Boddie in Uganda

On the Up and Up

2012-01-30T04:20:00.000-08:00

How wrong I was to assume that I would have trouble coming back to Uganda to work after such a nice trip to Tanzania and Zanzibar for the holiday season. Not only did I not have trouble getting back to work; I found my mind more focused and my moral more set on doing the things that I've been talking about for so long.

I have been lucky enough to have been chosen among my peers as being a director for the next installment of Camp Build, a Boys Leadership Camp within Uganda. This one is a regional camp being held in the North, in Gulu, which is about 5 hours or so away from my site. It is certainly a big undertaking, and it is something that will become more and more time consuming up through its' week long commencement in the last days of April.

The other huge event in my life right now is the Centenary Jubilee Celebration within Ngora Parish. Ngora Parish, my site, is celebrating 100 years of Catholic faith 96 days from now, on May 5th (I know this because I've created a countdown out of plywood to help keep people reminded about its approach). There are buildings going up, a grotto is being constructed, schools are being renovated, all in the name of the celebration. It is quite an exciting time. I myself am chairman of two sub-committees for the planning core; publicity and sports.

We have already applied for a grant to have an educational 13 kilometer foot race, where every kilometer will host a sign depicting and explaining an important health aspect relevant to the citizens of Ngora for keeping themselves and others strong and healthy. At the end of the race the participants will be given an exam where they will answer questions in relation to the posters they passed, and they will receive a minute deduction in time for every answer they get correct. We are hopeful that the winner of the race will be congratulated by the President of Uganda himself.

We are also working on the organization on a 42 team District Wide football tournament, both as a measure to get the youth involved in the gathering and also to use that time as an opportunity to spread healthy life practices amongst the young adults.

On top of all of this, and certainly the biggest reason I've been having such a nice return to Uganda after my trip, is because of the ever approaching moment when my parents touch-down into Uganda. I am such a lucky person to have parents that are not only willing to put up with a 20-something hour plane ride to a 3rd world country in the midst of fairly regular political upheaval, riding all over in a car that would never be authorized to travel in America on roads that only mountain bikers would enjoy...but they are even willing to pay for it! Seriously, I am so absolutely thankful for my parents' support in this whole process of my service abroad; in no way shape or form could it have been possible without them. Them being able to come and experience the life that I now live is such a huge reward for me; it hasn't even happened yet and I feel as though I'll be eternally grateful for it.

There is also much promise in an NGO that just recently come to meet the community and to see their work at Okoboi Primary School. Shashamane Sunrise has been giving support to the school for renovating the roof and walls, making it actually habitable again (kids have been learning under trees for many years, now). I am blessed to have such a willing NGO that is also so willing to listen to the people who live in Ngora, and will co-operate them to give them the help that they actually need. I am very hopeful that my communication with them will lead to the development of one of the best schools in the country, and an example of how NGOs SHOULD be acting within a place like Uganda.

No, it hasn't all been fantastic, either. The borehole of Okoboi that Mrs. Kloer and her class were so instrumental in helping make is not being properly treated by the youth who are coming to use it. Ironically, if they break it, they will have to go back to traveling 2.5KM further to get their water...and also to bring it back. The water committee has been very good about raising money in case the borehole does break, which is certainly one aspect of being proactive...but another is making sure people don't break the damn thing. The Ass. Parish Priest and I have been on the rampage since we've seen kids jumping up and down on the pump rod, and trying to make sure that the community knows what will happen if they don't take care of it. Namely, the Priest and I will be taking the parts away and keeping them locked up in the house, and they can go back to having a hole with water.

Thats it for now. Power has been down for over a week, and internet has been even crappier than normal...so I'm sorry that my normal communication hasn't been there. I promise you that I am well, happy, and secure. For those that are reading this blog but aren't updating me on their lives...step it up! I would love to hear from you. M.h.boddie@gmail.com

Much love,
Bod

Paradise

2012-01-11T03:45:00.001-08:00

Coast of Tanzania, within sound of waves breaking and within sight of the ship-laden horizon, sitting down on last-legged chairs and a patio quality plastic table with 4 other people who, after our travels, have become some of the best friends I have. In front of us lies the fruit of our good fortune and bargaining skills…but certainly could never described as labor. Snapper, Flounder, Scallops, Blue Crab, Octopus, Squid. Homemade lime & chili sauce. With no utensils, or plates (and without asking for either) we begin our feast. The romanticism was no doubt made all the greater by the fact that it has been over a year for most of us since we’ve had food of any kind from the sea. Made greater, also, by the 3 continuous days of speed bumps, broken trains, baliwood blaring from bus speakers for which it took to get there.

The fish market of Dar Es Salaam not only made it worthwhile, it became one of the parts of the whole of our Dar experience which transformed our trip, and even made us question what our real vacation destination was. In the beginning, it was Zanzibar or bust; Dar was meant only as a pit-stop. For me, the shorter we were to be in Dar, the better. Now our only regret was not to have flown(as some of us surely had in our minds, 22 hours into the final 29 hour bus ride into Dar), but rather to the other volunteers who would fly. Missing Dar Es Salaam, looking back, would have been devastating.

