Restoring Northern Uganda (Respond ReNU), has an office.  David offered to let me have one of the desks in the back so the beading women know where to find me if they need.  It’s also just nice to have somewhere to go every day and someone who has been around so long to ask all my, “How do I….” and “Where can I….” questions.

 

OK, switching gears entirely, I’ve had several inquiries about my bathroom accommodations here.  So, because it is so absolutely foreign to the American way of life, I’m addressing it my blog.  If you have no desire to read about my current bathroom habits, feel free to skip down to the food section now.  

OK, for those of  you still with me, first of all, I have grown accustomed to being dirty all of the time.  All of the time.  Only the very-most main roads in town are paved.  And when I say paved, I know you have a regular city-street image in your mind.  Forget that.  It is a narrow road, with enormous dirt-filled pot-holes and a jaggedy shoulder.  There are gutters for water dug on either side of the road – the gutters are just dug into the dirt usually.  Sometimes there is some sort of side walk, usually, there’s just dirt.  Also, there is no AC to speak of in this place, so windows and doors are always open and there is no such thing as a screen.  So, especially now in the dry season, there is a thin layer of dust covering everything.  Everything.   

Our shower.  What's missing?....Oh, that's right, the shower part.

Now that we've established that I'm dirty all the time and am more inclined to shower regularly than perhaps in my normal life...ahem....Since I live a couple miles out of the city, indoor plumbing is non-existent.  There is a tap in the backyard, which is nice.  I see loads of people everyday carrying water (yes – carrying it on their head.)  For us to shower though, we boil water and mix it in a bucket with the tap water. When it’s the right temperature we carry it back to the “shower.”  That’s what they call it, even though it is certainly not a shower.  I feel more like I’m in a water fight with myself than taking a shower.  I do a weird kind of sponge bath and then poor water over my head with a cup to get the shampoo out.  I do have a very satisfied feeling of clean when I’m done though.  For about 2.5 seconds, until I touch something.  

Yes, that's it. 

Toilets are a whole different story.  There are sit-down toilets, and there are squatter toilets.  Well, and there are sit-down toilets without the top part that allows you to sit on it.  Those are my favorite.  Totally pointless.  You have to do this weird balancing act, because you are not actually going to touch that thing, but you can’t just squat down.  You have to be very careful where the fluids go, and just make sure it’s not going to be a long bathroom experience before you start in on one of those. 

I have encountered three legitimate sit-down toilets in Gulu.  One was in my hotel room my first week, one is in the coffee shop that has free Internet (run by Ugandans who lived in the UK for 20 something years – bless them) and one was in the restaurant we ate in last night.  Other than that, it’s a squatter toilet.  At work, largely because we’re in town, it’s actually a flush squatter.  That’s the first time I’d seen one of those.  At home though, we have what is called The Long Drop.  A cement slab with a hole cut out is placed on top of a much larger hole.  It’s self-contained, you can’t see or smell anything once it’s down that hole, but, well, it’s all down the hole.  There is a spider that lives in the corner of our Long Drop.  We have a good understanding, I don’t bother him, and he doesn’t bother me.  Toilet paper is another oddity around here.  Sometimes it’s there, sometimes it isn’t.  Just make sure if you really need it, you check before-hand. 

Lastly, the issue of needing a bathroom at night.  All my life, this was never a problem.  My mom says even when I was a kid I would wake up in the morning and not need to go for hours.  If I ever have to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom it is very rare and an extreme annoyance.  Until I move to Uganda and for some reason have a bladder the size of a pea.  So after I’d been living with Mama Janet for a few days she asked me, “Moghan, do you go out at night?” 
      “Out, you mean leave?  No.  Sometimes I got out to use the bathroom, though.”
      “That is what I mean, you cannot do this.”
      “No?  Why not?”
      “Because we in Gulu never know if Kony is coming back.  So we do not go out in the night.” 
      “Yikes, ok, understood.  So then…what do you do when you have to use the bathroom at night?” 
      “We get you a bucket.” 
And thus was born my veritable piss-pot.  Not a nice term, I know, but what else do you call it?  Now, mom, don’t get too worried.  The likelihood of Joseph Kony coming back is quite low, and the chances that he will steal an American girl are even lower, but nonetheless, opening the metal door that leads from my room to the outside is a really really loud affair.  So, rather than discuss my nightly bathroom habits with the entire household daily, I just gave in and now have a paint can that hides under my table until, annoyingly, I wake up in the middle of the night and need it....

