Mural Mayhem: Part 2

So the past couple of days have seen more of me covered in paint, but we are getting the hang of it bit more--unlike the first day when we tried to paint the wall using no paint thinner. Don't try that at home. I picked up a second paint donation this morning--about 20 cans of paint--yippee!! I'll let the pictures tell the story. Next week we do the outside walls and start on the orphanage. For now I'm off to Jinja for the weekend for the Freestyle Kayakers Festival :)

Mural Mayhem: Part 1

So after months of planning to paint murals, those plans are finally being put into action, though it is somewhat slow going! I now spend my days covered in paint, and it really is quite a challenge: an American, a German, and an Italian all speaking various degrees of English (I'd like to consider myself the expert of the group, but even I have my moments!) painting huge concrete walls with a limited supply of rollers, brushes, paint trays, and paint, and one tiny bathroom sink with no towels, plus 230 children running around spraying water from the nearby water spicket and wreaking general havoc. Sounds a bit like the Tower of Babel goes to primary school, huh?

By the end of the week, we are determined (hoping) to finish the four concrete walls that look into the back "courtyard" of the school where the children pass by to get to the classrooms. And we've gone with a strictly "art" theme rather than trying to make the paintings lessons of any sort--rather just art for its own sake, a concept that really doesn't have much footing in Uganda aside from tribal crafts, etc. I hope we can start on the outerwalls by the end of the week and finish that and the living room of the foster house next week, which is exam week for the children. But I must say it is really tiring. I've come home exhausted both yesterday and today, and often the three of us volunteers just sit there in the office surrounded by our dirty brushes and paint cans and look around wearily. But it has also been so fun having the children paint in the outlines we have drawn or use star stencils to make a night sky. We are having each class help decorate one wall panel. P-1 did theirs yesterday and today, and tomorrow Nursery and P-3 will go, and hopefully -2 on Friday.

Tomorrow I have an early wake-up call to pick up another paint donation from Sadolin Paints, so it's time to pack it up for the night. I've been at Bubbles O'Leary watching an outdoor movie, Resevoir Dogs, and using their free internet in the lovely garden, so it's definitely not all work and no play--not that you were worried I know!

Beautiful Bunyonyi

Sorry, this is going to be a long one, but it was a long weekend! On Wednesday night, my housemate, some of her friends, and I made a Thanksgiving dinner of sorts—roast chicken, pumpkin, sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots and green beans, and deconstructed apple pie (i.e. apple pie without the crust—that was my contribution and I had to improvise my pie plans as we have only one tiny oven). So although I missed my mom’s home cooking, I had a little taste of the Thanksgiving spirit at least.

Then for the long CHOGM weekend I ended up taking a rather impromptu trip with 5 others down to the southwestern region of Uganda just about an hour from the Rwanda border and not far from the DRC border as well. Thursday and Friday had been declared public holidays in honor of CHOGM and the Queen’s arrival, and many muzungus were intent on fleeing town as the central roads were closed off to the public, and the building traffic mayhem gripped the city. The funny thing is that as of Wednesday evening I was still unsure of exactly where, with whom, and for how long I’d be fleeing. An American girl, Ari, I had back in October through Judy and Lew, and her roommate were planning on taking the four day weekend to trek down to Lake Bunyonyi, which entailed a 7 hour bus ride (once the bus actually started moving of course—half the battle!). I had mentioned during a jog with some girls I met at the Hash that I was thinking of going to the Lake, and somehow, it all came together. They brought along another of their roommates and so in the end there were 6 (4 Americans, 1 Canadian, 1 Aussie) of us who by last-minute texting and emailing managed to coordinate enough to meet up at 7 am at a gas station near the bus park, coming from different directions.

We walked to the bus park and were immediately mobbed by a pack of bus hawkers all trying to get us on their bus, whether they were going to our destination of Kabale or not! We found our Horizon bus company and climbed on to secure 6 seats next to each other. Then the 2 hour wait began—we pulled out of the parking lot just after 9, but luckily with little traffic with which to contend. The bus ride was fairly uneventful—just the standard shoving-kebad/drinks/fried crickets, etc. in your face through the bus window—aside from the part where I almost got left. That’s right, a few hours into the bus ride, we pulled over at a rest stop and the other girls got out to use the restroom. Being my newly aware (paranoid?) self following theft incidents, I decided to stick around behind and keep an eye on all of our bags. There were spillover passengers who had not secured seats lurking in the isles and I just had an uneasy feeling. By the time one of the girls fought her way back onto the bus, the bus driver was getting antsy, but I had had to pee since we left the bus park—it was now or never. I ran off the bus and to the bathrooms which were of the hole in the floor variety and tried to pee as fast as I could, and then I heard the bus starting to honk. I flew out of the bathroom along with Ari and ran for my life. We made it of course, but not without getting more than a few chuckles from all of the Ugandans on the bus as we passed back to our seats. Look at those muzungus run!!!

