soda, boogies, and plastic bags...

i am in kenya...yeah.

so, when i'm at hospitals, my main duty is to go out to the other areas surrounding the hospitals (anywhere from 1-6 hours away) and follow-up on patients that we have footage of from previous years. yesterday, we went to an area outside nairobi to talk to a patient named abigail. she had bilateral club foot and had many plasters and a small operation to fix it. she is 3 yrs old and can walk without any problems. it was a great story and a good day, but unfortunately, abby was extremely sick. every photo i got was her either crying or on the verge of tears. there are one or two where she is just solemn faced, hopefully those will work!!

anyway, after we got some shots of her and her momma at home, we went to a local government hospital to get abby some medication. on the way there, her momma hopped in the backseat with me and had a soda. sidenote: almost all sodas here are in glass bottles - i think we should do this in the states, it's waaaay cooler to drink things out of a glass, :). anyway, she looks at me and says, 'i am sooo thirsty' i smile and then gawk in amazement as she OPENS THE BOTTLETOP WITH HER TEETH! it was unreal. she just pops it off as if she didn't just bend metal WITH HER TEETH. i laughed and she giggled, but i have a feeling our amusement wasn't stemming from the same thing.

then we get to the hospital. we are waiting in a long line of mommas and babies. the kid across from me has a serious case of crusty nose. the boogs looked like they had been building up for days. the mommma reached down to scrape (more like chisel) off some of the build-up with her tissue and when that didn't work, proceeding to LICK THE SAME FINGER that she was just digging around in his nose with!! then she went right back to the task at hand. she licked that same finger multiple times until (most of) the crusties were gone.

while all this was going on, there was a child sitting next to the booger one who was having a greeeat time just chillen with a plastic bag. for some reason, kids with plasic bags always scare me. i know the chance of suffocation is quite small, but it's engrained in me to be nervous about it. i started playing peek a boo with the kid - big mistake. he mimicked the game back to me but instead of hiding behind his hands, he would shove his entire head inside the plastic bag for minutes at a time. alternating between laughing and freaking out, i tried to get him to stop. thankfully, both booger child and plastic head were both safe when i left the hospital.

oh, and one more thing that i found funny but probably shouldn't. we were driving through a little town and this girl was wearing a shirt that said, 'i'm a virgin, but this shirt is really old.' i know i shouldn't think that's funny, but, well, you laughed, didn't you??

seinfeld always applies.

jerry seinfeld does this one bit in his stand up where he talks about grocery shopping. it's pretty hilarious. the whole thing is basically about being overwhelmed in a grocery store...all the products, options. at one point, he is talking about trying to decide what to buy. he says, 'i'll just go up to people and say...you look good, what are you eating?'

that's how i feel about my life right now. i know, i'm comparing my life to stand-up, but seriously. i just kinda walk around, wandering from place to place (country to country) and think, 'well, you look happy. what are YOU doing?' it's not that i'm not happy, i feel pretty happy. it's that i worry. i feel like i've been waiting for this monumental moment - some call it 'arriving.' i know people don't arrive, but most people sure act like they have. i'm not blaming/condemning them - i'm jealous of them. i want to feel certain about things, about myself. i want to know what it is that i love and what i'm supposed to 'end up' doing. i look at the people that seem to know those things and i desperately want to ask...'so when did you figure this out? at what point did you say, yep - this.is.it.?' there are so many things that aren't temporary decisions. career paths. religion. spouses. location. sure, everything can be changed and 'tweeked,' but seriously. a lot of those things, you have to sell out to make them count. you can never really establish yourself in something unless you're committed to it - jobs, faith, husbands, community. those are all things that i want (pipe down, i'm not saying i want to be married). but they are so permanent in my mind. i don't like it when people tell me we can always change our minds, we can always go a different route. NO. i don't wanna change things around. i wanna settle. not settle down. but settle. i want to feel committed to something to the point where my other decisions are based on that one constant. for instance, where i end up living. let's say i love a place enough that i will create a life that is only sustainable in that location. or a job that i would be willing to go anywhere on the planet for. why do i want such definites? why do i need things so exact? i just feel like i've been floating for a while between things. i haven't been in a secure place/location since high school. i know that was less than 5 years ago, but it feels like a long time. i don't want to be the person whose life is scattered all over the place, whose relationships get put on hold because i'm inaccessible or just not around. i did the two colleges every year thing and i hated leaving my life behind at the end of every semester just to go piece it back together with my 'other' friends who i left 8 months before that. i loved having the benefits of messiah and temple, but it's hard to constantly leave things you love. whether it's just 2 hours down the turnpike or living on a different continent, i'm just ready to have some consistency. guaranteed two months after i get home, i get bored and wanna do something else...what is wrong with me? :)

