Easter

Romina, Analina and Grace~ Enjoying MEAT & SODA on Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday was a celebration of food, just like it is at home. After a three hour church service, we head to our neighbors. They are a German couple who live here with their three daughters, they've been living here for about six months. You can imagine how popular these little muzungu girls are! We carried over plates and forks, we carried benches and chairs, we carried over the beans that Ava made, the G.nut sauce and the chapatti’s. Immaculate made fresh juice, the most beautiful juice in the world. We brought the small end tables to eat on and we carried the food in big pots and pans. The two English girls who also live nearby brought the rice and the cabbage salad. All of the usual food was served, plus MEAT and a couple of "extras"! I tried to make a chocolate sauce, they all claimed it was delicious, it was very runny!

The "spread"

The meal was lovely. Vivian and Julius and their three kids were also there. Mika and Beth, an American couple that had just returned to Uganda to live were also there. We feasted and chatted, after lunch we played games. Claire and Charlotte, the two English girls, were full of silly games to play. The Africans found every game hilarious and exciting. Even the adults love the games, maybe even more than the children. They don't play many organized games so it's always a challenge to explain the rules and then see how it turns out. We played musical chairs, my personal favorite. We played a game so ridiculous it was hilarous, it is called "Ha". We laughed so hard at the absurdity of it. They had four people standing on a square of newspaper the size of an adult’s hand. We were hugging and groping each other trying to stay on the little piece of newspaper long to enough to beat the other teams. Eventually we carried all of the furniture back to our house in the rain and relaxed for the rest of the afternoon. Even though I attempted to make the chocolate sauce to drizzle over the fruit, I couldn’t stop thinking about the bowl of chocolates that my Grandmother would have brought, claiming it was from the Easter bunny, if I were at home right now. Even the veggie tray with carrot sticks and the creamy, salty dip would be incredible right now!

Jael in her paper hat.

Amelia with her pet rabbit, "Felix".

Easter Monday we were invited to Alex and Betty's house for lunch. Alex is the director of Amazing Grace and also the brother to Habert, with whom I live. Lunch was at 2:00, so we showed up around 3:00 and I’m thinking we’re late. Upon arrival Immaculate immediately sets to work washing the dishes, so we would have plates to eat off of. Didn't they know we were coming, I wonder to myself?!

Immaculate washing dishes

Uncle Alex, Balam, Elizabeeth and Ezra eating lunch at Alex & Betty's house.

About an hour later, somewhere around 4 p.m., as my stomach is singing a ballad, we have lunch. We have the same dishes that we always have, we just have every dish that we always have today. We have potatoes, matoke, g-nut, beans, rice and of course, it’s a special day, so we have MEAT. Immaculate also made a delicious cake. She had to build two fires, one on the bottom and one on the top of a big steel box. Once the fire was good and hot, she baked the cakes inside of the box oven. They are short, round cakes, but she’s stacked two together. She made a delicious, sweet icing from powdered sugar, then she added coffee grounds to a little bit and very carefully wrote, “God is Good” in brown icing across the top of the cake. At least that’s what she told me it said! The kids sit on a mat on the floor. I’m incredibly impressed with Esther’s English. She is the ten year old niece of Immaculate and Habert. She says things like, “Isn’t it a lovely Easter Day?” I say, “Yes, it certainly is a nice Easter day.” She smiles at me as we sit on the couch together. “Where did you learn such good English?” I ask her. She tells me that she studied in Kabale before they moved here. She’s the oldest in the family, so I’m sure part of her maturity is the fact that she’s partially raising her three younger brothers and probably also has many responsibilities around the house. After lunch I sit on the couch while Esther braids my hair for hours. She’s putting tons of tiny, little braids all over my head. Immaculate, Aunt Betty and Ester’s mom, Aunt Evelyn are all there chatting away. They switch from Rufumbira to English and back and forth again. As Elizabeth, the four year old daughter of Alex and Betty is doing handstands in her dress against the back of the chair, Aunt Betty says, “See, this is why she can’t make her holy communion yet.” I smile to myself and think of my nieces and I doing hundreds of handstands against the door at my mom’s house. I guess I’m not mature enough to receive Holy Communion either…not yet! 

Esther and I

Aunt Evelyn is a nurse and she seems to be a modern thinker, she surprises me when they start talking about how inappropriate it is for girls to play football. I’ve been biting my tongue for a good part of the past few hours, so I decide it’s time I ask a few questions “Why is it inappropriate?” I ask, oh-so-innocently. Aunt Evelyn looks at me and says, “Do you understand anatomy?” I tell her that “yes, I do understand anatomy”. I also tell her many girls really enjoy playing football. Many of them are very good at it as well. I tell her that it’s good exercise and if it makes the girls happy they should be encouraged to play football. Immaculate smiles at me, I’ve noticed she’s also been biting her tongue throughout the afternoon. The conversation continues, I look at Esther and think what a shame, this girl will never even have a chance to play sports.   

Eventually we all move outside, we check out the new guest room in the back. When I was here last week, it was just a brick structure, now it’s complete, with a bed and curtain. The bathing area is also complete, a little cement closet with a drain. We decide the girls should take some photos together. We make silly faces and this sends them laughing hysterically, we take more and the kids gather around our feet, they want to be a part of it, but, once again, the adults are having too much fun themselves to include the children. The little screen on the digital camera amuses us for far too long. It’s going to be dark soon, so we set off walking. Immaculate and Evelyn walk like turtles as Esther and I walk ahead of them. She is talking away, she shows me her school and tells me about her teacher. We dodge the bicycles loaded with boards that should have an, “extra wide” load sign flashing in front of them. We take about an hour to walk what would have taken me about 20 minutes to walk, but I’ve enjoyed my company. We say good-night, we praise God just once more and I promise to see Esther soon. She reminds me so much of my nieces, just a happy-go-lucky, brilliant girl.

