Gulu, In Pictures

I have made it back to Gulu after another week in Kampala.  The good news is, I made it through the week without any tragedies, calamities, or breakdowns.  I'm making progress!!  I had a bit of an odd day yesterday, though not entirely unique to Uganda.  As many of you probably already know, I love making lists, so here's another one:

1.  Mailed some stuff and licked stamps for the first time in years.  The stamps included one of the Pope's visit to Uganda in 1983.
2.  Got lost on a boda in an industrial neighborhood called Ntinda.  That was after the driver assured me he knew how to get me where I needed to go.
3.  Ate a grasshopper.  On purpose.  The lovely lady selling me seed beads and jewelry wire insisted.  So I finally caved.  It....really wasn't bad.  I'm not going to run out and buy a full serving for myself or anything (I can't take the eyes staring at me) but it certainly didn't make me gag.  This is huge for me, folks.  I don't do bugs.
4.  Was grabbed a little too aggressively by a fellow selling in the market.  I threatened to hit him (by, you know, swinging my fist quite near his face.)  He screamed like a girl and backed down.  He then tried to recover his bravado in front of his friends of course, but I think he'll think twice before grabbing/pulling the next "Mzungu" girl.
5.  Figured out how to cut a full day and $50 off my next and subsequent Kampala trips.  (Given that all goes well with the printers, that is.)  Yippee!
6.  Saw one of the huge cranes that fly around Kampala get hit by a car and get back up again.  I think he was gimpy and couldn't fly because he was just hobbling around both before and after the hit.  Poor little guy.  Or maybe he was drunk?
7.  Went grocery shopping at a real supermarket and dropped too much money starting my food supply for the next six months.  All the little spices and cans of chickpeas (!) really add up quick!  But I'm so excited to go home and cook!!!
8.  Ate dinner at the hotel to the soothing teenage rock tunes of the late '90s.  God must've spent a little more time on you!
9.  Finished the evening off watching a movie (Young Victoria) on my laptop thanks to the generous expat community's shared movie files....  

Quite a day!

Now, to make up for the last post with no pictures, I thought I would take you all on a picture tour through Gulu.  The following are most of the places I visit on a regular basis.  It's not exhaustive, but it'll give you a decent idea of my little world.  So......here we go!!

W E L C O M E   T O   G U L U ! !

We're starting at the house I spent my first four months in.  This is the front side that you would see from the main road that leads to Kampala.  I lived around the back side on what would be the left side when looking at this photo.  The middle there is the small shop they ran out of their home.

We're walking, we're walking....

This is where my office was.  I say was because David hired a few more people and there just wasn't room for me there anymore.  I'll be working from home now when I'm not with the women, which has been a whole lot more in the last month or so than before, so it's just fine by me.  Still, I spent an awful lot of time here my first few months, so I thought you all should see the place.  It's all locked up because I took the photo a few hours ago - Saturday afternoon.  It's usually bustling with people concerned about their savings.

Let's move on to the market.

This is the entrance/outside street of Owino Market.  Same as in Kampala, Owino translates to Everything, though it's MUCH smaller than the one in Kampala, and much less pushy.  Still, you really can find just about anything here.

Anyone care to stop and shop?  Table runners, anyone??

Here we've arrived at my church.  I visit every Sunday morning and often on Friday evenings (they do ward activities every week at 5:00pm followed by ward choir - recently started by yours truly.)  We'll be moving buildings soon for two reasons; one, as you can see, this place is kind of a dump....  two, we're busting at the seems in here!

These two women happened to be at the church when I went to go snap a shot of it and insisted I take their photo.  Ugandans LOVE  having their picture taken.  They want to see the display screen and they want you to have it.  That's all. 

OK, let's move people!  Follow the umbrella!!

We've now arrived at the Gulu branch of the Uganda Post Office.  I visit almost daily.  Though I rarely have mail.  Pathetic?  Maybe.  Mostly just desperate for some contact from the outside world.  Do you feel guilty now?  Don't feel guilty, just send me something!!  :-)  I really wanted to take a picture of the red side of the building for my Ugandan Profundities segment because it used to be HOT PINK!!  I laughed every time I saw it because where else can you find a pink government building?!  Nowhere, only in Gulu.  But then, they painted it while I was in Ecuador.  Tragic!!  I still lament the loss of pinkness regularly. 

 

Upwards and onwards, folks!  

Now we've reached the Momma Florence home.  They are one of my favorite families here in Gulu.  There are seven children and the mother (occasionally the father, but he's in the military stationed in Central Africa) staying in this tiny one room apartment.  When I say one room, think "old log cabin" one room.  As in, this door you see here is the only one in the home.  I'm not really sure how they manage it, but they do.  And they are one of those families where everyone is welcome all the time.  In fact, this photo has only one of their seven children in it (you can only see part of her head, she's hiding in the back.)  The rest are just neighbors hanging around waiting for the rest of the family to come home. 

This is Happy - she's the one hiding in the other photo.  She's standing in the alley you have to walk through to get to her home. 

Vhen du willst (that one's for you Meaux and DLJ!) let's stop here at Pece Stadium.  I wouldn't say I come here regularly, but lots of events are held here.  Rugby, football (soccer), political speeches, etc.  Today was the high school field day with lots of loud music blaring out of those over-sized speakers.  I seriously can't figure out how those kids can stand that close to them! 

We're now arriving at BJz.  This is the pub that holds the pub quiz every Thursday night and is where a lot of the expats hang out on the weekend.  It's also where I watched my first real rugby match and fell in love with it. 

Let's keep moving.