To have found not only respite but perhaps our greatest enjoyment of the trip in the largest city in TZ was as surprising as it was welcome; having been used to the capital city of Uganda, we expected chaos, organized in ways only a true veteran might understand. On the contrary, within 24 hours of our 3 days in Dar we found ourselves getting a feel for the layout and taking risks that we would never have done in Kampala. The city is fundamentally different insofar as there were signs of proactive effort towards making the city livable. Bodas were outlawed within the city, the taxi parks were outside the city centers. Sidewalks were large, streets were well marked. It gave the city something I’ve seen in only in the likes of Soroti, in Uganda: a sense of style.

And then, after handfuls of experiences like the one above in Dar, we traveled to Zanzibar. The food was fantastic, if perhaps a bit priced towards those who came from across the world to enjoy it. The water was pristine, and whether you were in the snorkeling renowned blue lagoon or just walking with your toes in the water, you couldn’t help but be mesmorized by the bustling of life all around you. It was the first time the sea ever made my life feel mundane; there is so much going on there, every minute of every hour of every day.

To be fair, it wasn’t just the town itself that gave us the amazing heartening feeling. After all, it was Christmas. We arrived on Christmas Eve, after what was on paper quite a miserable traveling of well over 50 hours cumulative spent on various buses. Dar was our first real stop for us to brush the dirt out of our hair, sleep in a bed, and get food other than peanut butter and cookies. Papa Boddie provided for us an amazing Christmas Eve celebration, on speaker phone over 11,000 kilometers away, telling us the story of “Night Before Christmas.” Smiles got an amazing email, signaling not only his acceptance but also significant amount of scholarship into UCLA business school. We found local ice cream shops, baller Lebanese mez plates, were given fish by locals who were appreciative of our extreme appreciation of their food. It was one of those unable to plan, elusively perfect series of days that will never be understood, only appreciated. It will be impossible to speak of it without a smile.

Zanzibar was a lesser victory of vacation in my eyes. I expected it to be amazing, to be awe-inspiring, to have jaw dropping views of “utopia.” Don’t get me wrong; I was not disappointed in any of these expectations. It was truly wonderful. But being surprised by Dar, by how easily it accommodated us, awed us, and made us even fearful of leaving it for a place like Zanzibar because we simply couldn’t imagine how it could get any better…that is pretty amazing. Looking back, it will be Dar which I talk about with excited breath and stumbling, ever-changing versions of everything from which we found there. Unfairly, though, it will most likely be “Zanzibar” for which the title of the trip will remain in my mind. Some things get all the glory.

Happy New Year!!

2012-01-05T01:38:00.000-08:00

I'm back in Uganda after my trip to Tanzania for the holidays. Hope that everyone has had as amazing of a holiday season as I have been having. I will write more soon, when I get back to site and can somehow control my thoughts into something coherent (or, at least, on the level of coherency that I can expect to muster). Zanzibar is certainly worth the hype, I'll say that.

Camp Build and VHT training

2011-12-18T21:11:00.000-08:00

campbuilduganda.blogspot.com

Last week I was a counselor for Camp BUILD. It was a great time, but tiring. I had (obviously) the best group of kids out of the whole camp, and we rocked it. I was also in charge of a personal project session, which was held for an hour or two each of the 5 days of camp. By the end of my session, 15 kids had worked together to build 6 functional trebuchets (or some variation thereof), which we then used in a final culmination presentation to the camp by chucking water balloons at them. I also was in charge of a critical thinking challenge each day, where each group would try and come up with the answer to a riddle that I provided each morning in a central location. I didn't realize how much competition there would be for them, which was both a nice and nasty surprise, depending on the circumstance. Anyway, all and all, it was great.

After the Camp, I went directly to VHT training in Bushenyi, Uganda. I had never been to the west part of the country, except for once, and I was struck at just how beautiful it really is. Early mornings when the fog is still hanging in between the hills, and the sun is producing mellow orange and red signs of its approach...such a scene easily held me captive on the first morning I was there. Subsequent mornings it found me waiting for it again. Simply wonderful.

The training itself was a bit challenging. It was designed to be a TOT (training of trainers) for the Peace Corps Volunteers, but also a training of VHTs in the district. Getting us to be interactive with the community and learn alongside of them is a great idea. Unfortunately, we don't speak their language, and they don't speak ours.

After a couple days of non-stop Runyokore lectures, it was pretty obvious that what we were going to get out of this training was not going to come from the mouths of the speakers. We all dug our heads into the reading materials we had been given, and started talking about the good and bad about VHTs in Uganda.