Funny Faces Photo Shoot!

Had them in stitches!

Christine

Christine working hard on her letters.

Today I took Christine to the eye Doctor. We arrived around 9:20 to a crowd of waiting patients. Many of them were waiting in front of other doors, the door labeled "Eye Clinic" only had about ten people outside of it. We sat down and waited for the Dr. to arrive, whatever time that might be. Another muzungu shows up with an albino girl, they took the liberty of standing directly in front of the door to ensure they'd be the first patients seen. We watch as an old man is carried in by two younger men, a child limps in on an injured ankle and a woman carries her screaming baby back and forth as she waits for her turn to be seen. By 10:00 we were called in, when the Dr. saw me, she beckoned us in. I felt funny jumping in front of everyone else, but when the Dr. calls, you go! The Doctor asked us what exactly the problem was. I explained that when she's reading it seems like she can't see the words and she acts as if my finger is in the way, even though it's not. She had her stand on the line on the floor and asked her to cover her left eye. Christine recited the first line perfectly, the second line she was stuck on the first letter, the letter was "N". I suggested she go to the next letter, which was "Z" since we know she knows that letter from the first line. She proceeded all the way down the chart. She called the letter "P" a "B" each and every time. She didn't know the letter "F" each time she came to it, otherwise she did perfectly all the way down to the very last row, which was too small for her or I to see. When she switched to the other eye, she stumbled on the same letters. The Dr. asked me if she was "stable", I said, "yes, I think so." Then I asked her why she asked. She explained that she's seeing "strange behavior" in her.  "Like what?" I ask. She tells me that when she asks her why she can't read those letters that she stumbles on Christine tells her that she "forgot" them. I ask the Doctor if she knows of dyslexia? She's says, "that's a new one to me". I explain that sometimes the eyes turn things around and that people actually see things backwards or even upside down. She continues on with the exam, forcefully telling Christine, "help me to help you", as she pushes her hand over her eye for her as Christine tries to cheat and peek out from under the hand. Next she uses a light and shines it in her eyes, then she asks me if she can read the blackboard.  I tell her I don't know and I explain that when we read books is when I see her struggling and noticed the problem. She again mentions that she doesn't seem stable and she tells me to come back on Friday and to bring her mother with us. Since her mother knows her and her behavior, she thinks she can get a better sense of the situation. "But what did you conclude from the exam?" I ask. "What did you see in her eyes with the light?" She tells me everything looks fine but now they are going to the theater (the operating room) and that I should come back on Friday, when they can do some testing for "refraction". She is not giving any treatment at this point and she scribbles something on the notebook paper that I scratched Christine's name and age on while waiting outside. I noticed everyone else holding a paper and asked about it, the man next to me instructed me to write her name, age and her school. I handed the Dr. the piece of notebook paper when we walked in. This paper is the record of the visit. There are no hospital records and if the Dr. gives a prescription or instructions it is written on this paper and is the patients responsibility to retain.

Much to my surprise Christine and I leave the hospital by 10:30. We walk to town, I have to go to the post office to pick up a package. I stopped this morning, the doors were open and I saw a package with my name on it sitting on the counter. I yelled and yelled, "Hello? Hello!" but no one was there. When I stopped Tuesday morning around 10 a.m. the doors to the post office were locked. I asked the man shining shoes outside why the post office was closed today, and he shrugged. Some things have no explanations or reasons, they just are. Christine walks like a turtle, like most Africans do. Nothing but time, and there's no such thing as a hurry. I notice she is wearing shoes that are about 3 sizes too big for her. They are plastic slip-ons, similar to the jelly shoes we used to wear when I was a kid. The backs are cut off of them so they are more like a slipper hanging on her feet that drag with each step.

Yesterday the director and I walked to her home to tell her mother that I wanted to take her to the eye Dr. her mother wasn't home, we just found Christine and a handful of young kids hanging around. The home is one room, it is made of poles, then filled in with mud. Director Alex explained to me that this family was very poor, I had no idea just how poor. The mother and five children live in this one room mud house. It is decent sized, but there is nothing inside of it. They sleep on grass mats, covered with thin sheets. The mother's only job is "digging", also known as a peasant, or a person who grows crops on their land. This is the only income for this family of six. The father "ran off".

Christine in front of her home.

We leisurely stroll into town, when we arrive at the post office the doors are closed again. I really want that package TODAY. It is the pen pal letters from my cousin in Minnesota and today is the last day of school before students all over Uganda go on a three week break before the next term starts. If they don't reply to the letters and send them back before their break the students back in MN won't receive them until mid-May and then, of course, they'll be going on summer vacation. We walk down the street and I see a dress hanging in a shop. I ask to see it and hold it up to Christine. She's wearing a torn and tattered skirt, with the orange button-up shirt of her school uniform. There's one dress that fits her perfectly, there's another that's too big, she really likes the big one. I rationalize that she won't grow out of it too quickly and I buy it for her. We also buy a 1/2 kilo of sugar, soap for washing clothes, bread and a backpack to put it all in. I pick the pink and gray backpack up and she seems indifferent about it. Then she sees the spider-man one behind it and her face lights up. I spend the $4. and we pack all her goodies into her bag. Her English is very limited, she's spent the morning speaking to me in broken/mixed languages. She starts in English, "He says you wantua mwabi  ingisoro." I laugh and say, "English Christine. What is wantua mwabi ingisor?" She says, "yes!" So we mostly walk in silence. Now she's getting the hang of this shopping spree as she points to a pair of black dress shoes and says "Muzungu, socks!" I ask her if she wants shoes and socks. She smiles as we walk into the shop. I pick a pair of green canvas sneakers, but she is adamant about the black dress shoes. She tries them on, discreetly slipping her foot out of her plastic sandal and sliding it quickly into the dress shoe. When I press on the toe to see how roomy they are I notice her cringe a little. She insists that they fit and they feel fine. She quickly takes them off, slips her sandals back on and slides them into her backpack, all before I have even asked how much they are. The man tells me 30,000 Shillings, which is about $12. I’m sure it’s way too much so I try to talk him down but he holds firm. I get him down to 28,000. I know I can’t possibly tell Christine to take them out of her bag now. I’m also sure she’s never owned a real pair of shoes before. I mean a closed-toe pair,  that aren’t plastic. So I pay him the $11. and we go. She spots a man pushing a bicycle with a giant rack on the back of it. He is selling everything under the sun, including handkerchiefs, sunglasses, watches, hats, photo albums and most importantly…socks. We find a pair of white dress socks and she is happy.

