One of my favorite things about living in Uganda is the friendliness of the people. Random people greet me when passing on the road and friends often invite me to their homes where we usually end up staying most of the day. They always feed us, often cooking meat for the special occasion when mzungus visit. For the past few Sundays, Hannah and I have visited our friend Maureen. She always cooks for us and is disappointed if we don’t stay for more than a few hours. Maureen used to work for CVI making beautiful necklaces out of beads made of paper, but now she is trying to start a small business selling manual washing machines. In Uganda, where most people wash all their clothes, bedding, and linen by hand, laundry is quite the chore! (I know from experience.) CVI has introduced a manual washing machine with a large bucket and plastic plunger specially designed to mimic the swirling cleaning motion of Western washing machines. Rather than scrubbing each piece of laundry by hand in a small basin, women can fill the large bucket with dirty clothes and push the plunger up and down for a few minutes. It’s so much faster! Every Sunday, we help Maureen with her laundry to check that she understands how to use the machine and talk about how she can sell the washers to others. Maureen’s quite the pro at using the washer now—even her husband sometimes joins in! Although it’s easier than washing by hand, it’s still quite a lot of work to gather water, push the plunger, rinse the clothes, ring them dry, and hang them inside out on the line. And I thought laundry in the US was a chore! After finishing the laundry, we usually sit and talk, eat, listen to music, and play with the children. Maureen lives with her husband and her brother and sister in law who have 9 children! This mother of nine is amazing! In her fancy red church dress, she cooked for us and her whole family, picked ticks off their two dogs and sprayed them with powder, shaved her children’s heads (with a bare razor blade!), and played with her children by chasing them around the compound. Meanwhile, Maureen scrubbed and washed every single shoe she and her husband owned. Clothes and shoes get very dirty in Uganda, but cleanliness is very important to Ugandans—they clean their things better than I do in America! The more I get to know them, the more impressed I am with the strength, vitality, and joy of Acholi women. On Hannah’s last Sunday visit, Maureen and her family made our time extra special! After finishing the laundry, Hannah and I helped Maureen paste boyo (a popular Ugandan green pronounced bo) for lunch. After she added g-nut paste (kind of like peanut butter) and mukene (small silver fish), we stirred the pot over the charcoal stove. We also hung out with the kids (they love having their pictures taken!). One little boy had made a football (soccer ball) from plastic bags, so I kicked the ball and played keep away with him. Our game provided quite the entertainment for the others. We sat down to lunch of boyo and posho (corn flour and water cooked together). They always say we don’t eat enough and tell us to take more. Since it was her last Sunday, Hannah had made macaroni and cheese to share with our hosts—they loved it! After lunch, we made some of the beautiful beaded Ugandan necklaces for Hannah to take home with her. Maureen had already made the beads, so we just strung them together. As we sat on the mat, listening to American country and then Ugandan music, my eyes grew tired from straining to string bead after bead, but I knew this was a special moment with Maureen and her family that I would always cherish. Sometime in the afternoon, the live chicken hanging upside down on the motorcycle in the compound had disappeared. I thought, “Well, we’re having chicken for dinner.” A few of the boys had taken the chicken to the bushes, slit the throat, and de-feathered it. After bringing it to their mother, she cut up the bird and placed nearly every piece of it in a pot. Even the stomach she slit open, removed the contents, and cooked! The only part that didn’t go in the pot was the intestines. As it grew dark, we finished our beads and headed inside for dinner. Eating the traditional Ugandan way with just your fingers is a little difficult, but the chicken and rice were delicious! I’m so thankful Maureen and her family have welcomed me to their home and shown me Ugandan life. Doing laundry together, playing football with the kids, talking about harvesting sim sim, and discussing Chelsea FC, are some of the special moments I will remember of my time with them. They’ve also taught me about hospitality—Ugandans always welcome visitors, even without prior scheduling—friends drop by anytime. They don’t eat the last piece of meat in the pot, so that just in case a visitor drops by they’ll have something to share. Ugandans live open, welcoming, genuine lives. There’s no need to prepare or put on a public face. They’ll spontaneously receive visitors as they are and spend time talking and valuing people even while they’re working. When I return to the US, I will take with me Maureen’s friendship and her lessons in hospitality.
