Internet connectivity has lately been a main source of my consternation.
Yes, you cannot rely too much on internet here, but even in the larger metropoli
of Kamwenge and Fort Portal (both boasting paved or graveled roads, running water, and
electricity), the internet has of late been as spotty as a Dalmatian. I
finally found out the reason: they are updating the lines into Fort Portal,
updating to broadband. At least it's for a positive reason, though the
chain gang has been hand-digging the ditch through town for the past two
weeks, and since this is Uganda, there is no guarantee of when a connection
will be permanently restored. Until then, I will continue to chase this
powerful and elusive Internet, hoping to find it during a flicker of its
short life.
Last week I met a priest at our local parish who had asked to meet me
because he had learned though his sources that I knew German. Every
subsequent day last week was spent at the parish (they cook good food!)
where I tutored Father Silver and, to a lesser extent, Father John, in
German. Father Silver is trying to "priest abroad" next summer in Germany and needs help practicing, and since he said the parish is now my home-away
-from-village-home, I am obliging. It's nice to spend time with people much
like myself - bored, lots of free time, sexually frustrated. Although, at dinner
one night they asked me to say grace. My religious background is admittedly
small, my recent religious occurrences being spontaneous prayers to any -
ALL - Gods while riding in the local taxis.
We stood around the table behind our chairs, the food steaming in front of
us. "Mathayo, would you like to say prayers tonight?" My immediate come-
back was: "You're a priest, you get paid to pray, you do it," but instead I
hesitantly said okay. I wish there were a video camera because in my mind's
eye it was like something out of an awkward Christopher Guest movie: "Thank
you very much for the wonderful food in front of us, and thank you for
inviting me to enjoy it with you. I appreciate your kindness and hospitality."
No Gods, no heavenly fathers, no in Jesus' names. Luckily my audience
wasn't too critical.
Both Fathers and I spent one day last week traveling toward Kasese (about a 2 hour ride) to celebrate a group of pre-nuns becoming current-nuns. Aside from being the only white guy there (I'm used to it), I was almost the only one without either a white collar or a white dress/hat combo. It was like a graduation ceremony, long and boring, and there wasn't enough room in the church so I ended up just sitting in the car reading. After, in good Ugandan tradition, there was a buffet of local food, and instead of eating with the commoners, I was ushered by some head-nun into the religious dinning section to consume my blessed matooke and cassava with the area's most pious. By the time I got my food the only place to sit was next to this guy whose robes were black (instead of white), and who wore a red yamica. I sat down and introduced myself. "I'm the Bishop," was his reply. Aim high, Matt, aim high. At least now I can say that I've had lunch with a Bishop, though curiously the entire time I was more focused on not spilling food on his robes, as is my usual propensity when I eat, instead of our conversation. I couldn't imagine hand-washing those!
Father Silver and I are working on starting a youth garden at the parish,
teaching youths nutrition, farming, and cooking healthier food. I'm quickly becoming a farmer, and I foresee more awkward situations for my agnostic self in the coming future.
Our solar drying project is quickly coming to fruition (pardon the intended
pun). We are giving a project proposal to our local Member of Parliament
tomorrow, and a co-worker, Sam, and I are busy this week working in the
field visiting pineapple farms. It provides a good opportunity to meet more of the locals and I find I am most happy here when I'm working directly with The People. Though, the distances we have to bike are a bit of a hassle (yesterday was about 40km - 25mi). The only saving grace is the beautiful countryside. We are hoping to begin full-scale solar drying pineapple in January/February, the height of both the dry and pineapple seasons.
Looking at the calendar ahead:
Mid-January I have a week of further language training with my language
group. The week after is an in-service training outside of Kampala, at a
nice hotel with a pool and luke-warm showers. I'm excited. There is also
an R-Kelly concert in Kampala and Evander Holifield is fighting at Mandela
Stadium.
Yes, you cannot rely too much on internet here, but even in the larger metropoli
of Kamwenge and Fort Portal (both boasting paved or graveled roads, running water, and
electricity), the internet has of late been as spotty as a Dalmatian. I
finally found out the reason: they are updating the lines into Fort Portal,
updating to broadband. At least it's for a positive reason, though the
chain gang has been hand-digging the ditch through town for the past two
weeks, and since this is Uganda, there is no guarantee of when a connection
will be permanently restored. Until then, I will continue to chase this
powerful and elusive Internet, hoping to find it during a flicker of its
short life.
Last week I met a priest at our local parish who had asked to meet me
because he had learned though his sources that I knew German. Every
subsequent day last week was spent at the parish (they cook good food!)
where I tutored Father Silver and, to a lesser extent, Father John, in
German. Father Silver is trying to "priest abroad" next summer in Germany and needs help practicing, and since he said the parish is now my home-away
-from-village-home, I am obliging. It's nice to spend time with people much
like myself - bored, lots of free time, sexually frustrated. Although, at dinner
one night they asked me to say grace. My religious background is admittedly
small, my recent religious occurrences being spontaneous prayers to any -
ALL - Gods while riding in the local taxis.
We stood around the table behind our chairs, the food steaming in front of
us. "Mathayo, would you like to say prayers tonight?" My immediate come-
back was: "You're a priest, you get paid to pray, you do it," but instead I
hesitantly said okay. I wish there were a video camera because in my mind's
eye it was like something out of an awkward Christopher Guest movie: "Thank
you very much for the wonderful food in front of us, and thank you for
inviting me to enjoy it with you. I appreciate your kindness and hospitality."
No Gods, no heavenly fathers, no in Jesus' names. Luckily my audience
wasn't too critical.
Both Fathers and I spent one day last week traveling toward Kasese (about a 2 hour ride) to celebrate a group of pre-nuns becoming current-nuns. Aside from being the only white guy there (I'm used to it), I was almost the only one without either a white collar or a white dress/hat combo. It was like a graduation ceremony, long and boring, and there wasn't enough room in the church so I ended up just sitting in the car reading. After, in good Ugandan tradition, there was a buffet of local food, and instead of eating with the commoners, I was ushered by some head-nun into the religious dinning section to consume my blessed matooke and cassava with the area's most pious. By the time I got my food the only place to sit was next to this guy whose robes were black (instead of white), and who wore a red yamica. I sat down and introduced myself. "I'm the Bishop," was his reply. Aim high, Matt, aim high. At least now I can say that I've had lunch with a Bishop, though curiously the entire time I was more focused on not spilling food on his robes, as is my usual propensity when I eat, instead of our conversation. I couldn't imagine hand-washing those!
Father Silver and I are working on starting a youth garden at the parish,
teaching youths nutrition, farming, and cooking healthier food. I'm quickly becoming a farmer, and I foresee more awkward situations for my agnostic self in the coming future.
Our solar drying project is quickly coming to fruition (pardon the intended
pun). We are giving a project proposal to our local Member of Parliament
tomorrow, and a co-worker, Sam, and I are busy this week working in the
field visiting pineapple farms. It provides a good opportunity to meet more of the locals and I find I am most happy here when I'm working directly with The People. Though, the distances we have to bike are a bit of a hassle (yesterday was about 40km - 25mi). The only saving grace is the beautiful countryside. We are hoping to begin full-scale solar drying pineapple in January/February, the height of both the dry and pineapple seasons.
Looking at the calendar ahead:
Mid-January I have a week of further language training with my language
group. The week after is an in-service training outside of Kampala, at a
nice hotel with a pool and luke-warm showers. I'm excited. There is also
an R-Kelly concert in Kampala and Evander Holifield is fighting at Mandela
Stadium.
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