The bicycle with a shop on top, where we bought Christine's socks.

We walk back to the post office and she’s trying to tell me something about her hair. I tell her we’re “finished” shopping and she stops talking about it. I’m not certain, but I think she’s asking me for some hair extensions. People spend a lot of money, that they don't have, on their hair here.. An African’s hair is very hard and course, so if you don’t want short, buzzed off hair you usually have a “weave” or “extensions” attatched to your head. As we walk up to the post office I see the doors are open, I walk quickly ahead of her, excited to see if Henry is really there. She comes in after me as I stand and wait for Henry to gather the paperwork that I need to sign. There are about four different forms I need to fill out to pick up the package. Christine sits next to me on the bench as we wait and I ask to see her feet. She doesn’t understand me, or she pretends not to as I point at her foot. She reluctantly lets me slip her shoe off and I am not prepared for what I see. The ends of her toes look as if they have been through a blender. I had never smelled the odor of rotting flesh before. It is a shocking and putrid assault to my senses. I put her shoe back on and ask her if it is painful. She again doesn’t understand me. I ask her if it’s “paining” and she seems confused and embarrassed about the situation. I stand up and finish my business with Henry with tears in my eyes. We carry the package out of the "posta" and head directly to the pharmacy. When I tell Christine to take off her shoe again, she looks at me with daggers. I know she’s embarrassed about it, but I also know we need to do something about her feet or she may not be walking by the time she turns eleven. The Pharmacist takes a look at her feet then calls for her supervisor. They send us back down the street and tell us what we need is found at the farm supply store. I ask her what the damage is from and she tells me "jiggers". I think of the two I had in my toes and how unpleasant it was to remove them. I wonder how many Christine must have had embedded in her toes and I also wonder who digs them out for her. We slowly make our way back the way we just came to the farm supply store. I explain that we need something for jiggers. He grabs a small bottle and tells me to dilute it with water. It clearly states on the bottle not to let it come in contact with the skin. I ask where we put it and he explains it's for the ground, the floor of the house. Then he decides we need a bigger bottle. I'm sure Christine's mother can't read so I make sure he explains to her how it is to be used. He also writes the directions in the local language for her older brother. I try to ask how long it will last, how often it needs to be done, but the man doesn't seem to understand my question. As we leave I wonder if they'll actually use it, if they'll actually get the three liters of water and mix the solution to de-jigger their home.

We head back to school, her backpack is stuffed with goodies, including bread and avocados we put in on top. As we approach school I tell her "sshhhhhhh" don't tell. I can picture every kid in school, "Muzungu, give me shoes, give me bread....!" I explain to the director that we need to go back to the Dr. on Friday and he tells Christine to be at school at 9:00 on Friday morning with her mother.  I spend the rest of the day in the 6th grade classroom. I hand out their pen pal letters, they are ecstatic. Not only did they get responses from their friends in America, but each letter had a photo of their new friend stapled to it. They thought that was incredible and the box was FULL of colored pencils, crayons and glue. I had to explain what pizza is, what wrestling is and what squirrels are! They colored and wrote for the next couple of hours. When they still weren't finished by the time 5:00 came and I wanted to leave I promised to collect the papers in the morning and get them in the mail the following day, which would be their last day of school for three weeks. The place was a mad house with excitement. When I asked the students what they were going to do on their holiday, every single students answer was the same. "Help my parents with domestic work." "Like what?" I asked, "what kind of domestic work?" Every student, no matter the age is going to spend the next three weeks digging in the garden, weeding the garden, cooking, washing clothes and visiting their friends, grandparents or relatives. I ask them if they'll also be relaxing, they laugh and tell me yes, but I’m not sure when they’ll squeeze that it.

On Friday, when I show up at school to meet Christine, I am not surprised to find that no one is there. The gate is closed and I have to squeeze through the gap, I find two third graders inside. I ask them what they are doing and they tell me they are looking for the director to get their "holiday package". Their holiday package is schoolwork for them to do while on holiday. I give them each a samosa and I squeeze back out through the gate and head to Christine's home. She is sitting outside with five little kids when I arrive. As soon as she sees me, she gets up and heads to her house. She goes in and changes into her new dress while I wait outside. Her brother comes out, I ask if they got the soap and sugar and he says, "soap". Something about him seems really strange to me. I give him and another little boy there the last two samosas from my backpack. The little one gobbles his up while Bosco, the older brother doesn't seem very interested in it. He casually walks around me and takes the sunscreen out of the side-pouch of my backpack, he opens it, then puts it back. Christine comes out, the straps on her dress are tied in knots to keep it up over her chest. She has the socks on and the plastic shoes. I'm not surprised; with the condition of her toes I'll be surprised if she ever wears the dress shoes. We start to leave, her brother drops the samosa and she picks it up for him. Something about him isn't quite right. My mind goes wild with different horrific scenarios of what could be happening in that little mud house.