We arrived in Kabale close to 4, found Ari’s friend who is working in Kabale at the moment, and then arranged a special hire to take us the final 20km or so to the Lake. Six of us crammed in (like that would ever happen in the US!) and we wound our way up the steep green hills that divided Kabale from the lake. The vistas were spectacular as tiered farmland came into view. Then we caught our first glimpse of the lake scattered with small islands. The taxi wound down the red dirt roads to the lake below and to our accommodation, Bunyonyi Overland Resort. Cottages and furnished tents were tucked into the hill and looked out on a sweeping view over the lake, islands, and manicured grounds. After giddily exploring our surroundings, we headed out for a boat ride—all six of us in one dugout wooden canoe with four paddles. Despite the fact that more than half of us had rowed crew, we ended up spending most of our half hour on the water going in circles and couldn’t stop laughing. But we did manage to make it to shore, just in time to wait about one and a half hours for our food to arrive from the restaurant! Grrrr, African Time! Well, actually, they were cooking the pizzas that some had ordered one by one as they only had one oven (um?), but the food ended up being quite good. My crayfish (fresh from the lake below) masala was very good if not quite a Thanksgiving feast. After dinner we sat around the campfire with the other guests: some other American volunteers from Kampala, some Brits who had just winding down a three week trip through Uganda and Rwanda and were headed back to London on the Queen’s flight on Saturday (who knew she didn’t fly in her own private plane?), and an Israeli traveling on his own.

The next day, after a hilarious breakfast where I was called, get this, “Not a good person,” by the waiter (I had ordered French Toast which I think we can all agree is dipped in egg and sweet—not so this one, just break dipped in a whole lotta egg) when I asked if my toast break could be on the house since I was still paying for the more expense French Toast that I was less than impressed with. Let’s just say that the concept of customer service has yet to surface in this country for the most part. And from all my days as a waitress, I learned to please the customer. Yeah, they just don’t care. When they say “I’m sorry” for something, it actually just means, “I’m sorry that happened to you or that you’re not happy” not that I will take any responsibility or try to make it better. But it’s up there with African time, so you just have to grit your teeth and bare it!

While the others started on a hike, Jen, Jenny, Anna, and I went for a brisk swim in the cool lake and amused ourselves to no end with silly jumps of the diving board thoroughly documented by Jen. Apparently Lake Bunyonyi is the deepest lake in Uganda, and so it was very nice to swim without having to encounter the lake’s bottom. Then we took off on our hike up the steep dirt paths cutting through the lush green tiered farmland. We were winded (i.e. out of shape) from the 45 min hike, but found rewards at the top with a stunning view and a restaurant that served the best food in all of Uganda (seriously and it had a trampoline!) that had been recommended by some other guests we had run into on the way. We feasted, quite literally, BLTs, vegetable crepes, tomato and cheese salads, and then stuck by an impressive, powerful, and swift onset of a whiteout storm; we descended on the dessert menu. After the best couple hours ever, we slid down the hill (trying not to do so on our behinds mostly successfully and checked out of rooms. Then we waited for the motorboat that was coming to fetch us and take us to our Friday night accommodation, Boonya Amagara, a retreat on Ishabira Island in the middle of the lake. The clouds continued to roll in and dumped another massive treat of rain. We waited another hour, called, and the motor boat arrived and we began our very damp trip across the water to our lodge. When we arrived we were shown to our room—a dormitory with seven beds (Ari’s friend has joined us, lucky him with 6 girls) situated in the upper area of a little makeshift library. It was a great little setup and we checked out the bookshelves and got dry and settled before making our way up the slope for some warm tea and dinner.

The next morning we hiked around the island and took in more glorious views and many pictures before sitting down for the best/only brunch I’ve had since leaving NYC! I had an enormous rolex (omlette in chapatti) with guacamole and mashed potatoes and heaps of pineapple, banana, and passion fruit salad. Divine. Ahh, but sure enough, the clouds began to roll in. We had arranged a motorboat ride for 1pm so that we could get back to Kabale, have some warm showers (those had been lacking) and be prepared to catch an early bus to get back to Kampala on Sunday. After an issue with our motor, another boat was called, and pretty soon it was 2pm and we were all cowering in our boat, heading into the eye of a very black storm over the water, no life jackets required of course. (Thanks, Mom, for making me bring that monstrously huge poncho because I was one of the driest onboard! And everyone else took lots of embarrassing pictures to prove it.) Taxis met our boat in a remarkable turn of efficiency and we made it back to Kabale and a very cute hostel where Ari’s friend is staying long-term. We stocked up at the bakery and supermarket, took hot showers, bargained at the market for Congolese fabric, and dined at the Little Ritz Restaurant Kabale. But the night was young, just 10pm and it was time to hit Club Mix & Match just across the street from our hostel—I mean how could I pass up a big night out in Kabale? Despite our impending early wake-up call (4:45am) to enjoy some small-town nightlife.

