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| Beauty in a box |
A week of travel in Uganda and I’m still alive! That is really saying something! Safety in Africa is like finding fruit on a tree in the winter, it’s just not there! The roadways are a free-for-all and speed is not a crime. Motorbikes swerve in and out of traffic, traffic through the road construction is a joke, there is no traffic control just cars, semi’s and bikes trying to go every which direction all at the same time! They tell me anyone can get a license to drive; you just have to pay more money if you haven’t actually taken a driving course. No one wears seat belts, there are no car seats, helmets or safety glasses. Children have horrific burns from cooking fires, or from candles. Namara, one of the children at Kerungi, the orphanage in Kabale that I volunteered at last time has a burn on his neck so badly that he can barely turn his head. His breakfast of porridge was somehow spilled on himself. Of course my first question is, “why would you give a child something that hot?!” But, here it is normal, with hundreds of hungry mouths waiting for the fire to start, the porridge to cook, the porridge to be served and distributed, time for letting it cool is a luxury they don’t have, nor is it a concern. When a baby reaches toward a candle, they tell me, “He will only touch it once and he will learn.” So I stand by with my tongue clenched firmly between my teeth.
The trip to Kampala took me a few days since two nights were spent in Kabale with Sarah and her beautiful family. Sarah and I went to the International Women’s day celebration on Sunday afternoon, where the countries President attended. The crowd of thousands was silent as his “motor car” drove around the compound, his thumb up, slowly and dramatically pumping the air. Musevini has been President for nearly thirty years and is now running for his 6th term. The fact that the majority live in poverty, his public school system is nothing more than a scandal to look like he’s offering free education while he and his approximately 350 members of parliament live like kings is all overlooked. The population still loves and supports him, because they live in peace. Unlike the years preceding him with Idi Amin as the ruler, Ugandans refer to these years as the “reign of terror”.
The “Posta” bus is the most reliable and known to be the safest bus option, so Sarah drove me to the Post office in her bathrobe and high heeled shoes on Monday morning at 6:30 a.m. I was assuming she would stay in the car, but she got out and even escorted me onto the bus! You are brave and beautiful Sarah-wey! Thank you for everything! Four hours later I got off for another quick stop to visit the village of Ntungu. I couldn’t pass up my only opportunity to check on the water tank and all the lovely students there. The next hour on the back of a motor bike was exhausting, hot and dusty, but so good to be greeted by all those happy, little faces. I came bearing gifts and sitting under the big shade tree reading books and singing songs with two hundred barefoot village kids is by far the highlight of my trip so far! When I asked them which song they want to sing they shouted, “whoa back, toot toot!” a.k.a. “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes”. Of course this was after we had already sung “ram sam sam” and “bubbles, bubbles, bubbles…POP!” I also brought two big summer sausages with me from home for gifts to share with my friends here, knowing how much they adore meat, I thought this would be the perfect gift…and I was right! The first I shared with friends in Kisoro and the second was divided amongst friends in Kabale, Ntungu and Kampala. At dinner Monday night in the village I told them I brought meat and all eyes were glued on the hunk of meat while I slowly sliced thin pieces for everyone. The entire meal was spent practicing saying, “summer sausage”, which sounded more like, “summah sauces”!
These stops were a great way to break up the ten hour bus ride and move my legs. Tuesday afternoon, I knew we were getting close to Kampala when I finally started seeing massive Jack Fruits hanging from the trees. I discovered Jack fruits while Immaculate was pregnant in 2014. She craved the sticky, messy flesh that reminded me of eating a human ear at first, but which I also learned to love and crave! They grow here, in the warmer climate, not down in Kisoro, where the elevation is 6,300 ft (1,890 m) and temperatures are much too cool, while the equator runs directly through Kampala. It is HOT here and Jack Fruits are plentiful! I would haul the huge, prickly melon home to Immaculate every chance I could. It surprises me every time I see something slightly larger than the biggest watermelon hanging on a tree and my thoughts are always the same, “That would crush someone’s skull they were walking under it when it falls!”
