'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...
Monday, September 28, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
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...
Thursday, September 10, 2009
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...
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...
Sunday, September 6, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
funny or not?
so, i have thoroughly enjoyed writing about my experiences and laughing at the cultural differences i see every day here in uganda. but when something i find funny happens to me i always have to ask myself, 'is this funny to everyone or just me because, let's face it, i'm a little evil?
i have the stories that get told on the blog and then the ones that are borderline rude that get sent in emails to my family. they can't judge me, they are required to love me, :). but seriously, where do i draw the line on laughing at the culture clash and mocking something i don't understand. i wanted to post these thoughts because i never want to offend anyone with what i say on here and my take on what i see/how i see things. i don't write about the sad stuff usually because, well, it's sad. and my words don't really do what is happening justice to be honest. it's easy to write about the funny things, the sad stuff takes effort that i don't have most of the time.
i was a little convicted about the portrait i was painting for all of you at home of what things are like here. i'm reading the poisonwood bible right now which is a fictional story about a pastor moving his family to the congo in the 1960's. it's pretty accurate about what life is like in the bush here and the way the author writes is spot on. my own words would botch it up, so here is an excerpt of something that i appreciated. it is written in the voice of one of the teenage daughter's after being instructed to write home and tell her friends what africa is like:
"we're still wondering, where do you start? 'this morning i got up...' i'd begin, but no, 'this morning i pulled back the mosquito netting that's tucked in tight around our beds because mosquitoes here give you malaria, a disease that runs in your blood which nearly everyone has anyway but they don't go to a doctor because there are worse things like sleeping sickness or the kakaka or that someone has put a kibaazu on them, and anyway there's really no doctor nor money to pay one, so people just hope for the good luck of getting old because then they'll be treasured, and meanwhile they go on with their business because they have children they love and songs to sing while they work, and...' and you wouldn't even get as far as breakfast before running out of paper. you'd have to explain the words, and then the words for the words."
this definitely resonated with me because there are countless times i try to explain something either in an email or on here and i just give up because it comes out with too many details and makes no sense. the best way i can try to explain the feeling is this...you know in the states when you meet someone and you are just getting to know one another? male, female, work colleague, friend, potential 'someone' - whoever. you go through this phase of explanation. every story you have needs a background story. 'well, me and my best friends from high school - well, they are 3 girls that i've known for like 8 years and we do everything together and they are like sisters. there's sara without the h and sarah with the h and even though they are both nurses they are completely different. and then there's julie who is different too but still just as great...' see? i've already lost you. and most of you know the people i'm talking about!! or when someone gives you a compliment and you just act really awkward and then you have to explain that you're a mennonite and mennonites don't give compliments so even though you appreciate them, it's weird for you - and so on.
now imagine that phase times about 56 and that's how difficult it is to talk to you all about the not so fun parts of uganda. i feel like just when i start to understand why some of the poverty exists and why it operates the way it does, i learn a whole new level, a whole new 'background story' and my mind gets blown all over again. the only example i will attempt is the saddest (daily) thing i encounter here. i have yet to take a picture of it because it deals with exploitation and all of that photojournalism ethics stuff. it's the children that sit on the side of the road, begging for money. not with words. and not just children. toddlers. some that can BARELY WALK. these small people just sat down by someone, expected to tug on the heartstrings of people walking by. they sit there allllll day long, looking up at every pedestrian with their hand extended into the air, usually supported by their other arm no doubt because both arms are tired from performing this action for hours on end. i have cried multiple times walking down the street, not knowing what to do, if anything. there has never been something i have seen in philadelphia, lancaster, grantham, or any other place i've been that can actually make me sob just from seeing it. i have asked many ugandans what i can do and the answer is always the same...'well, don't give them money because there is probably an adult watching them down the street or from a nearby window and they will take the money. you could give them food, but you would instantly have all the other children begging following you until you give them some too.' and i feel helpless. unless i do something dramatic, i can't help. is this a call to do something dramatic? maybe...