Then three hours later we were up, well Jenny and I, that is, who had agreed to be scouts in the search for the bus that would leave the soonest. It literally found us—in the dark as we walked down the main road to the bus park—two huge buses pulled up in our path just as boda drivers do so assertively. We asked if the bus was leaving at 5am as scheduled, even though it was nearly empty, or if it was waiting to fill up. And this is where they lied to us, flat-out. “Yes we are leaving just now, at 5,” the ticket man said. Jenny and I explained we had 4 other friends who could be here in minutes as well, and they said we could go pick them up. Thus began the longest bus pickup experience of my life—and I have ridden many a sketchy bus (hello, Chinatown NY). After one earlier stop, we picked up the other girls, and then proceeded to drive up and down the length of the main street for two hours stopping to pick up random people and their sacks of potatoes, etc. As the sky lighted to dusky blue, it was well past six and I was getting angrier and angrier. I asked the ticket man when we were leaving just after a huge crowd of people boarded, reminding him that he had promised us a 5am departure. “We were just waiting for those people, now we are leaving,” he smiled blankly. We left at 7:15. That’s all I’ll say about that—I slept off most of my anger and woke to hawkers peddling bags of friend crickets and even live bright green cicadas, yum! It really was such an unexpectedly fun weekend with new friends, and all the hilarity that I’ve come to fear and expected in this curious country!

The Punishment Fits the Crime

So, I’ve certainly mentioned this a few times before, but I think it is time for a full post to be dedicated to all that is “African Time” because honestly it dictates how everything operates here, not the least CHOGM. One could argue that the Western world, especially the United States, and perhaps in particular my old home, New York, overload themselves a bit on the hectic scale. Time is of the essence most often, and I have a distinct memory of having one of those brief out-of-body moments one day in the New York subway station at 14th St. and 8th Ave. as I rushed to catch the A-Train to head to JFK to catch a flight for which I was inevitably late—everyone around me was rushing, almost running, to wherever they were going. They couldn’t all be going to catch a plane now could they?

Now picture 180 degrees opposite—that’s Uganda, and most of Africa, I’m told (I will be able to give first-hand knowledge of this in a few months time I suppose). In some ways, yes, it is very relaxing, but it other ways, it’s enough to make one’s head spin like the little girl in the Exorcist. Now, the fact that I have been late for most of my life is a true and sorry fact. I genuinely work on it, but because I was almost always the worst culprit, I rarely felt the pain that goes along with having to wait for late people. Well, my friends, that time has arrived in full force. I wait, and wait, and wait around here it would seem.

Yesterday, I was pacing in my house at 9 am wondering where my ride was. I called the other driver, got no answer, so I decided to hitch a ride with my housemate part way and ride a boda the rest. Well, when we backed out of the gate, who should be sitting there, but Patrick, one of the drivers! I leapt out of the car and ran over, asking if he had just arrived? “No,” he responded, “I’ll been here since 8:30…”

“Just sitting here,” I asked astonished. Yes was his reply. He had told our gardner that he was there and to let me know, but still you’d think 10 minutes later you would assume that I had not gotten the message. Nope! He just SAT there and WAITED. No one really minds if you’re late here—they’ll just WAIT. Are you kidding me?? I would have been ringing the doorbell insessently after five minutes. He wasn’t even upset!! I was simply in disbelief. He probably would have sat there all day.

Then this morning, the opposite: he just didn’t show. I called finally at 9am and he said, “Maybe you should find another way to get to school.” He has no airtime minutes so he couldn’t call to tell me he wasn’t coming. Those are the moments where the sheer disorganization just drives me crazy. But Ugandans are unfazed, simply explaining whatever it is can happen tomorrow, or next week—why all the rush?? Because sometimes you just want to get things done. So I hopped on a boda and came to school and did two art classes, and this afternoon we are beginning to paint murals around the school and orphanage.

At break, I went up to buy my daily cassava, a tough root similar to yucca that is cut into thick sticks and fried until crispy and sprinkled with course salt—highly addictive. The lady I usually by from did not have any cassava yesterday but said she would have some today. Wrong. I arrived and she said, sorry, none today. “Tomorrow?” I asked. “Maybe,” she said. “So next week?” I inferred. “Yes,” she smiled. At least I’m learning.

So here it is: late, late Laura is getting a seriously dose of her own medicine. This weekend will probably more of the same. There is so much amazing travelling to be done in this country and region that it can be quite overwhelming. I am heading down to the southwestern part of the country for the long weekend, so a loooong (and probably delayed) bus ride is to be expected, but so too some very worthy sights at the finish! I’ll let you know…

But I will be missing Thanksgiving definitely. I hope you all have a delicious and delightful holiday. Eat some turkey for me (you certainly can't get it in Uganda!) I will be sorry not to be with my family and friends, but I know that I have many things for which to be thankful!

A Weekend in Ugandan Paradise

So I just returned from a flat-out terrific weekend, one of those where I felt lucky to be at the right place at the right time. Amy’s friend owns a beautiful luxury lodge out in the western part of the country near Fort Portal (near where I had gone for chimp trekking) and he was hosting a party to celebrate the new pool he built there—especially as it has apparently been quite a trial getting it built properly. The Ndali Lodge is perched on a ridge that overlooks a stunning crater lake on one side and an endless view of the green hills of banana and tea farms and the peaks of the Rwenzori Mountains looming in the distance behind lowering clouds. The pool is an infinity pool of sorts (although it wasn’t quite full to the top yet) and overlooks a spectacular view over the mountains. The lodge has under a dozen thatched-roof cottages tucked into the hillside overlooking the sweeping mountain-view, and the main lodge and dining room has several porches suspended just over the edge of the steep sides of the lake.