Whew, well, there you have it, all the African bathroom adventure you could ever want in all its gory glory.  Perhaps more than you ever wanted to know about my bathroom habits, but it is certainly one crazy aspect of my life here. 

Uh…feels a little weird to transition into food now, but here goes:

Concy frying up the goodness.

I think my absolute favorite thing I’ve tried so far….--OK, I can’t say that, there is too much goodness around -- but something that is so so SO good; Chapatti.  I guess it’s Indian and it resembles some mix between naan and a tortilla.  Women make them fresh every morning and sell them to the small convenience stores around.  Some flour, onion, oil, water and salt, grab a small ball of dough, roll it out and fry it up.  I love them best when Concy cooks them (though she doesn’t do it daily) for two reasons:  One, I get them hot and fresh, two she makes the outside just a little crispy, and I am in heaven.  Heaven, I tell you! 

My favorite soft drink here is called Mirinda, Fruity.  It’s like Fanta, it comes in different flavors.  But Fruity is my fav.  It’s dark purple and is so smooth.  Soda is smoother here in general, not so overly carbonated, and this one I love most.  Plus I love that they use the glass bottles still.  And they reuse all the bottles over and over again.  You get 300 shillings off if you’re refilling them with soda and they will give you 200 shillings for each bottle if you’re just returning them.  I love that.  So, a couple times a week at least, you'll catch me sipping my glass-bottled Mirinda from a straw. 

Acholi Living

This was my first official week alone in Gulu.  And by alone I mean not knowing anyone from my previous American life.  I assure you, I have been so surrounded by people I haven’t had even a small chance to feel lonely or homesick yet. Not to say I don't miss you all, I just have many many distractions.

First I should tell you I have successfully moved out of JoJo’s Palace.  Barbara has a good friend named Liz Olyero who is a few years older than me.  She’s a highly educated woman and received her law degree here in Uganda and then won a couple Fulbright scholarships which took her to Ireland and then Boston for a few years and even New Jersey for a bit.  She’s now teaching at Gulu University.  (Well, right now she’s in Kampala waiting to have her baby any day.)  All of this is to say Barbara introduced us and I liked her instantly.  I was asking her if she knew of a place I could stay while I was looking for a permanent living situation.  The next thing I knew I was moving all my stuff over to her mother’s house last Sunday.  Her mother lives just outside the city.  It’s not quite like living in a village, but not exactly like living in the city either (the electricity goes out more often out here.)

Living in Mama Janet’s house has come with quite the education.  I won't include the entire education in this post, but I'm sure most of it will unfold as time goes on.  The house is actually meant to be offices or stores, but people don’t really let buildings go to waste around here.  So Janet rents out one of the front rooms to a born-again musician (who blares American Christian music very very loudly,) she uses the middle room as a small neighborhood store and has her room in the other.  In the back, one room is mine, the middle is the kitchen and where Concy the hired-girl sleeps (is there a PC term for hired-girl??  I have no idea, but that’s what she is; she does the cooking, runs the store, washes laundry, etc. etc. etc.,) and the third room is a living room of sorts.   

Mama Janet in her store.

Janet's background is in public health and she worked in Sudan for years.  Now she’s working at a nursery school, trying to help get it off the ground.  They aren’t making enough money yet for her to get paid, so she's working full-time for free.  She has the store in front, and a ways down the road has another small (small) drug store.  But this woman is very busy, so I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she has a few other cards up her sleeve as well.  