Here we have my current residence.  I moved in with my friend Tiziana on the first of June, and she has been a very gracious host for the last few weeks.  Thankfully though, I think I have found a permanent place to move in to (*fingers crossed*, *knocking on wood*) so I should be moving out again soon.  It's a house split in two, we live in the right side.

Good work, people!  We've reached our last destination; where I am seated right now, due to yet another power outage; Coffee Hut.  It's the place that has free internet, only with over-priced Americanized food.  It definitely serves a purpose, and I have been grateful for it on many occasions, but I think I have just spent too many hours in here.  As you can see, this is another expat favorite.  Or near necessity, take your pick.  Anyone care for a milkshake while we're here?

And there you have it, folks!  The wonderful, busy, small, dirty, and yet fairly enchanting town of Gulu.  That's my world for a year.  It's little, but I'm happy with it.  Thanks for visiting, we hope you have enjoyed your stay and we hope you come back soon!

You Are Now Leaving Gulu. 

Vignettes

Sorry for the tardy post.  Busy weekend + no power + dead battery = no blogging.  However, I'm now back in Kampala for an emergency trip to get  more paper.  So I have nothing to do at night and can post.  I decided to just write a few very short stories to give a feel of life here from another angle.  Between my being stuck in Kampala and the changing the style means no photos... Sorry!  Hopefully you'll read anyway!  OK, I'll throw in a photo, just for fun. 

Main traffic circle in Gulu Town just before a storm.

Succulent Seventh Sin

I had been craving pineapple all day long.  Mouth-watering, sugar-part-of-the-brain-screaming, is-this-what-it-feels-like-to-be-pregnant?, craving.  I had some errands to run in town, so on my way back to the office I stopped into the market and purchased and lovely golden pineapple.  The woman selling it offered to cut it for me and I agreed wholeheartedly because truly, I wanted to eat the entire thing myself.  All at once.  I knew if I took it home for Concy to cut for me I would have to offer it for dinner to be shared by all.  But I wanted to horde all the golden citrus in my own stomach.  She only cut the prickly outside off the fruit, which I found a bit odd, though sufficient.  Happily I bounded back to the office, sacked pineapple in tow.  I finished my work for the day with the pineapple sitting on the corner of my desk, staring at me, reminding me every two minutes that it was waiting for me.  And then the rain came.  It was the beginning of rainy season and I had fairly forgotten the inevitable storm right at the moment I would try to head home.  I was starving by this point and the pineapple had now gone from mere bi-minute reminders to downright taunting.  So I caved.  I picked that pineapple up by its end and shoved my face right into the middle of it.  I chewed with great satisfaction and a big grin on my lips. Again I dug in right to the middle.  And then again, and again and again – just like I was eating corn on the cob.  Only with juice dripping down my face, left and right and spattering on the floor.  I tied my handkerchief around my neck to catch the flow and then watched the rain fall out the back door as I gluttonously finished the pineapple.

First Encounter

It was my first bus ride up to Gulu, I’d been in the country less than 24 hours.  I’d had no idea what to expect from this bus.  I half expected to board the back of the truck and sit on a wheel-well for five hours with chickens in coups next to me.  But this was actually a bus-bus.  Kinda ghetto, well, pretty ghetto, but a bus with cushioned seats and all.  There were three seats on one side and two on the other.  I felt lost and like I didn’t know which way was forward as I walked back to the first empty aisle seat I could find – on the three seat side.  I asked the kid next to the window – looked to be maybe 17 – if I could sit.  He smiled a friendly smile and said what I think was, “Yes, of course.”  I found a place for my bag overhead and sat.  Window kid said something directed at me.  “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”  

“What is your name?”   

Ah, names, OK, I do that.  “Morgan.  What is yours?”    

He said something, I know he did, I just had no idea what it was.  I knew these people would speak English, and I knew it would be with an accent, but I didn’t expect it to be an accent I couldn’t understand at all.  I repeated what I thought he’d said, but he shook his head and said again, “Ton Ton.”   

“Ton Ton?” I asked.  He nodded and smiled.  Our conversation continued this way for as long as I could take pretending to understand him with his accent over the roar of the bus engine and its horn that sounded like a virtuosic saxophone bleating every 30 seconds.  I started to write in my journal, looking up every few minutes to see if there were giraffes in the distance.  There weren’t.   

I braved conversation again and asked Ton Ton if I would see any animals on the ride?  He nodded, confirming that I would.  “There are gorillas all along the road.”   

I was astounded, “Gorillas?” I asked incredulously.  I had expected wild animals, but gorillas?  Out here in the open?  Unbelievable!  I couldn’t wait.  I looked up from my journal with more frequency for the next hour.  I didn’t see a thing, so I concentrated a bit more thoroughly on my journal.  Until Ton Ton tapped my arm and pointed.  And lo and behold, there was a “gorilla.”  Standing in the middle of the road.  OK, not a gorilla in the slightest, actually.  A baboon.  I didn’t know yet that Ugandans call anything resembling a monkey by the name “gorilla.”  But I was thrilled and stretched and strained my neck to watched the baboons crawl around the road, nonchalantly getting out of the bus's way. 

When Pigs “Fly”

The missionaries from my church had asked me to go with them to visit Nancy, a girl who was to be baptized that Sunday.  We were supposed to leave at 7:00 pm – dusk.  In typical Ugandan fashion (and I think typical missionary fashion) they were running late, so we didn’t leave until 8:00 pm – full dark.  I didn’t realize until they showed that these were not the missionaries with the truck, these were the missionaries that “foot it,” as they say here.  We set out heading north towards town on my busy unlit road, walking briskly and passing many of the ever-slow-going Ugandans, trying not to trip over the liter and pot holes along the way.  One guy saw us pass and decided to keep pace.  He began asking them if I were available to marry.  Elder Mbunda thankfully detoured him by saying in his eager way, “I don’t know about that, but I know the gospel has been restored!”   