We arrived just around sunset on Friday evening after a four hour drive from Kampala. The view driving in was breathtaking even if the road was narrow and predictably bumpy. We ordered a drink (the whole weekend was complimentary!) and lounged on some comfy couches near the pool and met some of the others who had just arrived. Then we moved our bags to our cottage—a beautiful high-ceiling thatched roof cottage canopy beds and a fabulous bathroom complete with bath and ceramic shower. We met up for dinner and because there’s no power and so dinner and evening entertainment is done in the soft light of candles which just made the whole place look quite romantic under the wood beam ceilings.

There were 20 of us at a long formal banquet table set underneath real candelabras. I felt like I was out of a Town & Country photo shoot J We had a four-course meal of cool avocado soup, followed by sautéed mushrooms, then fresh fish and chips, followed by a caramel crepe for dessert—delish! Then we retired to the drawing room for banage and booze. Banage (which basically like declaring “bollocks” or “no way” but in a less nice way) is a dice game loosely based on an older version that is kind of like poker with dice. It is highly addictively and I plan to bring it back with me to the States! After a lovely bubble bath, I hit the comfy bed!

I awoke early on Saturday with tea which was brought to my cottage at 8 am, and did some reading on the porch. Sipping tea, reading The Memory Keeper’s Daughter (very good by the way), and glancing up to a magnificent view was quite a way to start the day. Then we headed up to breakfast—full English available, or in my case, an omlette, bacon, and toast with Nutella—heaven. So far the weekend was progressing nicely. Then the rain came, and boy, was it pouring, and the clouds completely white-ed out the view on both sides, so that we were practically suspended in the clouds. We lounged in the drawing room, playing board-games and backgammon (all these games I’m only now learning!) and cross our fingers for a sunny afternoon which was when the party was due to commence. I thought there was no hope, but sure enough, around 1 pm the clouds began to lift and it turned into a beauty of a day with plenty of blue sky and sun. We spent the afternoon lounging by the pool, feasting on meat kebabs and spit-roasted pig, drinking hurricanes, etc. In the evening there was more Banage and boozing, rounding out an altogether highly relaxing day. After sleeping in this morning, we were treated to another delicious breakfast, plenty of coffee, walking around the lodge grounds and down near the lake, and reading on the porch. Then it was time to hope back in the car and head back for the big city, and five hours and some serious Kampala traffic to welcome us back, it’s back to reality, and school tomorrow.

Although this week is no ordinary week—no it’s not Thanksgiving I’m talking about (sniff, sniff, I’ll be missing my turkey, stuffing, and pie—what a great holiday!), it’s CHOGM. That’s right, Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting, which is held in a different location every four years, is being held in Kampala this year, and English royalty are on their way. I can’t believe I’m only mentioning this now on my blog (perhaps it was escapism not to do so earlier) but it has been dictating much of the madness that has griped this city as of late. Construction is underway in full force—and that’s the problem: the meeting starting in a couple days and things are still being built. They are seriously behind. Funny, because the slogan on all the billboards all over town is “We’re ready for CHOGM” which is a phrase you hear a couple dozen times a day in mocking tones because almost everyone here fully accepts they are nowhere near ready for CHOGM. Or there are claims that all eyes all over the world will be on Uganda because of CHOGM, although it is funny because many people have never hear of it. Anyways, security is going to be crazy and all the roads are being closed in town and Thursday and Friday have been declared national holidays, so I need to figure out yet another escape from Kampala!

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Part 2

We’ll start with "The Ugly" today, I think:
So, I think I’m done here. Not really of course! But I had a moment that evoked one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite episodes of Sex and the City—I’m sorry if you don’t know the reference but I will try to explain. At Charlotte’s second wedding to the awkward but loveable Harry, Miranda gives the toast and then lights her speech on fire with the candle. She tells Carries, “I’ve showed emotion in public, I’ve lit myself on fire—I think I’m ready to go home.” Just then, Charlotte tosses the bouquet and it smacks Miranda on the head as she turns to leave. “Now you’re ready to go home!” Carrie deadpans. Forgive me for that pop culture reference, but it can be so entertaining (It didn’t help that I went over to a friend’s house the other night and watched pirated Sex in the City episodes one after another)!