VHT means village health team. Basically the idea is that for people who aren't able to reach a health center, or for others who simply don't want to but might infact be neglecting the health of themselves or their family members, they will have an opportunity to talk to a VHT member within their own village. The VHT would be in charge of census-esque reports, encouraging proper maintenance of latrines, washing stations, antenatal care, and sleeping under mosquito nets (to name a few). The VHT is a volunteer position; selected by the community as a responsible and reliable person. Every quarter, the VHTs will be held responsible for turning in reports on the household into a summary for the parish level. It will then be put to the subcounty health officer (LCIII's office), and finally the District (the District Health Officer, or DHO).

Look, that's great. I mean, its a FANTASTIC idea. It's creative, it solves a lot of problems that certainly exist, and it encourages the community to take responsibility for themselves. The idea is there.

Unfortunately, the idea is expensive. The materials that VHTs require to do their reporting and turn in each quarter (for each of their 20-50 houses, depending on their catchment area) isn't cheap. The books cost around 18,000-20,000 shillings for each VHT. Each district having more than 100 VHTs...it becomes too big of a burden very quickly for the district to foot the bill for it.

If the district did try and pay for it at one time, you would never know it these days. In yet another case of how NGOs and Foreign Aid have "helped," in almost every instance of a VHT training or refresher course, the classroom materials and record books were printed at the cost of some fancy named organization. They carry out a training, buy a ton of books and pass them out along with their t-shirts, they high five themselves, and go. 3 months later...the community has been taught that they are going to be receiving these materials, but they don't really know from where it came from. The government expects the community to get these materials, and remembers that they did it last time; no need for them to foot a bill if they don't have. What falls through the cracks? Everything. Thus, because NGOs and short-sighted foreign aid organizations want a winnable victory in a week long VHT training...they are in essence damning the whole sustainability of it in that process. At best, they stick around, and continue giving trainings and materials; even then, all that is being produced is a harder dependency on the great white people. And each time, the foreign aid dependence is increased. Each time, they need us more than they did before. (I was explaining this to an NGO very recently, to one of its members. When I got to my conclusion that so many times a company focusing on Aid actually increases the dependency of the country, instead of decreasing it, he smiled and said "yes, of course!" Do you want our company to fail?")

And there it is. Organizations playing both sides of the fence, wanting to help but wanting to keep helping for hundreds of years. Good aid foundations stay open because they can still find a reason for their assistance DESPITE their work, not because of it. Not because they personally ensure that the community will be dependent on them. A good organization SHOULD close, SHOULD have an end date, SHOULD hold the community responsible to keep the things they are teaching/giving in a way that they never have to give it again. Until organizations realize that, they will be one of the leading causes to the overall poverty and lack of production within Uganda. And they will continue to cut the legs out of people like me, who are trying to organize people and teach them how to really help themselves.

Pictures

2011-11-29T08:23:00.000-08:00

Posting some pictures on Flickr today; I'm in KLA so I have fast internet. They are pictures of the well, under construction. I would not be able to take pictures of the well under construction these days....because the well is Finished! I drank my first glass of water from it (but not straight from it) just yesterday.

Site is going well. I am super busy lately. Traveling every freeking place. I am presenting to the U.S. Embassy tomorrow about community health in the village and the kinds of things that Volunteers are doing on the ground level. In less than a week, I'll be at Camp Build as a counselor. Directly after that, I'll be in a week-long training of trainers workshop on VHT's, to prepare me for a refresher course for LCI's, Volunteers, and health centers on Village Health Teams. I will be the leader for Eastern Uganda.

Like I said, I'm super busy. It's awesome. It's stressful, and traveling around in itself in Uganda isn't exactly a piece of cake...but I can honestly same I'm happy. I'm not sitting around asking myself if I'm integrated, because I no longer think in those terms. For now, the "us" and "them" doesn't exist. So, for now, I am enjoying it.

Thank you all so much for your emails. I guess my last blog, and perhaps the lack of blogs that I've written, have given the impression that I'm going through a rough patch. I promise to all that I truly am doing well. To be honest, the only real thing that is nagging at me constantly is figuring out what I'm going to be doing AFTER Uganda, not during it.

More soon,
Bod

All for a silly water pump

2011-11-11T14:54:00.000-08:00

I’d like to say that my lack of communication has been because I’ve been super busy. Mostly, it’s because the projects that I’ve been hoping were being “finished up” are just NOW being “finished up.” I wouldn’t be surprised if they continue to be finished up into the new year. Many days I feel like the mud has seeped up to my shins. Somedays the mud is loose enough to let me spin my wheels, other days it halts me before I even start. The worst part of all of it is knowing that if I really really wanted to, I could push myself above all of it, go around everyone that is currently involved, and sprint to the finish on my own accord. But that would be doing things for me, not for the people who are supposed to benefit from the projects.

Below is the story of the Water Pump:

The process to complete the borehole project within the Primary School has been very enlightening (for lack of a better term). I at first wanted to skirt the whole issue of the District Office, because I thought that it would be a momental waste of time. I was a bit ignorant of the fact that doing something within a public school and not telling the government about it wasn’t exactly, well, allowed. I also realized, much to my surprise, that our budget wasn’t as padded as I thought it might have been. 2.7 million shillings seems like such an outrageous amount of money to me, living in the villages here and buying only food and clothes for myself; it goes much quicker when you are trying to build a well, where all the parts have to be shipped, all the material has to be transported, and all the skilled labor has to be brought from the big towns.