Tag-A-Long Guy persisted, “Yes, I am also a believer in God.  But what of this one?  Can I get her name?”   

Elder Mbunda was also persistent, and still eager, “That is not important, this is important; the gospel has been restored!”  When Tag-A-Long Guy finally realized he was getting nowhere, he lagged behind.  We chortled about that all evening.  “That is not important!  THIS is important!”  We finally turned off to head toward the village that housed Nancy.  As we walked amidst the deep ruts in the dirt road we suddenly heard a child scream - High-pitched, elongated, and clearly in pain.  And the scream seemed to be coming nearer.  We simultaneously heard the unmistakable hum of the “boda” taxi motor coming our way.  We quickly shuffled to the side of the road so as to get out of the way, all the while trying locate the source of the scream that was now growing louder and more painful to listen to.  I realized as the boda was nearly upon us that the screaming child was actually on the motorbike.  I suddenly snapped into fight mode, ready to protect this poor child.  Until I realized as the bike passed us, the screaming was actually more of a horrified squeal and was coming from a fat pink body rather than a skinny black one.  Mr. Boda had a live, full-sized pig strapped to the back of his bike. 

Double or Nothing

I boarded the bus at 6:30 am for my first supply trip down to Kampala.  I found an empty row and took the window seat on the west side of the bus so as to avoid the oppressive sunshine that would soon beat down on the non-air conditioned bus. The empty seats were quickly filled by a young girl of about 13 years sitting next to me and a mother holding a baby on her lap in the aisle seat.  We’d been driving about two hours on the six-and-a-half-ish hour bus ride when the girl next to me very quietly leaned forward and vomited.  All over her skirt and handbag.  She didn’t say anything, the woman next to her didn’t say anything, so I didn’t say anything, I just stared in shock thinking, Did that really just happen?  The bus just kept moving and no one noticed or thought anything of it.  She a had a plastic sack with clothing in it at her feet and she dug out a black tank top and began mopping up her mess.  Finally, after getting my bearings and taking in exactly what had just occurred and how stuck I was, I asked if she was alright?  She didn’t acknowledge my question – she very well may not have understood me.  The woman next to me told me it was motion sickness.  I offered her a hard candy to suck on and gave her a plastic bag I had in my purse, because you just never know when you’re going to need a plastic bag.  After finally reaching Kampala at nearly 2:00 pm, I negotiated with a boda driver to get me and my bag to my hostel.  I walked in and asked for a single room.  They didn’t have any.  What do you mean you don’t have any??!  I need a room!  I’ve got to get out of these vomit-smelling clothes!  But the incredibly insouciant receptionist insisted, there was no single room.  Well, is there a double?  Nope.  I huffed like a spoiled American, sat down on the lobby floor (if you can call it a lobby, which, I don’t think you can) and pulled out my laptop and internet modem to try to look up another hostel I’d heard of but had no idea where it was located.  I wanted to make sure it had a room before I trekked across town to no avail.  What was I supposed to do if I couldn’t get a room there either??!  Just as I was connecting, a maid came to the receptionist who then told me a double room had just become available.  Great.  Get me in there.  The maid took me to the room and opened my door.  She showed me in and went over to the window with a bed directly in front of it and started to open the curtains.  In her attempt to do so, she pulled the whole thing, rod and all, down on top of her.  I dropped my bags and rushed over to help put them back up.  We were finally successful, though the curtain rod was very precariously perched on the wall and I could see exactly why they came down.  Then the maid proceeded to try to open the curtains again.  Again, they came down on top of her.  Again, we got them back in place and again she tried to open the curtains.  This time I curtailed her curtain attempts and told her I didn’t need to see outside.  I liked them closed, just as they were. 

Ugandan Profundities Part Aryo (Two)

Welp, had a productive week this week:

1.  Distributed lots of supplies to my women.
2.  Drank an ant in my mango juice by accident.
3.  Speaking of ants...they infested my Musli this morning.  I ate it anyway.
4.  Moved from my wonderful room of the last four months into a friend's spare room (temporarily.)
5.  Bought a chicken for the family I've been living with as a thank you gift.  I carried it alive.
6.  Spent an entire day just trying to get cookies, popcorn and soda for an activity I was in charge of.
7.  Helped get a girl from my church congregation out of prison.
8.  Finally came up with a picking pattern I like for House of the Rising Sun.  It only took me a year....
9.  Killed a cockroach the length of my thumb.
10. Taught twenty young girls between ages 12 and 18 to make daisy chain bracelets.


That about sums it up.  And now, time for another installment of.....

UGANDAN PROFUNDITIES!!!

I have to say, it's getting harder to see the profundity of Uganda these days.  I'm just getting used to all the craziness around me.  I take that as a good sign really.  However, there is enough randomness and irony surrounding me, it's still quite possible when I think about it to come up with this stuff.  So here goes:

First: The Usage of the Floor.  People use the floor for everything here.  No table space?  No  problem, just do it on the floor.  This photo is of a couple guys at my office making coffee in the morning.  What do you suppose would happen if you just decided to plunk yourself down on the kitchen floor at work and start fixing coffee or lunch?  I dare you to try it! 

Second: Heavy Coats and Sweaters.  I know I mentioned before how people here think it's freezing now that it's rainy season.  Well, a few weeks ago my regular boda drivers (motorbike taxis) came to pick Fiona and me up to head to a village.  The sun was shining bright - in fact I'm pretty sure I got sunburned that day.  But Ray and Jerom were both sporting mid-winter wear.  Don't get me wrong, sometimes it gets cool here.  For like ten minutes.  Wait, what season is it?  Oh that's right....still hot when the sun shines season.

