Bridget

Bridget is the seven year old at school who doesn’t speak. I attempted teaching her some signs, I tried to assign a teacher to teaching her some signs and last week I took her to see the English Doctor and his wife who’s a therapist at the “Potters Village”.  The Village is a home to thirty-one babies and is run by an English woman, named Jenny Greene.  It’s also a non-profit clinic especially for children under 12 years old, it’s a nursery school, and an orphanage that takes in abandoned or orphaned babies. The mortality rate of women while delivering babies is much too high here.  If the surviving family members keep the baby they don’t “do” bottle feeding very well, so the child often ends up malnourished and very sick. It is common for the baby to be brought to the Village the very day it was born, after the mother passes. The compound has about twenty steep pitched green roofs, they are all round houses connected to one another with big covered porches. Many of the children at the Potters Village will go back to their families after their second Birthday; those who have no families to return to are sent to another orphanage, village or children’s home. Sometimes foster families take them in, with the monetary support of The Village. Teacher Happy, Bridget and I sit on the big cement porch while Doctor Mike uses a spoon dipped in sugar to see how much muscle control Bridget has over the tongue.  She quickly laps the sugar off one side of her cheek and then licks the other.  She struggles trying to get the tongue up toward the nose. They ask her teacher and I about her background, if she has ever talked, if she cries out loud, if she’s been abused. We don’t have many answers; they send us away telling us to keep reminding her to shut her mouth, to strengthen the muscles in her tongue by keeping it in her mouth. Her tongue pushes out between her lips and they seem to think her constant pulsing of it is for comfort. Sue, the Doctors wife is a speech therapist and agrees to work with Bridget after a couple of weeks of “training” her to keep her tongue in her mouth. She believes that Bridget is not speaking by choice.

The Potter's Village

The village has been operating for about seven years but Jenny has been in Uganda for nearly twenty years. There are many English volunteers who come, Doctors, Teachers, Nurses, Therapists, etc. They also employ about fifty locals. Jenny Greene is a big, blonde woman about sixty years old. She is an ordained minister and she preaches in Church sometimes. Everyone in Kisoro and the surrounding villages knows Jenny Green, she’s a bit of a legend. So, while riding on the back of the Reverend’s motorcycle with Jael in my arms through the village kids are shouting, “Jenny Green”, and waving to me! The Reverend laughs and tells me, “They think you are Jenny because you are carrying a baby.” I ask him, rather confused, “but isn’t she big….and blonde…and older??” “Yes, but all they see is a muzungu with a baby!” I’ve been told by some of the teachers that “we (muzungus) all look alike” so I guess I understand?!

Sunday was “Visitors Day” at Amazing Grace, one of two days this term when parents can come to see their kids. They anxiously await their parents. The parents are only allowed to come on these designated days and the last one was seven weeks ago. The highlight of the parents visit is of course that they bring them treats. When I ask what they hope their parents bring, it’s always the same, “bread, yellow bananas and avocados”.  Some of them come to me and sadly tell me, “They did not come.” A few of them even cry because they were hoping for their parents to visit and they never showed. I tell them, “I came to visit you!” They look at me very serious and ask, “But, did you bring me bread?” I stay the entire day waiting for Bridget’s mother to show up. When she finally arrives around 4 p.m. I have a list of questions for her from the Doctor. She sat up at one year. She crawled a little while after that. At eight months she had the surgery to cut the muscle under the tongue. She has never spoken, she cries out loud. She calls her mother “Mba ba”, she calls her little sister Maureen, “nee nee”, Her Mukaka (grandmother) is “ka ka”. Those are the only words she has ever spoken. At three years old she walked and “No”, she has never been abused, beaten or traumatized. So, we are back to square one. It is a relief. She hasn’t chosen not to speak because of some horrific past, she was born delayed. Today I stood next to the cooks and as they received their food, every single student had to say “Thank You” in sign language. I told them, “We’re helping Bridget”. I explain that she cannot speak, so when she says “thank you” in sign, now we can understand her.

Here there are no special workers or assistants assigned to Enock who is in third grade and cannot write his alphabet, no one testing him for dyslexia or any other learning disability. There’s no social worker who looks after Bridget, who ensures she learns to communicate. There’s no one who steps in on Christine’s behalf to protect her from her brother who may or may not be abusing her. There’s no one to advocate for these children. No one to ask questions, it is a survival of the fittest, a life where only the strong survive. Today two deaf girls came into the office asking for donations, they want to travel to Kabale to study. I gave them a donation, and then I told them I needed their help too. I explained on paper that I was trying to teach a 7 year old sign language, but I needed help. The answer to my prayers just walked right in the door. Peninah is now sleeping at the school. I’m paying her to be here for the next week and a half to see what Bridget is capable of learning. I think Bridget has some slight mental disabilities as well, so we’ll see how much she picks up. Some of the other kids are soaking it up like a sponge and loving it. Isn’t it funny how the universe works? Just as I was wondering how I was going to teach someone sign language when I didn’t know it myself…in walks Peninah, who happens to be looking for work, like most of the people in the country. 