Luckily, after realizing that we had to keep the district up to date with our progress on the well, I also quickly realized that they weren’t actually interested in doing anything to actively help in our mission. They simply want to know the goings on, my guess being so that when the project is finally completed they can swoop in. No big deal. But I also just realized that there are some real resources inside of the district. In all fairness, without them, we wouldn’t have been able to complete the project.

The first thing we did with the district is appeal to them to let us use their water pump for the well. Now that the Rainy season is in full swing, the well was holding around 10-13 feet of standing water. We need to get that water out before we could start building our well wall from the bottom up. This was something we were promised very early on, and one of the few things I actually felt like I could be confident about getting from Ngora. Such a rookie, was I.

Going through the Water Engineer, I ran around and around and around and called, called, called, to get him. I went to his office, met his technical committee, waited outside his house. After what seemed like an eternity, and literally took several months for me to stop being stubborn and give up this approach, I went to the C.A.O (Chief Administrative Officer), his boss. This was much more efficient. Kind of.

The C.A.O. signed a letter that I had written to recommend the use of Ngora’s water pump be lent to the primary school. As he was signing, he looked up and asked me if Ngora had a water pump. This was not a good sign.

Because the districts have recently split (by recently, and I didn’t even mean it sarcastically, I mean July 2010), Ngora has only a fraction of the supplies a normal district should have; this includes supplies needed to build/fix boreholes.
To fix the problem, I hinted that maybe with his help, the CAO could write to the CAO of Kumi and ask for the pump to be borrowed for a short period of time. Alright, he says, we’ll draft up a letter and send it to Kumi. Great. Later that day, I walk back up to the CAO with a letter that I’ve written in the CAO’s name with the District Office’s Header (I’m learning). He smiles at me, signs it, and offers to take it to Kumi for me. I say this would be great! He tells me that he will wait for a response from the CAO of Kumi, after which he will contact me and let me know what the “way forward” will be.

The next day, I go to Kumi in the morning. Because I’m able to speak Ateso, I get to know the secretaries of the CAO. They get a kick out of it that I can speak better than the CAO who has been there twice as long as me. (CAO’s are appointed officials, thus it is no surprise that they come from the president’s region of the country. People from the Southwest not only don’t speak Ateso, but their language isn’t even related at all. All of the other workers within the district, generally, are handpicked from within the region of the district itself.) The CAO isn’t in. Won’t be all day.

The next day, I’m again there in the morning. This time, because I’m back, they can see that my presence is going to become a common thing unless I get this thing done. The CAO still isn’t there, but they send me to one of the 3 ACAO’s to try and get the ball rolling on the issue. I’m extremely thankful. After waiting for 2 hours outside of the ACAO’s office to talk to me, the CAO actually shows up. I see him walk into his office. I decide to wait outside of his office, instead. When I go in and talk to him, I have a copy of the sheet that CAO of Ngora signed regarding the water pump (still learning). The original hasn’t yet made it. The CAO sends me to the District Engineer’s Office, across town, with his own transportation. District Engineer isn’t there. I sneak the number from the driver, and find out that, yeah, he’s around, but there is a problem. Their water pump is spoiled. Oh, but he has another one. Nope, that one is spoiled as well. Alright. There is another one in a different sector of the district, and he will check on it. An hour later, while I’m still sitting inside of the district in Kumi, he says that this pump is also spoiled. He offers an NGO within Kumi that might could help me. Alright. I start walking. About 15 minutes later, the District Engineer calls me. He says that I should go to the WATER Engineer’s office (apparently a different person). Yeah, I say, that’d be great…but aren’t the pumps spoiled? Yes, but he wants you to go to his office for “the way forward.” Alright, what the hell. I’ll be there in a minute.

A mile later, I’m in the office. The Water Engineer sits me down and asks what I need. I laugh. A water pump, just a water pump for 3 days. He says that, well, all of our pumps our spoiled. He does have, however, an EMERGENCY water pump…but he doesn’t much like giving it out to people. (this is my signal to offer a bribe). I smile. He smiles. I mention that it seems that the CAO isn’t even aware that this pump exists; perhaps he would be ok with giving over one of his pumps to Ngora, given that Kumi seems to have 4 and yet can’t keep good care of them. He laughs. Okay, you can use the pump, because you are my friend.

The next morning, I get the pump (I needed a car to transport the water pump, since I came on Public Transport, this wasn’t possible the day I was given permission for it.) He tells me that, by the way, the pump hose has some holes. Might be a problem, he says. There is no gas inside of the pump…but he says it works, and we can’t test it before we take it. Still a rookie, I am.

