We arrived back in Boston 24 days ago and my timely note to you went by the wayside along with my "to do" list.
Sitting here now trying to formulate words to express the past 24 days, tears well in my eyes as I realize laziness is not the cause for my delay in writing, confusion is.
On April 7, a small portion of my journal entry reads:
So this is my 5th night in Africa and I continue to hate it. I totally resist everything about it and don't know why. I am so over rice and beans...I am so unhappy. What a bad and strange feeling this is. Everything I say is so negative. I feel like my passion and zeal to be here has been lost and replaced with bitter resentment that I stepped on the plane. Shoot I wear myself out just listening to myself complain...I should stop fighting everything and go with it. After all, God is in control. I should have faith enough to go and work where He places me though I don't see how this will fit. Hmmm... maybe that is not for me to figure out...
Adam arrived in Uganda on June 22, safe and sound and our time together was beautiful. I was able to take him out to meet the Tabula Essuubi group (the 16 people who participated in the Seeds for Change project). We were able to go on a number of home visits so he could meet group members and see the varying levels of implementation of the project. On Thursday we departed for a two night stay at a very nice lake near the border of Rwanda where we had an opportunity to go on a long hike and canoe in the Eucalyptus canoes. Saturday I said my goodbyes to my host family and we departed for Kampala where we spent the night in preparation for our trip to Kenya on Sunday.
While I had hoped to take Adam to the local places I had found myself in the three months prior, I really wanted him to have as nice of a time as possible so we went to the market, I purchased produce and I cooked some meals and we dined out for a few at the nicer places in town. I am not sure why I was amazed, but I was, that when I walked through town with Adam the amount of harassment I experienced was minimal to non-existent. The beckoning for a Muzungu from all the taxi drivers was silenced as I strolled hand in hand with my husband through the uneven dirt roads. In the week he was in Masaka I don't recall a single individual requesting I give them money or hop on their Boda. I found myself more than aggravated that I wanted him to see what the experience was like and the Masaka he witnessed was almost like an act.
Adam was able to meet some of the fellow interns, the Dr.'s who treated me when I fell very ill, the taxi driver who was a stalker and the gracious woman who offered her guest house to me and an opportunity to work at Vi Agroforestry.
My host family welcomed Adam with typical Ugandan hospitality. They cooked an enormous feast and had new placemats out and pots and pans that looked like they were just purchased. Dishing up our plates then sitting around the couches in the living room we sat almost in silence as Adam experienced a more bountiful nightly meal. My host mother was nervous and anxious, she pulled me aside when I dished up apologizing for lacking proper drinks (most Ugandan's don't have beverages during meal time and I didn't think to bring any since I was used to having my water bottle with me) - I assured her he was fine and the lack of drinks was not an issue as we were so thankful for the plentiful meal.
After a sudden and unexpected drop while descending into Kenya, we stepped off the plane excited for our Safari. The Safari company was there on time and we were off on our vacation. I think the experience exceeded both of our expectations in terms of excitement and splendor. The accommodations were magnificent, food - delicious, and more often than not we sat silent in the car in astonishment with creation.
In our first day we saw "The Big 5" (Lion, Leopard, Rhino, Elephant and Cape Buffalo). Apparently this is extremely unusual and according to our driver and staff at the different camps, very few people ever see the Big 5, let alone in their first day. As the days passed we continued to see more and more astonishing animals. How they cohabitate together was fascinating and witnessing Lions on the prowl was breathtaking. From a distance we would witness the animals exist in their habitat, but part of me wondered how much longer people would be able to partake in such a beautiful observation.
We saw a baby hippo, guesstimated at 4 days old. We saw lion's mating, eating and resting after they have had their stomach's fill. We took a small motorboat into the water to see more hippos and baited fish eagles by throwing small fish into the water. We saw the sun rise and the sun set in the park and even had an opportunity to celebrate Adam's birthday at a surprise campfire and lantern lit celebration.
All in all, the Safari was an amazing experience and we are very fortunate and privileged to have had the opportunity to travel together and see such creatures and landscapes.
While mentally I was good and ready to leave Africa, emotionally I grieved as if leaving a love. Perhaps I am still there and thus my 24 day delay in writing.
London was beautiful, though the weather left much to be desired and arriving the day after the Wimbledon finals created much traffic on the streets and at the tourist destinations. Our first morning at the hotel I found myself with 3 plates of food from the breakfast buffet with everything from cottage cheese, to waffles, grapes, strawberries, crudités and cold cuts. Embarrassed, I devoured everything on all three plates as Adam politely ate two fried eggs and a slice of toast. By the time we arrived I had flat run out of steam - I was so ready to be home and longed for the comforts I often associate with home I found enjoying the moment in London difficult, which is regrettable as our activities were fun and the sites were spectacular. I was simply ready to be home.
I knew leaving Africa would not be easy. I recall the perspective shifting experience just four years earlier when I returned from my very short two week stay in Sierra Leone - I could only imagine how the transition back would be after three months. At the hotel restaurant in London I requested ½ of a waffle. The waitress returned to tell me the chef was unable to make ½ a waffle and I "shouldn't worry", simply eat what I want and throw the rest out. I questioned her - "the chef cannot use ½ the batter though the waffle maker is one size and just serve me whatever comes out?" She politely smiled and reiterated I shouldn't worry about throwing the other ½ of the waffle out. Perhaps this was a silly point for me to hunker down on, but I had just consumed more in any single meal than I have in conceivably my entire life and I just wanted a tiny bit more of a waffle and I didn't want to waste the other half. I quickly realized how hard it would be to be out of Africa.
Driving from Logan, through the city and arriving at our house I was amazed with all the little things. Grass had grown, construction that once was had since finished and new structures were erected where a few cones tapped off with "caution" tape had been just three months prior. I kept reminding myself no longer was the beginning of spring upon the city but summer was in full swing (though many would argue based on our recent weather). I felt like I had missed a whole season, the flowers blooming and grass sprouting as the dull dead city came to life after the winter. For heaven's sake the Red Socks are in full swing and I missed the kick off with the Boston Marathon and the Patriots Day game.
Entering our house I felt like a foreigner. You know that feeling you have when you're in a car for a really long time then you get out and still feel like you're moving? Well I had that feeling... standing in my kitchen looking around at the clean space, bug free with working doors and water, clean running water that I could drink right from the tap if I so desired. Though with all my heart I desired to leap for joy and find comfort that we had arrived safely back home; my heart sank... why me? Why do I deserve any of this? Why is privilege and opportunity so often bestowed to those born here or there when it passes over so many for no fault of their own?
The first week and a half I would go to bed around 8 and get up around 4 or 5 and hop on-line hoping a fellow intern would be on-line so I could chat with them... not because we were friendly in Africa or because I think we'll ever see each other again - but simply to have a shared experience with someone.
I certainly was ready to come home and am thankful to be here but feel so utterly disconnected on so many levels from almost everyone. I am sure with time, all will pass and I won't feel as if I'm conflicted in almost every situation and pretending in others - but what if it doesn't? Or what if I am better off this way and more capable to make change living in such a conflicted state?
Surprisingly, I went on a job interview two weeks ago. Fresh off the plane still working on communicating in an eloquent fashion I utterly dive bombed in this interview. I wanted the job so bad based on the description. The position was for a program coordinator of their Africa project. I would be involved in all aspects of the program coordination from budget, to administrative, and project planning, implementation and even 25% travel to the project for monitoring and evaluation. It was a combination of everything I have ever wanted in a job and to be asked to come interview when I hadn't even applied only increased my anxiety. Fumbling over my words, I was able to contain my tears until I exited the elevator as I felt an opportunity of a life time slip through my fingers.
Now of course I know this is not the case and the appropriate job will come along at the "right" time but that knowledge sure did not stop the sting of disappointment in my performance for a job I desired so deeply.
Tomorrow, I begin a month long intensive Graduate Certificate program at Boston University. Based on my review of the Syllabus and initial preparation readings so far, the course seems to reiterate things I have already learned in my Master's degree and from my time in Uganda; however, having an "official" certificate to add to my resume may come in very handy - besides I could use a bit of intellectual stimulation and routine to help break me out of my funk.
On the 29th of August I will walk at a small graduation ceremony and accept a diploma for my Masters of Science in Global Studies and International Affairs... adding that to the certificate in Design, Implementation, Monitoring and Evaluation of International Health Programs, I will have just completed from Boston University I will hopefully be able to get a job in the international development arena working in the area of health in one aspect or another.
I am here, at home, I have all the blessings in the world it seems and I am utterly depressed. It is a very strange thing. I am grateful - I was before Africa and now I am simply conflicted. How do I take the time spent there, the opportunity to go and privilege to live and learn and work there and make a change in the world for good?
How do I share experiences without unintentionally making people feel guilty or sounding self righteous? How do I move forward?
