March 15, 2012: Visiting village classroom

March 14, 2012: Drive to Lira

We drove from Jinja to Lira.  The Mbale to Soroti road is worse than bad.  On a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst paved highway in the history of paved highways I would give this section of road a solid 9.  At one point we hit a pot hole so big I we were falling into it rather than going over it.  I also managed to not see a speed bump, which seem redundant due to the craterlike potholes, which was at least a couple feet high and three or four feet wide.  I flashed back to watching the dukes of hazard in car chases where they land hard on the front wheels then the heads whip back wacking the head rests.  There was a quick learning curve on when to anticipate speed bumps and an ever so slight increase in appreciation for chiropractic care. 

We pulled into Soroti and stopped at a ‘hotel’ on the main street to use the ‘facilities’.  I took the opportunity to ask the waitress/barkeeper how much farther it was to Lira.  She said, ‘It is very far’.  I said, ‘how far’?  She replied, ‘too far’.  I tried further, ‘how long will it take’?  She answered knowingly, ‘a long time’.  I wasn’t giving up, ‘when will we reach Lira’?  Finally she got specific, ‘not till evening’. 

The entire journey including a couple brief stops took 6 hours. 

March 13, 2012: Mobile Medical Clinic

 We did a mobile medical clinic at a very isolated village called Namso.  The only way to access the community is by boat.  We went with a medical team including doctors, HIV counsellor, pharmacist, and lab technicians.  GIVE volunteers helped to coordinate the clinic and try and create some order in what was a complex endeavor.  We treated about 78 households which amounted to around 200 people.  The community had overwhelming needs and are isolated from Jinja. 

March 12, 2012: the Distribution

Let me put it to you this way and you can tell me if you’d go about things differently.  We decided to do a distribution of soap and salt to a very poor settlement.  Just something that might be a gesture of goodwill to help those who suffer under such taxing poverty.  We asked someone to go and count the number of households in the village yesterday so that we would know how much supply to purchase.  So far everything is sounding quite good.  You could say - organized.  A couple of the ladies who work at the baby home, who are from this village, came with us.  They would take us to each home and we’d present out gift.  The volunteer Ugandan who was our coordinator, translator, and the counter of the homes, was also present.  This was a smart looking operation.  We purchased the supplies with a kind of precision.  I even used the calculator option on my phone to make sure we had the right amount of bars and bags.  We allowed for the possibility that the count was too low and that we’d need a little extra.  We went equipped to supply 100 homes.  I had to / got to use the four wheel drive function on the vehicle for the first time.  The road ended before the village started and we had to go over a very bumpy field.  I was quite pleased with the performance of the vehicle and that it was fun and impressed the kids didn’t hurt. 

This is where things start to unravel a bit.  I looked out on the village made up of mud homes and they were not lined up in subdivisions with clearly marked numbers.  They were scattered, jammed, spread out, one here and one there, two attached to each other, some across a stream, some just near, and others over the hill.  I asked our man how we were going to systematize the distribution so that we could go in two teams of two (volunteer Lynn with one of the ladies and I with the other) and each cover separate areas.  The communications became unclear at this point.  Some general comments were made about the ladies knowing each of the homes and they would go ‘that way’ and we would go ‘this way’.  I had an uneasy feeling.

Home by home we gave out the supplies.  The one in charge of each homes functioning, usually the woman, thanked us, smiled, bowed, or kneeled as we gave them our offerings.  But it wasn’t linear.  It was here and there and it seemed like we were missing about every fourth home.  Sometimes we’d go in a circle then back to a home that we passed by earlier.  Other times, we didn’t find anyone home so someone would yell and the woman of the home would come running from somewhere and kneel down out of breath.  Once we had gone through three quarters of the supply we assembled back at the vehicle to regroup.  I asked about homes we missed and I couldn’t get an answer.  There was confusion.  We still had two more large sections to cover and it was obvious that not only did we miss some homes but were not going to get to the rest of the community.  It never feels right if some get gifts at Christmas and while others don’t. 

At this point every cell in my white western muzungu brain was gasping for oxygen when it became clear that the execution of the distribution was going sideways.  There were not 100 homes but probably 175 by my estimation and we were leaving unhappy customers in our wake.  This phenomenon had happened before but that’s why we had the ‘counter’! 

I don’t know why it bothers me so much.  The Ugandans who guided us through this distribution did not seem bothered in the least.  Their attitude was, ‘well we may not have gotten to everyone but at least we got to most’.  For some reason it sounds reasonable but it doesn’t feel right.  I was doing breathing exercises in the practice of relinquishment on the drive home.  I needed it to work properly.  I needed it to be organized.  I needed each home to be visited.  I needed it to be fair.  I needed it to be equitable.  When we dropped off our Ugandan helpers I was frustrated with the process.  I have slowly shed my attachment to it working as I wanted it to.  These distributions are not meant to be any kind of serious solution to the poverty these families are living in.  They are offerings that give us a reason to meet them, greet them, and let them know that we see their need. 