We get it back to Ngora, put new oil in it, and fill it with gas. The hose pump has holes. Can’t suction water out with a hose with holes. We patch the holes. Still nothing. The hired engineer is fed up. He threatens to leave, because we don’t have the proper equipment to do the job. After 4 more hours of trying to get the stupid pump to work, the hired engineer leaves. Less than an hour later, he’s back, with a new pump and hose on his piki in tow. He realized that there was a pump less than 8 kilometers away from the school; he is using it for his other project, just down the road. The pump already has oil, all it needs is gas. Works perfectly. REALLLLLLLLLY, mr. engineer? COULDN’T we have been told that about 3 months ago, 4 weeks ago, 3 days ago, yesterday, this morning, 4 hours previous?
This is the story of the water pump. Now multiply the complexity and sillyness of this story by infinity and take it to the depths of forever. Now you are getting a picture of me trying to do things in Uganda.

Mother Nature pulls out her little black dress

2011-10-11T10:17:00.000-07:00

In the past few weeks, there has been an unexplainable growth in the number of times when I've wished I had my camera close at hand. Mother Nature has been showing off a bit, here in Ngora, Uganda

About 4 days ago, I saw a Monitor Lizard while (biking) to Kumi, the other day. This guy was a good 3.5-4 feet in length...and he knew he could scare the crap out of me if he felt like it. I blame it on watching too many documentaries on Komodo Dragons from Indonesia. He waddled (please don't tell him I said he "waddled") off the road, but stopped on the side to stare me down, sending out is split tongue in odd directions. I was convinced by his confidence and made every motion to give him his space, nearly crashing in the process.

2 days prior, I was presented with a 3-scorpion, furiously trying in vain to escape his prison in the form of my pancake mixing bowl. I quickly noted that, for said scorpion to arrive inside of the bowl...it must have fallen from a height above it. Which means my rafters. Hm.

On my way, the same day, to meet up with my four legged friends (the piglets, who are my new wrestling partners), I nearly stepped on the biggest damned snake I've ever seen. He was a solid 4 feet, and a full fist in girth. Scared me half to death! I went back quickly (only because the parish chef saw me jump, and I had to get back my street cred) with a stick and machete to try and kill it. Unfortunately, I found it again...but fortunately, my dangerous front was convincing enough for him to bolt into the impenetrable bush, just behind the piglet's quarters. He's waiting for me. Oh, and don't worry; Ugandan's say they know exactly what kind of snake it is, after describing it to them...VERY poisonous. I am not going to say it was a Black Mamba, because that would make the story nearly unbelievable...but damned if it doesn't look just like one, from google images.

Not for the first time, but perhaps for the longest running, the sun has been seriously beating down on me in the day. Every day seems to be another endurance test in which I know I'm going to lose. Pride alone keeps me biking to town and to the village areas...exhaustion and lack of fluids keeps me in bed every day after lunch for my siesta. (This is not all a bad thing; I use the sun for a lot of stuff. It powers my radio, filters my water ( href="http://www.sodis.ch/index_EN">so-dis), dehydrates my fruit, and by the end of the week will be boiling my water for eggs, soup, etc. fair trade.)

Night-time has been even more awing, if you'll believe it. The rain beating down on my tin roof cancels out any noise even plausible. Such a noise goes past the usual soothing effect; it prevents any conscious thought, any chance of sleep...anything at all, really. The only thing that breaks up the monotony of its power is the horror-filled thunder and lightning. Living in a house that was built in Uganda...by Ugandans...is precarious enough. Having said house shaking like a naked girl caught in a snow storm is enough for me to have moved my bed as far away as the walls as possible. Three houses in my village alone have had walls fall already. The roads used to be bad; now they are all single-track mountain bike courses that remind you just how quick erosion can be, when she really puts her mind to it that is.

Today, I finally made it to the shore of Lake Kyoga, the body of water on the southern edge of Ngora. Absolutely gorgeous landscape, with canoe ferries (dug out trees, mostly) to take you across to the other side, to Pallisa. Can not WAIT to get to know those boatmen, in hopes of acquiring one of their crafts for a day on the water. Also hoping to make the lake travel part of a backroads bike travel trip, possibly all the way to Jinja (I'm thinking that would be around 100km?)

I'm starting to understand why these Ugandans don't enjoy, or understand, the idea of camping. Whenever I talk about the urge to go and put up my netted hammock for the night, they just laugh and shake their heads at me. But they live in nature; they experience it daily; more importantly, they are constantly at it's mercy. Volunteering to give Mother Nature more chances than are already present to mess with you? Not likely. Want to see nature, stars, wildlife? How can you not! Just look around, kid.

Uganda in a whole. new. light.

2011-10-10T10:24:00.000-07:00

Something unspeakable has happened to me; so terrible that I refused to even admit it's possibility at first. It has taken me 2 weeks, but I'm finally ready to admit the truth of the situation.

Biking around the village, walking around town, traveling hours upon hours upon hours on public transportation...it's all changed dramatically. I have lost a companion, a counterpart...I have lost a integral part of my being since being in Uganda. I have lost my sunglasses.