Meet Ray and Jerom....and Santa Mickey?

Third: Lawn Mowing, I Mean, Lawn Slashing.  Never seen a lawn mower since I've been here.  Just guys with machetes called slashers (both the guy and the machete) swinging back and forth, taking out weeds, grass, and whatever else happens to be in their way.  The tailors here use the old pedal Singer sewing machines, so I haven't figured out why guys here don't use the old 1950s style mower.  Either way, dad, just be thankful next time you have have to mow you don't have to go about it like this.

 

Fourth: Mis-Labeling of Everyday Objects.  Salt or pepper?  Vegetable oil or water?  Men's or women's bathroom?  Does it really matter, afterall?

Fifth: The Issue of Water.  It's one I clearly do not have a grasp on.  My first few months I was here, there was always water in our tap.  Then it started raining, and the water started disappearing.  More often than not I would wake up, go to the bathroom, go to wash my hands only to turn the knob without result.  Awesome.  We started collecting rain water to wash dishes and clothes in, and Amony would get water from the well.  So....this is often what my shower water looked like.  Before I showered.  Didn't always necessarily feel cleaner when I was done, but I generally smelled better at least....

Sixth: More on Animals.  I'll mostly let the video speak for itself, but just take note, my church is right in town.  Just a couple blocks off the main street.  Also, the guy at the end of the video was trying to ask for money.  People love to try to get money off anyone taking pictures of anything that remotely belongs to them.  The grass in the their yard, the over-sized speakers in their truck, their children.  It's pretty awesome. 

Ugh!!!  It won't load my video again!!  Anyone know why I have this problem?  It was a very amusing video of a heard of cattle causing a traffic jam on a Sunday morning right outside my church.  If I can ever get it to work, you'll enjoy it....

Seventh:  The Issue of Flies.  I watched Into the Wild last night, and the part where he kills the moose?  This was the first thing I thought of.  Walking through the market there is an entire metropolis of flies.  But no where worse than on the fish and other raw meat.  This picture doesn't do it justice, because everytime I'd get close enough to snap a shot, most of them would fly away.  But you get the idea.  To their credit, the women selling the fish have these little broom swatter things they're always waving around trying to keep the flies off, but, yikes.  I would just never ever ever ever buy this stuff.

Eighth: The "Supermarket."  That's what it's called, I swear to you.  So, think of your local CVS or Walgreens.  Think of how often you would consider going there for a legitimate grocery shopping experience.  Well, folks, that's what I have here.  Anything outside of the fruits and veggies I can buy in the market, I have these two little shelves to choose from.  Now there are several stores in town, about the same size, selling basically the same thing, though every once in a while you can find a gem.  But mostly they sell kitschy toys and super cheesy picture frames.  All I want are some chickpeas!! 

Well, folks there you have it.  I hope you've enjoyed this broadcast.  Tune in next time for another round of UGANDAN PROFUNDITIES!  (Well, probably in a few months....)

K'la For Short

I spent nearly all of last week in Kampala.  I have always said I didn't like Kampala, largely because the first time I went it was just highly overwhelming.  Well, this time I knew what I was in for, so it wasn't nearly so bad.  Don't get me wrong, I'm still not in love with it, I still prefer Gulu, but I didn't come home in hysterics this time like I did last time.  Part of that was thanks to my new best friend, Kristin Barlow.  She's from Connecticut and has the same job as me, only for a different organization.  She's been here nearly three years now and knows how to maneuver and get what she needs, so she gave me a lot of tips and it was extremely helpful.

Terrible picture, but you get the idea.

While I'm in Kampala, the name of the game is paper, paper, paper.  I go to what is called Owino Market (Owino translates to "everything" - and it's quite literal.)  It is an enormous market and there are about a million people there at any given moment (OK, so a million may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much.)  As I walk through the "aisles" I am bumped, pushed, knocked in the head by large loads being carried on other heads, and any number of people are calling out "Muzungu!" (White Person!) simultaneously.  I've gotten pretty good and at ignoring the calls, and this time I tied my hair back so no one was tempted to reach out and stroke or pull or touch it.  And only a few people couldn't resist the compulsion to grab my arm to see what white skin feels like, compared to the dozens that grabbed at me last time.  After I make my way through the maze for a bit, I find myself in the midst women seated high up on stacks and stacks of old paper.  They see me and start pulling from the stacks to show me how great their paper is.  I have to sort through the bazillion stacks and find what actually is good paper - paper that will create interesting beads, or the right thickness of paper to be re-printed with a color our buyers are looking for.  The large orders being placed lately take a lot of paper.  A lot.  I probably brought home close to 200 lbs of paper this time.  The women tie it up according to whose stack I pulled it from, weigh it and then throw it in a woven sack to be carried out.  Both times I've been I've paid a guy to carry it out for me - either to a car parked far a way or to the bus park, also a ways away.  Both times the paper has weighed more than me and the guy has been considerably smaller than me.  I do not know how they do it.  Literally.  But somehow they manage to haul the paper up onto their backs and then make a beeline for their destination.  In the end, they are men I don't argue with when they tell me their price - they deserve every shilling. 

The awesome crowed printing office with the age-old printer.