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While I’m still working on designing and finding materials for an aquaponic system at CVI, the two farmers and I decided to setup a mini test system. We made two aquaponic growing buckets and utilize human-power to transfer water from the fish pond to the plants. First, we found a couple of 5 gallon buckets on the farm, cleaned them, and drilled drainage and air holes. Next, we gathered a pile of small rocks and performed the vinegar test to assess their acidity. If the rocks start bubbling when vinegar is poured on them, then the pH in the rocks is too high. Ours didn’t bubble, so we were good to go! After rinsing the rocks to remove sand, we started filling the buckets with larger rocks on the bottom and smaller rocks on top. Finally, in the cool of the evening, just before sunset, we planted our little seedlings in the buckets. We found the perfect spot on the side of one of the fish ponds under a little tree that offers a bit of shade from the scorching Ugandan sun. After slashing the grass in that spot, we placed each bucket on a couple of bricks, and our mini aquaponic system was complete! Our first test is with collards and green peppers. We’ll pour water from the fish pond onto the buckets 4-5 times a day. While the larger aquaponic system we’ll build at CVI will utilize a solar powered pump, this human-powered aquaponics is perfect for our test system. The CVI farmers were amazed that we could grow plants in rocks with no soil—we’re all excited to watch the development of the plants in the coming weeks! After we finished building the aquaponic test system, my little buddy Joshua came over to say hi. Whenever he sees me, he runs over and wraps me in a hug. His huge smile always brightens my day! Aquaponics and adorable children…how much better can a day get?
Tarpaulin tents. Inadequate food. Meager medical care. Boredom and no way to plan for the future. This is how hundreds of thousands of South Sudanese refugees live in resettlement camps everyday. In its newest class of students, CVI wanted to include South Sudanese girls from the camps, so Richard (the CVI Uganda Director) and Brown (the mechanic and driver) drove out to Arua along the Uganda/South Sudan border to pick them up. I wanted to see a refugee camp, so they let me tag along. We piled into the Land Cruiser and set off on our 5 hour journey. We stopped to visit one of the CVI staff member’s husband who was in the hospital with an ulcer. He had nearly died the day before and was waiting for surgery. Ulcers are a common problem in Uganda. As we drove further, we passed gorgeous scenery of rolling hills and palm trees and men fishing in the Nile. We could even see Congo in the distance, and when driving through Murchinson Falls Park, we saw two hippos sticking their heads out of the water! For lunch, when we passed through a town, we pulled up to a chapatti stall and asked for rolex (delicious fried egg chapatti rollups). The guy already had them made and bagged—we handed our 1000 shillings (30 cents) each through the window and drove away. It was like a Ugandan McDonalds! The next day, we met Mandela—the South Sudanese man who’s supposed to be running the CVI center in South Sudan, but the center is closed because the country is too dangerous. Mandela and his South Sudanese friends took us to Rhino Refugee Resettlement Camp where we were supposed to interview 6 girls Mandela had identified as possible CVI students. As we drove the 2 hours along the bumpy dirt road to the camp, Mandela and his friends continually pointed and exclaimed, “that used to be a camp!” Back in the 90s, this road was full of South Sudanese refugee camps. Eventually, they were able to return their country, but the war has displaced the South Sudanese again. We passed bus after bus transporting new refugees from the border to the camps. The buses used to carry passengers to Kampala, but now the UNHCR (United Nations High Council for Refugees) emblem rests in their windshields. Thirty buses make the trip from the border to the camps all day, every day, 7 days a week. 3000 refugees cross the South Sudanese border every day. Uganda houses the most refugees of any country in the world; many Ugandans themselves were refugees at some point in their lives. They know it could happen again, so they're willing to accommodate their neighbors in need. The South Sudanese are trying to escape the civil war in their country where at least 10 civilians are killed every day. The government soldiers shoot, rape, and loot whatever and whoever they want. The fighting is heaviest in Yei, a city nearly 50 miles from the border, so many refugees come from there. The roads are too dangerous to drive or walk on, so they walk through the bush at night and sleep under trees during the day. When they finally make it to the border and are bused to a camp, the refugees enter a transit center—a fenced area where they queue in long lines to register. They’re given some water and biscuits and sleep in hot, cramped tents packed together in separate male and female areas. After waiting days or weeks, they’re loaded onto large trucks and taken to their resettlement area. Each refugee is given a 20 m x 25 m plot of land and a white tarp adorned with the blue UNHCR logo. That’s what they use to make their new home. Once a month, the refugees can go to a food distribution center and receive approximately 10 kg of posho and 8 kg of beans per person—not nearly enough food. If their soil is fertile, some refugees grow small quantities of crops, but for many this is impossible. Tall, metal cylinders are erected throughout the camp as water towers. The refugees line up their jerry cans waiting for the trucks that deliver water to each tower once a day. When we sat down with the girls and their guardians, they started the meeting with prayer and thanked God for protecting them through the night. I thought, “When do I ever pray to thank God for protecting me through the night? Never. I always expect that I’ll be safe while I sleep.” For refugees, especially girls, this is a real concern. None of the tents have doors, so men often break into the tents and rape girls. As the interview continued and we heard the girls’ stories, most were missing at least one parent. They were either dead or still in South Sudan. When Richard asked the guardians for permission to take the girls to CVI, every guardian wholeheartedly said “Yes, please take my girl. I thank you and I thank God for giving her this opportunity.” They all realized that CVI is offering these girls probably the biggest gift of their lives—a chance to escape the camp, go to school, and receive more than enough food and proper medical care for them and their babies. It’s like a “get out of jail free” card. In the midst of the