I step up to my door, every morning, with wide bright eyes, ready to take on the day. Even after 2 weeks of absence, I reach for my sunglasses atop their usual resting place, on my head, behind my neck. Then I search for the handmade croakies around my neck...all in vain. They are gone. All is lost.

Seriously, it's killing me. These glasses were not only the barrier between me and the harsh, cruel world of Uganda, but they were also the polarization lens for my camera. They were the bug stoppers on the night bike rides. It was the item that said "I'm awake, I promise, but continue on with your meeting in a language I can't understand." I wore them more often than underwear, and cleaned them about 20x more. They not only experienced Uganda; they were with me on my way to work in Chapel Hill, they left the hill with me on an amtrak to NYC, and they came back with me while on a bike back home. They experienced Bald Head Island, 4th of July's, and it was through them that I saw no less than 3 "THE DAYS" in Spring at UNC (2nd warm day of UNC, when the girls...well, they looked nice.) They were dropped thousands of times, but hold no grudge.

I know you're suffering much in Uganda, now, my old friend. You are probably being hawked at a price extremely un-befitting of your status, to a person completely unwilling to appreciate you in the way that you should be. Although you have been lost, remember that you are not forgotten. Never will I stop looking for you, and if I do find the culprit and reason for our so sudden divorce, rest assured his punishment will come with great vengeance and, yes, furious anger.

What a Weekend!!

2011-09-25T14:13:00.000-07:00

With as much stuff that happens in this country that gets me agitated, I try and keep at least one or two things in the distance that I know are going to be a blast. Lights at the end of the tunnel, and all that. Ideally, the good days are spread out so that I can continue to look forward to things, but also don't get too disillusioned about where I'm living. This weekend didn't follow that rule at all!

Firstly, I traveled to Jinja to compete in the Annual Nile River Rafting Race. I also competed in this the last year with Peace Corps, finishing 4th (although two rafts in front of us cheated). This year, we said, we'd come more prepared. Either way I knew I'd have a blast; Nile River, good friends, and motivation to work my muscles to a point of total failure in less than 30 minutes? Right up my alley.

After we finished our race, we were pretty sure we'd at least get on the podium; the race was done solely as a timed competition, and there were 3 heats (18 or 19 boats total). We had pretty good rhythm throughout the race and despite hitting a pretty bad eddy which slowed us down, I was feeling pretty confident. At the awards ceremony, we found that not only had we won (we beat the 2nd place team by over a minute, with a time of 22:37), but we'd also set a new course record in the history of the race itself. What a great feeling! We'd accomplished our goal, and done it in the proper way.

During the Jinja trip, less selfishly positive things happened as well. Another company in the Jinja area approached me (which is a nice change of power) to start supplying them hammocks. I also started talking to a South African lady who happened to be the Sales Director of a major magazine published throughout Uganda, and she asked me to write up the NPHC story and send her some pictures to put it in her next issue. Wow! If I can get the kids to write it, and have it be solely their names on the issue, without any mention of silly me or Peace Corps, can you imagine how proud they would be? Great to be able to positively reinforce such great kids, and supporting them in something that they have done on their own.

Today, about 5 minutes ago (just in time for it to still be considered part of my amazing weekend, 7 minutes before midnight), I got an email being told that my Appropriate Projects Latrine Funding (http://appropriateprojects.com/node/703) had just gotten fully funded. Appropriate Projects did pre-fund my project for the health center...but still. It's complete! Also, I'm eligible (and preferred by the company) to re-apply for another grant, given that it's actually needed and can be used in a sustainable way to decrease the need for it's kind of support in the future. Awesome!

Riding the wave into the weekday, tomorrow. Fully expecting for my Apex-turned-high-plateau to start crumbling down back to sea level (or lower)...but also continuing with faith that weekends like this will keep arising, even if they're sporadic at best.

Bring on Monday!

Great Way to Help

2011-09-22T06:13:00.000-07:00

Awhile back, I wrote a blog talking about how foreign aid in this country was causing problems, not fixing them. This is a common recurrence in my writing, as it is in other Peace Corps Volunteers.

In response, many people challenged me to take the extra step and give examples of ways to support Uganda in a sustainable way that will reduce the need for future aid.

One way you can do this is through supporting projects in which people of Uganda have taken it upon themselves to change their own future. One such project, I am extremely proud to say, was made through a friend of mine in Peace Corps, David Szaronos. You can check out the company that he helped start here: http://avemariabeadco.drupalgardens.com

Take a few minutes to look through the website. Read a couple of the ladies' letters to (you), the supporter. If you like their product, then figure out a way to find some beads near you, or challenge them to figure out a way to get some beads to you.

One thing you'll notice: David isn't on the website at all. The website wasn't made for his vanity, and he has no need to attach himself to it. Thus, another step is taken towards the women (and boy) taking charge of their project, their product, their lives.