but this brings me to the background story. oh, sorry, yeah...we're not done yet, not even close. n.g.o.'s (non-governmental organization) in uganda are a problem, a biiiiiiig problem. there are thousands in uganda and there are a lot of percentages thrown out there about how many are actually corrupt, from 25% all the way up to 90%. corruption comes in all forms, but the big one is that people register their organization as an n.g.o., then get westerners to donate tons of money because they showed them a picture of a kid with flies on his face and a big, malnourished belly, and then they keep a huge portion of the money. or there is corruption that might not even be seen as corruption. example: i was walking to church on sunday (i LOVE my church here, so good, so needed...don't judge it by what i'm about to say), and i counted 6 brand new landcruisers that passed me all within 30 seconds. they were all going to my church. i laughed after the first two thinking how ironic it was that both of them had their organization's icon and slogan slapped on the side and then my mouth dropped when FOUR MORE organizations vehicles drove past. and this is just in my church!! i would love to know how many n.g.o.'s are represented there. it has to be upwards of 50. i'm not saying that the people i go to church with do not sacrifice to live here and to be here. they have chosen to live away from friends and family and raise their children in a not-so-affluent or convenient place. and that's commendable, always. but i have to wonder who pays for those landcruisers - the people who donated the money to the organization? the home church of the couple driving it who supports them? who? where is it coming from and is that purchase necessary? i don't know...maybe they are. just speculating.
i have rabbit trailed...see how confusing this all gets and how it's all tied together? back to my point. if there are 50 n.g.o.'s represented alone in my congregation of 200+ people, how many of them are working against each other instead of with each other? i could start a street kids organization here in kampala and try to save the kids i see begging, but how many people are already doing that and how do i know they aren't just saying they're doing it and not actually doing it? that sentence even confused me...sorry if i lost ya for a bit. but seriously, n.g.o.'s need to work together and maybe combine themselves and their funds instead of competing for donations and attention. i had to chuckle because i met a woman this week who was explaining what exactly her organization does. this organization started itself to help minimize the amount of n.g.o.'s in the country and help to combine them. sounds great in theory, but then again, they are just another n.g.o. we have n.g.o.'s forming to stop the forming of n.g.o.'s. this is humorous to me. maybe they are doing great work, but the concept made me laugh. this is me, stepping off of a soapbox that i only understand in the most minimal way possible.
alright...who wants to laugh? me! this is one of those, kinda had to be there stories - won't be offended at all if you skip it!
last saturday, i went to a bbq with some friends. hannah has a little suziki that fits a driver and three passengers comfortably. so, naturally, six of us met at garden city (kinda the town center/mall) and climbed in. i was up front on esther's lap because, well, i'm kind of a midget. so we're driving along and we come to a stop next to a police officer (ugandan police notoriously stop white folk for doing nothing wrong because they can usually get a bribe to not 'punish' them). he comes to the driver's window and says, 'excuse me...how many people do you have in this car?' hannah says, 'well, five plus just a little one.' they argue about the illegality of the issue and when he turns his back to direct traffic, esther hops out of the car and walks to the nearest gas station to be picked up when we make it past the police officer. he turns around, sees there is only five of us, looks confused and let's us pass. on the way to pick up esther, hannah gets stuck in a pothole, holding up about 20 cars. i hop out, thinking she will be able to get out with 95 pounds less in the car (haha, that was a joke, i'm obviously 100 pounds) and as soon as i close the door, she glides out of the pot hole. the boda driver zooms past going, 'mzungu, you are very heavy, no?' i resisted the smart comments flying through my head and smiled while nodding like an idiot. so i jogged up to where esther was and hannah picked us both up. we thought the interesting part of the journey was over, and so did you. we have a paragraph left - i won't lie, it might not be worth it, ha.
so, hannah takes a wrong left hand turn and we are headed down a steep hill and it's raining so it's a bit muddy. we decide to turn around but you know in the 3 point turn when you're blocking both lanes of traffic? well hannah was at that point when the car just stopped working altogether. we have a line in each direction of at least 15 cars and the ugandans are screaming at us in a language i still don't know. i just smiled and waved. then we decided to pile out and push the car into the nearest driveway. how ironic that when five white girls get out of the car, the insults the men where hurling at us in luganda turned into, 'mzungu, i am so sorry, how are you?' it was a chorus of high pitched voices offering help and we had about 8 men come help us push the car up. there was a truck full of men waiting and when the road was cleared, they drove past us blowing kisses and winking. touching, really.