Peninah, Bridget and Teacher Happy learning sign language.

Now a week later, with Bridget having the attention of two or three adults solely on her, bribing her with candy to get her to make signs, she is SPEAKING more than signing! One month ago I would have never guessed that Bridget was capable of making all the sounds that she does. When we sign "thank you" we also say the word in her local language, she responds with, "go". The proper response is "yeah-go". But this is progress, amazing progress. The speech therapist, Sue will be amazed when I bring her back and she sees this progress. Her mother came to visit and was nearly in tears when she heard Bridget say, "cow" and "Da-da". Pig is "ga" and tiger is "ga", one syllable at a time Bridget, slowly by slowly you will learn to communicate with the world around you.

Mt Muhabura

People gathered at the water tank with Muhabura in the background ~ Me at the Crater Lake on top of Mt. Muhabura .

 

22 June 2013

Mt. Muhabura 13,412 ft. (4,127 m) Wheew! What an incredibly beautiful day! I left home at 6 a.m. with my backpack full of water and boiled potatoes. A lunch I would never imagine bringing with me on a hike normally, but here is a perfectly normal lunch to pack. It takes me a while to find a boda-boda driver that knows where Muhabura Base Camp is exactly. When they see me hesitate, they insist that they really do know where it is, but I walk away and ask the next. We don’t have time to get lost and it’s a very rocky, bumpy road. I want someone who is sure of where they’re going. Finally, I find one who is from that area. I jump on the back of the bike and we take off. We stop at the “Coffee Pot” café to pick up Teacher Jackson, it’s nearly 6:30 already, 15 minutes after we were supposed to meet, and not surprisingly, he’s not there. I quickly call him, but his phone is switched off. Luckily for him, he comes strolling up just as I’m hanging up. I was about to go without him, it’s a 30 minute drive and we have to be there by 7 a.m. We squeeze onto the bike, it is still dark as we set off. The roads are relatively quiet and Jared expertly swerves back and forth avoiding most of the bigger stones. It’s cold and dusty, but the sunrise is beginning to give everything a dim glow, I see women rushing down their paths, their big piece of colorful fabric wrapped around them for warmth is blowing in the wind. People are flocking toward a massive water tank to fetch their water for the day. Many are students already dressed in their uniforms. When we pass the tank there are already dozens of people lined up there, but no water is flowing yet. We finally pull up to a grassy parking space and some small toilets. I’m relieved to get off the bike and let my hips move back to their natural position. We are met by a man who leads up a grassy trail through fields and homes for about 20 minutes until we reach the “Base Camp”. It’s a small office in the thick trees, there’s no one around and the toilets are still locked, so I squat behind them. When I come back the man who works at the office has been awoken and is there unlocking the door. Jackson and I sign in and we’re told it will be $60 USD for me and 30,000 USX for Jackson. He makes no attempt to get out any money so I assume that it’s me who’s paying for him. I’m realizing, that’s the way things work around here. Afterall, it was me who had the idea of climbing the mountain and I am grateful he’s here with me. The director wanted me to wait and come as a whole group from school. Himself, The Reverand, and whatever teachers wanted to come…that was not my idea of a peaceful day climbing a mountain, a group of 30; of which half I’m sure wouldn’t make it anyway. I’m paying a lot of money to climb it and I’d prefer a quiet, peaceful day. I realize that to them, this is a ridiculous and probably incredibly selfish way of thinking, so I keep it to myself. Jackson and I decided yesterday that we would go today. After we meet our guide, Danny, we set off at 7:30 a.m. They tell us there’s a group of 100 students who will be coming behind us at 8 a.m. If that’s not a motivator, I don’t know what is! Danny is a huge man with the stride of an ox. He’s wearing green fatigues, with a water bottle and a rifle slung across his chest. I ask him where his lunch is and he points to the cargo pocket on his pant leg. He is very kind and obviously here to please me. After our first ten steps I’m panting behind him and I think “oh, oh! I’m in trouble!” I tell myself it’s good.  

Danny~ Near the top!