discouraging camp setting, one happy moment was meeting the mother of Hanan, one of the South Sudanese girls currently at CVI. I was able to show the mom pictures of Hanan and her boy Joshua; she was radiantly happy and kept exclaiming, “Shukran! Shukran!” (Thank you) Richard even let her use his phone to talk to Hanan for a few minutes. While I couldn’t understand what they were saying in Arabic, the mother’s face was a picture of pure happiness. With her head tilted up, eyes closed, and huge smile, the mother was drinking in and savoring every moment of hearing from her daughter. The next day we visited Bidibidi—one of the largest refugee camps in the world. We drove for hours and only saw a fraction of it. The conditions were even worse than what I saw in Rhino Camp. The girls looked thinner and some of their babies were coughing and showing signs of kwashiorkor—a state of malnutrition brought on by lack of protein. In the place where we interviewed one girl,the tents were built on a hill of sandy, hard soil. They had tried to dig a pit latrine, but the ground was too hard and rocky. The tarpaulins bake in the sun making the tents unbearably hot inside. Nothing could grow and when it rains, the tents flood. Refugees that had been there for a while had built sturdier shelters out of mud and grass using the tarp as a roof. A few enterprising ones had even made mud bricks to build a small hut. After driving to another part of the camp (through dry riverbeds that will be impassable when it rains) and getting slightly lost in the maze of tents, we visited Mandela’s relatives. Many of the children wore clothes with holes and nearly all their bellies were swollen from worms. As we drove around the camps, Mandela and his friends kept seeing people they knew. We would stop and they would enthusiastically greet each other as if to say, “My brother, I didn’t know you were here! Thank God you’re safe.” It’s almost as if the whole city of Yei has been transplanted to these camps. We passed a doctor who used to run one of the largest clinics in Yei; he was carrying a tree trunk on his shoulder trying to make a shelter for his family. We talked with men who used to run large businesses now selling tomatoes and drinks on the side of the road for those who still have money. We passed teachers, pastors, and even a judge who left because there is no longer any law or order in Yei. These people used to be well off and have established lives. They had houses, cars, and jobs. Now, they live in tents and don’t even have enough food to feed their families. Some have to walk all day to reach a medical clinic that probably doesn’t have enough medicine. Most of their children can’t go to school. The worst part is, they have nothing to do all day and they have no idea how long they’ll have to live like this. They can’t plan for their future. While the camps were grim, the stories Mandela, Richard, and the other men told while driving in the car really shocked me—they were almost too terrible to believe. One told of driving through South Sudan over 4 miles of dead bodies that were bloodied, shot, and missing pieces. He had nightmares for eleven months. Another talked of being in Rwanda when the genocide started. He walked to Uganda but remembers watching bodies float down the river turning the water red with blood. As we passed an old building, they told about the time they went to see a movie there, but the LRA started shooting everywhere—28 people were killed. They pointed to a bend in the road and laughed about the time when they had been bicycling and saw their friend driving by at that spot. After stopping to talk, the friend drove on only to be mowed down by LRA bullets minutes later. Mandela and his friends heard the gunfire, turned their bikes around, and pedaled as fast as they could back to town. They joked, “You know those American fiction movies with all the fighting and action and life-threatening scenes? We’ve lived it in real life!” I couldn’t believe they could laugh at situations where they barely escaped with their lives.
After telling these stories, Mandela kept impressing upon me the importance of peace. He said, “Once you have peace, hold onto it; because if you lose it, it will take much time and bloodshed to get it back.” Richard added that although Museveni (the Ugandan president who’s stayed in power since 1986 and should be brought before the ICC for criminal acts) is corrupt and has done some bad things, he’s brought relative peace to Uganda for 30 years, and peace has done more for the country’s development than anything. Both Mandela and Richard kept saying the camps and war are temporary—eventually peace will return to South Sudan, and all the refugees will be able to go home and resume normal lives (at least as much normalcy as they can manage after living through this). They are suffering now, but their children and grandchildren will reap the benefits when they can live in a peaceful, developed country. Visiting the refugee camps has been one of the most impressionable experiences of my life. I never knew the value of peace before seeing these effects of war. Even a dictator can be worth it if he gives a country peace—something that I've never really thought about in America where we haven't fought a war on our land in over 150 years. Now, whenever it rains, I think of the refugees living in tents. While I'm safe in my hut, their blankets and everything they own are being flooded. Every summer, my family used to love to go camping, but I'll never again see it in the same way. We go for fun, bring lots of junk food, and pack up and go home if it rains, but for these refugees, camping is their home. I left the camps feeling helpless and like there was nothing I could do to help these people. I'm still not sure how I can physically help them, but I will definitely be praying for them and that peace will soon return to South Sudan. In the meantime, there are six new South Sudanese girls and their babies at CVI. This year marks the 70th anniversary of the Fulbright program—it was started by Senator J. William Fulbright in 1946 to promote mutual understanding across cultures. After WWII, exchanging students, professors, knowledge, and skills with other countries was seen as a way to promote peace. If we can understand people from other cultures, and they can understand the US, then we are better able to help each other. Makerere University and the US Mission in Kampala hosted an event to celebrate the anniversary and encourage Ugandans to apply for Fulbright scholarships to the US, so me, Eden (the other Fulbrighter in Gulu), and Hannah (the intern at CVI) hopped on a bus to Kampala. Hannah and I had front row seats—right next to the driver—so we saw how he sped down the road and barreled past all the land