i had a great conversation with the proctor's last weekend (a southern family who lives in mbale - orthodox presbyterians who make fabulous food). phil is a pastor, i thought he would have some wise words about this stuff, and he did. i was just trying to prioritize. obviously, i have my stressors broken down into a few points: career, faith, marriage, dwelling place...haha. but which of those decisions are contingent on others? which ones get made first? what do i love more than anything and what am i willing to compromise on? don't tell me that if i love jesus enough it will all come together. i know that. the point of me writing this isn't to get answers, it's to fill you all in on the crazy that is my mind and to de-stress myself. writing it out makes it less pressing on my thoughts - it's like writing angry letters that never get sent, somehow it's therapeutic.

anyway...we were talking about how i just can't seem to pick a denomination. i have some of the basics of what i want as a doctrine/theology for my life, but i've been piddling with this for at least 3 years. i just wanna pick one and commit, sell out. i'm afraid of the legalism of some churches and cynical of the emotion in others. i want something that makes me feel good, but also something that is biblically accurate. i don't wanna 'pick' mennonite because i'm afraid of not questioning things and having my reasoning always be 'well, that's just the way it is' - but i don't wanna run away from it because there is so much of it engrained in me. mennonites shave their heads, right? kidding vern. phil guided me to figure out what aspects are most important to me and explore churches that way. look at what type of church government agrees with me. figure out what i think about baptism. that means i have to read...fiiiiiiiine.

i never thought about prioritizing decisions before though. i just kinda thought they were gonna be easy. like when i graduated college i would all of sudden just know exactly what i believed, where i wanted to live, what i wanted to do, and there would be a perfect man on his knee asking to come along for the ride. my brain was supposed to be this pocket of never ending knowledge and my mind was supposed to have morphed into ultra-decisive mode by now. meredith (phil's wife) and i continued the conversation to marriage. i was saying that i don't feel a specific vocation on my life that would prevent me from 'following' a man if he did feel a vocation on his. i want to take pictures (maybe) and help some peeps. i don't want to put limits on my life. i don't want to say, 'well, i'll never do this' because i feel like that's where i would end up. (dear LORD, please don't let me fall in love with a man who wants to live in russia!!) phil happened to preach that morning and had said, 'i think that the issue most young people wrestle with these days is who is going to be their life parter. well, at least girls do. guys wrestle with who is going to be their tonite partner.' haha - he was mostly joking, but it brought a lot of good conversation. i would be lying if i said that i didn't wrestle with that. i wrestle with becoming a wife, giving up my own life to blend it with someone else's. on the other hand, i wrestle with the idea of being content and being single for the next 10 years. this is supposed to be the fun part...the part before the ball and chain. the carefree stage where i have no responsibility and life just kinda rolls. but the decisions i make now will impact my life. the goals i set for myself and the faith i choose narrows down my playing field. not with men, haha, but with possibility. i see the possibilities i have right now. grad school, more traveling, getting a job, pursuing soccer coaching. picking one eliminates others. i'm not about elimination right now, i'm about gleaning, :). gleaning information, skill sets, relationships - basically, i wanna take from the world right now. i want to be selfish. eliminating possibilities means cutting myself off from things i love, it means compromise. but i just wanna be selfish...is that ok? probably not. for now, i'll just keep looking for the 6'0" philadelphia sports fan down on his knee, offering a decision free life. or perhaps the 5'6" chapatti man with the missing front teeth. he'll do. ;).

how does africa fit into all of this? i have NO idea. this experience has only given me more questions about myself and provided absolutely no answers. but it has been a place where i can sit back and examine - reflecting on my college experience and daring me to look ahead to when i get home. i have had time to heal some things that america (or the people that live there) have made impossible to face. it has shown me weaknesses about myself that america couldn't and it has shown me the capability we have as humans to endure, to love, and to make a hot mess of life. speaking of which, i should probably go experience some more things because it seems i've wasted a lot of time in africa thinking about my life that isn't here. wherever i end up living, whatever i end up doing to make the monies, whether i attend a baptist or nondenominational church, and whether i end up living with a husband or 50 stray cats... it doesn't REALLY matter right now. right now, i'm in africa. yesterday i made a kid cry cuz he never saw a white person. i ate moldy bread for breakfast this morning. and right now, i'm about to go take some pics of kids whose feet are backwards.

oh, one more thing: how have all of YOU been lately? :)

white people and trap doors.