Next I visit the printer to print over paper that would make terrible beads as is.  As many things are in this country, it was a struggle.  I spent several hours three days in a row trying to get the colors right.  It still was only sort of right in the end.  Part of it is miscommunication while the other part is just that the beading operations (I'm not the only one who visits these printers) are so much more specific because Americans are buying them than anything Ugandans order.  They can't quite wrap their head around why an orangey red isn't just as good as a brick red.  And I see their point.  But not everyone would, so we have to try again.  Friday was particularly frustrating.  I was there for nearly six hours and we only finished one color.  Electricity kept going out, the guys took a long lunch break, it was a very tricky green color, etc., etc., etc.  Point being, when it all ended I was out of time and had to buy the remaining supplies elsewhere in the city so I could head back to Gulu the next day.  I left the printers with a lavender sample and when I received it on Sunday it was burgundy.  Sigh.  We'll try again next time. 

I made a few lists while I was there:

Reasons I Hate Kampala:
1.  My taxi driver told me it was "unconstitutional" to be 28, unmarried and without children. 
2.  Every expat I met that is living there made some comment to the effect of, "It must be so nice for you to come down here to civilazation once in a while."
3.  I had to pay to use the toilet (a squatter of course)  - they handed me an inconsequential amount of toilet paper and I had to flush the toilet myself by pouring water down the drain - most women just threw water into the stall, so the floors were all comepletely flooded.
4.  I may or may not (really don't know here) have seen a dead body laying by the side of the road.
5.  There are no traffic laws - just like in Gulu, only here there are thousands and thousands more cars.  No stop lights (not even stop signs,) no lines on the roads, no sense of right-of-way, so getting anywhere by car takes hours.  Literally.  Think DC traffic jam on steroids.


Reasons I Like Kampala
1.  I got to see a movie in a movie theatre, with movie theatre popcorn.
2.  The power only went out momentarily instead for days at a time.
3.  I got to shop at a supermarket that truly resembles a supermarket and buy Leibniz Choco Minis and chips.
4. The toilet at my hostel was sit-down style.
5.  That's it....can't think of anything more.

So there's my latest Kampala adventure. Tune in next time for more Ugandan Profundities!!!

Fix It Up!

Just had a very stressful week trying to get this order ready.  Orders were changed, deadlines were bumped up, papers went missing, miscommunication was rampant, all with 72 straight hours of no power.  Whew.  But we've made it through, and I think - with any luck - everything will be shiny and beautiful Tuesday morning, ready for me to buy and ship off to the states.  After that, unfortunately I have to head back down to Kampala (just not my favorite city!) to ship the order and buy supplies for the next one.  I'm truly hoping I'll have my wits about me a bit better this time around so I will remember to take some pictures so you all can see what I'm doing there.  But I make no promises....

As for this week, I wrote a blog post for the Paper to Pearls blog that I liked enough I thought I would post it here as well.  I hope you all enjoy!

When my grandfather passed away one year ago in March, I really wanted only one thing from his possessions; a plaque that sat in my grandparent’s kitchen for years that read, “Fix it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.”  I’m not sure why that spoke to me like it did because I wasn’t necessarily very good at doing any of those things.  I was successful in obtaining the plaque however, and as it sat on my bookshelf in the coming months I can say it truly made a difference in how I viewed buying new objects and throwing out old ones.  Since moving to Uganda though, I have learned I still have a long way to go.  It seems to me the concept was born here in Gulu and every day I am amazed at the resourcefulness of people. 

I brought a cheap pair of Old Navy flip-flops with me from America and it didn’t take long until one day, walking up our driveway of sorts to greet the people I live with, one of them broke.  Distraught, I held it up to show Concy and said something along the lines, “I guess it’s time to buy a new pair in the market.”   

 

“NO-ooo.  You will fix it,” she told me. 

Fix it? I thought, this cheap piece of plastic? Is that even possible?  Indeed, there was a shop right up the road that fixed my little flip-flop for about $0.15. At that point I got it; why would I buy a new one when I could fix this one? 

You'd never know, right??

As far as “wear it out” goes, the best example I see of that daily is in clothing.  Almost invariably the clothing people wear around is second-hand.  Of course sometimes it’s rather tragic to see people wearing something that barely resembles clothing anymore, but I often find myself watching a beautiful young Ugandan woman walk by and thinking, “Oh, cute top!  Where’d you find that?”  Of course I’m not suggesting one should wear clothing to the point it is falling to pieces, but most the stuff people wear here I have a hard time believing someone in the western world thought was used enough to give away.  While most of what is donated to Good Will is in fact sent here to Africa, I have a whole new perspective on shopping at thrift stores. 

So many examples going on here!  Used pants being fixed up by a tailor who is using the old singer machines so she can work even when there's no power.  (All the tailors here use these models.)

My favorite instance of “make it do,” (though there are many,) is the transportation of goods.  My first week in Gulu I stayed in a hotel located on a fairly busy street in town on the edge of the open-air market.  I laughed every morning as I sat eating breakfast and watching the bustle around me – particularly at the wheel-barrows, motorbikes, and bicycles carrying loads four times their size.  They looked like little ants scurrying back to the ant-hill with their enormous find.   Think you need a truck to move a mattress or two?  Think again, all you need is a motorbike.  Just this morning I saw a man transporting a load of 2x4s twice the length of his bicycle.

This guy is the winner!! (PS - all three of these pictures were taken in about five minutes of each other.  This is everywhere!!)

That brings us of course to “do without.”  For better or for worse, “do without” is pervasive here.  People are often forced to go without the necessities in life – shelter, food, clothing, education, etc., and these are pains in life no one should have to suffer, pains we would all like to alleviate.  On the whole however, I think we could all take a page out of the Ugandans’ book – we could stand to do with a little more “do without” in life.  Do without the latest electronic gadgets when we already have one that works just fine, do without buying yet another handbag when we already have a closet full of them, do without the supermarkets full of stuff that is unnecessary, unneeded, and will eventually find its way to clogging up our landfills. 

No full-sized kitchen or running water?  Just use your back porch!