Perhaps as I said only 5 nights into this adventure, I should just move forward even if I don't know what the future holds. I don't need to write the end, just be willing to be used in the story.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Privileged Pity Party
Last week I was reading comments posted on my blog and I came across one from “Anonymous”. As anyone who knows me would agree, I am a huge fan of the freedom of speech, but firmly believe if one wants to say something, they should have the courage to stand behind their words, not merely sign something Anonymous.
The comment in response to my blog “Bitter” read:
It sounds like you must have a really terrible personality... Usually people that get hired because they "know" someone aren't incompetent, rather they're personable and the person that hires them does so because they know they can trust this applicant. You sure do have a surprising amount of self-pity for someone who has seen people in unimaginably hopeless situations.
You sound Christian - if so, you should remember Jesus reward for service - he was reviled and killed. He was homeless and solitary. But he was remembered. If you dedicate your life to service - your "dream job" - you should expect nothing in return, except some people might feel sorry when you die. And if you truly want to serve, no one can stop you. People can deny you scholarships and internships, but your ability to serve is still yours.
The word "great" should not be used to describe helping those less fortunate.
Anonymous, April 26, 2009
For days I have mulled over the comment – any opportunity for growth and self reflection is always a valuable experience.
I believe I am one to carefully consider my words, continually noting how fortunate I am, continually counting my blessings and struggling to remain focused, recognizing people walk gracefully though a life many would consider “unimaginably hopeless”, realizing this situation is only temporary, and that is not a luxury many have the opportunity to say. I am not a martyr, do not share stories for admiration and have never once shared something in search of sympathy. My sole intention of sharing is always to increase awareness about life, the joys and trials of daily life in a part of the world so far from the good fortune of the United States, where issues surrounding the stock market and John and Kate plus 8 take the back seat to a lack of clean drinking water and global warming which is destroying your only source of a remotely secure livelihood.
Part of the roller coaster of emotions I continually reference is directly related to the tug of war between reality and immediate circumstance. Increasingly I find myself irritated and exhausted by the little things… like having to boil water to bathe when it’s midnight and you’re tired and simply long for a nice hot quick shower or brushing your teeth with bottled water outside because someone is always in the bathroom and having to carry 20 liter jerry can of water through the house to the bathroom in order to flush the toilet at 3am. I miss doing laundry, I never thought I would say that, and the ease with which I used to be able to cook. I miss being able to sit in silence or dance around the house in my slippers singing at the top of my lungs, or sitting to eat a meal and not feeling like Linus from Charlie Brown as gnats and flies swarm my head and ants charge my plate.
Lately I have been fantasizing, making a list of the foods and beverages I will consume shortly after arriving back in Boston. Topping the list, A GREAT glass of white wine, a hamburger from The Public House, a tantalizing meal from the Washington Square Tavern, a chicken burrito and margarita from Border Café, an assortment of plates from a local Thai restaurant, Sushi, and a chocolate cake from Party Favors… then for home cooked meals stuffed cabbage, manicotti and SALAD… lots and lots of salad.
Last week, in between running around to different stores negotiating prices, I went into a local shop I frequent because the owner is the host mom of a fellow intern. I was talking about how exhausted I am from sleeping on the saggy foam mattress, listening to the dogs barking, waking to cockroaches in my bed and bending over for hours scrubbing my clothes. They started laughing when I expressed how difficult everything is here and how brutally long everything takes. As I was speaking I wondered how they perceived what I said. Does anything I say even resonate? There is no basis for them to judge the ease with which all of us in the States do everything.
Watching the kids play with broken toys or push tires with sticks and play games by tossing rocks I deeply wish my kids could find such enjoyment with the simplicity of life, I wish we as adults could find such contentment and simplicity in life. After returning from Sierra Leone I resolved when I have children someday I would like to only ever have a few toys and let them be content…teach them from the beginning how very blessed we are and live a life that reflects this awareness. This trip affirms that notion. Yet I fear one day my child resenting me because they don’t have the latest and greatest toys the neighbor kids do…and I wonder if that is the motivation behind so many parents buying the “world” for their children. I just don’t see a need for bins and bins of toys when they only have two hands.
I find such joy and peace watching the children here. Content with whatever they have, inquisitive with what they find – their imagination soars.
Sitting here continuing to mull over the comment from Anonymous I am thankful for my questioning and grappling with the juxtaposition between the life I have been blessed to receive and the raw reality of the environment in which I find myself. I recognize how trite and trivial my list of longings are. I hear how obnoxious my longing for a simple bathroom stop is. How ridiculous my grumblings about washing laundry and cooking in a kitchen where mice and cockroaches peer over your shoulder from the shelf. I know, poor poor me.
In a short while I will head out to the living room for a spoon of rice, another of beans and if I’m lucky – a slice of avocado or cucumber and that is it… I’ll mash the squishy food in my mouth and wonder why the fruits and vegetables in great abundance are not utilized to their full capacity. Meal time could be so enjoyable and fulfilling here yet it is the same exact thing every single day… for 60 days now… rice and beans. Boring, tasteless with lots of salt and oil, blah - texture less. Does the sheer absence of knowing what is possible make such a routine palatable? Same with living or work conditions here? Is that why toddlers can consume the jarred goo called baby food until the transition to solids and then turn to pushing the group out of their mouth to drip down their face?
Many will sit and read this post and think how lovely it is that I have the opportunity to have my blessings affirmed in such a tangible way… but how many will ponder their privileges too and make changes in the way they live based on vicarious living through my first hand experience? Be transformed through my wrestling, my grappling; positively changed, even in some small way, from reading my privileged pity party.
The comment in response to my blog “Bitter” read:
It sounds like you must have a really terrible personality... Usually people that get hired because they "know" someone aren't incompetent, rather they're personable and the person that hires them does so because they know they can trust this applicant. You sure do have a surprising amount of self-pity for someone who has seen people in unimaginably hopeless situations.
You sound Christian - if so, you should remember Jesus reward for service - he was reviled and killed. He was homeless and solitary. But he was remembered. If you dedicate your life to service - your "dream job" - you should expect nothing in return, except some people might feel sorry when you die. And if you truly want to serve, no one can stop you. People can deny you scholarships and internships, but your ability to serve is still yours.
The word "great" should not be used to describe helping those less fortunate.
Anonymous, April 26, 2009
For days I have mulled over the comment – any opportunity for growth and self reflection is always a valuable experience.
I believe I am one to carefully consider my words, continually noting how fortunate I am, continually counting my blessings and struggling to remain focused, recognizing people walk gracefully though a life many would consider “unimaginably hopeless”, realizing this situation is only temporary, and that is not a luxury many have the opportunity to say. I am not a martyr, do not share stories for admiration and have never once shared something in search of sympathy. My sole intention of sharing is always to increase awareness about life, the joys and trials of daily life in a part of the world so far from the good fortune of the United States, where issues surrounding the stock market and John and Kate plus 8 take the back seat to a lack of clean drinking water and global warming which is destroying your only source of a remotely secure livelihood.
Part of the roller coaster of emotions I continually reference is directly related to the tug of war between reality and immediate circumstance. Increasingly I find myself irritated and exhausted by the little things… like having to boil water to bathe when it’s midnight and you’re tired and simply long for a nice hot quick shower or brushing your teeth with bottled water outside because someone is always in the bathroom and having to carry 20 liter jerry can of water through the house to the bathroom in order to flush the toilet at 3am. I miss doing laundry, I never thought I would say that, and the ease with which I used to be able to cook. I miss being able to sit in silence or dance around the house in my slippers singing at the top of my lungs, or sitting to eat a meal and not feeling like Linus from Charlie Brown as gnats and flies swarm my head and ants charge my plate.
Lately I have been fantasizing, making a list of the foods and beverages I will consume shortly after arriving back in Boston. Topping the list, A GREAT glass of white wine, a hamburger from The Public House, a tantalizing meal from the Washington Square Tavern, a chicken burrito and margarita from Border Café, an assortment of plates from a local Thai restaurant, Sushi, and a chocolate cake from Party Favors… then for home cooked meals stuffed cabbage, manicotti and SALAD… lots and lots of salad.
Last week, in between running around to different stores negotiating prices, I went into a local shop I frequent because the owner is the host mom of a fellow intern. I was talking about how exhausted I am from sleeping on the saggy foam mattress, listening to the dogs barking, waking to cockroaches in my bed and bending over for hours scrubbing my clothes. They started laughing when I expressed how difficult everything is here and how brutally long everything takes. As I was speaking I wondered how they perceived what I said. Does anything I say even resonate? There is no basis for them to judge the ease with which all of us in the States do everything.
Watching the kids play with broken toys or push tires with sticks and play games by tossing rocks I deeply wish my kids could find such enjoyment with the simplicity of life, I wish we as adults could find such contentment and simplicity in life. After returning from Sierra Leone I resolved when I have children someday I would like to only ever have a few toys and let them be content…teach them from the beginning how very blessed we are and live a life that reflects this awareness. This trip affirms that notion. Yet I fear one day my child resenting me because they don’t have the latest and greatest toys the neighbor kids do…and I wonder if that is the motivation behind so many parents buying the “world” for their children. I just don’t see a need for bins and bins of toys when they only have two hands.