cruisers, trucks, bodas, bicycles and every other vehicle on the road. In Uganda, police checkpoints (complete with yellow spiked barriers) periodically populate the highways. To prevent speeding, the buses are supposed to hit each checkpoint at a certain time or they are fined. Oftentimes, drivers just pull over and kill time while local people sell food to passengers through the bus windows. The bus drivers wait so long they have to speed to reach the next checkpoint in time! The Fulbright Anniversary event was very well done—the Makerere University main hall was packed with Ugandan professors and students who had participated in Fulbright or were interested in applying. I was surprised that “business casual” meant all the professors were dressed in full suits, but Ugandans dress to impress, especially in the city. The auditorium was decorated for the occasion with a table up front for distinguished guests, and the schedule was planned to the minute! We were entertained with many speeches (always an integral part of any Ugandan ceremony), a video of past Ugandan Fulbrighters, and an incredible student choir who sang the Ugandan and US national anthems and the Makerere University song. One of my highlights was meeting the US Ambassador to Uganda. She planted a tree to commemorate the occasion then everyone headed to a reception at the Makerere Art Gallery. There we talked to many students and encouraged them to apply to study in the US. The first Ugandan Fulbrighter was also there—she went to the US in 1961 and had an amazing story! I was surprised how many Ugandans had received Fulbrights to the US; they all testified that the program impacted them greatly and enabled their work in Uganda to have a bigger difference. After spending the last few weeks in Lukodi and Gulu, Kampala was crazy! There are so many people jostling each other, sellers grabbing your arm to get your attention, matatus jamming the roads, and boda drivers constantly calling out “Mzungu! Mzungu!”(mzungu means “white person”). We went shopping in town (the center of Kampala that houses the markets) one morning, and the number of stalls and shops was overwhelming! I was looking for a Uganda Cranes (the national football team) jersey. The guy didn’t have the color and size I wanted, so he had me sit while his assistant ran around to all the other football jersey sellers looking for the right one to bring back. They’ll do anything to get your business, but I had a nice chat with the shopkeeper while waiting. He and many other Ugandans like Trump because he’s “a strong man” and promised to oust Musevini if elected. Musevini is Uganda’s long-time dictator who should be prosecuted by the ICC but stays in power by rigging elections. Although he’s popular among young Ugandans (he’s the only government they know), many Ugandans think he’s corrupt and not doing what’s best for their country. While in Kampala, I saw my first boda accident—a boda crashed into the matatu in front of it. The passenger managed to jump off, but the driver and his bike started falling right into the path of my matatu. We swerved and narrowly missed them. Bodas drive crazily fast through narrow gaps in traffic, so accidents are common, but it was unnerving to see one myself. Thankfully, everyone seemed ok. We also went to a movie theatre and watched Queen of Katwe—an inspiring true story of a girl who grew up in the slums of Kampala and how she fought to become a world champion in chess to escape poverty. The movie accurately depicts Ugandan life, and it was really neat to watch a film in the city where it was made. The theatre was packed, and it was interesting that the Ugandan audience laughed at scenes in the movie that would shock US viewers. Queen of Katwe is currently showing in the US, and I highly encourage Americans to see it and learn what daily life is like for many Ugandans. Before the movie, we stopped in a grocery store to get snacks. Hannah and I walked in and were overwhelmed! After being in Lukodi, this store was massive! We couldn’t believe it when we saw M&M’s, Snickers, oatmeal, a whole selection of ice cream bars…pretty much everything in a US supermarket was in this store. While I enjoyed the opportunity to buy whatever I wanted and catch up with Kampala friends, the city was too crazy for me. I’m glad to be back in Lukodi and Gulu with the CVI girls and beautiful sunsets over the palm trees. I can't believe I've already been in Uganda over a month--time has flown by so quickly! While there are definitely things I miss about the US (like apple cider donuts, pumpkin bread, and fall foliage), I feel comfortable in Uganda and that I understand how things work here now (mostly!). Uganda feels like home. A couple of days after meeting Komakech, the masters student studying aquaculture at Gulu University, I expectantly waited for him to come visit the CVI ponds. He came roaring up the road (a couple hours late, but hey, that’s Ugandan time) on his motorcycle donned in goggles and a jacket to fight the dust. He brought his friend, Winston, who’s also studying aquaculture. We walked down to the ponds, and Komakech gave many helpful suggestions. He even brought a water quality test kit, so we could measure ammonia and nitrite levels. One of Komakech’s biggest suggestions regarded the fish feed. Tilapia like feed that floats, but the feed we have sinks, so the fish weren’t eating all of it. He suggested we build feed troughs and submerge them halfway underwater. Stephen, the CVI farmer, found some iron roofing sheets and we started making the troughs. Using a hammer, he flattened the metal then bent it to create sides. There was a hole in the middle of one sheet, so he plugged it with a ripped feed bag lying in the yard. To secure the corners, we punched small holes in the sides and twisted bits of wire through them. We carried the troughs down to the ponds and thought about how to secure them. Eventually we decided to use wire and metal stakes scavenged from a nearby fence (at least it was partly falling down). Stephen and his assistant William pulled the fence posts out of the ground, but the bottoms were encased in concrete. William just banged the concrete against another fence post until the casing fell off! We jumped into the water, sunk the posts, and submerged the troughs. When we poured feed into the troughs, the fish quickly swam over! A swarm much larger than the number that normally appears at feeding time emerged, so the fish seem to like their new feed troughs! We went through several iterations when designing the feed troughs, but I really enjoyed participating in the Ugandan style design process. Since there’s no Home Depot or Lowes out in Lukodi, we used whatever materials we could find. But with some simple tools and a little creativity, we built some excellent feed troughs.