Christine, in her new dress and her brother outside their home.

This time it's a different eye Doctor. He is a little friendlier than the last one and seems generally interested and concerned about Christine. Today she identifies the "P"' perfectly, but she cannot identify the "H" or the "R". We agree it's odd and he continues the exam, he conducts the same exam that the woman did a few days earlier, he also does a few more tests. In the end he tells me, "she says she doesn't have a problem and her eyes look beautiful on the inside." I say, "that's great!" Then I ask what he thinks the problem is? He says she just doesn't know certain letters. I tell him the little bit that I know about her home life and we discuss that while Christine fiddles with the strings on her dress. I wonder again about the brother, about her home life. Teacher Chantel told me that Christine is the only girl in the house, so she's responsible for all of the cooking and the washing. At ten years old, she is cooking, cleaning, and gathering firewood, fetching water, all of it, for a family of six. I wonder how hard it would be to concentrate on school, with all those responsibilities, when you are hungry or possibly abused or have a multitude of other things going on in your life.

Christine has very good vision. That's a good thing. Though, now I don't know what to do. It was supposed to be an easy fix. She gets glasses and suddenly she can read and is a star student. We head back to her home with bananas, bread and avocados. We sit under a big tree in her yard and I write the letters out in a notebook. She copies, a whole page of capital letter "A" and small letter "a". I sit with her through the letter "D" to make sure she understands to fill the whole page. I try to explain slowly that her eyes are very good, she needs to work very hard at school to learn her letters and to learn to read so she can pass her exams. I know that her mother will not keep coming up with school fees for her if she has to repeat P3 over and over again. It is very common for kids to repeat grades here. It was confusing at first, walking into the first grade glass with students almost as tall as I am standing next to six year olds. I also know that if this girl drops out of school at age ten, there is no future for her. She will be living in this very mud home, digging jiggers out of her feet for the rest of her life.

Reading and Writing with Christine under the big tree in her yard.

The rest of the week, I drop in on Christine. Each time she is happy to see me and comes running up to hug me when she seems me coming up the trail. Finally on my fifth visit I meet her mother, of course she doesn't speak English, so we greet each other and ask over and over how each other are, then I carry on my visit with Christine. I read with her, work on her alphabet and try to imagine what is going on in her mind as we sit and repeat the words over and over and over, all the while hoping something will "click" and she'll get it. As I was leaving her brother brought me an empty package of malaria medicine and with his broken English asked me to buy him more. "My head is paining!" he said. After we finished reading Christine and I were leaving to go to the pharmacy and the brother, along with the eight neighborhood kids that had gathered and read the books with us, follow us down the path to the road. He says, "next time you come, I want a bicycle." What do I look like Santa Clause?! I look at him and tell him, "the medicine, yes. the bicycle, no." When we got to town, we use the Pharmacist as a translator and I tell Christine I'm leaving and I'll be back in June. Her response, "I want my head shaved!" All this time she's been trying to tell me something about her hair and I assumed she wanted me to buy her hair extensions! We went across the street and got her head shaved for forty cents.

Today, a month later, I’m working with ten third graders. Christine and two other boys are the ones who struggle the most. Bruno and Enoch are as far behind, or more, as Christine. Bruno can recite his alphabet, if he starts at the beginning. He cannot identify or write a single letter on his own.  When he’s stuck, it is Christine who helps him. I smile at her proudly when she tells him what the next letter is. She can’t for the life of her, remember the letter “G”, otherwise she can say, write and identify the entire alphabet. Teacher Chantel tells me that she sees a change in Christine, she seems happier and she is picking up more things in class. I can only hope it is true. Christine’s mother has agreed to let Christine be a boarder at school. That means Christine can concentrate on school Monday thru Friday, then go home on the week-end and help her mother with the domestic work. I have agreed to buy her a mattress, sheets, blanket, soap and a basin for bathing. Those are all the things that are required to be a boarder at school.

Christine has a long, hard road ahead of her, she has a lot of catching up to do, but she is capable. Another valuable lesson I've learned here; life isn't fair and it isn't easy. The progress I see already is encouraging. Once she becomes a boarder I believe she will soar!

Villages

Iryaruvumba
The remote villages in Western Uganda have, by far, been the most interesting of days. Not only the journey to get there, but the scenery along the way and of course the interactions with the villagers once we arrive are incredible. The roads are unbelievable. As we set off, our driver Ezra, calls out "welcome aboard the jumping horse", as he lovingly and appropriately refers to his vehicle. Ezra drives us to the village of Iryaruvumba with the winding, bumpy roads it takes us two hours to cover the 30 miles (50 kilometers). I sit in the front seat holding the sleeping baby. Of course, there's no car seats or seatbelts so I embrace Jael so tightly that I'm afraid she'll suffocate. I am amazed that she can sleep with all the bouncing and jerking of the "jumping horse". Ezra tells me she can sleep because "she has a nice cushion to sleep on." I look down at the "cushion" he refers to. Little does he know it's more like a pin cushion on a bag of  bones than a comfortable pillow. While we're bouncing along Emily shouts from the back seat, "do you have roads like this in America?" I smile and think of various "minimum maintenance" field roads or old wagon roads in Alaska that were used over a hundred years ago to haul supplies with horses and wagons as I tell her, "well, we do but we don't DRIVE on them!"

A nice, flat, muddy section of road.