I love America, I love that I have the freedom to choose there, and indeed I believe that variety is often the spice of life.  I do believe as Americans though, with that choice, it is important we make a choice that will benefit our earth and our neighbors across the globe.  I believe we should all try do as the Ugandans and make the choice a little more often to fix it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without! 

Back in the UG

The little lizard that took up occupancy in my absence. 

I have officially re-acclimated to Uganda.  After a month of reveling in not only a shower, but a HOT shower in the US and Ecuador, I sighed a very deep sigh the first time I had to fill my bucket (with rain water no less) to splash myself in order to feel some semblance of clean.  I also spent a week fairly dehydrated because I couldn't get  myself to remember that water isn't in easily-accessible abundance like it had been for the last 30 days, but I bought a large box of water bottles yesterday so I could stop getting headaches.  I think, finally, I have remembered what it means to live in Uganda and all that goes along with it.  That said, however, I have decided it is time for me to move.  No, no, not to leave Uganda, just to change my living situation.  I have enjoyed my time "living local" and I wouldn't change these first few months I was here.  I feel like I have a better grasp on Acholi culture, I have tried more traditional food and made friends with more every-day Ugandans just because they're my neighbor, than many expats I know that have been here for a couple years.  But, after having been back in Gulu for only 48 hours, I got what I'm pretty sure was food poisoning from eating at one of those neighbor's houses.  I threw up eight times and suffered from exhaustion, stomach pains and...other things...for several days after.  Yikes!  I don't know how many of you have experienced being that kind of sick in another country, but those of you who have can sympathize with how much you just want the comforts of home when it hits.  I just wanted to take a shower.  I just wanted to sleep in an air-conditioned room.  I just wanted a normal gas stove that I could turn on and make chicken broth right then.  I just wanted a bathroom that I felt safe using in the middle of the night when I needed it!  So I broke.  I gave in to that spoiled American side and I am on the hunt for a new room.  I have a few leads and am hoping by the end of this month I will be in a place that at the least has self-contained bathroom facilities and a kitchen with a stove (and an oven if I get really lucky.)  Besides, I really miss cooking.  I look forward to going to the market to buy the amazing and in-season avocados and whatever other fruits or vegetables strike my fancy that day.  If and when I miss eating local-style, I'm certain I will have a place right here on Mama Janet's back porch for dinner.  Around 9:00pm.  And who knows?  Maybe I'll even go crazy and start paying someone to do my laundry.  I tore my knuckles up again doing the wash today - my hands had gone soft as well.  I feel a twinge of guilt every time I think about the luxurious life I'll be leading in a few weeks.  Any cures for that?

After mostly recovering (is it possible that I still feel some after-effects of food poisoning?) I have been working on a new order with the women that are here in town.  It's in conjunction with an organization that buys ceramic beads from Kenyan women.  I don't know why it's so, but everything Kenya produces is about a zillion times nicer than what Uganda produces.  Their beads are beautiful and look like they were stamped out by a machine.  So with this first order there is a lot of pressure for the women to produce a really nice product.  I don't think paper beads - cut, rolled and varnished by hand - will ever look as perfect as the Kenyan ceramic beads stained and fired in a kiln, but I know the women are very capable of producing an awesome product.  Sometimes convincing them of that (and cutting through their complaints) is tricky though.  Generally, they will be paid more to create a string of loose beads for this project than if they had made it into a necklace, and it if they do well on this first order, it could potentially turn into something very long-term and quite lucrative.  So I really really want for them to do well.  The procedure for making these strands of beads is quite different than the way Paper to Pearls has run anything in the past though, so it's been a bit chaotic trying get it going.  Here's hoping two weeks from today I'll be on my way to Kampala with an awesome box of beads ready to ship off the the US!!

A mix of our P2P beads and the Kazuri beads.  Oh pretty!

One other thing I've been waiting to write about, and will only mention briefly here because I really do want to keep up my agreement: Concy's daughter.  Or "the daughter of Concy," as they would say here.  She's a little seven year-old girl named Patricia who goes to public school.  Concy often asks me to take her photo and ask all my rich friends in America to pay for her to go to private school.  Public school here is really awful and private schools offer a much better education.  She stays with Concy's mother during the term because it's closest to her school, but Concy's mother has HIV now - Concy's fathers fault, no doubt - so I don't know how long that will be possible.  ConcyConcy works every day.  And yet I also know there is no real way she can pay for her daughter to go to one of the expensive boarding schools.  So I've told Concy I needed her to do all the research on the school she wants to send her daughter to, find out its credentials, its price, whether or not her daughter would actually be accepted, and I said she would still have to pay for the uniform and any supplies.  I've also made it abundantly clear that I was making no promise, that even after all that it was possible I wouldn't be able to find someone willing to pay.  But since I've been back, students have been on holiday so Patricia came to stay with her mom for a few weeks.  One morning I was hammering and sawing away in my room trying to fix the crossbars my mosquito net hangs on so it works better.  She was sitting outside while her mom was in town at the market.  Just sitting there.  For what seemed like hours.  So I took all my extra wood and gave myself a nice blister sawing her some blocks.  She was so happy with those blocks (even though I am a terrible saw-er and they really weren't very great) that she just found a way into my little heart.  She's quiet and well behaved and smart and I worry that she'll end up like her mother.  Don't get me wrong, Concy is great, but she's 23, has a seven-year-old daughter, and spends all day everyday cooking, cleaning and manning the little shop.  Its fine, she's decently happy, but who wouldn't want a brighter future?  So, while I'm waiting to send out the formal request for people to pay Patricia's education until Concy holds up her end of the bargain, I just wanted to put a little bug in your ear.  If you have just been looking for something/somewhere to donate some money, this might be the place.  Maybe even a group of your friends would want to contribute a little money, which together would amount to enough.  I'll post facts and figures as soon as I have them, but, well, just think about it. 