 The farther ahead of the students the better and we might as well go fast now before it’s the steep part near the top and before the elevation starts to affect us. He does slow eventually and I tell him I like the pace, “slow but steady”.  He laughs at that. We hear a sound and he tells me it’s a dyker. “A bird?” I ask him. “No, it’s a small antelope.” Jackson, who has not trained and does not run to strengthen his lungs (like I do), asks if we mind if he leaves us behind. So, Danny and I continue slow but steady up the trail. 

The forest is thick and lush and Danny tells me this is the Secondary forest, this land was cultivated in the past but since 1992 it has been protected and returned to forest. I am amazed at how quickly things grow here. The warm weather year round means that trees have matured to full-size in just 20 years. I tell Danny that if we saw a tree at home, the size of the massive Eucalyptus trees here, that tree might be over 100 years old. He’s surprised and laughs again, he can’t imagine what I’m talking about when I tell him the land is frozen for five months and the trees go dormant. I enjoy walking through the bamboo forest; the small bamboo trees look dainty and fragile. Their thin leaves blowing in the wind, he tells me this is where they get the walking sticks that we are using. Suddenly Danny stops and he points into the forest, there is a very small animal, he tells me it’s the dyker. It’s just slightly larger than a goat. It stands and looks at us for a second then darts off into the tall grass. “That was lucky to see him.” I tell Danny and he says, “Thank you!” When we finally reach the first “resting hut” Jackson is there, sitting in the sun and waiting for us. I’m surprised at the hut. For some reason I expected more than this very airy bamboo hut.

 

The thatch roof has clumps of wildflowers dead and dried scattered in it. We have a quick snack and a drink, I snap a few pictures and we continue on. Danny tells us that we are three hours from the top. Jackson leads the way, and Danny stays behind me. He tells me he’ll follow my pace. It’s sunny and beautiful. The wind is blowing, which keeps us cool. The past week I could hardly even see the mountain because there was so much dust in the air, today it is clear and beautiful. We’ve passed through the big, thick trees of the Primary forest, the few colorful wildflowers and now the vegetation is getting smaller, more exotic looking. It’s looking more like dry desert vegetation. There are clouds sitting between this mountain and the next, just the peaks are sticking out through the clouds, now we’re looking down at those peaks.

We are finally at the second resting hut. This time I sit down in the hut, to get out of the wind. It is getting stronger, the hut does little to protect me from the wind, and there are no benches in this one, so I sit on the ground with my back toward the wind. We drink water, Jackson and I eat a boiled potato. He shares his biscuits with me. Danny insists he doesn’t want anything to eat. My legs are getting tired and I enjoy sitting there for a moment, enjoying the view.  We sit for no more than ten minutes and Danny asks, “Are you waiting for the students to catch up?” “No!” I quickly reply and stand to put my backpack on.  As soon as we leave the second hut I start feeling the altitude. I feel like my motions are slow and each step is more of an effort than the last. None-the-less, I still feel good. “Slowly by slowly” Danny reminds me. We are surrounded by big cactuses and short, shrubby trees. I don’t hear anymore birds, nothing but the wind whistling in my ears. Shortly after leaving the hut, we look back and the first of the students are arriving at the hut. I am determined to get to the top without them catching us. There are many, rickety ladders built over the trail where it was getting warn or where the rocks were sliding. At first I’m leery of the ladders, but I’ve learned to step near the nail and gently test it before putting my weight on the step, then I quickly clamber up. Danny tells us we are one hour from the top. This is encouraging news!

Jackson, Waiting patiently for me!

“Slow, but steady” he reminds me. When there’s a small stretch of downhill, I say, “weeeeeee!”  and enjoy the break. Then we come to a long series of ladders leading straight up, I can’t see where they end. I slowly climb up, one rung at a time, panting and sweating. I wait for Danny at the top of the ladder, catching my breath.  We continue and soon Danny asks me, “How many minutes to the top?” I guess forty. He tells me thirty, then says, “No…two!” This excites me greatly, but I’m reluctant to believe him. “Are you deceiving me?” I ask him. He laughs and tells me that I am standing in both Uganda and Rwanda right now. We are standing on the trail that leads to Rwanda, this is the line that divides the two countries. I have one foot on each side. Jackson is sitting in the grass on the Uganda side. Danny asks again if we are waiting for the students to catch us, then he continues up the trail. We quickly follow behind him and sure enough, just two minutes later we are standing on top of the volcano.  6,000 ft. in 4 hours and 15 minutes Danny tells us!

The last long ladder to the top!