The charcoal stove.  Can you imagine??

 I come home in the evenings to Concy and Amony (who is Janet’s granddaughter….she also lives with us, though I have yet to figure out exactly where she stays.  Maybe in Janet’s room with her?)  and Concy gives me all kinds information.  She goes to the market down the road at least twice a day.  I’ve gone with her a few times and she knows that crazy, discombobulated, open market place as well as you know your local grocery store.  And everyone knows her by name.  She comes home and starts making dinner around 5:30 or 6:00pm over the very tiny and very impractical charcoal stove.  It’s ready by around 9:00 or 10:00pm.  Yes, you read that right.  With this one little stove she makes all manner of crazy Acholi food (which has all been really good,) but it takes the poor woman hours to make anything.   And she does it all in the dark.  The stove is just outside the kitchen and it starts getting dark around 7:00pm.  If there is electricity, the light from the kitchen makes things a little lighter, but still, everytime I can't help but think how impossible it would be for me to cook like that.  (Though they keep telling me I will cook for them soon and I keep telling them I will, I just have to figure out what I can cook with one burner that won’t take me four hours.  Because I am not an Acholi woman, I cannot cook for four hours unless it’s going to turn out to be Thanksgiving dinner.  So if anyone has any of those great camping cast-iron recipes, please share them.  Seriously.) 

After dinner Concy starts scooping out passion fruit and proceeds to make bottles and bottles of passion fruit juice to sell in the store the next day.  The first time I saw how much they made I asked how long it would last, thinking at least a week.  "It will be finished tomorrow."  And so she makes it every night.  Well, every night there is electricity because she does part of it with a blender Liz brought back for her.  It's pretty funny to walk into this totally rural kitchen and see a blender.  It looks a little out place, but I think it saves her at least an hour every night.  Most nights I help her strain all the seeds, which is a long process.  

Yes, I did all this.  Proud?  You bet. 

The aftermath.  Yikes.

They've also taught me to do my own laundry.  I was quite proud of my work when I was done, but I managed to rub my fingers raw in process.  Most of the expats here hire a professional laundress to do it for them.  I think I will be following suite shortly. 

The next section of my blog is entitled My Life With Chickens.  The first morning I woke up in Gulu in JoJo’s palace, it was about 7:00am and off in the distance I could hear a rooster crowing.  I thought, “Oh, how quaint and rural.  That's so nice.”  The next morning, starting about 5:00am they put that rooster right outside my door and that sucker cock-a-doodle-doo-ed it’s head off for two solid hours.  Needless to say, I no longer found it quaint or nice in any manner.  I don’t think it was actually right outside my door, but it was close and it was LOUD.  It welcomed me to Africa every morning, the hospitable gent.  That first week, once the cock crowed, my sleep was done.  By the time I got to Mama Janet’s place I had become accustomed to hearing them enough that when the neighbors rooster would go at it, I would stubbornly lay in bed for another hour, refusing to let that stupid thing get the best of me.  

Every Thursday night there is a pub here that does a trivia night and a bunch of the expats go.  I went to see if I could make some friends, which I did (though, unfortunately, most of them are here very short-term) and we stayed out fairly late.  The next morning, 6:00am sharp the dumb rooster was at it again.  Consequently, I was exhausted all day yesterday so when I came home I went into my room to take a nap.  As soon as my head hit the pillow, guess who started warming up his pipes?  Yep, you guessed it, Mr Rooster himself.  It was 5:00 in the evening for crying out loud!!  I went out by the water tank where he and his lady friends (the chickens) hang out.  I chased him around the yard yelling and threatening him.  He ran away, terrified.  As he should.  I went back into my room.  In silence.  Until 45 seconds passed and he started up again.  Sigh.

The guilty party.