Immaculate teaches Sunday school teachers how to conduct Sunday school classes in these remote villages. It's a good class, they teach them to make each child feel special, listen to the child's concerns, let them know that they are important, etc. As I hear the overview of the class, I think they should consider teaching all the regular school teachers this class. Many of the people that attend the class walk for hours and hours to get there. When I'm told that the class starts at 9 a.m., then we don't leave home for the two hour journey until 10 a.m. I am very perplexed. I realize, upon arrival that the villagers are still making the journey, they left home before it was light out and they arrive right around 11 a.m. The same time as us. I can't help but wonder, why you would possibly set the start time for 9 a.m. knowing full well that it won't start before noon? You see, once we arrive, we MUST take tea. It would be considered horribly rude not to serve tea to those of use who just made the two hour journey in the jumping horse. I can't help but notice that none of the villagers are offered tea when they arrive and I'm certain they didn't have breakfast before they left home, I sit quietly and am forced to enjoy my fourth slice of bread of the day. When I suggest we ask some of the people outside to join us, they laugh. "There isn't enough for everyone"!

Kids peeking in the church windows. The baby is tied on the girls back in the typical African style with a blanket or large piece of fabric.

 

 I spend the day walking with Jael tied on my back, African style, while Immaculate teaches. We return to momma when she needs a "sip from the breast" around lunch time. We wander around the village, making friends and saying "Hello" to the many voices that come from every direction. Often we don't even see a person, we just hear "Hello Muzungu" from out of the bushes, or from behind a home. I thought maybe we would walk around the village, find a little local restaurant for lunch and sit in the shade of a big tree and play with the village children. There's no restaurant, the village contained about 100 homes and a church. There might have been a shop or two as well, back at the corner, but there's no way we were walking back there in today's blazing sun. Instead we take short walks, watch the cows grazing, watch the chickens crow and keep making our way back to the shade of the big tree outside the church. When 3:00 rolls around we go for lunch at the Preachers' home. We sit in the dark living room around a short coffee table and enjoy rice, beans and posho. Back outside sitting under the shade tree all the kids want to say hello, touch the muzungu and hold the baby. They are allowed two of their three wishes. All the snotty noses and coughing, I am sure Jael would be sick for weeks! They look at me like I had slapped them when I make a "uuuuh, uuuh, uuuuh" sound when they go to pick her up. It is very normal for anyone to pick up any baby and hold it. Only a muzungu would tell them "no"!

Kabindi
The following Saturday we arrived at the village of Kabindi there are four of us in the car, plus Jael. The children of the primary school happened to be outside, or from what I could tell, that's what they did with their day was play outside. Regardless, when the car pulled up and they saw the muzungu inside it was an ambush.

Oh Oh! Here they come!

Hello Muzungu!

The driver had to get out and push the students back so we could open the doors. They wore light pink uniforms that reminded me of a nurse's uniform in the 1970's. The girls' dresses are just below the knee with darts at the waist and they boys wear shorts with the same pale pink, short-sleeved shirt.  As I climb out of the car so many hands came at me I don't know what to do. Although we were over two hours late, once we were safe inside the building, we were ushered into the office, where we had to sit and, of course, take tea. "Tea" is actually hot milk, sometimes served with a tea bag, more often just served with sugar. The milk comes directly from the cow, it is boiled with ginger, "so it tastes better", then a big green leaf of some sort is placed in it, "so it smells better." mmmmmm.....tea time! Tea is also served with bread, margarine (which they call "blue band" it's the brand!), bananas are usually served and sometimes honey. We enjoy our tea, Immaculate and Emily start their class and Jael and I venture out for a walk. I ask some girls on the playground to help me tie her on my back, they laugh when I want the blanket tied over one shoulder instead of across my chest. I don't have enough of a "shelf" there to hold the weight of her up, so it's more secure if I tie the knot above one shoulder. They laugh and they ask if she's my baby. I laugh and tell them, "no!" I promise them we'll come back soon and watch them play football. We walk happily and aimlessly down the dirt road, in no time she is asleep on my back. It is the most quiet and peaceful time I've had in a long time. Very few motorcycles or cars are on the road and only a random person comes along, from time to time I hear the rattle of a bicycle approaching from behind. I am lost in thought and enjoying the fact that I'm not being greeted every twenty seconds.

Gitovu
On the, yet again, the rough and unbelievably bumpy ride to the village of  Gitovu, I saw very little life. Though there were paths leading into the bush, which I assumed people lived. Their was the occasional child taking cows or goats to graze strolling down the middle of the road until we came along and forced them to the side of the road. Yet, when we arrived at our destination there was a government school, or a public school. It is funded by the government so it is free for the students to attend. There are 800 students in the school and just nine teachers, total! Where, out of the hills and forests these 800 children came from I can't imagine. After tea and a quick stretch of the legs Jael and I decided to walk next door to say "hello" to the students. We were very warmly greeted, or you might say, "very warmly swarmed"! They happened to be outside having a track and field day when we arrived, even the ones who were actually racing when we walked up changed their course and came running directly at us. That is until the teachers came along with their sticks whacking them on the backs of their legs to get them back in line. How else do you control 800 students?!

Here they come!!!

P1 or 1st Grade at Gitovu Primary School~ 160 first grade students and ONE teacher!

The lunch room ~ many students walk for hours to school, carrying their own lunch.