Later, we wanted to change some of the water in the ponds because there's too much algae, which is reducing the dissolved oxygen in the water to dangerously low levels for the fish. Normally, Stephen uses a gas pump to lift water from the stream to the ponds, but his water hoses are a few years old and broken. Saturday morning, he and a couple farm hands tried to fix them. They hauled the pump down to the stream, but every time they turned it on, water came bursting from leaks in the canvas hose. I watched as they turned off the pump, hacked off the ruptured part of the hose with a machete, inserted a 6 inch section of plastic tubing into one end of the hose, and pulled the other end on top. Then, they cut strips of rubber from an old tire and tightly wound a strip over the hose seam. After removing all the ruptured sections and splicing the hose back together, Stephen turned on the pump again. All seemed fine for a few seconds until, "PSSHHHT!" the hose ruptured again in a new spot. After a couple hours of working on the hose, they fixed most of the leaks until it was good enough to pump water to the pond. I am constantly amazed at the hard work and ingenuity of these Ugandan farmers. My main purpose for being at CVI is to help turn some of their fish ponds into an aquaponic system, so I couldn’t wait to check out the ponds. I met CVI’s head farmer, Stephen—a hardworking man who has turned acres of bush into a productive farm. Stephen gave me a pair of bright yellow “gum boots,” and we headed down to the farm past the fields of maize, pigs rolling in the mud, bunnies hopping around their coop, chickens and goats running around the yard, and dogs sleeping in the shade. Finally, I soaked in the view of three beautiful tilapia ponds. A rabbit hutch overhangs one of the ponds, so as the bunnies happily hop around all day they add additional nutrients to the pond. Stephen and I measured the size of all the ponds, and he answered all my questions about the piping and construction of the ponds. The engineer in me compelled me to draw a detailed diagram of the ponds and water flow. Stephen showed me the fish food and the stream from which they pump water into the ponds during the dry season. I took out my DO (dissolved oxygen) and conductivity meter (thanks to YSI for donating this fine instrument to me and UNH) and showed Stephen how to use it to measure the water quality. He loved learning to use it and wants to help every time I take water samples! I wasn’t able to test all the water quality parameters I wanted because I couldn’t bring most of the kits on the plane (they contained hazardous chemicals), but I had picked up a pH kit in Kampala, so as we waited for the pH strips to dry, I started talking to Stephen about aquaponics. He hadn’t heard of it before, but he was eager to learn! When I showed him the pictures of the aquaponic system I visited in Kampala, he became very excited and couldn’t believe they grew 5-6 kg taro yams in six months. Stephen said he wanted to build an aquaponic system here at CVI. As we sat there on the grass in the beating sun, I wanted to hold onto that moment. There was an empowering, visionary feeling as Stephen bought into the idea and we dreamed about the aquaponic system we would build. Later, I met with Night, the farmer who oversees the crops, and she also grew excited about aquaponics. We discussed what vegetables we should grow and envisioned clearing the bush behind the ponds to make room for grow beds. Again, it was a magical moment of vision and dreaming about the future. I can’t wait to make our idea become a reality. I called the professor I’m supposed to work with at Gulu University, and to my amazement he picked up and told me to come meet him. This is the guy who I’ve emailed repeatedly and haven’t received a reply in 2 months. I’ve found Ugandans are extremely helpful and friendly over the phone or in person, but they don’t do email. I went to the university (and got in trouble with the security guard for taking a picture) and found the professor’s office. He said he couldn’t help because aquaponics wasn’t his field of expertise, but he introduced me to a master’s student, Komakech, who’s an expert in aquaculture. I told him about the CVI fish ponds and how the tilapia weren’t growing too well; he gave some suggestions and offered to come out and visit the ponds! I was so thankful for his expertise and willingness to help—I know virtually nothing about fish, so Komakech is an answer to prayer. He also knows all the fish farmers in the area and said he can introduce me so I can ask them about aquaponics. I can't wait for Komakech to come visit the CVI ponds--I think I'm going to learn a lot from him! The past few days at CVI have been tiring, though-provoking, and beautiful. Everyone has welcomed me warmly, and we’re quickly becoming friends. CVI’s center in Lukodi houses 24 girls, their 30 children, and staff. Of their current girls, most grew up in Internally Displaced Person (IDP) camps. One was abducted and forced to serve as a child soldier during the LRA conflict. Many are from northern Uganda, but some are also from South Sudan. Almost all the girls have children ranging from newborn (just visited her in the hospital!) to 7 years old. Since the girls grew up in camps and war zones, they missed a lot of school and weren’t able to learn basic life skills to care for themselves and their children. The highest literacy rate among the girls is a 6th grade reading level, and many are much lower than that. At CVI, the girls go through an 18 month program where they learn basic