I find such joy and peace watching the children here. Content with whatever they have, inquisitive with what they find – their imagination soars.
Sitting here continuing to mull over the comment from Anonymous I am thankful for my questioning and grappling with the juxtaposition between the life I have been blessed to receive and the raw reality of the environment in which I find myself. I recognize how trite and trivial my list of longings are. I hear how obnoxious my longing for a simple bathroom stop is. How ridiculous my grumblings about washing laundry and cooking in a kitchen where mice and cockroaches peer over your shoulder from the shelf. I know, poor poor me.
In a short while I will head out to the living room for a spoon of rice, another of beans and if I’m lucky – a slice of avocado or cucumber and that is it… I’ll mash the squishy food in my mouth and wonder why the fruits and vegetables in great abundance are not utilized to their full capacity. Meal time could be so enjoyable and fulfilling here yet it is the same exact thing every single day… for 60 days now… rice and beans. Boring, tasteless with lots of salt and oil, blah - texture less. Does the sheer absence of knowing what is possible make such a routine palatable? Same with living or work conditions here? Is that why toddlers can consume the jarred goo called baby food until the transition to solids and then turn to pushing the group out of their mouth to drip down their face?
Many will sit and read this post and think how lovely it is that I have the opportunity to have my blessings affirmed in such a tangible way… but how many will ponder their privileges too and make changes in the way they live based on vicarious living through my first hand experience? Be transformed through my wrestling, my grappling; positively changed, even in some small way, from reading my privileged pity party.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Seeds for Change
On Tuesday May 26th, I arrived at Grace’s house (Grace is the chair person for the group) and was greeted by 16 individuals ready and eager to learn about fruit tree grafting. The training was a joy to watch. The group broke into smaller groups and were given fruit trees to practice grafting after the demonstration. The trees were then labeled “team 1”, “team 2”, three and four. We are going to have a competition to see whose tree is successfully living at the end of June.Wednesday I returned just prior to 2:00pm and was surprised some group members were ready and waiting for vegetable training. Knowing the great majority of people in Africa arrive more than “fashionably late” I was excited that all members of the group arrived by 2:30, and had come prepared to pay their 5,000 shilling monetary contribution to participate in the project. We started the session with training and Margaret, the trainer from Vi, showed the group how to make pots out of banana fibers (similar to the bark of a tree but it is thin like a leaf). Margaret stressed the lack of a polyurethane bag is not a good reason to fail to plant seeds and to look around the house for usable items to fill with dirt as many things can be suitable planters, but the best is banana fibers as they are natural and can be buried directly in the ground after the seeds have sprouted. From a distance I observed one of Grace’s younger boys watching intently. All of seven or eight, Whaswa grabbed a banana fiber, rolled it up like a tube, took a smaller piece and stuck it through the center, wrapped it around the sides like a Christmas present and walked very proud and confident to the group, firmly presenting it on the table. The crowd broke out in applause and my heart leapt as I thought “Yes, this is what it’s about – teaching the skills for generations to come!”
Thursday was spent walking around to stores I had previously visited informing them I was coming first thing this morning to pick up all the supplies for the project – hoping my notification would prompt some sort of preparation so pick up would be quick and easy.
Friday, the clouds rolled in with great fury. “Typical” I thought. It has not rained in days and now, with a number of errands and items to purchase and distribution to do, the rain poured from the sky. For two hours I sat at the Vi office making final preparations to the seed bags, making tags for the different seedlings and double counting the remaining money. Peering out the window, I prayed for the rains to cease and the sun to break so the day could be an enjoyable success, opposed to a soggy muddy one. Literally 10 minutes before departure, like a kink in a hose, the rains stopped and the sun shone bright. Blue sky peaked out.
Arriving at the stores I was at just a day earlier, the store clerk began to re-negotiate, offering me one product when I was quoted another, telling me a 2,000 shilling rake was better than the 3,500 rake. On Thursday, the clerk offered me the handles for the rakes at 500 shillings each, and the hoes for free, Friday she wanted to charge. I told her the option was to be true to her word and proceed as we agreed a day earlier or she can lose the entire order and I will go elsewhere with my 323,000 shillings. Rolling her eyes she instructed the boys to load up what we agreed to … I then explained I was taking the 40 nails she was trying to charge me for, free of charge, as she did not tell me nails were needed to secure the rake to the handle and she should have when we were discussing price and the order.
At another store I purchased 4 scratched, rusty, “new”, wheelbarrows for 63,000 shillings each. They were 65,000, I tried for 60,000 but the store clerk was firm…or perhaps I was weak. Part of me has a very difficult time negotiating price here knowing the equivalent of everything is SO inexpensive as compared to the US, but the other part of me understands that everyone is expected to negotiate and that Mzungus are consistently overcharged so even with my negotiated price, I still pay more than a local.
Driving down the long road to Grace’s house, passersby stared more than usual as the little white pickup loaded with 4 wheelbarrows, 19 watering cans, rakes, hoes, shovels, slashers and a plethora of other supplies flew by. Turning into her yard, members anxiously awaited my arrival with new supplies to make their days a little easier and help execute this Seeds for Change project.
Overjoyed, each member came, shook my hand or offered a hug as they exclaimed “sank you, sank you berry much Madam”. I continually strive to impact individuals with small things, always remembering it is often the little things that make the big difference. I truly wish you each could have been there with me. Those of you who contributed to this trip, be it monetary donation prior to my departure which I spent on these tools, support for my program fees, or prayer and emotional support have all directly made possible this Seeds for Change project and your generosity has changed, and will continue to change the lives of these people forever.
From them – through me – to you – “Sank you, sank you berry much!”
Preparations: Seeds for distribution
Seeds were distributed in individual baggies so each member simply picked up an envelope with all their sorted seeds enclosed.
Day 1: Fruit Tree Grafting
Team 1
Team 2
Team 3
Day 2: Vegetable gardening, Whaswa making banana fiber planters
Finished planters
Admiring his hard work
Distribution Day
Sukima Wiki (aka Swiss Chard) Seedlings
Purple Eggplant Seedlings
A special thanks to Megan Fields for taking the photos on distribution day!
Friday, May 22, 2009
To live peacefully is to die quietly
One thing that never fails to make me laugh is the sheer appreciation for the little things. Throughout the past 50 days when sharing the highs and lows of this experience an all too often response has been “well now at least you’ll appreciate what you have”… I appreciated what I had before I came – I didn’t need this experience and the buckets of tears and wrestles nights to make me realize how blessed I am… but never did I think using soap that wasn’t diluted down so that it actually bubbles on your hands would make me so happy. Never did I imagine I would ration my instant macaroni and covet my neighbor’s washing machine. My supervisor at Vi has a washing machine at her house and the other night when I was over there I heard this hum that sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite place it… suddenly I recognized… my goodness… she has a washing machine. I have spent the last two weeks begrudgingly scrubbing my clothes in buckets in the burning sun fantasizing about my return home and my nice big washing machine.
I believe I have a new addiction – perhaps not believe, but know I have a new addiction. Honey. This past weekend the FSD team went away and stayed at these little cottages (photos below). For breakfast they served us pancakes… pancakes – what a glorious day it was… anyhow – they served them with honey and since that day I can’t get the taste out of my mouth. It’s really quite strange and I feel funny but I’ll be sitting at work and find myself day dreaming about returning home to dash in my room and tear open the jar of honey. Yesterday I made myself a peanut butter, honey and banana sandwich for lunch. I figured while I was making it, though breakfast was prepared I would help myself to ½ a sandwich to go with my eggs and fruit. Departing the house with my sammy in hand for lunch I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The sweet taste and the crunchy texture that occurs as the honey dries on the bread reminds me of Crème Brule. I don’t think I was at work more than two hours and I tore the lid off the container and dove in, devouring ever last crumb of the dry bread and gooey sweetness. Returning home I found myself rushing to my room to pour some out on a few cookies – I felt like Pooh bear as honey ran down my fingers. Houston we have a problem!