Last night we went out for Indian food (isn’t it weird to think there are pubs with trivia night and Indian food restaurants in Northern Uganda?)  and I was telling people how I hadn’t slept a ton because of the stupid rooster.  Someone mentioned that I needed to get some earplugs.  Genius!  I don’t know how or why it didn’t dawn on me before, but I HAD earplugs!!  So, last night I went to bed with them in and slept until the golden hour of 9:00am this morning and didn't hear one peep out of my friend, The Rooster.  Ah, lovely.

One of my first days here I was in a village nearby and was so confused by all the chickens running around everywhere.  All the huts in the village are really close to each other and the chickens just had free reign, bustling about, fighting with each other, scavenging for food.  On the way out of the village I asked Fiona (my interpreter) how people knew which chickens belonged to them.  She explained, "You buy a chicken from the market one day, put it in your house that night, and the next night it knows where to come back to."  Who knew?  And so the chickens roam.  All over.  In the villages, in the city, in our back yard.  They are everywhere.   

Yesterday I was at the office, it was the middle of the day in the city, Fiona and I were sitting there talking when she gestured to a chicken that had just walked into our office and I looked at her like, “Yeah, so?  What’s the big deal?”  And then I realized, there was a chicken in our office!  I had become so accustomed to seeing the little things everywhere I was somehow completely unmoved when she walked in.   Unbelievable.  I tried to grab my camera, but she had only come for a short visit and was no where to be seen by the time I got back.   

Here he is, the poor chap.

This morning I was in the kitchen and I looked behind the door and there was a very sedentary, but very live chicken sitting there.  “Janet!  What IS that doing here?” I exclaim.
                “Oh, that is our dinner tomorrow night,” and she picks the thing up by the back of the neck and tosses it onto our porch. 
                “You’re going to kill it tomorrow and eat it?”
                “Yes of course.  You can do it.  You cut it.  You pluck it.  We will teach you how.”
                “Aahh!!  No! I cannot kill that chicken!”
                “Yes, you can.  Even a child can cut a chicken.” 
                “An Acholi child can, Janet.  I am not an Acholi.  I buy only plucked chickens.”
                “You want to learn native ways.  This is it.  You cut the chicken tomorrow.”
Thankfully, she was joking.  I think.  Nevertheless, we will be eating that chicken that is currently hanging out in the garden for dinner tomorrow.  I am all about buying local and from a source where you know how it was raised and how it was killed…..but this….this is something else. 

Alright that it’s for now.  More later, of course.  I have to admit I am thoroughly enjoying keeping this blog, so I hope at least a few of you are enjoying reading!  

All About the Food:

Sugar Cane: I was in one of the villages and saw this kid just ripping this yellow thing apart with his teeth.  I asked what it was and they told me, sugar cane.  "You must try it, it is SO good" everyone says.  So I'm walking through the market a few days later and there are some young men gnawing on the sugar cane.  I ask how it is and they offer me some.  Who am I to turn down them down?  So I try to do as they do and rip the outside off with my teeth, but I get no where.  They must have teeth of steel.  Or maybe that why most of them are missing half their teeth.  (Truly.)  Anyway, they cut the outside off for me and I started chewing away at the sugary goodness.  Suddenly, I've sucked all the juice out and am left with this wooden-ish stuff in my mouth.  I keep chewing, wondering if I am expected to swallow when, much to my relief, one of the guys tells me to spit it out.  So you chew and spit.  Like sunflower seeds, which I love.  Only it tastes like liquid sugar.  Well, because it is liquid sugar....

Concy washing the water bottles to be filled with passion fruit juice.  The neighbor-girl Katherine is helping.

Passion Fruit Juice.  I mentioned Concy makes it daily, but I didn't say just how good it was.  I knew passion fruit existed, sort of.  In America, we have passion fruit candy and even passion fruit juice, though I've never seen a real passion fruit.  I am here to tell you, this juice surpasses anything you have had that called itself passion fruit.  I could drink a gallon a day.  Instead I drink 20 oz. 