But I actually felt like stating a similar line, yet so different yesterday: “I been robbed, I’ve been burned by a boda, I’ve been tested for malaria—I think I’m done here.” I think I’ve covered the theft (too much perhaps?), but the boda burn and malaria test are new. On Friday I was riding up one of the many steep hills surrounding the city of Kampala, on my way to Diplomat Hotel with Pia and Medde (sharing a boda behind me) to toast their last day at the school. As my boda-man tried to make a valiant attempt to conquer the final 55-degree angled slope nearing the hotel, our boda lost steam and began to slip backwards. In a panic, I slammed my feet to the ground to keep us from sliding backwards. And there it was—my searing flesh against the hot, silver exhaust pipe. For a moment I was in shock, but I put my hand to the burn and saw my skin crinkle and blister. I pushed at the puckering skin and immediately my tanned skin on the inside of my calf gave way to a silver dollar sized splotch the color of a baby’s bottom. I still paid the guy mind you (hmm, out of shock) and hobbled into the hotel with Pia and Medde calling behind me. After some icing and it felt a little better, and we were able to enjoy the view over the whole city—even a spectacular thunderstorm to boot. But these days, the burn is looking pretty flat-out disgusting. I’ll spare you details (okay, Al, I’ll send you a separate email filled with all the gory goods) but I’m currently walking around with a gauze bandage wrapped around my leg, and getting lots of varying advice from all the many “experts” around town—meaning, everyone who sees my bandage—that is after they find out it’s a boda-burn and nod knowingly. All I can really say is the burn is currently the definition of ugly.

Then a merging of The Ugly and The Very Very Good is the departure of Pia and Medde from Meeting Point. They are off to trek gorillas, hike Mount Kilaminjaro, safari in Tanzania, and lounge on the beach in Zanzibar (jealous, anyone?) before returning to Copenhagen to rejoin the "real world" of midwifery school for Medde and nutritional counseling for Pia. They are truly incredible girls and completely deserve this extended vacation. I'm so happy I got a chance to know them and I'll miss them dearly! But I'll see them soon in Copenhagen or NYC I'm sure!!





Pia with Joan








Medde with Steven





On to "The Good":
Yesterday I was feeling sick with a sore throat and stiff neck, and being newly Ugandan, I immediately assumed that I had malaria. So during a run with a friend here in preparation for the MTN Kampala Half-Marathon on December 9th (I signed up just last week!), I mentioned this and he suggested we drop by the 24-hour clinic in Bugolobi center. We stopped into the clinic, asked the price (3000 Ush—so about $1.70), I went in the back, the doctor (wearing no gloves mind you—that would never happen back home!) pricked my finger and slid my blood on a piece of glass, and we left for the rest of our run, promising to return for the results and to pay in 20 minutes. After finishing up the 7K run, we stopped for some water and then my friend gave me a lift back to the clinic where I was declared malaria-free!!

Not only that, but had I had malaria, I could have gone next door, purchased some treatment medication for a few thousand shillings and been on my way—no prescription, no nothing. Medicine here is cheap and easy to get. It’s really quite amazing. After living in New York where I walked from doctor office to pharmacy to doctor office and pharmacy to pharmacy getting prescriptions, filling prescriptions, trying to renew or extend prescriptions, the lack of red tape can be quite refreshing!

Of course I could have had malaria because I was in Jinja two weeks ago for Halloween festivities, and that’s about how long it takes for symptoms to show, about 10-14 days. But then of course I was in Jinja again on Monday so I’ll have to watch out for malaria again in a couple weeks I suppose. I was there for less than 24 hours. After spending some time in the morning teaching the nursery children a dance for the performance on Sunday, I went into town to catch a bus to Jinja to meet Amy and her friends for a croquet tournament (yes, you read that right, and yes it was on a Monday—Monday is the weekend for rafting folk). This is where The Bad comes in, but I’ll get to that in a bit. After arriving in Jinja, we made our way to the market to look for all white clothes—apparently a requirement for our afternoon croquet event. Any market in Uganda is quite an experience: a maze of rows of stands filled with second hand clothes, shoes, trinkets, fabric, mosquito nets, and hats give way to stands hawking dried anchovies, whole fish, meat carcasses, arrangements of colorful fruits and vegetables, in addition to lunchtime fare of posho, beans, matoke, and meat. We snagged some cheap white (if slightly dirty) clothes and headed back to change and make our way to the site of the tournament.

The site was spectacular—a house perched on one bank of the Nile with sweeping views out over the water and a few small scattered lush green islands. There was a short grass court set up for croquet in the front of the house and in the back, overlooking the river. The house belonged to the co-owner of one of the rafting companies in Jinja and he and his wife were hosting the event. Everyone was dressed in more of less ridiculous outfits and put into doubles teams representing countries or in my case, Bujagali Falls (a tourist attraction in Jinja). Sadly, my partner Jack and I lost both our matches (I was doing quite well until I hit the stake in the middle with one hoop left to go--I tried to argue that this was not a game-ending penalty in the US, though I have no idea), buy Amy (Team Iceland for no apparent reason) managed to walk away the overall champion, although her partner had had one to many Pimms to pull in the doubles victory. It was definitely a fun afternoon, and just nice to see a group of “grownups” dressed up and playing croquet on a Monday afternoon!