OK, that's all for now, on to food!  Or rather, on to MANGOES!!  I came back to a very different Uganda.  It's mid-rainy season now, so where this place looked like a fairly dry and red desert before, it's now quite green and lush.  And the mangoes are wonderfully in season!  It was something my stomach did just fine handling while I wasn't feeling well and I don't like to miss a day eating one, because I know I'll regret those days when they go out of season again.  I've had a good mango or two in my life, but that's really it, a good one or two.  But here, it's pretty hard to get a bad one.  I love things that are flavored mango (such as my very favorite Odwalla drink, Mango Tango) and now if feels awesome to actually be able to eat the fruit daily like I used to an apple.  Oh how I love me my mangoes!! 

Island Living

OK, so sorry it has taken me forever to get back into the swing of things.  I stayed in DC an extra week after returning from Ecuador and then was stuck in Kampala for a few days upon returning to Uganda, finally made it back to Gulu and promptly got food poisoning (or something...) which made me feel awful for days.  And then we were without power and I had a dead battery!  But now, I am feely nearly all better, am seated at the lovely Coffee Hut with a power generator, and am ready to jump back into my regularly scheduled blogging.  First order of business:

G A L A P A G O S ! ! ! ! 

I will admit, before Barbara first told me taking a beader to the Galapagos Islands was a possibility, I’d never really considered visiting them.  There are just so many places in the world to travel to that islands in particular have never really been at the top of my list.  The Galapagos just seemed so remote I’d never really thought about them beyond Darwin and his finches.  But I have repented of my ways, and I am here to tell you, islands, these islands in particular, are totally worthwhile.  I saw:

Sea Lions!!  These little guys were all over the deck at our hotel.  I guess it used to be their turf before our hotel was built, and they just didn’t let a few people and some deck chairs deter them.  They scoot themselves right on up the deck and hang out between the tables, swim in the pool and nap on the benches.  I was laying in the hammock one afternoon reading, and there was a sea lion sleeping a few feet from me.  He woke up, looked around and spotted me, turned around, scooted towards me, pushed my rear with his nose, decided I wasn't very worthwhile and waddled off to take a dip in the pool.  It was crazy!  I loved them!  And I had Feist’s Sea Lion Woman stuck in my head all week (which, if you haven’t heard it, you should go look it up right now.)

Isn't that just the cutest little face you've ever seen?

Gorgeous white-sand beaches.  I was not expecting this, but was plesantly surprised.  Because there just aren’t many people on the Galapagos (particularly in April) I felt like I had the beach to myself.  The sand was really soft, the water was really warm, the waves were perfect for diving, and it was a riot to take Sarah (the Ugandan woman I brought with) by the hand and lead her into the ocean for the first time in her life.  She was a bit timid at first, but she’s a brave woman and eventually felt perfectly safe hanging out in that big water (which, by the way, she notified me was in fact bigger than Uganda!) 

Crabs!  They hung out on rocks everywhere and their colors were just magnificent.  I have some video footage of them, but after my last video footage fail, I won’t promise I’ll be able to get it posted.  Anyhow, they were everywhere, they were fun to watch, and I even saw my first fiddler crab.  He’s called that for his crazy-long arm.  I’m not sure what the purpose of the mutant arm is, but I think it just makes him look pretty awesome.  Like, "Don't try anything funny because though I may have eight good arms, I only need one to mess you up."

Land Iguanas!   These suckers get to be huge!  After being at the beach my last day I started walking back and saw one enormous one, which I was more than a little afraid to pass by.  I got a picture, but unfortunately all I had was my disposable underwater camera.  I will hopefully be able to get those pictures digitized this week, but for now you have to settle for just seeing these little(er) ones.  

Pink Flamingos!  I’m sure I’ve seen these in a zoo before at some point, but my only real memory of seeing pink flamingos is in the opening credits song for Three’s Company (do you all remember that show??)  And of course the tacky ones people put in their yard.  (Please don’t be offended if you are one of those people!)  Seeing them in really life was pretty awesome, I have to say.  Did you know they’re pink because they live off a shrimp diet?  Who knew??

The Wall of Tears.  Back when the islands were still uninhabited, Ecuador decided it would be a good idea to send their prisoners over.  Since there weren’t really any structures on the islands, they also thought it would be a good idea to make the prisoners build their own prison, so they had these men carry enormous stones to build a wall that would enclose their prison.  They did it with no shirts on their back in the unbearable heat and humidity.  It was horrifyingly inhumane and thankfully, after only one side of the wall had been built they decided to do away with the ridiculous program.  Since then the phrase “The Wall of Tears, where brave men cried and weak men died" was coined.  

My very most favorite!  Turtles!!  Anyone who has known me long knows I have always had some strange love for turtles.  I have no real idea where it comes from, but I have just always thought turtles were some of the greatest animals out there, so I was in heaven!  I had no idea how enormous the turtles on these islands got, but they are HUGE.  I mean, they came up to my hip, huge.  Unfortunately I didn’t get any photos of the ones that big because I only saw them from a distance, but these others were still pretty awesomely large.  I have also decided that I am going to get a turtle when I get home.  I’ve been thinking for years I wanted a dog (and still do, really) but I think I want a turtle before I get a dog.  And I want the kind that will live forever.  Or maybe just 75 years.  Our photographer/guide told us that some of these turtles probably met Darwin.  How amazing is that?!  (By the way, many photos were taken by a couple photographers that I'm hoping to get my hands on.  I got very few pics of myself, but I know there were plenty shot.  If I ever get them, I'll post!)

