Another successful water tank delivery has taken
place, this time in the village of Ntungu. We hired a
truck in Mbarara and filled it with the 5,000 liter water tank, the
gutters, plywood and cement. We even had a little room left over, so we
brought Auntie a blanket, the teachers soap and meat for the family I
stay with! It was another beautiful trip to the village. The most simple
things thrill these people. I took photos of some of the villagers last
time, then printed them and returned with them this time. The hoots,
hollers and laughs are priceless when they see the photo of themselves.
Then I had a line of people, everyone and their brother wanted a "snap"
taken of themselves, all hoping I'd bring them a copy.
Sunday was spent hauling stones with the kids to
build the
platform for the tank to sit on. It was a big procedure, carrying stones
for the
base from the other side of the hill, hauling water from
over an hour away on bicycle just to mix the cement. It is a beautiful
platform though, it looks very sturdy and professional! The kids and I
walked back and forth about a hundred times carrying stones on our
heads, eventually they disappeared and I continued even though everyone
insisted the muzungu must be tired. "Muzungu's are soft" I've been told
more than once. They are always surprised to find that I can "manage"
to work. I can dig in the garden, I can carry stones, I can wash dishes,
all of these things surprise them. I explain that we do all these
things at home, just a little differently. I explain that we wash dishes
in a tub of water just like they do, but we stand up when we do it.
They bend over at the waist and wash with their tub on the ground. When I
suggested they find a stool and sit down I was told that was "a lazy
mans way" of washing. It seems like it would save your back, but what do
I know?! I tell them that big farms have tractors and machinery that do
the digging for them, but many people have gardens and small fields
that they plant, weed and harvest by hand, just like they do. Most of
the time I don't think they believe me. They ask me if I'm "deceiving"
them. "Muzungus are very strong." I smile and try to convince them as I
continue carrying stones.
I
went to a burial with the Momma of the household on Monday. They told
me it was, "very near". As we set off at about 2 p.m. in the blazing sun
they point to the home, just down this mountain, around the base of the
next mountain and up the next ridge...."very close" I sarcastically
agree. It was a beautiful walk though. Down in the shady banana
plantations in the valley between the mountains, we crossed a small
creek that I'm told most people in the area get their water from. When
we got to the burial, there were so many people we couldn't even get
into the compound. It was filled with hundreds of people sitting on the
ground under big, tattered orange and blue tarps or pieces of canvas. We
sit outside the compound in the shade. There are people everywhere,
some of them must have walked for hours to get here. Like they do to
fetch their water. We greet and shake hands with many of the people
present, I play with the baby next to me. On our way home, Momma leads
me up a different path, we stop at a relatives house and drink
"porridge". Which is a fermented drink made from the sorghum plant.
Everyone makes a different recipe and it is definitely an acquired
taste. When I first arrived my face scrunched and my stomach turned at
the warm, bitter and bubbly concoction but now it is lovely and I take
two glasses knowing we'll be back in the hot sun soon. We sit in the
tiled living room on comfortable couches as we drink. I am surprised to
find such a posh home when we just walked through dusty fields, grazing
goats, hungry kids, pigs tied to trees and past mud homes and little
grass bathing shacks to get here.
The
rest of the week passed much too quickly while reading books to the
kids, singing songs under the big, shady tree and playing games with
them. I ate more bananas than I ever thought was possible. When I walked
past Aunties house to use the toilet on the first morning she stopped
me on the way back with a steamy bowl of green bananas (matoke) and
beans for breakfast. The next morning I was served cold Irish potatoes
and hot tea for breakfast. For lunch it's posho and beans, for dinner it
was potatoes and meat for everyone else, potatoes and beans for me
please!
Teacher
Olivier invited me to her home for dinner one evening, so we walked
down the mountain again, stopping to greet and visit every villager
between her home and the school. I'm surprised by her commute each day,
but even more surprised when I realize that her two year old and four
year old walk it with her each day. Everyone is happy to see me and even
happier when I greet them in their local language. While I sit outside
visiting with her husband, neighbors and kids we shell g-nuts and she
cooks in the little outdoor kitchen. I'm offered sugar cane to chew on,
it is a nice, sweet, and juicy treat, but my teeth haven't quiet
mastered the task of peeling off the outside then biting through the
tough fibers, so I take a very small piece. Keneth joins us as it gets
dark. We go inside and Olivier serves us hot Irish potatoes with a
delicious, salty fried cabbage on top. It is a very nice and tasty meal.
When I ask her if she's going to join us, she says, "I'm busy!" And she
goes back out to the kitchen. When she finally returns she has two
little baskets with cone-shaped tops. They are warm and I'm afraid it's
Karo, a gooey paste that's usually eaten with beans on top. When I open
the cover I find g-nuts, the ones we just shelled, freshly roasted and
salted! What a treat! They live in a mud home and have nothing more than
the food they grow in their own garden, but we leave there with a
plastic bag full of the roasted nuts, papaya's and sugar cane. I am
humbled, again, and grateful for their kindness. They have so little,
still they insist on sharing it.
Wednesday
morning as we are getting ready to leave Keneth tells me, "go quickly
to the playground...and bring your camera". I walk outside and find the
younger kids standing in a circle, most of them in just their
underpants. I ask teacher Olivier why they don't have their clothes on
and she tells me, "It's P.E."! As if this explains everything. I say,
"yes...but where are their clothes?" She tells me they check their
bodies at P.E. "For what?" I ask. She tells me they are looking to see
if they are clean and if they have any injuries. So after teaching them
to walk like a crab and having wheelbarrow races I go inside and get my
"jelly". It's like Vaseline, but nicer, and they use it like we use
lotion. Some of them are very dry and scaly so they stand in a circle
and I give them each a dab to smear on their legs, then they rub some on
their neighbors backs. They are so sweet.
Finally,
we hike down the mountain to the trading center, where we squeeze
behind the driver onto a boda-boda. It's a Bonnie-Sandwich, by the time
we get back to Mbarara we are covered in a fine, powdery dust like the
plants along the road are. My mind is full of thoughts, I'm sad. It's
hard leaving those kids. When I said I good-bye and I went to hug them
or to pick up the little ones they didn't know how to hug. The stand
with their arms stiff at their sides. When I try to pick them up they
don't raise their arms, they keep them down and I have to wedge my hands
under their arms so I can scoop them up. Keneth tells me it's normal
and that they aren't used to it. He doesn't understand why it makes me
sad." Life is different here, it's hard." He explains. Then he tells me
that if kids here were treated like we treat our kids they wouldn't
survive. I'm afraid he's right, this doesn't do much to cheer me up
though. Maybe Muzungu's are "soft" after-all.
Since it's summer time and there are plenty of BBQ's, picnics and get-togethers, might I suggest, just for the fun of it, you try and squeeze eight people into your car next time you're hanging out. Four across the back and four in the front. That's right, the driver even shares his seat with someone. When you get everyone "comfortably" squeezed in and all four doors closed, just sit there for about two hours...just for fun....and see what you think. Then, go ahead and turn the heat on, leave the windows rolled up and be sure you throw in a goat or two, maybe a chicken and a crying baby. You'll understand why I enjoy staying put in Kisoro more and more!
Travel Safe and hug your lucky kids!
Love, Bonnie
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