hygiene, gardening, cooking, and vocational skills they can use to support themselves. They take classes in tailoring, hair dressing, cooking & baking, and sweater weaving. Most of all, they live in a supportive community. The girls are friendly and kind, but my favorite part of living at the center is the kids—they are so adorable and there are so many of them! Every time I walk by I get swarmed by little children wanting to play. They want to hold my hand, kick the football (soccer ball), sit in my lap, go for piggy back rides, and be chased. I was sitting at the table in the pavilion trying to type on my computer when four kids came over to sit next to me. We started playing telephone where you hold your hand to your ear and call each other. I used my limited Acholi, and they laughed. Soon, they were reaching for my keyboard, typing random symbols, and deleting whole sentences. I surrendered. I took them out to the grass and started chasing them. Squeals of laughter rang out through the center. Hearing the fun, more kids came to join! I ran and ran, tagging each of them until I couldn’t run anymore. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the grass, and they piled on top of me! I lay there and thought, “How blessed I am to be sitting here in the African sun surrounded by a sea of such beautiful smiling faces.” Then those mischievous little angels started tickling my bare feet! I couldn’t even protect myself because four of them were sitting on top of me holding me hostage! Finally, I managed to jump up and began chasing them again. I live in a very nice hut (complete with large, friendly spiders) that offers a cool relief from the scorching Ugandan sun and use latrines and bucket showers. There’s no electricity, but we have solar lamps and they run the generator for a few hours each night. We eat all our meals together, and almost everything is grown here on the CVI farm. Breakfast is always cassava and tea. At first the cassava was hard to eat, but I’m starting to like it. Meat is served once a week on Saturdays, and it’s always very fresh. Otherwise we have rice or posho and beans and some kind of green. Once we had sweet potatoes, which were really good! My stomach hasn’t quite adjusted to the high starch diet, but pepto bismol and immodium are taking care of that! The first few days I experienced as much as I could with the girls. I helped them plant maize in the garden—it was hot, backbreaking work! The girls showed me to take a stick, dig a hole, plop one kernel of maize in the hole, cover it up, and repeat for row after row. I was quite slow compared to them! The girls are also teaching me Acholi—I’ve learned quite a lot! But I think my pronunciation is wrong because they laugh every time I ask, “Ni ni nga?” (What is your name?) The girls also love Snapchat! At night when we’re gathered after dinner, they love to use my phone and play with the Snapchat filters—they make some hilarious videos. One of the girls, Beatrice, showed me how to wash clothes—it was quite the process! First, we hauled water up from the borehole. Watching the girls balance the heavy jerry cans on their heads is an impressive sight! We then placed my clothes in my washing bucket, poured water on them, and scrubbed them with a blue, lathery soap. After scrubbing for a while, we rinsed and wrung the water out of the clothes then washed them again. I thought we were done, but nope, Beatrice pulled out a second soap! This one was white and powdery, and she used it to wash the clothes again! I think she washed and scrubbed each piece of clothing about 5 times—they were cleaner than when they come out of the washing machine back home! Finally, we hung them on the line to dry (inside out to preserve the color from the sun). We had to remember to bring the clothes in before dark or the cows would eat them. When the girls put away their laundry, they keep their clothes in bags, so they can quickly grab them and run in case the fighting returns. They have few possessions, so they can carry everything they own. While the LRA has moved away from northern Uganda and the area has enjoyed peace for several years, the girls were brought up with this flight mentality. Back in the U.S., I like to think that I don’t live extravagantly and that I work hard for what I get, but the girls work just as hard and possess great talents, except war has hindered them from developing all their skills. I’m shocked and almost ashamed what different lifestyles and opportunities are available to me just because I was born on the other side of the world. We're off to Gulu! My research was approved by the Uganda National Council for Science and Technology (UNCST) much faster than I thought. I paid my fee, so now I just have to wait 10 business days to pick up my official letter, and I’ll have my research clearance! Since there wasn’t that much left for us to do in Kampala, Eden and I decided to head north to Gulu where both of our NGOs were located. We sadly said goodbye to our GLA and other Kampala friends and boarded the Friday midday bus for Gulu. The 6 hour cross-country trip was only 20,000 schillings (6 USD)! Our bus even featured a TV showing African music videos and then, when that supply was exhausted, terrible 90s films. The Kisenye bus terminal in Kampala was crazy! As soon as we pulled up, our taxi was swarmed with Ugandans offering to help us with our luggage and direct us to our bus (all for a fee of course). We kept saying “No, no, no.” and held onto our luggage dearly. Thankfully, Juliet (our Ugandan friend) was with us and led the way to our bus. She helped us