"The Bad":
Ugandan Time is officially driving me insane. I arrived at the bus stop (i.e. the petrol station on Kampala Road) at 10:30 and saw an empty bus that I found out was heading for Jinja. Perfect. What time was it leaving I asked. In 20 min the driver said. There was also a matatu (though not my favorite means of transportation post-Fort Portal trip) that was headed for Jinja. Two options that will be leaving soon I thought--perfect—I had time to go get out some money from the ATM. When I got back, both were still there and very much empty with the conductors trying to encourage passer-bys to hope on for the trip to Jinja. What time are you leaving I asked both. Soon, soon, they said. Hmmm, suuuuuure. No, this was properly Uganda: they were waiting for it to fill up before they left. This was no Vamoosebus from NY-DC, bless them, that would leave with 3 passengers on board—nope, every seat must be filled before it pulls out into traffic, whether it takes 30 seconds or 3 hours. Not a very good spread if you actually have somewhere to be at a certain time or people to meet, which of course I did. I decided to wait to see which one filled up faster, and then I would get on the one that was getting nearly full. Ah, the best laid plans….I stood back, and within 10 minutes or so the matatu began to fill—then all of a sudden, there was a mad rush for 4 remaining seats—I was out of luck. I raced up to the conductor. It’s full he told me, you’ll have to wait for the other one. But you knew I was waiting. I’m sorry he said, and the passengers onboard looked out the sliding windows chuckling (stupid, entitled muzungu). UGH. At this point I was seriously questioning making the trip, but I couldn’t give up, not now. It was nearly 11:15—after all this time spent, I would succeed, for better or worse.

The bus filled slowly, slowly. But I learned from my earlier mistake and climbed on and seated myself when it was just about half full—or so I thought. As one woman in a traditional Ugandan dress with puffed pointed sleeves climbed on and took the last seat, I breathed a sight of relief—until I realized there was a middle isle of fold-down seats, still 7 more to go! We finally pulled out at noon. And I was in Jinja by half past 1. Not the worst journey, but HONESTLY, how can anybody stand it. Not only do Ugandan stand this however, they actually seem really unbothered by it. When I asked those around me sitting on the bus (this was when there were only 2 people on the bus) they just shrugged, grinned faintly, and returned to reading the newspaper, as if all they had to do that day was take an hour-long bus ride to Jinja. And maybe it was, but didn’t they want to get there sooner?! I guess for all the late jokes about me, in the end I’m still quite time-obsessed and try to cram my day (hence why I’ve been late too much in my life). I’m really trying to adopt this whole go with the flow mentality, but it is really not easy. I guess you can take the girl out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the girl!

Sweet Life

Oh dear, so perhaps I conveyed my emotions too well in my last post. I got one text from a friend of mine in Uganda who wrote, “I just read your blog…are you okay?” in addition to an email from a friend back in New York who was worried about how sad I was. Of course by the time I received these compassionate messages, I was well on my way to feeling better about the how situation and my sanity pendulum has (at least temporarily) recentered. In light of this rather angry recent post (which believe me at the time I felt) I have decided I owe a much happier one, because to be honest, life here is pretty great.

1) As I type this, I'm sitting by a pool at a local country club that is surrounded by palm trees. It’s early November, the sun is shining, it’s about 85 degrees and sunny with low humidity :)

2) Let’s keep in mind I don't have "real" work. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am working hard—perhaps even harder in some ways than when I had a full-time job, but it’s still volunteer work, and Ugandan time like everything else is pretty laid back. I know most of you won’t believe this, but I show up EARLY to most things because “Ugandan time” means basically everything starts 1hour OR SO after it’s stated time. I am getting a taste of my own medicine here, that’s for sure (and sometimes it is enough to drive anyone crazy)! But this also means that the school is very flexible about what projects I choose t to do. My next big project is painting murals in the school and orphanage, and I’ve managed to secure paint donations through a friend of my cousin’s—it’s nice to know people who know people!

3) Even though I don’t really know people, I actually “know” quite a few. This town is REALLY small, at least expat community-wise. And I went to an art gallery opening on my own last night and ran into 4 people I knew--two of whom I went to dinner with at this great little Turkish restaurant after the show. I’m meeting new people all the time, and that’s definitely fun--if inevitably awkward at times, always having to put yourself out there. But I am going to little Ben’s 3rd birthday party in a couple hours, then I have a dinner potluck tonight at an American girl’s house with a bunch of random people they know. Tomorrow I may go to Jinja with Amy for a croquet tournament of sorts being put on my the rafting guides, and next week I may be going out to Western Uganda with Amy again to a opening party that her friend is having for his new lodge. So it’s not like I’m really alone that much.

4) I have some pretty cool plans looming on the horizon. My parents arrive in just one month for a two week visit. We are going to a lodge at a national park, Lake Mburo, then heading to Tanzania for a safaris in the Serengeti and Ngorogoro Crater, and then going to Jinja for a couple days before having Christmas at my cousin’s. Not to mention it will be so nice to have some one here to just show around Kampala so they can truly understand what my life is like here. Then after New Year’s, I taking off on a solo travel to journey down to Cape Town somehow someway because I have a flight to Sydney, Australia, in early February to meet up and travel with my old roommate Rachel and her brother for a month in Australia and New Zealand. After that I have to figure out what I where I want to go/what to do next. No sob story here!