I Call BS (Devil's Advocate)

2011-09-22T04:11:00.000-07:00

When I get back home, noone is going to recognize me. I'm going to bake my own cakes, dry my clothes on a clothesline, and shower no more than twice a week. It's all I need! I'm going to take public transportation, I'll never leave my plate unclean, and I'm going to greet everyone on my street, everyday. It's how it should be! Man, it's going to be great!!

I have heard segments of this paragraph (this paragraph can continue on into infinity, as you could easily imagine its concept) nearly every time I get together with fellow PCV's. The same thing, except (ironically) even MORE flamboyant promises of change in character come from shorties (short-term volunteers) that I commonly meet when in Jinja. I smile, nod, and consider the differences I'll make in my American life when I return to it. Sometimes I'm even the one saying these things, I'll admit; I'll be extremely confident in my own future alterations of self. Yeah. I'm all talk.

Can I live with no electricity, no computer, no running water? Can I live without daily portions of cheese, red meat, and a microbrew? Will I manage? Absolutely. Proven that. But when I go back in June, and then go back again at the end of 2012, you can bet your sweet butt you'll be able to find me at Spanky's. I'll be the guy eating a double patty, rare pimento cheese burger with the latest dark beer on tap in front of me. There will be another glass, filled with water (shot from a magic gun) and ICE on my side. I will be watching ESPN on a flat screen and perusing internet from the wi-fi connection.

There are certainly many attributes of my daily life in Uganda that I'd love to carry over when I eventually move back. But to think that it is as simple as doing as while I'm here...that would be to underestimate if not ignore a number of factors. Culture and the norms that it produces are powerful forces, and they carry more weight than one might care to believe. Putting a clothesline out in your backyard in Uganda is nothing more nor less than a necessity; there is no other way. Doing it in the suburbs is going to raise a few eyebrows. People will associate you as a "kind" of person, based on this. The kinds of people who take public transportation in Uganda are simply not the same kind of people who take public transportation in America. Anybody been in a Greyhound station in a major city? Yeah. It's a different scenario completely; to not recognize that is to not fully appreciate the exceptional situation we are all currently in.

I think someone would respond to me with something like, "what I am going home with is a new perspective about how life is lived in other parts of the world." This is a big part of why most of us are here; but I have to ask what good a perspective is if we're not going to come away any different because of it. It isn't like we didn't already know, or couldn't have somehow easily discovered the current situation of people in parts of the world like Uganda. All you'd have to do is read one of the thousands of other Peace Corps blogs that are being produced, and you'd have a pretty good picture. We wouldn't have the personal stories, we wouldn't have the fine details that would make these perspectives as powerful, fair enough. But when I'm back in America, sitting on my couch with A/C on, what good is that?

Before everyone goes crazy, I don't mean to say that all of us will simply revert back to our old selves, taking things for granted and driving our 8 mpg klunkers, although I do think that will be true of more than just a small portion of us. I only mean for us to appreciate the culture with which we've been placed in. It is through this culture that we have learned to live in such a low impact way, and yet still in a way that we feel comfortable, healthy, and happy. To assign these changes as changes to our own character, however, is at best premature.

We don't have reasonable capabilities of the many luxuries that we were accustomed to in the U.S., but that doesn't mean we won't want them when we're back. It doesn't mean we can't once again become set into the exact same person we were before we left. It really doesn't mean anything at all. Right now, we're all following the norms of our society, just like we did in America. Breaking norms is a lot harder. Especially when you don't have a 2-year get out of dodge guarantee.

Letting Go

2011-09-18T06:34:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes, I've always had the hope that the harmack company (as a specific example in a more general sense) would be as sustainable as possible, and would eventually be taken over completely by Ugandan's who I've been leading. I constantly worried that I was doing too much, having too much input. Indeed, at the beginning, if it wasn't my idea that we were following, then necessarily it was an idea that I all but implanted in one of the kid's mind. But now its changed. Students have become the leaders. More and more, little by little, I've been relinquishing my influence over the company. It's really great; it is seriously ideal; its a little sad.

Finding work is arguably the most common struggle for any Peace Corps Volunteer. (Besides the food, time management, language barrier...)Add this to the fact that when you put a philosophy major in a health center, he doesn't exactly have a lot planned out for him. Sorry, I don't want to stick a needle in the baby's head. Having such a successful project like the NPHC, and then realizing (by your design) that you are no longer running it, or even really needed...Kind of feels like catching a monster bass in a catch & release pond. Time to start all over, with knowledge that in all likelihood you aren't going to find anything better.

I almost stopped there, but that isn't really my style and it wouldn't be fair. I really am proud of the company, and having less responsibilities has allowed me to develop a small team to work on the RD & D department of the NPHC. We're working on new styled harnesses (THANK YOU RICK & MEL!!), new designs, and on improving the netted hammock design. It is a blast. I'm also trying to teach them about email (NgoraParishHarmackCompany@gmail.com) and websites, along with excel (budget) and all the intricacies of small business. And, real soon, I will have co-facilitated the repair of a newly donated & transported (and transported again) sewing machine for the group.