load all of our huge suitcases into the bottom of the bus and lock them up. We arrived quite early, so we paid for our tickets and waited on the stifling bus while hawkers streamed on offering us water, fruit, soda, and other snacks. The bus filled up to capacity (they squish those seats together tightly), and we pulled out—the breeze through the windows felt so good! The scenery through our 6 hour journey was beautiful and varied! Outside Kampala there was open green fields and trees broken up by one street towns. As we traveled further, the strips of buildings grew shorter. Then we passed forests of pine trees neatly planted in straight rows. Next, the green fields returned interspersed with circles of huts and roadside open air markets. The bus stopped a couple of times for petrol and restroom breaks and momentarily pulled to the side of the road several times for passengers to buy food through the windows from the sellers below. Some held wire baskets full of drinks on high sticks to reach the windows while others offered bananas or meat on a stick. The road from Kampala to Gulu is all paved, so vehicles can go quite fast. Our bus was moving extremely fast and passing all the other vehicles it could. We finally pulled into the Gulu bus station, and the CVI driver, Jacob, picked me up in one of their white Toyota pickup trucks. We hefted in my two humungous suitcases and set off for the CVI center in Lukodi 40 minutes away. The dirt road from Gulu to Lukodi has grown worse since I was here 2.5 years ago. The rains forge ever deepening potholes and ditches across the length of the road. Memories rushed back as we passed familiar landmarks, and when we pulled into the CVI center, I was glad to see the rings of huts, grove of mango trees, the girls’ smiling faces, and all the adorable children. It was good to be back. Remember in my post about the old taxi park I said there were so many taxis I don’t know how anyone would find the taxi going to their destination? Well, Eden and I had to do just that. Since Fulbright is sponsored by the State Department, we all had to have a security briefing at the Embassy, so we were trying to get a taxi to Gaba Road which would pass the Embassy. We just started asking people, “Where’s the taxi for Gaba Road?” and they would point. Eventually, one nice man walked us to the right matatu—we were so relieved!
The US Embassy in Kampala is a huge fortress (sorry there are no photos, but no photography is allowed of the Embassy). After we showed our passports, left all our electronics behind, and passed security, we were admitted through the gate. Inside there was actually grass, Land Cruisers and other large government vehicles, Americans walking around in suits, and a large building that looked like a modern US office building. I felt strange and out of place after being immersed in Ugandan life. It was my first time in air conditioning since I’ve been in Uganda. The cafeteria had all kinds of American food: pizzas, tacos, bagels, mac & cheese, salads, even brownies! At first, I stood paralyzed and overwhelmed by the number of choices. If I had that much reverse culture shock after one week in Uganda, what am I going to be like after 9 months? After we finished our meetings, I stayed in the library to use their computers and free wifi (got to take advantage of the free wifi in Uganda wherever you can find it!). The State Department Foreign Service personnel we met were extremely friendly and knowledgeable, but it’s difficult for them to integrate into Ugandan life and foster friendships with everyday Ugandans. The US Embassy personnel are highly protected behind walled offices and homes, and because they’re not allowed to take public transportation, they travel in large cars with drivers. Some Foreign Service employees volunteer with local organizations on weekends to meet Ugandans, but since assignments only last 2-3 years, the personnel are constantly leaving their local contacts and moving to new countries. While I understand the need for protection, security, and commitment to US interests, the Embassy is also supposed to foster understanding and diplomacy toward the local people. However, many Ugandans are terrified to approach the Embassy. It seems like more could be done to promote good relations and cultural exchange with more than just the Ugandan political elite. When I left the embassy, it was raining, so I hopped in a matatu. We soon hit a jam. Kampala is notorious for its traffic, especially during rush hour. We sat in the road for 10 minutes, inched forward 30 feet, sat for another 5 minutes. All the drivers turned off their engines. Occasionally there would be a small break in the gridlock, and our aggressive taxi driver would accelerate as fast as he could through the opening. For a few moments, a cool, refreshing breeze would fill our hot matatu until we hit the wall of traffic again. I took out my book and read three chapters. At one point, a police truck with sirens and flashing blue lights tried to get through the jam. At first, none of the cars could move and the police were stuck. Eventually, they made an opening, and a line of police trucks and black cars zoomed past. Our matatu driver pushed his way into the fast lane behind the police escort, and we finally made it to Ntinda (the section of Kampala where I’m staying). It took 3 hours to travel 4.9 miles. Kampala rush hour was quite the adventure. On Sunday we woke up, and Juliet gave us huge plates of spaghetti with sliced cucumbers, avocado, and watermelon on the side for breakfast. Then Eden and I went to the church next door