Crater Lake

The place is gorgeous, but not fully our own like I’d hoped. There are a group of Rwandan soldiers there who are patrolling the area. They are lounging about in the grass. I ask them if they slept here, they laugh and tell me no. I guess they just hiked up this morning also. The Crater Lake that I envisioned as a huge hole in the top of the volcano is a small pond surrounded by tall grass and a few funny shaped trees. The water is very cold, I’d also envisioned jumping in when I finally arrived, but thankfully the soldiers and the approaching students saved me from that shivering escapade. We lay down in the tall grass, the sun is shining and it is beautiful. We look down into Rwanda, it is too cloudy below us to see into Uganda or the Congo, but it doesn’t matter. I enjoy the lake and the sunshine. I’ve packed an extra sweater and a hat, because of the cold I was anticipating at the top, but I am pleasantly surprised by the sunshine and warmth. I also imagined big, black volcanic stones up here, like the roads in Kisoro. Danny assures me they are there; they’re just grown over with grass, cactus and shrubs. It is green and lush up here at 13,000 ft. The peacefulness lasts for about three minutes and the first of the students arrive. They plop down on the grass right next to us, as if we’re together. I’m slightly appalled at this and then I remind myself of where I am. As more arrive they move to the other side of the lake and fill their water bottles from the crater. We snap some photos, Danny scolds the students for littering. It is natural here, to throw your trash on the ground so it’s a very hard concept for these students to remember that while on the mountain they can’t litter. I ask him if they are told before the hike not to throw their trash on the ground. He gruffly says, “They are told.” When Danny asks how long we’d like to stay, I tell him two weeks sounds good. He laughs again. Soon we start our descent, meeting many students still on their way up. There’s no such thing as waiting for someone to first finish a ladder before you start. So, when I begin going down the ladder, I’m surprised when the kid below starts up the ladder, I squeeze over to let him by. I tell everyone the approximate time left to the top. It was very encouraging for me when Danny told us, “just one more hour!” so I do the same.  As I pass one student, I hear a bubble surface in his throat and he turns and vomits in the grass next to the trail. That was a close call, Thank God he turned his head or I would have been covered in vomit! One hundred people on the mountain and one is vomiting, poor guy, why is he affected by the altitude and the rest of us are not? The distance back to the hut seems to have doubled, at least. I tell the students they are strong and that they are very near to the top. “Slowly, by slowly” I tell them. One girl is barefoot and another is being pulled by the arm from a friend. These are the tail end of the group and it is obvious they aren’t having much fun. When we finally reach the first hut we sit in the grass and enjoy the sunshine again. There are a few students around who seem to be in pain in one way or another and have decided to wait for their classmates here. Danny asks how long we want to stay; I tell him we can go back on Tuesday. He looks at me, confused.  And then he says, “You are funny Bonnie.”

When we finally arrive back at the office, or base camp, it has taken us almost as long to get down as it did to get up. We enjoyed the sunshine and the day. There are students lounging around in the grass. The boda-boda driver from this morning is there waiting for us. We called him about the time I made my second dash into the bushes to get rid of whatever it was that I ate last night that made me run for the bush. We sign the guest book, say our good-byes to Danny and we head down the final stretch of the trail and back on the bike. The kids who live along the trail are all sitting there, they know the drill. The muzungus climb the mountain and come back with empty water bottles, maybe even some leftover food. They ask for the water bottles, they sell them on market days for people to carry there paraffin (kerosene) home in. I have one big one and one small one, there are four boys who scramble toward me and fight over them. I hold them apart and make sure the same boy doesn’t get them both.  I’m squeezed between Jackson and Jared again as we start our 30 minute journey back to town. This time the roads are full of cows, goats, children, bikes, motorbikes and still, people hauling their jerri-cans. When we pass the water tank this time, there are hundreds of people gathered and at the source a fight has broken out. Just as we pass I see a grown man about to throw a punch at another. People scatter with their empty water cans.

 I try to imagine the desperation you must feel if you don’t get your water. No cooking, most importantly, but also no bathing, no drinking water, no tea, no washing your clothes. I’m surprised there aren’t more fights. By the time we drop Jackson off at his home, my hips are even more relieved to have some space to relax this time. I tell Jackson, “good-bye! I hope you can walk tomorrow. Thank you!” “Yes, I’ll be able to walk. I’ll go to church and then I’ll relax. You’re welcome!” He says as we drive away. By the time Jared drops me off, my legs have frozen up and I need to move very slowly to get them working again as I crawl off the bike. I hobble over to a chair and sit down. I order a cold Tusker lager. There I sit in the evening sun, enjoying a cold beer and enjoying my health and strength and the beauty that surrounds me.

"Old Man's Beard" in the mossy forest