A Tale of Two Villages

October 15, 2009

It was 8:30 at night when I first arrived at my site. There wasn't an electric light in over 10 miles in any direction, and I was exhausted after my first 8-hour African bus trip. When I got off the bus I was met by a group of teenagers whose faces I could hardly see from the small torch on my cell phone. They picked my suitcases, giggling, and started walking away from the road, presumably toward my house. I was soon met by some other people who eagerly introduced themselves and shook my hand. I was so turned around their names were forgotten as soon as they were spoken. We went through a field and a short distance beyond I was met by some more people hanging around an old concrete house. The teens giggled and talked amongst themselves in a language I couldn't begin to comprehend.

Welcome home. Two candles lit inside greeted me by casting eerie shadows on the poorly pained walls. The ceiling looked as if it had burn marks across it, the depths of the discoloration accentuated in the candlelight. Soon people began to leave, giving me time to settle in. My counterpart brought me a kerosene stove and a pot so I could boil water, gave me some chapati and a liter of coca-cola.

When everyone finally left, I sat on the concrete floor, alone, uncomfortable in my new surroundings. I ate the chapati, drank the coke, and tried to sleep on a half-made bed with an eye open for cockroaches and mice. Unable to get the kerosene stove to boil anything, I lived on 4 chapati and a second liter of coke for the next three days.


March 24, 2011

Peace Corps came at 10am to load my things and move me to my new site. (It's incredible how much crap you accumulate after a year!) By 10:30 we were finished and ready to go, but when it came time to hand over the keys, a fist fight broke out between my counterpart and my neighbor. Soon the students from the vocational school were there, and word spread through the coconut telegraph so fast that before long villagers from the nearby trading center started filtering in to watch and partake in the chaos. My program manager told me to get the keys, which I did, then we left the brawl behind. A village problem now, not in my control and not my worry, but it was pathetic to watch the people I've lived and worked with for the past year and a half become so petty and greedy and unable to work out their festering issues.

Later that afternoon I rolled into Kazingo, my new village at the base of the Rwenzori Mountains. Now a professional at Peace Corps living, my bed was made and stove hooked up in less than an hour. After Peace Corps left I made mashed potatoes with beef jerky (thanks mom), my stand-in for steak. I met some villagers and settled in for my last six months in Uganda.

The Libya Connection

Thank you, Voice of America and BBC World Service, for keeping me abreast on how quickly the world out there is going to hell. I'm all about democracy and freedom, but as seen in Uganda's elections democracy doesn't just happen overnight. Quick change of government can bad (Robespierre comes to mind and he died over 200 years ago).

Now that Libya has descended into civil war, we can more clearly see the power and influence Libya and Qaddafi had on African politics and economics. In the case of Uganda alone, he built the main mosque in Kampala (the road surrounding it aptly named Qaddafi Road). He paid for my king's palace in Fort Portal, as well as the building of the mosque in that city, too. Libya owns a majority share of Uganda Telecom, as well as one of our banks, not to mention supplies a lot of our oil (we even have the oil company OiLibya).

Which brings me to the point of all this: gas prices are going through the roof! Again! A liter of petrol is now 3400 shillings, about $1.44, or $5.60 per gallon. And that's when there is petrol. One station in Fort Portal had gasoline yesterday in a town of six stations and the lines stopped traffic on the main road. The police were called out to keep order. Prices have gone up for goods already, as well as transportation when cars have gas to go anywhere.

It is interesting to see the reverberations of a geopolitical event 1600 kilometers (erm, 1000 miles) away. It will be more interesting to see the effects six months or a year from now. Uganda's 7% inflation rate just might be going up. But then again, I'm a poli-sci nerd.

Sorry Djibouti

My friend Will and I just finished a three-day map project where we painted a giant map on the wall of his site, St. Mary's Seminary in Fort Portal. There were some minor mishaps, notably Uganda was somehow absorbed by Sudan (we later worked that out), Namibia and Botswana were the same country until a UN delegate painted a border, Djibouti was left out completely, the Central African Republic was painted light blue so it looks like a giant inland sea, and a few former Soviet republics became Soviet republics once more.