'back' when i was in college (about four months ago), i would pass my time (and/or just procrastinate) reading all sorts of blogs. nothing like this one, more like these:
failblog.org
mylifeisaverage.com
peopleofwalmart.com (this is a new personal favorite)
and one of the best...
stuffwhitepeoplelike.com

my 6th street family in philly just recently reminded me of the latter and i spent an hour catching up on all the entries i missed. after a while, i wanted desperately to add my own entry to the list of things that white people like: africa. white people LOVE africa. we love to talk about it, we love to give money to it, and we love love LOVE to visit. if i could lose a pound for every time i've heard the phrase, 'africa has stolen my heart' come out of a white girl's mouth - i could fit into my jeans from middle school. seriously.

and it's not that i don't like africa or being here - i would say that i am enjoying myself a solid 75% of the time. but i would so be lying if i said i didn't think about home all the time or that the majority of my 'heart' was here. this place is special - obviously. it offers PLENTY of things that the western world doesn't (100% hospitality, people who are genuinely content, bodas, and the best fruit in the world). but home is home. my african friends that have been to the west say that they wouldn't give up their home in africa for one we where are. why do white people so often act like this is better than home? different, yes. have i learned more lessons here? well sure. but everyone should love their home - i don't trust people that don't.

meeting white people here has begun to exhaust me. it starts with the casual once over. if my clothes are too clean or i'm not wearing my ugandan paper beads, i already have a couple strikes against me. i obviously haven't lived here long enough to have ruined all my clothes and invested in the local merchandise. and opening questions which seem harmless are actually just a quest for superiority. 'how long have you been here' is not a simple inquiry, but a challenge. whoever has been here the longest obviously wins. once you beat around the bush long enough, eventually the question, 'what are you doing here?' comes right out in the open. if we're being honest, this can be directly translated as 'are you helping africans more or less than i am?' if you work for an n.g.o. - two points. if you work with kids - at least three points...disabled kids - 10. if you are STARTING an n.g.o. - you win, hands down. i am exaggerating, but still - it can get a little intense.

sometimes, when meeting a white person here, i feel so scrutinized/judged that i'm tempted to say, 'hi - my name is rachel. i've been here four months, i work for a great organization, but i will never come to africa alone again. if i'm honest i would give my right to have children to fly home for the weekend and eat one of my mother's cookies.' it would just take a lot of the mystery away. it's like it's an eternal competition - who is doing more for africa? who knows more about africa? who is better at living in africa? and more importantly...who LOVES africa the most? i just want to let all the other people here know, you win. you love africa the most and you win the best white person in africa award.

again, i am exaggerating. i have a lot of white friends here that i love - most of the white people i meet here are great people that are dedicated to their mission and are passionate about helping people. but the intensity of the type of white people i described above can be so daunting that it overwhelms the goodness that has happened here.

on a similar, yet different, note - i read a book recently that really just made sense. the shackled continent by robert guest. he takes a fairly conservative viewpoint and walks through the history of some of the worst corruption in different african governments and his opinion on why things are the way they are and how they can get better. his overall view is that africa won't change and it can't develop until africans decide it needs to. other nations have been giving foreign aid (billions of dollars of foreign aid) for decades. and there are small victories here and there - but facts remain. civil wars are still happening, governmental corruption is still more commonplace than not, and AIDS and malaria still take lives every single day.