Public transportation has been a reminder of the lack of regular courtesies that occur here. Saying, “excuse me” when you want someone to move over or when you burp doesn’t exist. Life here is very real and it isn’t necessary to pretend we are anything other than humans who eat, burp and defecate. People openly pick their nose in public, I mean full on digging for gold while sitting on a bus or even while talking to someone! When you want to share a seat with someone, you simply sit next to them and use your hips to push them over and with that action the message is sent. There is no word for “please” in Rufumbira. When you order food in a restaurant it is “I want beans”. There is no requesting or asking someone, “May I have” or “Could you please…?” This was difficult for me at first, being constantly demanded, “You come” or, “you sit”. While I lived with Immaculate she would come into my room on Saturday morning and tell me, “You will be Jael’s mother today.” That was her way of asking me to look after Jael for the day. Now, I find myself speaking the same way. “You come” I say to the children, or my favorite is “bring it” when they want something in my hand. Jael is like a bossy, little woman, “You bring it” She demands with her hand outstretched, she is very much like her mother. The African woman is in charge and very demanding. It keeps life very real and the message is usually quite simple, you do it or you will be beaten. It is the woman who disciplines her children by beating them with a stick.
Kampala has been a blur of running errands, buying crafting supplies and sweating profusely! Peter, Paul and Promise all lived in Kisoro, but have come to the city to find work. I’m staying with them in the house that Promise is remodeling. When I arrived, there was no water, no power, no doors and no mosquito net. I inquire immediately about where I can find a mosquito net, they don’t sound hopeful that we will find one tonight as I swat away at the little pests. That evening Paul goes to fetch water so I can bathe, an hour later the cold water is a relief as I rinse the dust, grime and sweat of the village, the dusty bike ride and the long bus ride off. By the time I come out of the kitchen pantry where they instructed me to bathe, ensuring me that the wooden doors in there are the old ones and it is fine to get them wet; they have a rickety, make-shift ladder in the middle of the room and are hanging a mosquito net over my mattress on the floor. They are so good to me! I sleep on one single mattress while the three of them share the other! This is very normal for them to share beds, but still I feel bad taking one of their mattresses. Peter and Paul were working for a while, but they tell me the man didn’t pay them, so now they “sit idle” all day long. They tell me of their desire to work and I tire of their excuses, I don’t understand the unjust, unfair system. Peter picked a jack fruit off the tree in the morning and as we sat, munching on it with sticky fingers from the gooey flesh inside Promise tells me of child sacrifices and the adventures he had with fishermen. This man never tires of talking and he is full of unbelievable stories. He explains, “I once bought a small fishing boat and was going to try fishing to make some money. The jaja (old men) that are the experts at fishing insist that to have a profitable and successful fishing livelihood I must make sacrifices to the water God’s. If you only sacrifice a chicken, you can expect a small profit, when you can afford to, you must buy a cow and sacrifice it to the God’s. People have even gone so far as to sacrifice children, sometimes even their own. Sometimes they go to Tanzania and buy a child, or they go into a village to buy children. They tell the parents their child will be taken to Europe and educated. The parents are told they may never see their child again, because he may become successful and never return.” Of course, the parents are paid a fee and they hand over their child believing a better life is in store for them. Again, my jaw is left hanging in disbelief and frustration. I am relieved when he tells me that he sold his boat, at a loss, and never actually went fishing!
I miss Promise in Kisoro. Though he isn’t there to help me with the projects, he has been my advisor and confidant and now I call him to answer my many questions. He was the building contractor when we built Wilson’s house. He is one of the few that I truly trust here. I point out the ironies and oddities in his stories, just to make sure he doesn’t actually believe in some of these crazy and inhumane traditions. He is brutally honest with me and I with him. It is a good system.
Today I sit on the banks of the Nile River, enjoying the monkeys swinging from the trees, the heat and the cold beer that only electricity can provide! I have met with the incredibly friendly and helpful people of “HELP International”. These ladies had no hope and now they have jobs, they have an income by making paper beads, to provide for their families and to plan for the future of their children. They have jobs because a few ladies from Colorado cared and took the time to spread their love, to make a difference in the world. We are following in their footsteps. When I met Ronny, a local here who works for HELP, he looked me in the eye and said, “I thank you very much for your service, you have a good heart and a mission I believe in. You can improve Ugandan lives and I admire you for being here and for caring for us.”
We’re not helping Ronny, we’re helping people he doesn’t even know down in Kisoro, but still he sincerely Thanks us and he appreciates our work. I’m feeling encouraged and confident that great things can and will happen!
With all my Love and Gratitude,
Bonnie
“Your greatness is not what you have, it's what you give."
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