Other than that it was a great three days that generated a lot of interest in geography. One of the main comments was that Uganda was so small compared to the rest of the world.

AIDS Outreach

Twice a month at a hospital in Ibanda, The AIDS Support Organization (TASO), a government agency, does health check-ups, counseling, and anti-retro viral support for HIV positive people in the area. When people know their HIV status they can get the services they need to treat the virus and can lead normal, healthy and productive lives. A lot of people don't come until they show signs of sickness, and by that time it's a much more difficult thing to manage.

My friend Jill and I went to the TASO outreach last week. There were well over 500 people there, waiting hours to see doctors, and they usually bring kids (especially HIV positive kids for their check-ups, too). Jill usually goes in the mornings for a few hours and brings paper and crayons to play with the kids.

Now, my local language isn't the greatest, and these kids didn't speak English, so communicating was on a humorously low level, limited to pictograms, funny faces, and noises. One girl who was about five took particular interest in me, staying next to me the entire time, helping me draw, and imitating my English (I finally got her say the color indigo).

The next day I was leaving Ibanda to head to Fort Portal for the weekend (a taxi ride of about 3 hours), waiting at the stage for a car to come, my thoughts devolving into creme brule and popcorn. I was jarred awake when this kid came up to me and gave me a hug, a giant smile on her face. I remembered it was the little girl from the previous day.

Unfortunately she didn't remember indigo, but she did make me smile.

Dia del Pollo en Sangria

The national elections in Uganda are on Friday. The president, who took power after a civil war in 1986, has stood twice previously in elections and even changed the constitution so he could run for another term. Positions in every level of government, from MP to governors to village chairmen, are up for election so it's a pretty big event here. Except for some heated rhetoric and isolated violence, it has largely been peaceful.

During the two weeks surrounding the election Peace Corps has us on lockdown, i.e. house arrest. Luckily I got permission to stay with my friend Jill in Ibanda, about 50km south of my site. Jill has electricity, a water tap about 20 feet from the front door, her organization has internet I can use for free, and she's pretty much awesome to top it all off. Like many things that happen here, utter boredom was the cause for organizing and celebrating "Dia del Pollo en Sangria." Our friend Charlene also joined for the festivities:

With a packet of McCormick's Garlic Lime Chicken Fajita mix (thank you Mom!) we decided to make fajitas. What better way to celebrate a Mexican day in Africa? Unfortunately not all of the ingredients were included in the package, so we had to go shopping. (And the suggested prep time of 5 minutes was way off.)













We headed to the market in Ibanda town to get the veggies for the fajitas. Considering we live in a tropical climate, tropical sangria was definitely called for - mangoes, pineapple, oranges, and apples.

Some prices of common foods:
5 tomatoes - 20 cents
A bunch of onions - 45 cents
1 large pineapple - 45 cents
3 Bell peppers - 45 cents


The local liquor store carries just about everything that's available in Uganda. One 5-liter box of dry red wine (South Africa) put us back 65,000 Shillings - $30.

Also notice the sachets in the bottom left. It's a shot of booze for about 5-10 cents and is the preferred alcohol among the village drunks and motorcycle drivers.




Charlene and I are enjoying our tropical sangria....












Also not included in the package of chicken fajita mix was the chicken. I offered to run out to the Safeway to get a pack of Foster Farms but quickly remembered that we were in Uganda. Alas!

Luckily Jill's organization was raising chickens so there was a fresh supply of cage-free, free-range, organic and all natural chicken right outside. Now only to pick the best one.











It also meant we had to slaughter and clean it. After some intense debate and introspection, Jill stepped up to the plate. As of yet I still haven't killed anything, I've only been an accomplice for a turkey and now a chicken. (I'm just happy we didn't decide to go with beef fajitas...)







Yes, I wore gloves. Jill cleaned and gutted the chicken, I carved it up. I think there's something to say for caged chicken that are fed hormones and growth enhancers - our chicken was about a year old and had hardly any meat on it.