On Tuesday training begins for my Seeds for Change project and I’m quite excited. I have been working on my budget for two days and have found a way to make it work. Each group member needs to pay 5,000 shillings as their monetary contribution. Granted this comes out to about $2.50 but here it’s a rather hefty contribution. The reason for assessing the group members a small fee is to help insure their commitment and sense of ownership in the training and materials…and stays in line with my distain for mere hand outs. I do not simply want to provide the group with training, but with the tools necessary to implement the training to further solidify the teachings. In my opinion, nothing is worse than sitting there for hours listening to a training of some sort then getting sent home with no way to apply it and next thing you know the knowledge has slipped away. With my seed grant from FSD I will have enough money to purchase 12 different types of vegetable seeds and mango, avocado, passion fruit and lemon seedlings (already sprouted fruit trees) for the group. Prior to departing Boston, a number of people extended their generosity by loading me up with gobs and gobs of school and education supplies for the kids here, while others offered money for me to purchase needed items with after accessing the needs. The school supplies have been distributed to 5 different organizations and when Adam comes, I’ll divide up the half of the donations I couldn’t carry as the donation bag already exceeded 70lbs and distribute those as well. With the money people contributed I am going to purchase supplies and provide each member of the group tools for their land. Thanks to the monetary donations of a handful of people, there is enough money to purchase a hoe, rake, shovel, slasher (a blade used to cut the grass or weeds), watering can, razor blades for grafting the trees and the plastic bags necessary for planting the seeds. Additionally, for the group the money will purchase 5 wheelbarrows, pesticide and a pesticide sprayer. The cost to supply the group with these tools is 407,950 shillings or $203.98... or $8.16 a person. I absolutely cannot wait to give the group your gifts so THANK YOU!
This Seeds for Change project will not only provide the parents with life skills, but the children as well. Education here in Uganda is a costly venture and even with a good education they may never find work, but if they can learn how to grow food, build things, and take care of each other they will always be able to provide for themselves. Of course my earnest hope is they are successful, but this training will trickle down to them and ensure they are well rounded and equipped for employment and tending to their land.
As for my thesis, I finally came to a starting idea which is a good thing considering I only have 37 days left in country. Pending approval from my advisor I believe I will write on the importance of training individuals on methods to better their lives opposed to merely dolling out aid. Foreign aid is something I have always been interested in and have done prior research on. I can do a literature review on distributing foreign aid vs. training individuals and comparing their efficacy. For my empirical research I can do a case study with my group and use their prior training and the Seeds for Change project. We will see how it goes but there is a possibility my remaining days in country will be extremely busy, working the days in the field on my project and writing my 50-100 page thesis at night – should at least make the days pass quickly.
This past Wednesday I participated in my first step class ever. That’s right… seven Mzungus with their aerobic steps in hand charged a local café and took over. Can you imagine the look on the locals’ faces to walk into the café and see a step DVD projected on the wall and 7 of us stumbling over our blocks and sweating profusely? The experience was surely YouTube worthy, if not to highlight our athletic ability then to show off our fashion as we bounced around in our hiking shoes, sandals, cargo pants and shirts…note to self, bring exercise clothes to Africa next time just in case.
The roller coaster of emotions I have frequently referenced has stayed the course, twisting and turning, throwing me forward and pressing me back. At times I must confess I feel quite inadequate, wondering what on earth I’m doing here. Last week my eyes busted open a raging sea of tears. At the time, I had here 45 days and felt like I had not accomplished or learned anything of substance; very overwhelming, frustrating and confusing situation. I am out of my league in most circumstances and perhaps that is the best place to be. Perhaps we learn best, work our hardest, observe and listen when everything is unfamiliar… because when it is not, we move forward in routine, knowing what we need in order to get through the day. What if our eyes are closed to the great potential possible with our lives because we are sitting in our comfortable chair, eating our tasty food and finding our best thoughts occur as the hot water streams down our bodies in the shower?
More and more lately I am wrestling with the point of aid work which is a HUGE dilemma for me since now I feel my entire career focus is at a crux. Daily I speak with people and tell them tiny little things that can easily improve their life, like eating tablespoon after tablespoon of salt is not healthy and instead of embracing that information I hear “Well this is how we have been raised” as if that justifies the behavior. Or when talking to women whose husbands beat and cheat on them as they try to convince me Adam can’t be as good as I say because their men are so far from… I don’t understand why there has not been a woman’s movement of some sort. Men joke and unashamedly talk about all their affairs, and their justification, “This is Africa”. Sigh, this is Africa seems to be the response to a number of my questions.
I received another note from Annette last night. I feared it was another tear jerking plea that I become her sponsor; pay her school fees and rush to aid her younger orphan siblings. This note however was begging me to ask around to see if anyone had a job for her. She pleaded to find employment so she could pay her own school fees and earn an income so she could send money to her younger brother and sister. I could not imagine what it must be like for a 16 year old to bear such pressure, to try so hard to find a solution to a not so simple problem. I must figure out my role in this, if I have one and how much intervention is appropriate. One thing which remains ever present is that I not be reckless in my actions and respond out of emotion without evaluating possible long term ramifications.
Last night conversing with Ruth, I brought up the fact I am confused with the treatment women endure from men. She said women are in a difficult spot because more women work at home while the men works out, meeting friends, networking with people. I stated how I found it very unusual that Africa has had a number of women presidents, while the US never has and women remain so oppressed here. Ruth brought it back to a money issue and the fact men control the parliament so when women’s rights bills come up they simply delay acting on them. She said for a woman to live in peace is to die quietly. The notion is a very difficult concept for me to embrace.
I did not come to change people, their way of life, or impart any “great wisdom”, I made that mistake once before when I went to Sierra Leone with all the ideas and thoughts of what I would do… this time my intention was to come and learn and see firsthand because how can change ever occur from reading biased information or the accounts of someone’s experience. I had to come for myself, to give it my all. I spent the weekend plagued with discovering my intentions – did I come here to build my career or learn directly what challenges people face to determine ways I can be better informed and make change? In the end, I came for the latter. If my career never goes the way I thought it would there has to be something redeeming in this experience, and there will be, regardless of whether or not I ever see the fruits of the labor. I came to find those who want help to help themselves. Not aid, but knowledge and information.
From sex trafficking to reproductive health to studying health systems and now gardening, I guess I am still doing some good, learning and working on improving health.
Perhaps it's a lofty thought, but what if this project decreases parental ignorance and confines which seem to perpetuate poverty and malnutrition. For generations to come, the kids and their kids and so on will increase in health and nutritious eating because their parents were trained and provided with the Seeds for Change.
Lake Nabogabu
A few members of the group I will be working with. Grace is in the White and Blue dress
Sorry, I had to put another one of Herbert up - he's so cute!
In the back of a truck, full of produce, holding on tight so as to not fly out with all the bumps
I believe I have a new addiction – perhaps not believe, but know I have a new addiction. Honey. This past weekend the FSD team went away and stayed at these little cottages (photos below). For breakfast they served us pancakes… pancakes – what a glorious day it was… anyhow – they served them with honey and since that day I can’t get the taste out of my mouth. It’s really quite strange and I feel funny but I’ll be sitting at work and find myself day dreaming about returning home to dash in my room and tear open the jar of honey. Yesterday I made myself a peanut butter, honey and banana sandwich for lunch. I figured while I was making it, though breakfast was prepared I would help myself to ½ a sandwich to go with my eggs and fruit. Departing the house with my sammy in hand for lunch I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The sweet taste and the crunchy texture that occurs as the honey dries on the bread reminds me of Crème Brule. I don’t think I was at work more than two hours and I tore the lid off the container and dove in, devouring ever last crumb of the dry bread and gooey sweetness. Returning home I found myself rushing to my room to pour some out on a few cookies – I felt like Pooh bear as honey ran down my fingers. Houston we have a problem!
On Tuesday training begins for my Seeds for Change project and I’m quite excited. I have been working on my budget for two days and have found a way to make it work. Each group member needs to pay 5,000 shillings as their monetary contribution. Granted this comes out to about $2.50 but here it’s a rather hefty contribution. The reason for assessing the group members a small fee is to help insure their commitment and sense of ownership in the training and materials…and stays in line with my distain for mere hand outs. I do not simply want to provide the group with training, but with the tools necessary to implement the training to further solidify the teachings. In my opinion, nothing is worse than sitting there for hours listening to a training of some sort then getting sent home with no way to apply it and next thing you know the knowledge has slipped away. With my seed grant from FSD I will have enough money to purchase 12 different types of vegetable seeds and mango, avocado, passion fruit and lemon seedlings (already sprouted fruit trees) for the group. Prior to departing Boston, a number of people extended their generosity by loading me up with gobs and gobs of school and education supplies for the kids here, while others offered money for me to purchase needed items with after accessing the needs. The school supplies have been distributed to 5 different organizations and when Adam comes, I’ll divide up the half of the donations I couldn’t carry as the donation bag already exceeded 70lbs and distribute those as well. With the money people contributed I am going to purchase supplies and provide each member of the group tools for their land. Thanks to the monetary donations of a handful of people, there is enough money to purchase a hoe, rake, shovel, slasher (a blade used to cut the grass or weeds), watering can, razor blades for grafting the trees and the plastic bags necessary for planting the seeds. Additionally, for the group the money will purchase 5 wheelbarrows, pesticide and a pesticide sprayer. The cost to supply the group with these tools is 407,950 shillings or $203.98... or $8.16 a person. I absolutely cannot wait to give the group your gifts so THANK YOU!