this brings me to another point - i may have written about it here before, but it's worth mentioning again. who am i to tell africans that their lives are difficult? one time, i was in zambia. we traveled for hours out to this remote part of the bush (see the posts from about a month ago for photos). we pulled up to this hut - literally, a hut. there was a skinny cow and some chickens. and harold, my translator and spiritual director from the CURE hospital said, 'now rachel...these people are very poor. but they don't know that. so let's not tell them.' we both giggled, but i instantly became very self conscious about the thousands of dollars worth of camera equipment i was toting around for the day. then i realized the magnitude of what harold said and it changed my entire view of africa. it is NOT my responsibility to 'fix' the lives of these people. they do not need my pity. they do not need my money. they don't need anything from me. but they deserve it.

there are the obvious things like clean water and food and shelter that i think that we should go out of our way to provide if at all possible. duh. but i'm just speaking about quality of life. it is not my job to judge someone's quality of life - ever. i don't say this to remove responsibility from myself. but - it is what it is. i hate that phrase. i used to think that people used it as a cop out. or just because they were really inarticulate. but sometimes i don't have anything else to say. there are still kids begging on the street. there are still riots and deaths because of disagreements between tribes. people are still living on pennies a day. and my running shoes still get stolen when i leave them outside. from the big stuff to the little stuff - it is what it is.

what was i talking about? oh yeah - white people. we.so.crazy.

story-time...this one as usual, is more fun for you guys than it was for me.

i live in what is called a 'compound.' there are four houses including mine and we live inside a fenced area and there is a gated entrance. we have a guard that 'stands duty' (or at least is supposed to) 24/7. i have gotten a little comfortable and a little too trusting lately. it's pretty muddy around where i live and my running shoes are often caked with dirt when i get back from a run. i got into the habit of leaving them outside and letting them dry out for a couple hours. some nights i would leave them out overnight, but it shouldn't be a problem. i assumed that the families i live next to wouldn't dare take my shoes, and there shouldn't be anyone else on the compound besides those of us who live there. wrong-zo. i left them out a couple weeks ago and in the morning, i had my ipod in, running clothes on, and keys in my hand, ready to lace up. i opened the door, and the shoes were just...gone. not there, not even a little. not even one. i brought my guard over and realized for the first time just how little english he speaks. i put my sambas on the porch and demonstrated someone sneaking up and taking them. miming thievery was a lot harder than i thought it would be. he didn't get it and i just looked like an idiot. it was 6:30 in the morning, both of us were tired, it was still a little dark out...bad combo. so - i stole my roomie's shoes and went on the run.

we're not even halfway done with this story yet...stick with me peeps.

a couple days later, i came to the realization that i was never going to see my shoes again and my roomie graciously gave me an extra pair that had been left behind by a former volunteer. they fit really well actually and i was super grateful that the replacement was that easy. but you know when you get a new pair of shoes and it takes a little to get the feel for them? you may do that almost trip move a couple times while you figure out the exact size of the shoe. i had a couple of those experiences the first two weeks, but me and the shoes are pretty well acquainted by now. i had a confident run yesterday - one of those where every song on the ipod is just right and you really find the groove.

i'm a firm believer in ending runs strongly. no matter how much donkey-trotting i do during the actual run - no matter how slow i take it up the hills, i always try to end with a bang. it's easy here cuz i run DOWN a massive hill to get to my house. it's nice to always feel like a champion at the end, and trust me - i take advantage of that hill to give me an ego boost, :). anyway...

so i always run fast down the hill and take a left into our little driveway. our gate to enter the compound is fairly large and a pain to open. they have conveniently designed it with a little trap door for people who just wanna walk through instead of drive. this trap door is what i use as my finish line for my runs and it's about 4 feet tall. i crouch down and run right through it (the guard kindly always leaves it open) and then i get to stop and huff and puff for about 10 minutes.

again, yesterday was a good run. it was one where you feel like you are the main character in a movie and the songs playing in your ears are the soundtrack to your life. john legend was blasting as i confidently turned into our lane and about 5 yards from the aforementioned trap door, crouched down to my entry stance. the crouch + the speed at which i was attempting + the new shoes i thought i knew = disaster. there is a small, miniscule even, mound of dirt outside the gate that proved itself worthy of recognition from now on. my shoe caught the top of this mound sending me straight into the ground hands first. i was surprised and hit the ground at a horribly awkward angle, resulting in a front somersault. i would have kept rolling had the aluminum gate not been there to stop be. i hit the gate head first, body to follow making a noise that sounded like really loud thunder...to round out the fall, an obscenely long string of snot shot out my nose and onto the ground (i'm still recovering from the flu). this all transpired in less than five seconds. as soon as i was in a sitting position and realized i wasn't actually hurt, i said out loud, 'did anyone see that?!' i looked around, there was no one. it was one of those times when i really wished someone could just laugh with me...there wasn't anyone so i just laughed by myself.