I Have Arrived!

Hello from Uganda!

After a year in the making I have finally made it.  Four days of travel, 20 hours of flying, a seven hour bus ride, and a taxi drive to a hotel called JoJo's Palace, I finally got to drop my 45 pound duffel, 25 pound backpack, guitar case (loaded with books in the pockets) and my stuffed-to-the-brim shoulder bag/carry-on in Gulu town.  After all that, let me say for the record, I love Uganda!!

Walter and Barbara

Back when I was in college I did a study abroad in Vienna, Austria.  The director of the study abroad told our group about the three H's.  He'd been to Vienna with many groups over the years and saw the feelings of students regarding their new city revolve around the same reoccurring pattern: 1. Honeymoon, 2. Horror, 3. Home.  He was right, though I think if I passed through a horror period in Vienna it was very short.  I fully expected upon arriving in Africa for the first time I might pass right over the honeymoon period and straight to the horror.  Or, at the least, have a good mix of horror and honeymoon.  However, I am in a full-fledged honeymoon stage.   Of course there are things to be horrified at here, but I am continually surprised at all the things I love about this place.  Here in northern Uganda I am surrounded by people of the Acholi tribe and they are the warmest, friendliest people I've ever encountered.  Walter, one of the interpreters I work with greets me every morning saying "Moghan!!  You are SOOO beautiful today.  You look the most lovely I have ever seen."  Mind you, he is NOT hitting on me, he is very happily married with two children.  That is just the way he is.  It is not uncommon at all for people who hardly know each other to walk hand in hand.  If you have issues with personal space, you'd best leave them at the airport in Kampala. 

My room in Jojo's palace.  Looks palatial, right? 

One enormous quirk (and serious hindrance to the progress of these people) is that the electricity goes out all the time.  Most businesses have a back-up generator, but I have learned that even if you only have electricity for one week out of four in a month, you still pay for four weeks of electricity.  The cost of running a generator on top of that is just too much for many, so they just go without.  A few nights ago I desperately needed to wash my hair.  We'd spent a long day traveling down very dust roads to a few villages outside Gulu town.  The shower in my room stands over a very small tub, so I have taken to bathing in sections.  I had worked up a good lather with my head hanging upside down and was watching with amazement as the red-colored water fell from my hair to the tub, when all of a sudden the lights went off.  Back when I used to work night shifts in the coal mine, I would be down in the pit and lunch time would hit.  All the machinery would shut off their lights and, surrounded by the black coal, that was the darkest thing I'd ever experienced.  Until now.  In America, even when it's dark it's not really dark.  There is always light peaking through from somewhere.  But standing in that bathroom, with my soapy hair dripping into the bucket, no lights on anywhere in town, it was dark.

I have had a very busy week traveling around with Barbara and our two interpreters, Walter and Fiona, visiting all the cooperatives, meeting all the women, and participating in my first week of market days - where we purchase their jewelry.  It was wonderful to meet them and I loved seeing them in their home environment, surrounded by all the beads they had worked so hard to make.  Apparently the last project manager was a pretty awful manager, so the women all greeted me with a lot of joy and excitement over the out-with-the-old-in-with-the-new potential. 

Not the goats we hit, just a few hanging out outside my hotel.  That's normal.

We went to a village called Opit yesterday and hired a driver named Frances to take us there.  He was listening to the radio very softly in the front when I detected hints of a Bob Marley melody coming through.  I asked him to turn it up and that set the three of us in the back, Walter, Fiona and I, to singing along happily,  "No Woman, No Cry."  Up ahead we see a small herd of tiny baby goats, and as all drivers here do, instead of merging out of the way or slowing down, Frances just honks his horn and continues on as before.  The goats all started moving when at the last second one little guy cuts across and walks right in front of the car.  I screamed and Walter and Fiona and looked back and assured me he had gotten back up and walked off just fine.  Mind you, drivers don't just honk at goats, they honk at people on bicycle, motorbike and on foot, and then they drive forward at the same speed in good faith that people will move over.  And generally they do.  But sometimes you run over a baby goat. 