This Seeds for Change project will not only provide the parents with life skills, but the children as well. Education here in Uganda is a costly venture and even with a good education they may never find work, but if they can learn how to grow food, build things, and take care of each other they will always be able to provide for themselves. Of course my earnest hope is they are successful, but this training will trickle down to them and ensure they are well rounded and equipped for employment and tending to their land.
As for my thesis, I finally came to a starting idea which is a good thing considering I only have 37 days left in country. Pending approval from my advisor I believe I will write on the importance of training individuals on methods to better their lives opposed to merely dolling out aid. Foreign aid is something I have always been interested in and have done prior research on. I can do a literature review on distributing foreign aid vs. training individuals and comparing their efficacy. For my empirical research I can do a case study with my group and use their prior training and the Seeds for Change project. We will see how it goes but there is a possibility my remaining days in country will be extremely busy, working the days in the field on my project and writing my 50-100 page thesis at night – should at least make the days pass quickly.
This past Wednesday I participated in my first step class ever. That’s right… seven Mzungus with their aerobic steps in hand charged a local café and took over. Can you imagine the look on the locals’ faces to walk into the café and see a step DVD projected on the wall and 7 of us stumbling over our blocks and sweating profusely? The experience was surely YouTube worthy, if not to highlight our athletic ability then to show off our fashion as we bounced around in our hiking shoes, sandals, cargo pants and shirts…note to self, bring exercise clothes to Africa next time just in case.
The roller coaster of emotions I have frequently referenced has stayed the course, twisting and turning, throwing me forward and pressing me back. At times I must confess I feel quite inadequate, wondering what on earth I’m doing here. Last week my eyes busted open a raging sea of tears. At the time, I had here 45 days and felt like I had not accomplished or learned anything of substance; very overwhelming, frustrating and confusing situation. I am out of my league in most circumstances and perhaps that is the best place to be. Perhaps we learn best, work our hardest, observe and listen when everything is unfamiliar… because when it is not, we move forward in routine, knowing what we need in order to get through the day. What if our eyes are closed to the great potential possible with our lives because we are sitting in our comfortable chair, eating our tasty food and finding our best thoughts occur as the hot water streams down our bodies in the shower?
More and more lately I am wrestling with the point of aid work which is a HUGE dilemma for me since now I feel my entire career focus is at a crux. Daily I speak with people and tell them tiny little things that can easily improve their life, like eating tablespoon after tablespoon of salt is not healthy and instead of embracing that information I hear “Well this is how we have been raised” as if that justifies the behavior. Or when talking to women whose husbands beat and cheat on them as they try to convince me Adam can’t be as good as I say because their men are so far from… I don’t understand why there has not been a woman’s movement of some sort. Men joke and unashamedly talk about all their affairs, and their justification, “This is Africa”. Sigh, this is Africa seems to be the response to a number of my questions.
I received another note from Annette last night. I feared it was another tear jerking plea that I become her sponsor; pay her school fees and rush to aid her younger orphan siblings. This note however was begging me to ask around to see if anyone had a job for her. She pleaded to find employment so she could pay her own school fees and earn an income so she could send money to her younger brother and sister. I could not imagine what it must be like for a 16 year old to bear such pressure, to try so hard to find a solution to a not so simple problem. I must figure out my role in this, if I have one and how much intervention is appropriate. One thing which remains ever present is that I not be reckless in my actions and respond out of emotion without evaluating possible long term ramifications.
Last night conversing with Ruth, I brought up the fact I am confused with the treatment women endure from men. She said women are in a difficult spot because more women work at home while the men works out, meeting friends, networking with people. I stated how I found it very unusual that Africa has had a number of women presidents, while the US never has and women remain so oppressed here. Ruth brought it back to a money issue and the fact men control the parliament so when women’s rights bills come up they simply delay acting on them. She said for a woman to live in peace is to die quietly. The notion is a very difficult concept for me to embrace.
I did not come to change people, their way of life, or impart any “great wisdom”, I made that mistake once before when I went to Sierra Leone with all the ideas and thoughts of what I would do… this time my intention was to come and learn and see firsthand because how can change ever occur from reading biased information or the accounts of someone’s experience. I had to come for myself, to give it my all. I spent the weekend plagued with discovering my intentions – did I come here to build my career or learn directly what challenges people face to determine ways I can be better informed and make change? In the end, I came for the latter. If my career never goes the way I thought it would there has to be something redeeming in this experience, and there will be, regardless of whether or not I ever see the fruits of the labor. I came to find those who want help to help themselves. Not aid, but knowledge and information.
From sex trafficking to reproductive health to studying health systems and now gardening, I guess I am still doing some good, learning and working on improving health.
Perhaps it's a lofty thought, but what if this project decreases parental ignorance and confines which seem to perpetuate poverty and malnutrition. For generations to come, the kids and their kids and so on will increase in health and nutritious eating because their parents were trained and provided with the Seeds for Change.
Lake Nabogabu
A few members of the group I will be working with. Grace is in the White and Blue dress
Sorry, I had to put another one of Herbert up - he's so cute!
In the back of a truck, full of produce, holding on tight so as to not fly out with all the bumps
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mother's Day flowers
The sun is finally starting to break through the overcast sky as I sit here in a wooden chair, listening to the birds chirp, trying to calm, to sooth this heavy little heart of mine. A slight breeze blows producing an occasional chill, yet the feeling of suffocation that often accompanies the emotion of longing for her hinders me from entering the stuffy shelter inside.
My mood is quite somber today. Days like today I struggle with regret reflecting on opportunities missed to really cherish her, love her, enjoy her and acknowledge what a wonderful mother she was. My mind races with all that I would do if I had another opportunity, silly I know as I will never have that privilege. Just a game the mind plays. I mourn this loss and long to sit and laugh with her, cry and be consoled, call and hear her voice, be near and smell the heartwarming scent that belonged to only her.
Her passing four years ago came as such a shock. Having seen her just 10 days earlier, I didn’t anticipate returning from Africa to learn death had swallowed up life. Cheated, I missed the opportunity to share the great adventure with her, not only of my life transforming time in Africa, but of all that I had and have yet to experience.
Sitting here in Africa once again, where death touches so many, I feel my emotions are inappropriate and instead of bitter sorrow, I should be elated with joy, blessed and thankful for the 23 years we shared together… but I am not, I want more and selfishly and inappropriately feel owed more.
I continue to think the longing will lessen, the tears will fade, the anger and sorrow will cease. But days like today, I am overwhelmed and alone.
Here in Africa, listening to the birds chirp, feeling the sun rays break through the clouds, I am sitting here, crying, in a wooden chair, yearning for my mom.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
So far being 28 is off to a fantastic start!
Today I had some fresh veggies and added a can of chicken Adam and Kalyn sent… though I’m not going to lie, canned chicken takes some getting used in my opinion.
Last week at Frickadelly I bumped into a girl who asked if I had met Bridget and Bruce yet, a Canadian couple who started a project out in the village, totally away from other development or Muzungu projects. I had not, so she passed their website information on to me.
Yesterday, Bruce pulled up to the bakery in his tattered ivory truck, rolled down the window and yelled “Hey Muzungu”… I smiled and climbed in. The truck slid around the road a bit thanks to the slippery mud from the rain and Bruce proceeded to tell me the basics about The Tekera Resource Center http://www.ugandavillage.org/community%20work%20programme.htm (their webpage is really underdeveloped but the project is amazing!...maybe I can find someone willing to donate time to make them a new web page that would accurately represent the stellar program going on in Tekera...)
In short, there is a plantation and people from the village have an opportunity to come and work the ground to earn Pecos (their local project currency) and then the Pecos can be used to pay for clinic visits or school fees. The produce which the community harvested is then sold here in Masaka to the “nice” hotels and restaurants, the proceeds sustain the clinic.
Another income generating venture is charge the batteries of cell phones for members of the community at a cost of 500 shillings. Having 6 solar panels, the compound is never without electricity, unlike much of the village.
Another revenue generating project is the selling of pine tree seedlings. They plant the seeds and sell the trees when they are only a few inches big and are now teaching people the income potential growing pine trees can have. The challenge with this is that pine trees have a long maturation process (10-15 years I’m told) but have a very high yield of profit as pine is what the furniture is made out of…so the ends justify the wait if people can just focus on the pay day.
They also have a school (first in the village) and the kids are WAY behind! So... the teachers teach in the morning then hold study sessions in the evening and classes on Saturday trying to catch the kids up. The founders don't believe in child sponsorship because they think it's too selective and doesn't promote equality or have an element of sustainability, whereas teacher sponsorship has a far greater lasting impact on the community.
Anyhow, on Monday I am going to inquire if TASO goes to Tekera to offer services. If not, I'm going to see if there is a need/desire for services in Tekera. TASO used to have a healthy eating community group which encouraged positive patients to make adjustments to their diet as a way to increase their overall health condition.