Top Class or Kindergarden class

Learning numbers at Gitovu Primary

Nyarubande & Kirwa Villages
On this particular Saturday I went with Teacher Beata, Teacher Kate and their four children to their home villages. It was amazing. We piled in the car and set off around 11 a.m. The car bumped along and we enjoyed the scenery of stone walls made from volcanic rock, bright green beans climbing up many tall sticks in the black, volcanic soil. I passed out samosa's filled with cold peas and the children happily munched on them. It was their breakfast. Possibly their lunch as well. The road turned into a grassy path and old men waved to us as we passed. After about an hour we arrived at Teachers Beata's home. She actually lives at the school with her two girls and her husband lives in Kampala and works in a factory there. This village is where her husband is from and where she "got married from". They have a mud home here, in the compound of his family home. As we enter the small sitting area, we squeeze onto the couch and chairs and we are surrounded by piles of corn. Since they aren't here the house is now being used for maize storage.

We take porridge and decide we should set off. We are walking to the market. We head down the path, the children and the car stay behind. It is too far for them. We begin walking through fields with women digging, Beata knows and greets everyone. They get such a kick out of it when I greet them in the local language. I can hear them laughing, "muzungu ....Rufumbera..." Something about a muzungu speaking Rufumbera, which is the local language here. One woman asks me if I can "manage" to plant beans like she is doing. I tell her yes as I stick out my hand for a handful of beans to plant. I bend over, just like she is, I dig a little hole with my finger, just like she was doing and drop in a bean. I continue dropping one bean at a time, every once in a while I drop two or three and she laughs. Obviously the muzungu can't manage! When I'm done with the handful I tell her, "your day will be easy now, since I helped you!" She laughs and we keep walking.

We pass many people on their way to and from the market. There's  children carrying loads on their heads, there's old women chatting and laughing as they walk by. We meet three young boys who have a homemade bicycle to carry their matoke. The entire bicycle is made of wood, including the wheel and the pins that hold the wheels in place. Very creative! Sometimes I feel like I've stepped back in time! We walk for an hour and suddenly I hear voices. Just over the grassy hill in front of us is a crowd of people. The entire population of the village is about 150. I think every single soul must be at the market. The open field is an array of colors. There are no market stalls, benches or buildings. It is all laid out on the ground. Colorful umbrella's shade the people, a couple have tarps stretched out over them on wooden poles to keep the sun and the rain off of them. This is definitely not a place many muzungus venture to, so you can imagine the kind of greeting I get. Everyone stares, many greet me and most want to give me a "special price". I wonder if by "special price" they actually mean a price five times the actual price.

Boys and their completely wooden bike!

We stroll through the market and decide we'll buy some fruit on the way back. Now we need to continue walking to the river before the rain comes. This river has "special salty water that is very good for you." We walk and walk and walk, another hour or more passes and still we see no sign of a river. We walk through shrubs and what looks like a dry river bed. We pass cows and young boys herding them along. I'm told even the cows are taken to the river to drink because it's so good for them. Eventually we do come to a little winding river, I wade in and dip my head in, boys have appeared out of the bushes and everyone things the muzungu dipping her head in the river is hilarious. They also all want to be in the photo. So, after a quick photo session we continue on downstream to where the salt water is. We walk across rock and up more rocky hills and back down to where we finally see an orange pool with tiny bubbles surfacing. I naturally think it's going to be hot, like thermal hot springs. When I touch it is cold. When I taste it, it is like alka-seltzer in my mouth. This natural pool is so salty they mine the rocks, break them open and get big salt chunks out of it. They feed the salt to their cows and even use it for cooking.

Teacher Beata poking at the salty "alka seltzer" water

We head back to the market, where we buy bananas and avocados for lunch. We arrive back at teacher Beata's home just as the downpour begins. We sit in the dark, corn filled room and I sing and play games with the kids. When the rain stops we visit with all the old mama's outside for a while. I take their photos and they laugh and hoot when they see their face on the screen.

Finally we climb in the car again and set off down the mud-slicked path. Our driver is good, he knows just when to downshift and just when to step on the gas harder. We drive for about 20 minutes, when he stops and everyone gets out. I follow along and eventually ask why we're getting out. "We are going to Kate's home now!" Of course! We walk up a muddy road for a little while until we see the muddiest and steepest path in the district. They tell me Kate's family home is at the top of this hill. As we clamber up, our shoes covered in red gooey mud, all I can think about is how "fun" the way down will be.

Kate's parents outside their home.

It's a quick twenty minute climb and we are greeted by Kate's brother, sister, sister-in-law, mother, father, nieces and nephews. She comes from a family of ten. When the boys marry, they build a home in the family compound. There are about six families living in this compound. We go inside and talk about how the houses are built. It takes 10,000 bricks to build a 40-iron sheet home. If you're good, you can make 10,000 bricks in a week. Her brother explains to me that a mudslide took out their neighbors home last year and two little boys were killed in it. Kate's family is in the process of building a new home down below, where they are out of the danger of landslides. They are very common here, with the heavy rains. We go outside, they live in a mud hut and eat the food that grows on their land, yet they give us sugar cane and fruit to take with us. They also make sure we each have a pole to walk with to help us down the slippery path. Thank God for that pole or it would have been one big slip 'n slide all the way to the bottom. Kate's brother and sister follow us down, barefoot and walking as if the path were flat and dry. Teacher Beata's dress has a big, brown smear across the butt when we get down and the kids' shoes are not visible anymore.

As the sun sets we head home, the driver earned his $8. from me today. It was another beautiful and adventure-filled day surrounded by welcoming and loving Ugandans.

The Wedding Introduction

           "the journey is your reward"...