The chicken slaughtered and cleaned, the veggies cut and prepped, the sangria bucket slowly being drained, we fried it all up and enjoyed a delicious taste of home. As for the five-minutes of prep time suggested by the packaging, it took us the better part of a great day.

Happy Dia del Pollo!

Shameless Plug

Many months ago I was sitting in my little village hovel, bored as usual. I had just made fried rice and used some Cajun seasonings my brother sent me for my birthday. With nothing to do I decided to write a letter to the Cajun seasoning company, letting them know how much I enjoy their product, especially way out in the bush where the usual seasonings are either salt or no salt.

Yesterday in my mailbox was a package from the Cajun seasonings company, with a hand-written note, and a few samples of their wonderful product.

For their time, energy, and good wishes, I'd like to give a shout out to Slap Ya Mama. Thank you for your response and thinking of us flavor-deprived volunteers overseas.

And for anyone who hasn't tried their products they are available here: http://www.slapyamama.com/

The Best Christmas Present Ever

When I was a child I would sometimes dread gifts from relatives, especially the ones that didn't know you very well. Was it going to be new socks, or an ugly knit sweater I would never wear?

This Christmas was different. I actually wanted new socks, and thanks to Tyler and Hannah today, safely back in Uganda, I am wearing a new T-Shirt, new underwear, and new socks. I feel like a million bucks and couldn't have asked for anything better!

The Other World

When my dad contacted me at the end of November and asked if I wanted to come home for Christmas as a surprise to my family, I told him that I needed a few days to think about it. Having the opportunity to go home was an unsuspected surprise, but I really had to think whether I was mentally ready to do it. In the end I reasoned it was too good of an opportunity to pass up: not only would I be able to spend Christmas with my family and see my 16-month-old nephew for the first time, but I would also be able to attend my good friends' wedding.

Keeping my homecomming a secret was difficult. I couldn't tell any friends or make any plans to see anyone in case the secret somehow slipped. But luckily it worked; my dad was also able to get my brother to take a week off work in LA so that we could spend some good family time together.

Surprising my mom was perhaps the best part. My dad and I arranged to have her friend take her out for coffee. Once there I walked over to her table and casually asked if I could sit down. She had a blank stare on her face for at least 10 seconds and I could see her brain going through the filing cabinet, processing who I was and if I was her son, what I was doing there. Finally it clicked and she started to cry, and didn't stop for a good three days.

The Family spent a traditional Christmas at home, then went to Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast for a few days. New Years was spent at our cabin on Mt. Hood with 6" of snow - so cold for a guy who hasn't lived in weather below 68 degress for the last 16 months!

After the family time I was off for the Northlands - first to visit some friends in Seattle (lunch with Anna and Leslie - Celine you were missed!, then hanging with Karli, Erica, and Brian) - then northwards to Bellingham for three days of wedding preperations and hanging out my awesome friends.

Being back in America was a lot different than I was expecting. I fell into my old routine easier than expected, but I was stressed out at the pace of life and more socially retarded than I usually am, especially in groups larger than two. I'm now more excited to come home after Peace Corps, but the experience has given me a greater understanding and appreciation of what I'm doing now in Africa. The next ten months are going to be more productive and focused, and I'm sure will be finished before I know it.

Thank you everybody for the great time back home. I missed you more than I thought. Unfortunately I didn't have time to see or talk with everyone, so I do apologize but I'm back for good in October and we will definately catch up then.

This is My Normal

I’ve lived in Uganda since August 2009 – just over 16 months now. The more time I am away from the United States (and indeed, the more time I’m here), the more normal living here seems and the more at home I feel. The idiosyncrasies of daily life no longer throw me or surprise me, and for the most part I have adapted to this African way of life. When things go wrong, which they commonly do, there is a saying: This is Africa. I’m trying to spread a new one: This is my Normal.