After following Bridget around for the day on a tour of the village and doing home visits, my biggest interest at the moment is to start a women's cooperative group. There are a number of women I met who have a good amount of land that is totally going unused, and they are hard pressed to make a living. The problem is they are single women with a lot of kids (4-8) and simply don't have the time or resources to prepare, plant and maintain the land in order for it to produce for them. I want to do a bit of research about co-ops and see if the women would be interested in pooling their land together, using one plot for say pigs, one for chickens, one for a bakery, one for produce and so on... then the 5 (or however many) of them could work the ground together, sharing equally in the work, profits and losses... and within that there would be a component of a savings account so that a certain amount of proceeds each week go to this account so that when things happen (like this woman whose house collapsed with the rain the other night and now she's homeless with 8 kids) would have access to an emergency reserve of money to build her a new house.
Of course I’m staying realistic, realizing I only have 2 months left here and the full scope of the project may be too great, however, the beauty of sustainability is that I should simply be able to start it and have it take off on its own... we'll see what I can start - maybe even something super small and not as large scale as this but hey - dreams are good right :~)
As far as my birthday…
The day was WONDERFUL! Adam stayed up to call me first thing in the morning, my host sister Esther, gave me a beautiful necklace and wrap. Another host sister Annette, made me a lovely card.
I went to work early the morning to catch everyone before they headed out to the field. I spoke with the head counselor and told him I'm interested in reproductive health issues - perhaps more specifically now, educating positive women on the risks of pregnancy and family planning methods available to avoid pregnancy should she choose that is what's best for her. Perhaps, I could create an awareness group where positive mothers go speak to young girls in schools or in the community about the importance of using condoms and other family planning methods such as abstinence and birth control. Maybe the women can talk about living a positive life and all the choices and precautions to take not only if you're positive, but if you're negative too. Or maybe I could start a peer support group where the mothers (or expectant mothers) can get together and find support in their shared experience and circumstance. Many of the women have been saying they are alone and lacking emotional support to face the situation they now find themselves in. Who knows, at least I have a few ideas now.
After I finished running around Moses, took me to his office. Standing on a chair he pulled a medium sized keyboard down from the top shelf and proceeded to play and sing happy birthday to me. It was so sweet. He then played a few of his favorite church songs (taking advantage of the captive audience as a way to showcase his talent) - it was very sweet.
I then went to Frickadelly, had a pizza and a fruit salad – YUM.
Then went to the post office and the two packages Kalyn and Adam packed arrived (splendid!)… and then the bank that had previously told me they wouldn’t convert my money because it was printed in 2004 decided they would exchange it.
Then we had dinner at 10 Tables… we showed up and the restaurant had sprinkled flower petals on the floor all around the table and on the table and Adam had contacted Megan (a fellow intern) and had her buy me some flowers and a sappy card…awe…
Around Tekera
In the village, a girl with a 5 gallon jug full of water
The big 28
Ugandan's tend to not smile in photos
Group birthday photo
Holding my first two care packages...
Moses singing to me
The biggest cockroach ever... a good 6" with tip to toe
Last week at Frickadelly I bumped into a girl who asked if I had met Bridget and Bruce yet, a Canadian couple who started a project out in the village, totally away from other development or Muzungu projects. I had not, so she passed their website information on to me.
Yesterday, Bruce pulled up to the bakery in his tattered ivory truck, rolled down the window and yelled “Hey Muzungu”… I smiled and climbed in. The truck slid around the road a bit thanks to the slippery mud from the rain and Bruce proceeded to tell me the basics about The Tekera Resource Center http://www.ugandavillage.org/community%20work%20programme.htm (their webpage is really underdeveloped but the project is amazing!...maybe I can find someone willing to donate time to make them a new web page that would accurately represent the stellar program going on in Tekera...)
In short, there is a plantation and people from the village have an opportunity to come and work the ground to earn Pecos (their local project currency) and then the Pecos can be used to pay for clinic visits or school fees. The produce which the community harvested is then sold here in Masaka to the “nice” hotels and restaurants, the proceeds sustain the clinic.
Another income generating venture is charge the batteries of cell phones for members of the community at a cost of 500 shillings. Having 6 solar panels, the compound is never without electricity, unlike much of the village.
Another revenue generating project is the selling of pine tree seedlings. They plant the seeds and sell the trees when they are only a few inches big and are now teaching people the income potential growing pine trees can have. The challenge with this is that pine trees have a long maturation process (10-15 years I’m told) but have a very high yield of profit as pine is what the furniture is made out of…so the ends justify the wait if people can just focus on the pay day.
They also have a school (first in the village) and the kids are WAY behind! So... the teachers teach in the morning then hold study sessions in the evening and classes on Saturday trying to catch the kids up. The founders don't believe in child sponsorship because they think it's too selective and doesn't promote equality or have an element of sustainability, whereas teacher sponsorship has a far greater lasting impact on the community.
Anyhow, on Monday I am going to inquire if TASO goes to Tekera to offer services. If not, I'm going to see if there is a need/desire for services in Tekera. TASO used to have a healthy eating community group which encouraged positive patients to make adjustments to their diet as a way to increase their overall health condition.
After following Bridget around for the day on a tour of the village and doing home visits, my biggest interest at the moment is to start a women's cooperative group. There are a number of women I met who have a good amount of land that is totally going unused, and they are hard pressed to make a living. The problem is they are single women with a lot of kids (4-8) and simply don't have the time or resources to prepare, plant and maintain the land in order for it to produce for them. I want to do a bit of research about co-ops and see if the women would be interested in pooling their land together, using one plot for say pigs, one for chickens, one for a bakery, one for produce and so on... then the 5 (or however many) of them could work the ground together, sharing equally in the work, profits and losses... and within that there would be a component of a savings account so that a certain amount of proceeds each week go to this account so that when things happen (like this woman whose house collapsed with the rain the other night and now she's homeless with 8 kids) would have access to an emergency reserve of money to build her a new house.
Of course I’m staying realistic, realizing I only have 2 months left here and the full scope of the project may be too great, however, the beauty of sustainability is that I should simply be able to start it and have it take off on its own... we'll see what I can start - maybe even something super small and not as large scale as this but hey - dreams are good right :~)
As far as my birthday…
The day was WONDERFUL! Adam stayed up to call me first thing in the morning, my host sister Esther, gave me a beautiful necklace and wrap. Another host sister Annette, made me a lovely card.
I went to work early the morning to catch everyone before they headed out to the field. I spoke with the head counselor and told him I'm interested in reproductive health issues - perhaps more specifically now, educating positive women on the risks of pregnancy and family planning methods available to avoid pregnancy should she choose that is what's best for her. Perhaps, I could create an awareness group where positive mothers go speak to young girls in schools or in the community about the importance of using condoms and other family planning methods such as abstinence and birth control. Maybe the women can talk about living a positive life and all the choices and precautions to take not only if you're positive, but if you're negative too. Or maybe I could start a peer support group where the mothers (or expectant mothers) can get together and find support in their shared experience and circumstance. Many of the women have been saying they are alone and lacking emotional support to face the situation they now find themselves in. Who knows, at least I have a few ideas now.
After I finished running around Moses, took me to his office. Standing on a chair he pulled a medium sized keyboard down from the top shelf and proceeded to play and sing happy birthday to me. It was so sweet. He then played a few of his favorite church songs (taking advantage of the captive audience as a way to showcase his talent) - it was very sweet.
I then went to Frickadelly, had a pizza and a fruit salad – YUM.
Then went to the post office and the two packages Kalyn and Adam packed arrived (splendid!)… and then the bank that had previously told me they wouldn’t convert my money because it was printed in 2004 decided they would exchange it.
Then we had dinner at 10 Tables… we showed up and the restaurant had sprinkled flower petals on the floor all around the table and on the table and Adam had contacted Megan (a fellow intern) and had her buy me some flowers and a sappy card…awe…
Around Tekera
In the village, a girl with a 5 gallon jug full of waterThe big 28
Ugandan's tend to not smile in photos 
Group birthday photo
Holding my first two care packages...
Moses singing to me
The biggest cockroach ever... a good 6" with tip to toe
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Face of AIDS...
As a disclaimer, please know I struggle posting the blog. I fear words and situations contained may affirm certain individuals theory Africa is a “backwards” continent that should be left to fend for itself in the “mess they have created”. This is not a notion I support or encourage and all that is expressed below is simply my honest and true emotions for the moment, and perhaps since it's a present emotion posting may be viewed as irresponsible, I don't know, but I feel compelled to post. I feel it is important for us all to increase our awareness of the many realities in life that exist beyond our borders. The ones rarely in print or shown on the nightly news. If something is offensive please forgive me, I am simply being honest in the moment, and right now that is all I know how to be.