as i type this i have both my hands doused in neosporin and bandaged on the open gashes. tomorrow i plan to take on the mound of dirt for round two. i'll let ya know how it turns out...

meet chunk.

sometimes, i meet kids that need to be called chunk. so i hang out with them a lot and call them that. i think that they like it...i know i do, :). here are a few of my favorites...

explanations...

i didn't really explain the previously posted photos. so now i will...

they are all from this weekend when i played in the monthly football match with the employees from the hospital. apparently, in this league, having a girl on your team proves monumentally beneficial. you see, having a girl allows the team to just have an extra player. so in a game that would have been 7 v. 7, it was 8 v. 7 because of my presence on the field. not only was i the only female, but also the only mzungu. this was just too much for the fans to handle. every time i touched the ball, the 100 or so people lining the field would erupt. obviously, i had no idea what they were saying, but it made me laugh pretty hard. i swear, i could have gone out there and pooped and they would have been impressed. it was hilarious. i didn't really do anything - i just kinda ran around in circles in the middle of the field because i was open the whole time. i wish soccer was like that in the states...

anyway...the day was full of funny moments, so i posted a few pics for your perusal.

today i walked into the ward here at the hospital and all the mommas were gathered in the middle, listening to a frustrated nursing staff. it was me and derek, our american executive director, and we were both confused as to what was happening. derek walked over to the nurses station and asked what the meeting was all about. she casually explained to us that the mothers have 'soiled the bathroom.' when i asked derek for a more descriptive explanation, he laughed and said: 'well, rachel...some tribes here in uganda believe that when you are pregnant, a woman should not poop into a toilet because the soul of the child will go with it. so some of the mommas have been pooping all over the floors.' i tried not to laugh, but it didn't work. who knew that some people just preferred a hole in the ground for doin their business? shame on CURE for putting in modern toilets, :).

i referred to poop twice (oops, now three times) in this post. if any of you have a problem with this, i apologize. but i technically haven't graduated college/become a real person yet so i'm entitled to reference bodily functions for at least another year...

one of these things is not like the other...

too many thoughts to name one specifically in the title...

it's been a while...sorry bout that.

i'm in mbale now, for week two of my stay here. i'm staying at the guest house at CURE's hospital and i have internet 24/7...which means no sleep for me, :). i've been skyping with people every night, catching up on all the youtube videos i've missed, and generally just been a creeper and stalked people on various networking sites - if you're reading this, you've probably fallen victim to it. at least i'm honest, :).

i love mbale for many more reasons than the internet though. it's a smaller, less dusty, less crowded version of kampala (the city i live in). it's much easier to breathe and much less confusing to navigate my way around here. and the staff at our hospital are sincerely some of the nicest people i've ever met. they are so welcoming and so accepting. i always mess up words when i try to talk to mommas and patients in their language and the staff just laughs and translates for me. i definitely feel most comfortable here in mbale - well, maybe comfortable isn't the word. maybe relaxed? it's comparable to the feeling i have when i'm in morgantown. i love being in philly, but it can get exhausting sometimes and going home is just so nice cuz i can really relax. that's how mbale and kampala are. kampala is more convenient, i feel more active there, and i have more friends in the immediate area. but mbale is just...nice. i'm out of adjectives - my brain is fried from too much internet t.v.

i'm not really updating, but i just had a reallllly funny day and wanted to write about it. i had to go back to kampala for a day to try and get the video camera fixed (which didn't happen...) so i had to take the public bus from and to mbale. the first trip took a little less than 6 hours and i practically sat on the guy's lap next to me cuz we were crammed in there. today's bus ride took less time, but was MUCH more eventful.

picture the dirtiest and most run down coach bus you have ever seen. these are the public buses that i ride in. i actually love it most of the time cuz there is always a funny story and usually i can just sit and read while listening to some good tunes. and the ride is really pretty between kampala and mbale...not too shabby. also, i'm always the only white person, which also makes for interesting dynamics.