• Being stared at, sticking out like a sore thumb, and constantly being hassled by kids: this is my normal.
• Haggling to purchase just about anything, including posted beer prices: this is my normal.
• Constantly living in fear of being hit by one of the limitless motorcycles: this is my normal.
• Seeing sick people and malnourished kids, and parents generally not caring about their children’s safety (i.e. two-year-olds with razor blades): this is my normal.
• Dodging ditches and random holes in sidewalks at night because there are no streetlights: this is my normal.
• Having to ask “What food do you have,” even when handed a menu: this is my normal.
• Issuing commands to get anything (“You bring me coca-cola.”): this is my normal.
• Speaking the strange Ugandan dialect of English (“I am footing,” or “It is somehow near.”): welcome to my normal.
• Getting sick when you eat Western food and actually craving the local diet: this is my normal.
• Seeing goats run along the main highway as I write this and that not seeming unusual: this is my normal.
• Having only eight people in a Toyota Corolla and feeling like there’s room to spare: this is my normal.

Christmas is in a few days, and as I hear news reports of record-snows in Europe, rain and cold in America, I can’t help but enjoy the 85-degree days here (it’s the beginning of dry season, so no rain either), and am happy to be where I am. That said, the holidays are always a difficult time to be away from friends and family, and this year will be my second in a row and no less difficult. I’ll be spending it with friends here in Uganda, most likely in the mountains on the Rwanda/Congo border, admittingly looking forward to next year when I’ll be reunited with my family and that dreary Pacific Northwest wet season. After all, listening to Bing Crosby sing White Christmas just isn’t the same in Africa.

Maybe another to add to the list:

• Sunburns on Christmas Eve: this is my normal.

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!

Market Day

The social highlight in my area is the monthly market day in a village called Rukunyu, about 4km south of where I live. The event brings hoards of people from distances as far as 15km (when they walk), and even farther afield when they take a motorcycle or taxi.

You start to see people walking by as early as eight or nine in the morning, babies strapped to women's backs, men with walking sticks. In the afternoon they come back with their loot: sacks of potatoes on their heads or pulling a reluctant goat.

The market doesn't get going until one or two in the afternoon, when the soccer field is filled with mix of vendors and villagers. The village of Rukunyu itself is bustling, the small restaurants full of patrons and drunks spilling out into the street from the overcrowded bars.

One aisle in the market area is the vegetable bounty from the surrounding area, typically beans, onions, bananas, tomatoes, and cassava, all layed out in neat stacks and piles on blankets or brightly coloured fabric. I ran into the fee-collector for the market - to set up shop costs 50cents. One stack of tomatoes (about 5 or 6) costs a quarter.

A few cows and goats are tied up on the side of the field, watching the action from the periphery.

Beyond the food lays the expanse of clothes and fabric vendors, some vendors leaving their products in heaps on a tarp, others setting up wooden poles and hanging them. The nice stalls even have a tarp roof for shade.

All of the clothes are used and come from America, Europe, and Japan. The labels vary from the typical (Stafford and Van Heusen shirts are usually over-sized and are ill to fit, but sometimes you can get treasures from Ben Sherman, Tommy Bahama, and Lactose). Since a lot of the clothes have been discarded several times before coming to Africa, styles and time-periods vary. Button dress shirts go for about $2. Some even have price tags from their previous thrift store (Value Village - $4.99; Goodwill). What doesn't sell at these second-hand stores comes here: Third-Hand for the Third-World!

T-Shirts are fun, and cheaper - they typically go for 75cents, but there's room to negotiate. The most popular shirts are from charity events (I've seen Portland Race for the Cure), political campaigns (Vote Smith!), and community sports teams. The shirt I just bought is priceless: Fischer Family Reunion 1990, surrounded by the outline of Alabama.

Fabric dealers have walls of prints from Kenya, Tanzania, and Congo. The hardware guys are out, too, selling locks, bolts, rat traps, and local metalwares.

Anyone who's anyone comes to sell, buy, socialize, and just pass the time. It's the only event in the area and you're bound to see something, or someone, interesting.