Working at TASO has been good so far, nothing too spectacular but at least it’s something. I have been assigned to follow a counselor named Moses. My first day was spent sitting in his stuffy 8x10 office listening to him counsel clients in Luganda only to receive a brief summary of the conversation at the end of the session. He’s a nice guy, but my frustration with the language barrier continues to grow as I feel it’s a MAJOR stopping block in achieving anything of worthwhile while I am here. I know, I know, something will happen, even if it’s not what I expect. It is just hard wanting to do so much or learn so much and I feel like my potential is limited by someone’s willingness and ability to accurately translate. I realize mentoring someone or having someone shadow you is extremely time consuming as there are many questions that often bog down the individuals daily work routine, but sitting silent hoping an opportunity drops in my lap is not an option either.
Prior to coming to Africa I knew little about AIDS, I still know very little. The past two days I spent in counseling sessions, one in the office, one in the field, a refrain played in my head…The face of AIDS takes many shapes. I have found myself wrestling through a number of emotions and judgments that take me by surprise. I am ashamed by some and confident in others.
In the clinic, Day 1.
The first client today, a male, 47 but looked 60 with salt and pepper hair, a dirty dress shirt, a maroon blazer 2 sizes too large, and a scruffy beard. He seemed complacent of his plight, uncaring, apathetic. His CD4 level has dropped below the 250 threshold required, allowing him to qualify for free Anti-retroviral (ARV) treatment from TASO. His CD4 count, 164 (click here to learn more about CD4 since I'm unable to break it down clearly). Fiddling with an empty mug, the man gazed out the window, eyes following anything that passed by, while Moses explained the side effects of the ARV's. Part of me was angered watching him. I perceived him to view the session as a waste of time... perhaps it was for him... and maybe for us... but Moses pressed on.
The second client, a woman, age 56, full of grace and poise. She looked very dignified sitting on the other side of the desk in her traditional garb and head wrap. She was frail, but the puffy shoulders of her dress hid her bones well and if she hadn't moved once to adjust her wrap I would not have seen her protruding bones in her chest and neck. It was unclear whether the woman's partner had died or left her, either way she was alone, moving through the process of living a positive life alone.
Next, a mother and child, the boy, 11 years old. From a distance he appeared to have a pigment disorder on every part of his exposed body – yet, upon a closer examination they were sores, pink in color and I’m left to conclude they cover his entire body. I’ve seen a number of clients with similar bumps/sores. I’m told this is a common attribute of positive patients. The mothers’ eyes welled, though refusing to shed a tear as she told of the torment the boy faces at school every day as the kids make fun of him because he is positive… the pink dots confirm this. The mother said she hasn’t found the strength to tell her son of his status so she has not. Exiting the room, she shut the door behind her, the silence was thick as the boy hung his head and spoke softly, hiding the plethora of pink dots covering his face. The boy told Moses that while his mother had not told him his confirmed status, he knows. Inside, in his heart he knows of his fate. My heart sank.
The face of AIDS takes many shapes and is unjust.
In the nursery a girl laid crying making no sound or shedding a tear. Only once before have I witnessed such a site. When in Sierra Leone I saw a terribly malnourished child who physically was screaming and crying hysterically, yet her body was too weak to produce a sound or shed a tear. And here in the clinic, another; she was so small. Not small like a newborn but smaller in a different way. She had only flesh covering her bones and the skeletal structure of her head and face were visible through her tight skin. From her length I would guess she was about one or two, but I would be hard pressed to bet she weighed more than 9 pounds. The woman tending to her appeared to be her grandmother; I suspect her mothers’ life had been claimed by this disease.
I struggle understanding the mentality here surrounding the disease. Perhaps culturally there is a lack of emotion, or people really feel as they appear… to not care and thus, I have yet to find empathy looking at a life wasting away to a disease that in most cases could have been avoided by life choices. I fear writing this statement and sending it out as I don’t want to affirm some people’s notion that AIDS is a disease of choice and “these people” are choosing to be ignorant so let them die… but as I have tried to do all along, I want to be real in sharing my thoughts and emotions as the journey continues here in Uganda.
Looking at the kids, the ones who have made no choice and had no voice, my heart fills with bitter sorrow and rage. Perhaps this is when people say life is not fair, but I fail to see the point in living a life of agony, pain and suffering, but, not being the giver of life this is not a determination for me to make.
In the field, Day 2:
I traveled to Kiwangala (pronounced Chawangela) village today. It is about an hour out of Masaka, down a bumpy dirt road. Shortly after arriving I found myself surrounded by snot nosed, phlegm coughing kids. The counselor was leading a session for the kids while their parents participated in the adult sessions.
Counselor: What does AIDS do?
Kids: Kills
C: How did you get it?
K: From your parents.
The counselor moved on talking about the importance of healthy food and taking their medicine. A mother made her way down the hill to drop off her little girl, then turned and walked back up the hill for her counseling session. Squatting as if perched like a bird, the young girl, in a torn and dirty yellow satin dress refused to consider the stuffed animals and snacks, but instead, stared up the hill, eyes fixed on her mother as a steady stream of tears fell. She made no sound, just longingly cried. I tried to console the small girl in the torn dress, lace all affray but no comfort was found. My mind wondered and heart sank low recalling the same longing look and cascade of silent tears as my mother’s casket was lowered into the ground.
I cannot imagine a life where death is such a common occurrence, is accepted and simply part of daily existence. I am not naive and certainly understand the course of life, but having seen the two sides of death I am perplexed with the delicacy surrounding death in the U.S. verses the “deal with it and move on” mentality I have witnessed in Sierra Leone and now here.
Are we too sheltered in the U.S. from the many realities of the world, or are we afforded the luxury of fearing death, morning the dead and fighting for life when the doctor spends 20 minutes beating around the bush only to tell us we’re dying? Here, plain faced, in 2 seconds flat I’ve seen people learn their HIV status is positive, options are laid out, they are told they will most certainly die from the disease and that’s that, the individual walks away, showing no emotion, knowing of their impending death to return to their unfinished chores and tasks bidding for their attention before sunset.
Two people at outreach were too weak to stand or walk on their own. I fought not to stare as my mind raced, if I give them a drink of my water or a bite of my lunch would the nutrients sustain them through their visit? Few locals paid much attention to the weak and the medical professionals paid no attention at all…back to the question… is my reaction due to a sheltering, a luxury of not being surrounded by death daily.
Perhaps my inquisitive nature is getting the best of me as I wonder what it is like to have sex and wonder if this will be the time you become infected with the disease. How can one find pleasure in something intended to be such a beautiful exchange when such a disease is lurking in the midst? Perhaps it never crosses their minds, or maybe no one cares since AIDS seems to be unavoidable when you’re surrounded by it… like a great rain cloud moving in. You know the rains are about to begin, it’s simply a matter of when.
Tomorrow is my birthday, the big 28. I have been given many luxuries and blessings in life... for this I am grateful. However, this awareness won't change the reality that luxuries are afforded to those born in certain locations by no choice of their own. What can I do to make change for all those born into a world of pain and death?
Working at TASO has been good so far, nothing too spectacular but at least it’s something. I have been assigned to follow a counselor named Moses. My first day was spent sitting in his stuffy 8x10 office listening to him counsel clients in Luganda only to receive a brief summary of the conversation at the end of the session. He’s a nice guy, but my frustration with the language barrier continues to grow as I feel it’s a MAJOR stopping block in achieving anything of worthwhile while I am here. I know, I know, something will happen, even if it’s not what I expect. It is just hard wanting to do so much or learn so much and I feel like my potential is limited by someone’s willingness and ability to accurately translate. I realize mentoring someone or having someone shadow you is extremely time consuming as there are many questions that often bog down the individuals daily work routine, but sitting silent hoping an opportunity drops in my lap is not an option either.
Prior to coming to Africa I knew little about AIDS, I still know very little. The past two days I spent in counseling sessions, one in the office, one in the field, a refrain played in my head…The face of AIDS takes many shapes. I have found myself wrestling through a number of emotions and judgments that take me by surprise. I am ashamed by some and confident in others.
In the clinic, Day 1.
The first client today, a male, 47 but looked 60 with salt and pepper hair, a dirty dress shirt, a maroon blazer 2 sizes too large, and a scruffy beard. He seemed complacent of his plight, uncaring, apathetic. His CD4 level has dropped below the 250 threshold required, allowing him to qualify for free Anti-retroviral (ARV) treatment from TASO. His CD4 count, 164 (click here to learn more about CD4 since I'm unable to break it down clearly). Fiddling with an empty mug, the man gazed out the window, eyes following anything that passed by, while Moses explained the side effects of the ARV's. Part of me was angered watching him. I perceived him to view the session as a waste of time... perhaps it was for him... and maybe for us... but Moses pressed on.
The second client, a woman, age 56, full of grace and poise. She looked very dignified sitting on the other side of the desk in her traditional garb and head wrap. She was frail, but the puffy shoulders of her dress hid her bones well and if she hadn't moved once to adjust her wrap I would not have seen her protruding bones in her chest and neck. It was unclear whether the woman's partner had died or left her, either way she was alone, moving through the process of living a positive life alone.