Isn't he just awesome?!

I couldn't resist!  Thought I did get dirty....That's a real shell from an old and gone turtle, and it's not even the biggest of the lot!

I actually got to see the mating process take place several times in a turtle rehabilitation center on Isabella Island.  It's pretty hilarious because the females runs full speed (which is pretty darn slow) from the male to make sure he's strong enough and good enough to catch her.  Gotta make sure you're breading with good genes, after all.

Many yellow-lipped fish.  I got to go snorkeling for the first time in my life on my last day there.  It was a blast and I have serious intentions to go many more times before my life is over.  I saw fish of many stripes and colors, but the fish that were just everywhere were these little brown fish with blue eyes and yellow lips.  They were awesome and we all became great friends.  They really didn’t seem to be afraid of me in the least, so if I would just hang out really still, they would come right up to me or swim by as if I weren’t there at all.  Amazing!

Pictures Coming Soon!!

I also saw a lot of bird life.  I didn’t manage to get any photos (I am just a terrible photographer!) but I saw loads of the famous finches, blue-footed boobies (and red-footed as well) and about a zillion other birds that I have no idea what they were.

Of course, it wasn’t all just watching wild-life.  In fact, not nearly as much as I would have liked!  But the people we met as Sarah taught people to bead was also pretty awesome.  We taught a group of elementary school kids and two groups of artisans how to make the beads.  I think it is safe to say they all loved it, and I think those artists will come up with some amazing projects on their own.  And Sarah had a blast.  I don’t think she’ll ever be the same.  In fact, as I watched Sarah up there dancing a traditional Acholi dance to some Ugandan music at the end of one of the sessions, I knew this trip was worth it, if for no other reason than that Sarah’s life was made better.  She had an entire room of adults clapping and cheering for her and smiling and laughing.  They gave her gifts, numerous hugs and cheek-kisses and more respect than I believe she’s ever received anywhere else.  I think for maybe the first time her potential was realized.  Not only in what she was doing, but she herself understood what she was capable of.  And if she didn’t understand, well, I did.  And I can say it will help me to understand better what all the other women I’m working with are capable of as well.  And even if I can’t do much to help them understand it, I can treat them the way they deserve. 

Little ol' unsuspecting me on the way to the big ship.

One other note-worthy event was our boat ride from one island to the next.  Turns out, ladies and gents, I am not the sea-fairing type.  We had lunch on one of the large Linblad ocean liners before taking a rubber dingy to our speed boat.  It had stormed all night the night before and was still pretty windy that morning, so I started feeling queasy on the large ship.  I took some Dramamine which promptly knocked me out.  While the rest of the group took a tour of the ship, I sat down and fell asleep on a deck chair.  By the time we made it to our speed boat I felt really woozy.  I had never taken a long ride on a speed boat before, so I sat right up front.  From the moment we started off on that boat I knew it was bad news.  I felt like I was driving on a crazy pot-hole-ridden Ugandan road at 100 mph.  I’ve literally never been shaken and tossed so much in my life.  After about 15 minutes my brain truly could not conceive another two hours of this.  I pulled out my iPod and started listening to a little This American Life, hoping Ira Glass would calm my nerves and my stomach.  Or at least take my mind off the situation a little.  It didn’t work very well however, and after about an hour I knew I was going to throw up.  I got a bag in which to do so, fought it off for another hour, but about thirty minutes before our destination, I threw up four times.  All the while still being shaken and tossed.  That wretched captain didn’t even slow down at all, even though I was sitting directly across from him and there was no way he missed it.  In fact, right after that, when I was trying desperately to clean myself off and tie off the bag, he hit the biggest bump of the trip, all the passengers lifted off their seats and many screams were let out.  And me?  I threw water on the captain.  Folks, they say our true character revels itself in our weakest moments, and I’m sorry to say, my character has some room for improvement because if that captain had been within reach I would have socked him.  He looked over at me like he couldn’t believe I’d had the audacity to do such a thing.  Then he saw there was now vomit on the floor of his boat because it had spilled out of the bag, so he finally slowed down and told his friend to get rid of the throw-up bag.  I kind of hope there is still vomit ground into the floor of his boat.

After leaving the islands I got stuck in Guayaquil because the US embassy screwed up on Sarah’s visa.  Remember what a nightmare it was the first time around just to get the visa?  Well, itinerary in hand, they gave Sarah a one entry visa even though they knew full well she needed two.  We had to go through the whole lovely process of re-applying, re-interviewing, and re-paying for another visa.  Roar!  But, I did get to see some sights in Guayaquil, which was pretty great.

One night we got caught in the craziest storm.  There were enormous amounts of water in the streets, I was afraid if our engine didn't up and flood, we would eventually just start floating down the street.  I wish the picture were better so you could fully appreciate it!

Lastly, food of course.  Because the Galapagos cuisine caters largely to the tourists who are visiting, I didn’t eat much indigenous food other than plantains.  Which is the same thing I eat here in Uganda, only I liked them better because they were fried in all sorts of ways, and well, frankly, everything tastes better fried!  But they did have the most amazing drink I’ve ever tasted in my life.  Naranjilla juice.  Oh yum.  It tastes like nothing I’ve ever had before.  I guess Naranjilla is only grown in a few South American tropical countries and it can’t be imported because it looses something when it’s transported….er, or something....  Anyway, it’s green, it’s amazing, it’s citric, I couldn’t get enough.  It helped that there was a beautiful, curly-haired Ecuadorian man behind the bar serving me :-)

This was actually taken in Guayaquil rather than on the islands, and it was less green there for some reason.