Me and Fiona, hanging on for dear life.  And laughing.

The three happy travelers.

A few more miles down the road and we hit an enormous pothole - the only thing drivers slow down for here.  Our car reaches the very middle of the pothole and it will go no further.  We're not stuck, his car is out of water.  Seriously?  Does that happen anymore?  Yes, in Africa it does.  Frances takes off to find a hut and borrow some water, and in the meantime an enormous truck pulls up to ask where we are headed.  They offer to give us a ride, free of charge.  Fiona and Walter are fully confident they have no weird ulterior motive, and they won't even try to kidnap us.  So we all hop in the back (except Barbara, she sat upfront between two large African men) and hang on to the bars as we drive full speed ahead to our next village.  Fiona (who seems to be very much an African city girl) and I laugh and laugh at how much fun this is and she tells me she wants to put the pictures on her facebook. 

Overall it has been a crazy adventure of a week.  I'm so looking forward to getting to know the women better and putting up their stories and pictures here so you can get to know them better as well.  I feel so happy here with the wonderful people and crazy-hot sunshine.  I feel again, for the first time in a long time, I'm right where I should be. 

Of course when you travel it's all about the food.  Before coming I was fairly terrified of eating here, but I've mostly gotten over that after being assured food is well-prepared and safe.  So, at the end of each blog I'll put up a few of my food highlights throughout the week.

Best thing I've eaten so far:

Ground nuts (peanuts) picked and roasted that morning.  Oh my.  Heaven.

New food I love and now don't know how I'll live with out it:

Jack's Fruit.  Oh so good!!

Jack's Fruit.  It's a fruit I don't even know how to describe, but it is so yummy.  It's incredibly sticky so everyone coats their hands with olive oil before they eat it.  It looks like a green porcupine on the outside and tastes like candy. 

And We're Off!

Hello all!  Here I am, writing my very first-ever blog post.  Once I hit Uganda, I do hope the excitement surrounding this blog will increase greatly, but for now, I'm sitting in my parents family room by the fire on a quiet Sunday evening, my dog is lying on the floor next to me as I type away with very bright lights overhead and all the American luxuries we take for granted every day easily available.  Not that this isn't a great life, it just doesn't make for a very exciting blog post....

For this inaugural blog post, since I don't yet have any crazy third-world adventures to write about, I figured I'd tell a bit about why I'm doing what I'm doing.  Almost exactly a year ago, one of my older brothers sent me this article about a woman named Lisa Shannon and how she changed her entire life to help Congolese women.  I replied to him saying, "I'll admit, I've thought more than once about quitting life altogether in the US and going somewhere I'm needed....This Lisa character is pretty inspiring."    Don't get me wrong, I haven't always been a "save the world" humanitarian type, much to my own chagrin.  I could see the importance of it, I just couldn't always get myself to care about it like I should.  I could certainly feel a pull from the find-a-cause realm however, and it seemed the older I got, the stronger the pull.  In the following months after reading that article I told my roommate several times I was just going to up and join the peace-corps.  Fantastic hyperbole with an awful lot of earnest truth and desire behind it.  

Then there was the morning in April where I woke up and just knew that was exactly what I wanted to do.  Well, not join the peace-corps per-se, but I wanted to go and see the world I had never seen.  The world that is so easy to forget about when I'm sitting in my family room.  By the fire.  With my dog lying on the floor next to me.  I wanted to go live in a tent for a year and help people dig irrigation ditches or build homes or volunteer in a fistula hospital.  It seemed like a very irrational and emotional decision at the time, so I kept it to myself for a week.  The desire just wouldn't go away however, so I started calling family and telling a few close friends.  Much to my surprise I encountered nothing but wonderful support from everyone I told those first few weeks.  Many said they thought it fit me perfectly or it was the best idea they'd ever heard from me.  No one tried to talk me out of it.  (That did come later however....)  So it became official, I was taking off next year to somewhere I was needed, somewhere I could be of service, somewhere I could put my own life into perspective (i.e. I'm an awfully lucky and blessed woman when compared much of the world.)  Now I just had to figure out where I was going and what I would do when I got there.  