with some of the GLA missionaries. We’ve been hearing the church worship team practicing all week because their sound system is amped up for the whole neighborhood to hear. The church service lasted over 4 hours! We were greeted very warmly and asked to sit in the front row; nearly all the adults (and one little boy) in the congregation present at the time came over to shake our hand. The kids were absolutely adorable! The service started with worship songs and prayer followed by a sermon, more singing, and introduction of visitors where we and all the other visitors had to go up front and introduce ourselves. Afterwards, all the visitors were invited to a table to drink fresh fruit juice, talk with the pastors, and sign the church visitor book. Everyone was extremely friendly! The singing was so energetic and emotional! They clapped, waved their hands, and danced. One guy was jumping as high as he could like he was trying to dunk a basketball and others were hopping around in a circle on one foot. It was so much fun! During serious moments, some people would kneel on the floor and pray. Most of the songs were in Lugandan, but I recognized a couple of the melodies, and a couple others were in English. We came back and made juice with Juliet. She sliced fresh avocado and passion fruit and blended them by hand. It was the most delicious, creamiest juice I’ve ever had! It easily would’ve sold for $7 a glass at any farmer’s market in the US. Next, Eden, Juliet, and I decided to venture into town to try to find the Gaddafi Mosque because you can climb the minaret and see fantastic views of the city. It started to rain as we were walking. Since it’s currently the rainy season, it rains almost everyday. Usually in the afternoon, it will get cloudy, downpour for 10 minutes, and then the sun will come out again. Everyone scrambled for cover under shop overhangs. The petrol stations were filled with people and boda drivers parked under the roof waiting for the rain to stop. The rain runs in torrents down the streets—some roads have ditches on the side, but many times there’s nowhere for the water to go. However, Ugandans say that this year, the rains are not as much as they should be and crops might suffer. Since aquaponics only requires 10% of the water used in conventional agriculture, aquaponics could play an important role in Uganda’s future. We took a matatu to town (the central part of Kampala with the largest markets). I have never seen so many jostling people in my life! And Sunday is the day that’s least crowded! I was afraid to take out my phone to take pictures—the sidewalks were overflowing. Bodas, matatas, cars, trucks, and buses crammed the streets. Sellers spread their wares on blankets anywhere they could find an open spot. Apparently they’re not supposed to sell on the sidewalk, but during election years no one enforces the rule because the politicians don’t want to anger voters. A little while after elections, they’ll crack down and kick the sellers off the sidewalks. The sellers constantly called out hawking their wares, and occasionally one would grab your arm to try to show you his goods. Dress shoes, water bottles, phone cases and batteries (probably stolen), passion fruit, and even toilet paper—everything is sold on these streets! There’s also a dedicated market with stalls selling all kinds of clothes. Two of Kampala’s major bus stations are also located here along with the old and new taxi park. Many matatas start their routes in these parks—they are jammed full! I don’t know how you would find which one is driving the route you’re looking for. We finally found the mosque—it was beautiful. It was built from 2003-2006 mainly funded by Gaddafi. Called the Uganda National Mosque (or the Gaddafi Mosque), it’s the largest mosque in Sub-Saharan Africa seating over 15,000 people. We were given hijabs and required to take our shoes off before entering. The carpets were so plush! The interior is influenced by African, European, and Arabic architecture. Wooden panels covering the columns were imported from the Congo, the painted glass windows came from Italy, and the chandeliers were made in Egypt. The women were separated from the men in a smaller, upper section. It was a huge, gorgeous building. Then we climbed the minaret (all 272 steps) for 360° gorgeous views. Built on the highest point in Kampala, the tower lets you see all seven hills that comprise the city—sometimes you can even see Lake Victoria. One hill is built up with five star hotels while slums cover the adjacent hill—a juxtaposition found all over Kampala. Walking back, we saw a police truck and a crowd gather. At first Juiet thought the police might be caning a man, but it was quite the opposite. They were taking an extremely thin, sick homeless man to a hospital. He had become chilled in the afternoon rain, so the police wrapped him in a shiny thermal blanket. It seemed like everyone passing by had to stop, look, and figure out what was going on. Some thought he was Somali. Apparently many Somalis try to escape their country and live on the streets in Uganda.
We stopped at a fruit and vegetable market to buy pineapples and vegetables for dinner then took a matatu home. It was a long, full, exciting day. I still can’t believe that every morning I get to wake up and experience more of Uganda. |
AuthorI'm a mechanical engineer studying aquaponics in Uganda on a nine month Fulbright research grant. I'm excited to experience Ugandan culture and see if aquaponics is feasible in Uganda! Archives
December 2016
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