Since then I have come to realize that this is a factor in many of the things I am doing.  I don’t think any of it is really ‘fair’.  Who gets and who doesn’t?  It’s not fair at all and so the impulse is to pull back and say if it can’t be done cleanly with sustainability then don’t do it at all.  Ugandans are here to teach me a few things about living.  Even now as I write there are some guest house staff laughing and finding pleasure in their work.  They are taking life with a grain of salt.  They are taking it as it comes. 

By the way, today was also reminder that when applying sunscreen the ears should never be taken for granted. 

I have to say after night of letting the experience trickle down…having the privilege of going home to home amongst those who are suffering is really a place of honour for me and I can too quickly think only of the logistics.  I’m not sure there is anything quite like it…

Jinja market

Searching for lunch.  There were many offers.  Spent some time guessing which part of which animal was being displayed.

goat

cow tongue

Intestines

hooves

cow hearts

Notes from: Saturday March 10, 2012

We drove from Entebbe this morning and met Damali (Sonrise Baby Home) in Kampala as she had stayed there the night before.  She called me this morning to ask if she could get a ride back to Jinja.  It was a welcome thought, because while I’m up for some adventure, I’m not too sure about navigating Kampala.  Anyone who has driven through Kampala can appreciate that it isn’t for the faint hearted.  It isn’t known for its street signs and gridlike formation.  So, in discussing where we would meet up Damali said she’d meet us at ‘the roundabout’.  Now there are a number of roundabouts in Kampala so she clarified it for me saying the one with the ‘Shell Station’.  Remarkably the first major roundabout we came to had a Shell Station so we pulled off, called Damali and soon she was hopping off the back of a boda with her purse in hand (Africans pack light) ready to guide us through the mayhem. 

African directions are poetic actually.  It goes something like this: ‘when you arrive at that big ant hill you keep going until the second big ant hill after which you branch this way (motioning right or left who really knows) at a ‘somehow’ crooked tree.  Follow the road with the big bumps until you reach the tall sugarcane.  I will meet you there.’  ‘What time’, I say.  ‘Let us say, morning time’, she answers.  ‘Yes, but what time in the morning’, I say.  ‘mmmm.  We shall say first thing’ she clarifies.  Just then I decide to throw my watch out just concentrate on whether it’s morning, afternoon, or night.           

I intuited that Ugandans don’t like maps because I’ve asked a couple of times for help with the map and each time the Ugandan looked like they’d just swallowed bleach.  ‘It’s not a part of our culture’ they say.  In the same way ‘left’ and ‘right’ aren’t either.  Ivan (Damali’s brother) told me that the way he remembers which way is ‘left’ is he looks at which hand has the scar on it and he knows that is ‘left’ but he was quick to point out that, ‘if you’re giving instructions in the heat of a Kampala traffic situation you don’t have that kind of time’, he said.   A Ugandan will be sitting in the back seat telling me which way to go but he will say, ‘it is there’ or ‘just branch here’ but not say which way.  They tell me I need to be here a little longer and I will understand which way they mean by the intonation in their voices and the timing of their instructions.  Somehow I believe it.  Somehow.

babies...love going for rides in the car.

been venturing out a bit with the local food...been getting it well done.  stomach still has something to say about it.

98 Isuzu Big Horn 4X4

I thought I should let you see the machine we purchased.  So far it’s proving itself.  With any luck we will actually own it once the transfer papers get completed through the Ugandan Revenue Authority.  We enjoyed their services today and with the CRA as my only comparison I would say I was quite pleased.  That said, we had to go to the United Bank of Africa to pay the fees associated with the transfer.  There were three fees: transfer fee, cancelation fee, and stamp fee.  We were quite happy to pay all the fees but they only knew how to charge us for two.  The stamp fee is still outstanding but not because we were ready and willing to pay.

When we went to pay the owner for the vehicle had to be done in cash and ugandan schillings aren't worth too much so even with the largest denominations we had a real wad to deliver.  Morris has a great sense of responsibility for this vehicle and over the transfer of the money.  He used my money belt and strapped it to himself like a suicide bomber.  I would not want to be the guy who tried to reach for that belt.    

 

   So,  I have a vehicle, my phone is now registered with the government and it is working, and I am in Entebbe waiting for Lynn’s plane to come in and enjoying the botanical vibe here at the guesthouse.  I’m mostly surrounded by retired European travelers.  The power has left us or as is often said around these parts, ‘it is finished’.  This is particularly true of items on the menu.  When everyone has placed their order it is inevitable that the waiter will return and inform half the table that what they ordered ‘is finished’.  Sometimes it seems more straightforward to ask what is ‘ready’ at the outset.  Even still the answer seems to be ‘all is ready’ only to discover shockingly that indeed, ‘it is finished’. 

Entebbe Airport Guest House