Being a woman, I felt a strong desire to work with other women who haven't been given the same opportunities I have.  I also, for the first time in my life, felt an unreasonably strong desire to work in Africa.  I honestly had never even had a small aspiration to see Africa, even for a safari.  (I know, what's wrong with me?!)  But now, NOW, I could hardly think of going anywhere else.  I seemed drawn to sub-Saharan Africa in-particular.   Thus began the search for the right organization in "somewhere like Uganda," I would say.

I was overwhelmed with the amount of non-profit organizations out there.  O-ver-whelmed.  And I was amazed at how many wanted to take volunteers for two weeks, which translates to "we want your money."  And then there was the load of organizations where volunteer testimonials talked about how great their travels and the scenery were, with the afterthought, "Oh, and that one time we poured the cement slab for the school was really neat too."  Bah!!  I wanted to MOVE somewhere, I wanted a real job where I could actually put some time in, trying to make a difference in someone's life.  Then came the blessed day I walked into my karate dojo (now Potomac Kempo for those living in Alexandria and interested) and met Rebecca.  

Rebecca is a brilliant emigration lawyer who makes you feel like she's your best friend the first time you talk to her.  She immediately got excited about my plans and so very graciously e-introduced me to several contacts, including Barbara, the head of the NGO, Voices for Global Change.  A few days later, Barbara and I were on the phone chatting for the first time and she spent the better part of an hour describing her wonderful work with women in Uganda.  She told me of her current initiative with former refugees making and selling jewelry, how she was trying to put the whole process into their hands, how she hoped to get them housing, how she hoped to sponsor their daughters to be able to go to school.  Ah!  Here was an organization I truly felt worth-while.  I hung up the phone knowing I had just made the contact that would get me to Africa to work with women.  Whether it was working with Voices for Global Change directly or not, I had a great feeling about this organization. 

A few short months later I found myself in Barbara's office in Old Town.  She began talking with me seriously about becoming her next project manager.  

     "You don't have to give me an answer now," she said. 
     "Can I give you an answer now?" I asked.  I didn't need to think about it, I'd known this was what I wanted for some time and I couldn't imagine it any other way in that moment.  

And so it was that I moved home to stay with my parents for a few months until I flew off to Uganda.  The original plan was to fly out on New Years Eve (turns out it's quite cheap to fly on a holiday.)  Potential unrest in the Sudan regarding their referendum put my plans on hold, however.  Gulu, the city I'll live in once I reach Uganda, is about forty miles from the Sudanese border and who knew what could happen when the south tried to become their own country?  Luckily, amazingly, things have gone fairly peacefully thus far, so Barbara decided (and I wholeheartedly agreed) that we should carry out our plans for me to head to Uganda.  The date January 29th has been decided and I was finally able to purchase those plane tickets to Entebbe (the Ugandan airport,) making it feel very official.  

So here I am, 13 days away from leaving the good ol' U.S.of A. and embarking on an adventure that, while I've tried to watch a zillion movies, read books and scour news articles galore to prepare, I feel rather like I have no idea what is in store for me.  I cannot wait to see more of the world, to experience culture and people like I never have before, but mostly I'm excited to be fully converted to the cause of helping those who can't always help themselves.  This is something I truly want to be a large part of me for the rest of my life, and I feel this is just the beginning.  

Thanks for joining me on my new blog, I hope you'll stay with me for the craziness to come.  Here's to an amazing new year!