we got to the bbq two hours late, starving and ready for food when hannah told us that she had the grill in her trunk the whole time.
i have the stories that get told on the blog and then the ones that are borderline rude that get sent in emails to my family. they can't judge me, they are required to love me, :). but seriously, where do i draw the line on laughing at the culture clash and mocking something i don't understand. i wanted to post these thoughts because i never want to offend anyone with what i say on here and my take on what i see/how i see things. i don't write about the sad stuff usually because, well, it's sad. and my words don't really do what is happening justice to be honest. it's easy to write about the funny things, the sad stuff takes effort that i don't have most of the time.
i was a little convicted about the portrait i was painting for all of you at home of what things are like here. i'm reading the poisonwood bible right now which is a fictional story about a pastor moving his family to the congo in the 1960's. it's pretty accurate about what life is like in the bush here and the way the author writes is spot on. my own words would botch it up, so here is an excerpt of something that i appreciated. it is written in the voice of one of the teenage daughter's after being instructed to write home and tell her friends what africa is like:
"we're still wondering, where do you start? 'this morning i got up...' i'd begin, but no, 'this morning i pulled back the mosquito netting that's tucked in tight around our beds because mosquitoes here give you malaria, a disease that runs in your blood which nearly everyone has anyway but they don't go to a doctor because there are worse things like sleeping sickness or the kakaka or that someone has put a kibaazu on them, and anyway there's really no doctor nor money to pay one, so people just hope for the good luck of getting old because then they'll be treasured, and meanwhile they go on with their business because they have children they love and songs to sing while they work, and...' and you wouldn't even get as far as breakfast before running out of paper. you'd have to explain the words, and then the words for the words."
this definitely resonated with me because there are countless times i try to explain something either in an email or on here and i just give up because it comes out with too many details and makes no sense. the best way i can try to explain the feeling is this...you know in the states when you meet someone and you are just getting to know one another? male, female, work colleague, friend, potential 'someone' - whoever. you go through this phase of explanation. every story you have needs a background story. 'well, me and my best friends from high school - well, they are 3 girls that i've known for like 8 years and we do everything together and they are like sisters. there's sara without the h and sarah with the h and even though they are both nurses they are completely different. and then there's julie who is different too but still just as great...' see? i've already lost you. and most of you know the people i'm talking about!! or when someone gives you a compliment and you just act really awkward and then you have to explain that you're a mennonite and mennonites don't give compliments so even though you appreciate them, it's weird for you - and so on.
now imagine that phase times about 56 and that's how difficult it is to talk to you all about the not so fun parts of uganda. i feel like just when i start to understand why some of the poverty exists and why it operates the way it does, i learn a whole new level, a whole new 'background story' and my mind gets blown all over again. the only example i will attempt is the saddest (daily) thing i encounter here. i have yet to take a picture of it because it deals with exploitation and all of that photojournalism ethics stuff. it's the children that sit on the side of the road, begging for money. not with words. and not just children. toddlers. some that can BARELY WALK. these small people just sat down by someone, expected to tug on the heartstrings of people walking by. they sit there allllll day long, looking up at every pedestrian with their hand extended into the air, usually supported by their other arm no doubt because both arms are tired from performing this action for hours on end. i have cried multiple times walking down the street, not knowing what to do, if anything. there has never been something i have seen in philadelphia, lancaster, grantham, or any other place i've been that can actually make me sob just from seeing it. i have asked many ugandans what i can do and the answer is always the same...'well, don't give them money because there is probably an adult watching them down the street or from a nearby window and they will take the money. you could give them food, but you would instantly have all the other children begging following you until you give them some too.' and i feel helpless. unless i do something dramatic, i can't help. is this a call to do something dramatic? maybe...