5) My time here all in all has really been a great experience already, and what makes it so is feeling like what I'm doing here is important and that I might be helping some children who really deserve some help. I have had my eyes opened to what an incredible life I am lucky to have and all the opportunities that have been afforded to me. In light of this, I have decided to sponsor a child from my school. My donation of $350 a year (less than $1 a day) will help him pay the fees for a year at a formal school. (Meeting Point is an informal school and clearly lacking in resources because it takes in all the children it can for free.) It is just one small step in a country, and on a continent, where such an action feels quite useless on one level. But I have seen the uniqueness in the children I work with, and one in particular just stole my heart. I have picked Richard, the young boy from P-3 who wants to be a doctor (although, boy do a lot of the children want to be doctors, and teachers, and nurses, and accountants…), and I really hope that my sponsorship of his school fees will allow him to go to a better school and achieve his dreams. With this in mind, I will be posting some children’s profiles from time to time, and if any of you feel inspired to sponsor a child or just find out more information, I’d be more than happy to share, because it’s certainly easy to forget how lucky you are in the face of day to day stress, or even the occasional no good, very bad day.

No Good, Horrible, Very Bad Day, Take 2, but then a Lovely Evening

So perhaps I spoke to soon. I am truly feeling more “at home” but then days like yesterday just come and knock me backwards. I got a real whammy on Tuesday morning, that sent me reeling back to my feelings one month ago. I was about to head out to school when I passed by the living room in my house and saw a young woman who I realized must be our cleaning woman, Sophie who I had yet to meet (or so I thought). I introduced myself saying, “Hi, you must be Sophie, I’m Laura—I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

“Yes, we have,” she said. Well, I thought (and said) I don’t think so—maybe we had passed on the street when I had been walking on my street and she had been come to work by boda, but otherwise I was fairly certain we had not met yet.
“At Lugogo,” she said. I was confused. “There were two guys with you, following you.” I was even more confused, but the only time I had been at Lugogo was when I went to a trade show on Independence Day (Oct. 9) and my wallet and camera were taken. “You were with some friends. A muzungu.” Now I was going from baffled to slow anger.
“Wait you saw me that day?” I asked.
“Yes, there were two guys following you from the gate. They unzipped your bag to take your things.”
“Yes, but then I zipped my bag again,” I said.
“But then the other one came and unzipped it and took your camera, right?” she said.
“Yes, and my wallet,” I said in total shock. “You saw it happen?! Did you know them??!?!”
“No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I wanted to warn you, but they said she’s white, we are black and so are you, don’t help her. Otherwise we will beat you up.”

I couldn’t even believe my ears. Here was my housekeeper, the woman who has washed my clothes and cleaned my room for over a month, telling me that she saw me get robbed in a sea of thousands, when she barely even knew me. Moreover, she considered THAT instance to have been a time we had “met.”

I wasn’t really angry at her, just at the circumstances. I knew full well that those guys really would have beaten her up, and even worse, they probably would have gotten away with it--just slipped the police a few thousand shillings to keep quiet about it. There’s the ugly corruption rearing its head again, and frankly, it just gets really old really fast.

Tears were welling up in my eyes and streaming down my face at this point. I had a meeting to go to regarding a paint donation for murals that I am planning to paint in the orphanage house and around the school. I grabbed a boda ride to the meeting, which was subsequently rescheduled for the following morning. So I walked back to Shell Bugolobi (my neighborhood landmark is a gas station—sad, I know) and waited for Kanyamo, the school driver to come pick me up. I walked the whole way back sobbing, like a huge baby. Well, a baby wouldn’t curse I guess, and boy, did I curse. To myself, to the dirt road, under my breath to the boda drivers who harassed me for a ride (“Muzungu, how are you?” “NOT GOOD!!!”).

I was in a funk all day, I tried really hard to get out of it, but there was definitely a hefty dose of despair—those same feelings from last month were back and felt even more painful this time around. I felt like a huge target with a big bull’s eye painted on my white forehead. Here I am in a country, sticking out like a sore thumb for being muzungu—i.e. white and rich, which is funny, because I don’t consider myself to be either in the least. The other volunteers I works with are Danish, or German, or Italian—not just white. I think of myself as American or Jewish, but here that doesn’t register as much or at all. I’m just white. Also, I am supporting myself on my savings while here in Uganda, trying to help the children of this country on my own time and money, and it hurts like hell to feel so mistreated in the face of this circumstance. While it’s true I have more money than many people have here, I quite frankly, still don’t have that much—and thanks to theft, supplies are dwindling rapidly.

The other volunteers were really sweet and expressed what I felt to be the right amount of outrage that I hadn’t really seen some others muster over such a bizarre situation and coincidence. Noelina (the school director) happened to walk in on me sobbing in the volunteer office, took me into her office and gave me about 10 hugs. I was feeling fine for a bit, enough to get me through a nursery dance lesson (yes, you read that write, I am helping to teach a dance!) and an art class for P-1 on making paper monsters (i.e. fortune tellers with out the fortune and with googley eyes!), but at lunch the feelings returned.