Next, a mother and child, the boy, 11 years old. From a distance he appeared to have a pigment disorder on every part of his exposed body – yet, upon a closer examination they were sores, pink in color and I’m left to conclude they cover his entire body. I’ve seen a number of clients with similar bumps/sores. I’m told this is a common attribute of positive patients. The mothers’ eyes welled, though refusing to shed a tear as she told of the torment the boy faces at school every day as the kids make fun of him because he is positive… the pink dots confirm this. The mother said she hasn’t found the strength to tell her son of his status so she has not. Exiting the room, she shut the door behind her, the silence was thick as the boy hung his head and spoke softly, hiding the plethora of pink dots covering his face. The boy told Moses that while his mother had not told him his confirmed status, he knows. Inside, in his heart he knows of his fate. My heart sank.
The face of AIDS takes many shapes and is unjust.
In the nursery a girl laid crying making no sound or shedding a tear. Only once before have I witnessed such a site. When in Sierra Leone I saw a terribly malnourished child who physically was screaming and crying hysterically, yet her body was too weak to produce a sound or shed a tear. And here in the clinic, another; she was so small. Not small like a newborn but smaller in a different way. She had only flesh covering her bones and the skeletal structure of her head and face were visible through her tight skin. From her length I would guess she was about one or two, but I would be hard pressed to bet she weighed more than 9 pounds. The woman tending to her appeared to be her grandmother; I suspect her mothers’ life had been claimed by this disease.
I struggle understanding the mentality here surrounding the disease. Perhaps culturally there is a lack of emotion, or people really feel as they appear… to not care and thus, I have yet to find empathy looking at a life wasting away to a disease that in most cases could have been avoided by life choices. I fear writing this statement and sending it out as I don’t want to affirm some people’s notion that AIDS is a disease of choice and “these people” are choosing to be ignorant so let them die… but as I have tried to do all along, I want to be real in sharing my thoughts and emotions as the journey continues here in Uganda.
Looking at the kids, the ones who have made no choice and had no voice, my heart fills with bitter sorrow and rage. Perhaps this is when people say life is not fair, but I fail to see the point in living a life of agony, pain and suffering, but, not being the giver of life this is not a determination for me to make.
In the field, Day 2:
I traveled to Kiwangala (pronounced Chawangela) village today. It is about an hour out of Masaka, down a bumpy dirt road. Shortly after arriving I found myself surrounded by snot nosed, phlegm coughing kids. The counselor was leading a session for the kids while their parents participated in the adult sessions.
Counselor: What does AIDS do?
Kids: Kills
C: How did you get it?
K: From your parents.
The counselor moved on talking about the importance of healthy food and taking their medicine. A mother made her way down the hill to drop off her little girl, then turned and walked back up the hill for her counseling session. Squatting as if perched like a bird, the young girl, in a torn and dirty yellow satin dress refused to consider the stuffed animals and snacks, but instead, stared up the hill, eyes fixed on her mother as a steady stream of tears fell. She made no sound, just longingly cried. I tried to console the small girl in the torn dress, lace all affray but no comfort was found. My mind wondered and heart sank low recalling the same longing look and cascade of silent tears as my mother’s casket was lowered into the ground.
I cannot imagine a life where death is such a common occurrence, is accepted and simply part of daily existence. I am not naive and certainly understand the course of life, but having seen the two sides of death I am perplexed with the delicacy surrounding death in the U.S. verses the “deal with it and move on” mentality I have witnessed in Sierra Leone and now here.
Are we too sheltered in the U.S. from the many realities of the world, or are we afforded the luxury of fearing death, morning the dead and fighting for life when the doctor spends 20 minutes beating around the bush only to tell us we’re dying? Here, plain faced, in 2 seconds flat I’ve seen people learn their HIV status is positive, options are laid out, they are told they will most certainly die from the disease and that’s that, the individual walks away, showing no emotion, knowing of their impending death to return to their unfinished chores and tasks bidding for their attention before sunset.
Two people at outreach were too weak to stand or walk on their own. I fought not to stare as my mind raced, if I give them a drink of my water or a bite of my lunch would the nutrients sustain them through their visit? Few locals paid much attention to the weak and the medical professionals paid no attention at all…back to the question… is my reaction due to a sheltering, a luxury of not being surrounded by death daily.
Perhaps my inquisitive nature is getting the best of me as I wonder what it is like to have sex and wonder if this will be the time you become infected with the disease. How can one find pleasure in something intended to be such a beautiful exchange when such a disease is lurking in the midst? Perhaps it never crosses their minds, or maybe no one cares since AIDS seems to be unavoidable when you’re surrounded by it… like a great rain cloud moving in. You know the rains are about to begin, it’s simply a matter of when.
Tomorrow is my birthday, the big 28. I have been given many luxuries and blessings in life... for this I am grateful. However, this awareness won't change the reality that luxuries are afforded to those born in certain locations by no choice of their own. What can I do to make change for all those born into a world of pain and death?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
A starry eyed boy said "Praise God"
I went to Compassion International this weekend to work with Esther. All the kids arrive in their Compassion uniforms... most tattered and torn but worn with pride....
I took with me a bag of donations, a mixture of pencils, paper, crayons, learning flash cards... and of course - a shiny new soccer ball. When walking outside with it I passed a little boy - wide eyed and opened mouth who softly said "praise God" as his eyes watched the ball in passing... I smiled and told him to come on...
I went out and threw it to one of the goalies who was previously fixated on the small red ball they used for their soccer ball... but now... the children erupted in a sea of cheers and took off running down the hill to the real football field. When it was time for classes to begin, running up the hill, holding the ball as a treasured prize they returned it to me. Surprised... I stood there and watched the smiling kids run in the building. I walked around, thought a bit, and an hour later at break time a hoard of kids were around me... I wasn't quite sure for what but I enjoyed walking surrounded by them. Suddenly - I had a moment of clarity - the futobl... I said - do you want to play with the futbol (which was simply sitting in a plastic chair unattended about 10 yards away) "Yes, yes" they screamed... I said go get it and they cheered as they took off running to grab it and race back down the to the field again.
Kids playing with a red ball around the size of a soft ball... this was their soccer ball...
Kids with new soccer ball
A group of kids at Compassion International
Girls at Compassion International
Esther invited me to a friend's wedding. I thought it was a wedding such as we know it. We left at 4 for an event that said it was to start at 2...interesting.... We arrived at 4:30 and the event had yet to begin. I soon discovered this was not the wedding - but the reception. The ceremony was quite different from ours... like when they cut the cake - the woman gets on her knees and feeds her husband... um no.... I told Esther that'd not fly in the states - she said a woman kneels to greet her husband every day - hmmm... The cake was a dry fruit cake with 1/4 inch thick frosting that was about twice the sweetness of ours but hard, as if it was a month old.
So Ruth cannot hold a camera straight up and down and I look SO much bigger than I am in this dress... it's funny how uncomfortable I was in it... not only because it's extremely cumbersome and hard to walk in and it made locals stare at me even more... but just looking down and feeling bad about the way I looked... oh well...
Esther and me
I took with me a bag of donations, a mixture of pencils, paper, crayons, learning flash cards... and of course - a shiny new soccer ball. When walking outside with it I passed a little boy - wide eyed and opened mouth who softly said "praise God" as his eyes watched the ball in passing... I smiled and told him to come on...
I went out and threw it to one of the goalies who was previously fixated on the small red ball they used for their soccer ball... but now... the children erupted in a sea of cheers and took off running down the hill to the real football field. When it was time for classes to begin, running up the hill, holding the ball as a treasured prize they returned it to me. Surprised... I stood there and watched the smiling kids run in the building. I walked around, thought a bit, and an hour later at break time a hoard of kids were around me... I wasn't quite sure for what but I enjoyed walking surrounded by them. Suddenly - I had a moment of clarity - the futobl... I said - do you want to play with the futbol (which was simply sitting in a plastic chair unattended about 10 yards away) "Yes, yes" they screamed... I said go get it and they cheered as they took off running to grab it and race back down the to the field again.
Kids playing with a red ball around the size of a soft ball... this was their soccer ball...
Kids with new soccer ball
A group of kids at Compassion International
Girls at Compassion InternationalEsther invited me to a friend's wedding. I thought it was a wedding such as we know it. We left at 4 for an event that said it was to start at 2...interesting.... We arrived at 4:30 and the event had yet to begin. I soon discovered this was not the wedding - but the reception. The ceremony was quite different from ours... like when they cut the cake - the woman gets on her knees and feeds her husband... um no.... I told Esther that'd not fly in the states - she said a woman kneels to greet her husband every day - hmmm... The cake was a dry fruit cake with 1/4 inch thick frosting that was about twice the sweetness of ours but hard, as if it was a month old.
So Ruth cannot hold a camera straight up and down and I look SO much bigger than I am in this dress... it's funny how uncomfortable I was in it... not only because it's extremely cumbersome and hard to walk in and it made locals stare at me even more... but just looking down and feeling bad about the way I looked... oh well...
Esther and me
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