The day started at about 8:30 a.m. Immaculate comes in my room to iron every morning. She asked me if I wanted to accompany Herbert to "an Introduction". The wedding celebrations here are three day affairs. First, they have the introduction which, through much confusion and time spent playing games the couple chooses who they will marry and announce it officially to all the hundreds of friends and family who have gathered under the magnificent tents and tarps set up in the brides parents yard. Next they have "the give away" and lastly the actual wedding at the church. So, never having experienced such an event, naturally, I said "sure"! "O.k. we'll leave at 9:30". Perfect, I head to the church, where we're meeting others to share a ride and there stands about fifteen people. The small mini-van is waiting for us. Of course I instantly notice that it seems like there won't be enough space for everyone. No one else seems to mind or notice so I sit down and wait till it's time to load. This mini-van happens to have less seats than most. There are just two bench seats and the passenger seat is a bucket seat with a big plastic hump, or center counsel between the front seat and the driver. The van actually seats seven passengers. We manage to get fifteen in...not-so-comfortably. Five across each bench seat, myself and another girl in the passenger seat and three crouched behind the front seats, half sitting on the hump that the seats are mounted to.  When we stop to get fuel I hear Moses, a man sitting in the backseat say, "if you just give me thirty minutes I can run to the office and get my camera. They asked me specifically to take photos of the event today" I'm thinking, "you're the photographer and you forgot the camera...???" Herbert asks me if Moses can borrow my camera for the day, then we'll download everything and I can delete them. Yes, of course, that's fine. So we set out at 11:30 a.m. for our two hour journey. African time! By the time we leave the paved road, ten minutes into the journey, my left leg is already tingling with numbness from sitting at such a strange, twisted angle. I am sitting on the back right side of the seat on my left hip, with my right buttock up on the center counsel. Eunice is sitting on the front left 1/4 of the seat with her legs jammed under the dashboard. The instant we hit the dirt road it is jerky and bumpy.  I can't help but grab the center counsel and the handle over the passenger side door. The ruts in the road are like small ditches. This is the rainy season, so of course there's mud holes and pools everywhere. Luckily our driver Jr. actually knows how to use the brakes and does rather frequently and forcefully! All I can think is "two hours...!" The crowd behind me laughs, chats and happily bounces along. No one seems to mind the fact that they are squeezed like sardines into this tin van, or that they can't move an inch. The scenery is stunning, lush green vegetation, hills and homes, and of course, people everywhere. Young people, old people, all types of people working or lounging. Women are digging in the fields accompanied by children, men lazing under big, shady trees, children riding bikes that are too big for them so they are standing on the pedals with their bodies wedged between the frame of the bike. Every mud hole we come to I wonder how we'll get through it. Someone asks from behind me if Jr. wants us to get out and walk through this one...he never does. We just charge through, the engine revved so high I'm sure it's going to blow up...it never does. Luckily I have to pee so badly now that it takes my mind away from tingling, sleeping feeling of my legs. I wonder how these vehicles hold up with the conditions of these roads. There are absolutely no shocks left in the vehicle between the weight load and the bumps in the road, even if there was it wouldn't help much. Goats cross in front of us and Jr. blasts the horn, children run to the side of the road, hoping their goats do the same. I'm wondering if I'll be able to walk again when I stand, my toes still move when I tell them too, that's a good sign. The old quote, "what doesn't kill you will make you stronger" comes to mind. I think I'll be very strong someday. Somewhere along the way we coincidentally pass Jr.'s home, so of course, he has to jump out and say hello, there's an exchange of a phone battery. From what I can tell, he charged it for someone and now they swap and Jr. will charge the other one. It's a confusing but functional method. My left knee, that just needs to be stretched, and my bladder are now taking turns screaming for my attention. We hit a bump and I can feel the rocks scraping against the undercarriage of the van, I tense like it will lift the frame of the vehicle away from the rocks. The swerving of the van from side to side, trying to miss the biggest of the holes and ruts in the road makes me grateful I'm in the front seat, I'm sure I'd be sick with motion sickness if I were in the back, although I wouldn't be able to see the cliff edge that we are centimeters from and Jr. is swerving toward if I were in the back...maybe motion sickness wouldn't be so bad after all. The next puddle has an invisible drop and we fishtail and swerve our way out of it, the man sitting immediately behind me is now sitting next to me on the hump. He leans heavily on my right arm. My left hand is clenched so tightly around the handle above the door that I have to consciously open and shake it out from time to time. The road turns to more grass than gravel, it's like two foot paths now that are perfectly distanced for our tires to follow. There's a fork in the road, I take a look at the steep incline to the right and I hope like hell that we're taking the road to the left. We veer right, when the road becomes so steep that the engine dies and we begin to roll backwards I think "Oh God, this is it!" I'm remembering the ledge we just passed and how will Jr. steer us out of this? I clench my teeth to stop any sound from coming out of my mouth. He slams on the brakes, starts the engine, engages four wheel drive, downshifts and gives it another go. We slowly grind our way up the hill, the engine revved so high the noise is deafening. I cheer when we reach the top, giving Jr. a thumbs up, everyone else laughs as if I'm crazy for even considering that we wouldn't make it. Another silly quote comes to mind, "the journey is your reward". I wonder to myself what I have done to deserve this for a reward!

As promised, exactly two hours later we arrive. We arrive at a series of three small shops and about five cars parked next to them. The road ends and the path continues downward. We climb out of the vehicle, I'm stretching and moaning at the relief. No one else seems to enjoy the feeling, or even notice that they haven't been able to move for the past two hours. We go for a "short call", or a toilet break in the bushes. The view is amazing, I can see the Rift Valley in the distance. The mountains and the sound of running water far below me flood me with memories of Alaska and the amazing beauty there. I enjoy the rare silence and the meloncholy for a moment before we set off down the path. We walk down for about twenty minutes, the path is slick with mud and everyone is in their finest clothes, the women are carrying gifts. Everyone has advice for the muzungu on how to get down without slipping. I smile and continue on, we cross a series of wooden planks over the winding stream. Soon we head up, up, up to the top of a grassy knoll.