but this brings me to the background story. oh, sorry, yeah...we're not done yet, not even close. n.g.o.'s (non-governmental organization) in uganda are a problem, a biiiiiiig problem. there are thousands in uganda and there are a lot of percentages thrown out there about how many are actually corrupt, from 25% all the way up to 90%. corruption comes in all forms, but the big one is that people register their organization as an n.g.o., then get westerners to donate tons of money because they showed them a picture of a kid with flies on his face and a big, malnourished belly, and then they keep a huge portion of the money. or there is corruption that might not even be seen as corruption. example: i was walking to church on sunday (i LOVE my church here, so good, so needed...don't judge it by what i'm about to say), and i counted 6 brand new landcruisers that passed me all within 30 seconds. they were all going to my church. i laughed after the first two thinking how ironic it was that both of them had their organization's icon and slogan slapped on the side and then my mouth dropped when FOUR MORE organizations vehicles drove past. and this is just in my church!! i would love to know how many n.g.o.'s are represented there. it has to be upwards of 50. i'm not saying that the people i go to church with do not sacrifice to live here and to be here. they have chosen to live away from friends and family and raise their children in a not-so-affluent or convenient place. and that's commendable, always. but i have to wonder who pays for those landcruisers - the people who donated the money to the organization? the home church of the couple driving it who supports them? who? where is it coming from and is that purchase necessary? i don't know...maybe they are. just speculating.
i have rabbit trailed...see how confusing this all gets and how it's all tied together? back to my point. if there are 50 n.g.o.'s represented alone in my congregation of 200+ people, how many of them are working against each other instead of with each other? i could start a street kids organization here in kampala and try to save the kids i see begging, but how many people are already doing that and how do i know they aren't just saying they're doing it and not actually doing it? that sentence even confused me...sorry if i lost ya for a bit. but seriously, n.g.o.'s need to work together and maybe combine themselves and their funds instead of competing for donations and attention. i had to chuckle because i met a woman this week who was explaining what exactly her organization does. this organization started itself to help minimize the amount of n.g.o.'s in the country and help to combine them. sounds great in theory, but then again, they are just another n.g.o. we have n.g.o.'s forming to stop the forming of n.g.o.'s. this is humorous to me. maybe they are doing great work, but the concept made me laugh. this is me, stepping off of a soapbox that i only understand in the most minimal way possible.
alright...who wants to laugh? me! this is one of those, kinda had to be there stories - won't be offended at all if you skip it!
last saturday, i went to a bbq with some friends. hannah has a little suziki that fits a driver and three passengers comfortably. so, naturally, six of us met at garden city (kinda the town center/mall) and climbed in. i was up front on esther's lap because, well, i'm kind of a midget. so we're driving along and we come to a stop next to a police officer (ugandan police notoriously stop white folk for doing nothing wrong because they can usually get a bribe to not 'punish' them). he comes to the driver's window and says, 'excuse me...how many people do you have in this car?' hannah says, 'well, five plus just a little one.' they argue about the illegality of the issue and when he turns his back to direct traffic, esther hops out of the car and walks to the nearest gas station to be picked up when we make it past the police officer. he turns around, sees there is only five of us, looks confused and let's us pass. on the way to pick up esther, hannah gets stuck in a pothole, holding up about 20 cars. i hop out, thinking she will be able to get out with 95 pounds less in the car (haha, that was a joke, i'm obviously 100 pounds) and as soon as i close the door, she glides out of the pot hole. the boda driver zooms past going, 'mzungu, you are very heavy, no?' i resisted the smart comments flying through my head and smiled while nodding like an idiot. so i jogged up to where esther was and hannah picked us both up. we thought the interesting part of the journey was over, and so did you. we have a paragraph left - i won't lie, it might not be worth it, ha.
so, hannah takes a wrong left hand turn and we are headed down a steep hill and it's raining so it's a bit muddy. we decide to turn around but you know in the 3 point turn when you're blocking both lanes of traffic? well hannah was at that point when the car just stopped working altogether. we have a line in each direction of at least 15 cars and the ugandans are screaming at us in a language i still don't know. i just smiled and waved. then we decided to pile out and push the car into the nearest driveway. how ironic that when five white girls get out of the car, the insults the men where hurling at us in luganda turned into, 'mzungu, i am so sorry, how are you?' it was a chorus of high pitched voices offering help and we had about 8 men come help us push the car up. there was a truck full of men waiting and when the road was cleared, they drove past us blowing kisses and winking. touching, really.
we got to the bbq two hours late, starving and ready for food when hannah told us that she had the grill in her trunk the whole time.
Friday, August 14, 2009
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