i was the last person that squeezed onto the bus this morning around 11:30. this is always a bad sign because you are going to get an aisle seat and there will be no space for your bags except on your lap. but the only seat was next to a 100 (AT LEAST) year old woman who didn't speak a word of english. i was pumped because i knew i wouldn't feel obligated to talk to her, cuz i couldn't. i popped in my headphones and dug my book out of my backpack. she smiled at me and the bus started moving only 10 minutes after i sat down (i sat for over an hour in a sweaty bus on friday before we finally moved). we were having a good ride, or at least i was, and then all of a sudden, the 100 year old woman started removing things from her plastic bag and casually placing them on my lap. i was definitely confused and just accepted the baby doll, the hard candies, the toy car, and even the huge bag of flour. i looked at her daughter across the aisle to get an idea of what was going on and i realized that this woman was about to be sick...either in the plastic bag or all over my feet. so i grabbed the bag from her and literally started throwing the items inside at her daughter across the aisle. i shoved it back into her hands just in time for her to heave into it...loudly.

now, i had been in a great john mayer/jack johnson/gavin degraw groove. very mellow, pretty quiet actually. at this point, i was trying not to puke up my own breakfast so i put some m.j. on my ipod and cranked it as loud as it would go to avoid the noise of this woman throwing up. i still heard every noise she made...thank the good LORD i didn't lose it. so i realized that when she was done, we still had a solid three hours left of this trip. what in the world was she going to do with that bag? oh, you know...HOLD IT. she held that thing the rest of the trip. next to me. i was wearing a skirt and every once in a while i would feel a warmth on my left calf - it was the bag...touching me. every five minutes i would make sure she wasn't gonna fall asleep because i knew she would drop it and the contents would be all over my feet. one time, i heard her start to snore and i kindly (and ever so gently) elbowed her so she would tighten the grip on the pukey-bag.

there is a whole story (right before the puking) about the old woman's daughter leaning out the window and putting her double d breasts inches from my face. but it pales in comparison to the fact that 30 seconds after the removal of her chest from my face, she turned and literally knocked off my hat with her ever larger bum. why was she leaning out the window and lying on top of me? to buy chicken on a stick. details of this story overwhelm me, so this paragraph will have to suffice.

but the story that realllly needs to be told is about the creeper on the bus. on the subway at home, sometimes you have bands that are trying to sell you their cd, people collecting money for a homeless organization, or a man trying to sell you perfume. but you only have to deal with them for a couple minutes - you give them one 'i'm not interested in whatchu got' look and they leave you alone, and most likely move on to the next car. well, today, we had one of these transportation salesmen on the bus. but there was nowhere else to go, so he just stood there yelling trying to sell his products for an hour. lucky me was sitting smack dab in the middle of the bus so he stood right next to me. he was speaking luganda and throwing in a couple english words here and there. i ignored him for the most part but he said the word 'shaving' and then 60 seconds later said the phrase 'private parts' in english. of COURSE, i whipped my head up and started giggling like the fabulously mature adult that i am. he looked at me, winked, and said, 'you think i'm funny?' i stopped laughing and looked down. he leaned down (far too close to my face) and said, 'don't worry - i'll be back to talk to you soon.' i looked up, rolled my eyes, and said, 'can't wait' forgetting that ugandans typically don't understand sarcasm. he proceeded to walk back and forth for the next 20 minutes, brushing himself up against my shoulder with each passage. i gave him a nice shoulder to walk right into the one time and instead of getting the impression that i was pretty mad, he thought i was flirting with him...AWESOME.

so he comes over to me and this is our conversation:
creeper: mzungu, i need your contact information.
me: sorry, i don't give my contact information to anyone.
creeper: but what if i want to see you and move around town when we get to mbale?
me: welp, i'm going back to america this weekend - sorry!
creeper: to your mother and father?
me: no, to my wonderful husband.
creeper: you have a husband? i see no ring.
me: i don't wear one in africa...i'm afraid of losing it.
creeper: you see, in america you may be married. but in africa, you are FREE.
me: (laughing) oh, is that how it works?
creeper: yes...how many children do you have?
me: none, yet.
creeper: when are you going to have them? and how many?
me: as soon as possible, i'm sooo ready to be a mother...and at least four.
creeper: i would like to produce one of them with you.
me: i think this conversation is over. now.

and he laughed and walked away. NOT FUNNY.