 The brides parents live here, they are very wealthy I'm told. He owns the entire knoll and he grazes cattle and goats on it. Again the scenery is stunning, no one seems to notice it though. What they think is stunning is the gaudy pink ribbons and bows that have transformed this home. There are big tents, blue tarps and plastic chairs everywhere. It was all hauled in from Kisoro the day before, I cannot begin to imagine that task. We are led inside the house, each room we walk through is jam-packed with people. Finally we are seated and offered a soda. How did these make it all the from Kisoro without the bottle breaking I wonder? There are many mysteries to this day, this is just the first! At about 2:30 p.m. we go through the lunch line. The typical staples are served, matoke, irish potatoes, g.nut sauce, and of course, meat...it is a special day indeed. I can't help but notice there is no silverware, I guess today will be my first true African dining experience! I wash my hands in the basin that a young girl has brought. She kneels in front of me and pours water from a pitcher over my hands as I scrub my hands together. I am led outside by my new friend Moses. We sit in more plastic chairs and eat our lunch. It goes down just as well when you eat with your fingers. Our plates are collected by more women, there are hundreds of people sitting around, waiting. Hundreds more children line the perimeter of the yard. Everyone enjoying the big day.

Women arrive carrying gifts and food on their heads

Women enjoying the day!

 

After sitting for another hour or so, the groom and a whole slew of men arrive.

I'm excited, I think, "the party is going to start now!" Little do I know, they need to go in the house and have lunch first. Another hour goes by, I think, "thank God we didn't leave at 9:30, like we were supposed to!" Moses is happily snapping away with my camera. I sit and watch, chatting with the other Moses, asking questions and explaining to him that "no, at my home we do not have introduction ceremonies". He asks, with confusion, "then, when does the man pay the dowry?" I explain that we don't pay dowries where I come from either. I also gently tell him that it seems to me like you're "buying" a woman when you pay a bride price. He tells me it's a sign of appreciation for the brides family, for taking care of her. As I ponder this, the families come out to be seated under the tents. It will no doubt rain today. I don't let myself think of the road conditions after the rain. Somewhere around 5:00 the real confusion begins. First the brides father and a man representing the groom banter back and forth about what the groom will pay for his daughter, this goes on and on, Moses is interpreting for me. Herbert, preaches and blesses the couple. He explains to everyone that his wife couldn't make it and that I'm his stand in wife. Everyone laughs at this as I'm instructed to stand up and wave to them. Eventually the M.C. asks the D.J. to play the background music and three maids(bridesmaids) saunter out to the tents in purple dresses, they sit on the ground on straw mats in front of the groom, who is seated on a couch with his best man. I don't know what is being said, but some men speak, everyone laughs, the women walk back to the house. More shouting into the microphone and this time about six maids come out, wearing red dresses. They sit on the mats, some things are said, people laugh, they get up and go back to the house. The next time they come out, there are about ten of them and this time the bride is one of them. You can tell because she has more sheer cloth and sparkles wrapped around her than the rest. Did I mention I don't even know the bride...or the groom?!

They sit on the mat, this time the groom comes up to the bride and identifies her as being the  one he will marry. She stands, they hug, gifts are given by the bride to every aunt, sister and close friend that she has! Eventually they cut the cake, there are five small round cakes, of course I'm thinking, they will never serve everyone here! I suppose they just serve the "important" people. After a blasting of sparklers and candles toward the cakes and the entire wedding party, bite-sized pieces of cake are distributed by the bride. Now gifts are given to her, toasts and prayers are said. It's 6 p.m. and we make our hasty exit. By the time we make our way back to the car it's 6:30, one hour of daylight left.

We climb in the van, I joke and tell everyone we must have eaten too much cake because we can't even close the door. I'm told "the roads will only be a little bit bad, since it didn't rain very hard." Very comforting. I'm gazing out the window and everyone is singing. I don't know what they're saying, but I can promise you they are praising God in every song. The children along the way stare, scream and wave at the muzungu as we pass. I wave back, the people in the back tease and say that no one cares about the rest of them...just the muzungu! Slowly dusk turns to darkness and the headlights illuminate the slippery mud holes just in time for Jr. to slam on the brakes. The singing continues the entire journey, it does help pass the time and keep my mind from my uncomfortable state. When we get stuck the first time I take off my shoes and step UP onto the mud bank. The van is in such a deep hole that it is a big step up to get out. Everyone laughs that they have a muzungu with them in this predicament. I'm thinking of the different places I've been stuck and how little they know me! The men push, some of them scoop mud out from around the tires with their bare hands. The van slowly climbs out of the hole, we climb back in, it's 8:30 p.m....the two hour mark that should have indicated we were home. It was a nice break. We climb back in and continue. The second time we get stuck the rain starts, like clockwork, to fall. This time it's a much quicker exit. We climb back in and slowly make our way back to Kisoro. It was a long day. We drive around delivering people to their homes. When we reach home, I wash my feet, wait for dinner to be ready, which is around 10:30. I crawl into bed and dream about mud, four wheel drives and cake.

The next day we learned that the cars that followed us had a tougher time than we did thanks to us "tearing up the road".  One car had it's gas tank ripped off and had to pile into the car that followed them. So the girl is explaining to me, they were very uncomfortable for the rest of the journey.  I asked, "how many people did you have in the vehicle then, 34?"  They laugh and tell me 14....one less than us! They arrived home at 2 a.m. And I thought we had it bad!  We arrived safely at home around 10 p.m. with a cake to eat as a gift for the Reverand.

Children enjoying the festivities!

There were about five vehicles parked in the little turnaround when we parked, which means of the hundreds of people that were there, most of them walked. I meekly admit, as it turns out, the journey was the reward.