I almost didn’t want to go anywhere, but I made myself take the afternoon (the vocational students were in exams so we couldn’t teach them) and organize the volunteer office and hang some art work. But it’s amazing how even a short amount of time can make everything seem brighter and better. You have to move on and move up—in the end it’s just the only option.

It’s Pia and Medde’s last week here, so we (the five volunteers) went for dinner at this great little restaurant in Old Kampala called Tuhende. It was a beautiful night and we sat down at dusk and had a terrific meal of steak and lamb, and a three course meal for about $6 each. We chatted and tried to understand each other in 4 different languages in the middle of East Africa. As I took my (long) boda ride home across town and look up at the stars as we whizzed down my avenue (okay, it’s not as romantic as it sounds—there WAS plenty of car exhaust inhaled!), the day was ending on a much higher note than on which it had begun.

Today, we made paper airplanes with the Primary 1 class (um, to say they loved it is a definitely understatement!) and then I watched the children dance and rehearse for the big party they are putting on for the vocational school graduation on Friday. The children are just so lively and gleeful, and faced with their ever-present smiles, it is hard to stay angry for long.

I promise there will be picture posts and hopefully even a video to come in the next few days. Internet is quite slow at the moment…apologies from Uganda, all you get is my rant! ;)

Ahhhhhhh!

It's done! I've submitted my first business school application--not the easiest thing to do using a variety of internet cafes in Kampala. But after months of having it hanging over my head it's finally out of my hands, for better or worse. What a relief! I sat there for several minutes just staring at the screen that read: "When you are ready, click the button to submit your complete application." I mean, is an application like that ever really complete? But seeing as today IS the deadline for Round 1, I think it was time. But I'm getting better--at least I didn't wait until 9:59 am tomorrow Uganda-time which would have been 11:59 pm California time!

So finishing this application took up the majority of my thought processing this weekend. It was actually a very rainy and gloomy weekend in Kampala--I'm so spoiled now that I couldn't even believe I didn't see the sun for two days straight! But it was nice to relax a bit. I went for a great brunch in town with Pia and Medde and then got a fabulous 30 minute spa pedicure for the equivalent of $8 yesterday, and watched some movies and lounged around. It a bit of a weird situation to be in for me in that I'm semi-permanent at the moment. I'm short-term enough that I really need to make an effort to see lots of the tourist attractions in a relatively short time, but I'm also living like a local and hanging out with locals. Therefore, it's easy to forget to run around and see the sights sometimes. But it can be quite nice to realize that to just live in a place anywhere in the world can be similar. You can still have your rainy weekends, your lazy Sundays with brunch no matter where you are. And that's a nice to know. Of course, for anyone who has (been lucky enough to have--ha!) lived with me, you may know I get a bit antsy, and I'm not the best at chilling out and just doing nothing. But I'm working on this because sometimes, no matter where you are, it's important to take some time to just recharge the batteries.

Now it's time for me to get to school for another week of art classes. This week we're making paper-crafts. Who remembers making paper fortune tellers in elementary school? Weren't they just the coolest? Anyone? Well, I barely do--so I have to go relearn how to make them so I can show the children!

The Breakthrough

So clearly just a few weeks ago I hit the proverbial wall—big time. I was down and out in Kampala, feeling lost most of the time, pretty lonely, and basically walked all over. I couldn’t find my way around, was sick of being stared at, and was beyond frustrated over the theft of my camera and wallet. But everything blows over at some point, and I think I’ve made the cross-over to a very limited kind of “local” existence—I’ve broken through the wall.

I definitely still have (many) frustrations from day to day, but I am definitely starting to feel more at home here. And although it can take months, even years, to become a true resident local, after just a month or six weeks, especially with a daily routine, I’m really starting to feel like I LIVE here. I have my favorite coffee shops and restaurants and bars (okay, really just one bar sadly), I have a predetermined way to and from work (usually!), and I’ve even been lucky enough to bum some friends off my great housemate.

Some days I love smiling at all the little children (and adults) walking by and asking “Muzungu, how are you?” without even really caring for a response. Other days I just want none of it, but is that really so different from my life in New York? I had ups and downs there, too. And I’m finally getting to that point here in Kampala where although there are the pendulum swings from day to day, they are evening out and definitely becoming less volatile.

I love teaching the art classes to the children because the great things about art is that hopefully the children are learning something (motor skills, expanded creativity, independent thought, etc.), even if they’re not they are still having fun. We finished the playdough project for the week, and the children were a very happy mess of sticky flour and salt. Now, I’m brainstorming ways to make the school look more appealing, and spent the whole morning trying to hang some of the over 200 Ugandan flags all over the auditorium. And in the afternoon, I “co-hosted” and hour long trivia game on English grammar for the vocational students (who if I’m lucky look up from behind their sewing machines to contemplate our lesson. But I’m finally feeling comfortable in the rhythm of my day and it feels like a breath of fresh air after the early weeks of confusion and all things overwhelming.