As it has come, I've realized that maybe the NPHC isn't actually going to be my Peace Corps service. I haven't quite finished a year on service, after all; I've got a whole nother year coming up. That is a bit daunting, I'll admit; but hey, could be fun.

The full Ugandan experience

2011-09-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

It is the PMI (President's Malaria Initiative)'s goal to try and reduce malaria in sub-saharan Africa by 50% in 5 years. No, really, we are hoping to actually accomplish that. Even though, when my health center did a survey about malaria in the community of 86 women, only 18 knew that it was contracted through malaria carrying mosquitoes. Anyway, I have to admit to being my own worst enemy in this quest. I found out after 3 days and nights of debilitating sickness that I had been infected with Malaria.

I had never had the disease before, obviously, and therefore had never developed the antibodies and relative immunity to the disease that Ugandan's have from a lifetime of exposure. That said, I have to admit that it was probably the worst I've ever felt from an illness. For me there was no throwing up or diarrhea, only headache and fever. But the headache was literally blinding, and the fever recorded at times reaching 104. I remember walking to the parish to say hello, and wondering which foot I was moving, while staring down at them. I lost the ability completely to look outside myself and see how people might be looking at me; I walked out of my house with no shirt, and boxers on after a year of never stepping outside without long pants and ( 90% of the time) a long sleeve button down. I was pretty out of it. At night I'd pile on blankets, wearing jeans, jackets, and a toboggan on my head, and I'd still be shivering.

My poor parish, they were so worried about me that I wished I could pull a Willy Wonka, do a tumble roll and put my hands up in the air and exclaim hooray for them. I actually tried, once Orelia (the cutest 3 year old girl you'll ever know) started crying because she heard that "her" opolot (she calls me "opolotka", meaning literally "My opolot") was sick. Instead, I stayed in bed, grumbled to and back the parish house to supervise the hammocks being made. I even skipped meals. Skipping meals is a cardinal sin in Uganda, and you can guarantee it will cause you some attention. By attention, I mean that everyone AND their mother will come and bang on your door until you drag yourself out of bed and thank THEM for greeting you.

Alright. I certainly never intended to contract the highest killing illness in Uganda (and Sub-Saharan Africa on the whole). I didn't want it, and I never did anything intentionally to get it. That being said, I have to admit that I am pretty happy about experiencing it. These Ugandans deal with malaria to a point of absurdity. I've had it once, and it's enough, but it is good to know what others go through 4 or 5 times a month.

How to fix a tire, Ugandan style.

2011-08-25T04:04:00.000-07:00

This is the morning I had, going to a bike shop to get my tube patched for my bike. Repairmen in general have a very good mix of Incredible Mr. Fox and McGuiver inside of them. They have all kinds of clever tricks, some which work, others that don't at all, to fix whatever item you bring in. This is no different, and perhaps especially so, for bicycle repairman of Uganda.

These steps below took around 75 minutes to get through. Future Ugandan Bicycle Repairmen, pay attention closely. This is the way to do it.

Step 1: Go get some maize. Corn on the cob is going to come in very handy later.

Step 2: Wait for silly muzung with the "feminine" hair to come down and speak about his problems with his broken Ateso

Step 3: Laugh heartily, while continuing to eat your maize and show your pearly whites. Those that are left, that is.

Step 4: Tell silly muzung to sit down. Tell him it is going to cost (exorbitant price here), then smile your best "i'm an honest man" smile.

Step 5: get the tube out of the tire as haphazardly as possible, ideally causing another problem in order to fix, thereby being able to double the (exorbitant) price.

Step 6: Finish your maize, lay it beside you.

Step 7: Pause to talk about the Muzung's bike, make jokes about him in Ateso that you are positive he can't understand. Laugh heartily.

Step 8: Make sure there isn't a kernel left in the maize.

Step 9: Blow up the tube using something only slightly resembling a bicycle pump. Put the tube to your mouth, so that you can hear if there are leaks. (not a mistake.)

Step 10: Put the tube inside a bucket of "black black" water, checking for bubbles

Step 11: Talk about how much money mzungus have. Smile.

Step 12: Find the hole.

Step 13: Pick back up your corn on the cob, and use it as an abrasive to scratch up the surface of the tube, thereby making the glue stick better. Do this for no less than 10 minutes. (do NOT throw away your corn on the cob after this. You can use it for a week, at least. Anything less would be, well, wasteful.) (side note: you should have seen the corn on the cob that was finally thrown away, after my guess of a weeks use.)

Step 14: Glue on patch, quickly put the tube back into the tire, pump up the tire with one hand, put your hand out for money.

Step 15: Leave IMMEDIATELY after muzungu bikes away; no need to be there when he's back in 15 minutes for the same problem. On the same tube.

When I arrive back, said 15 minutes later, the workers understand that Opolot is madder than a wet hornet. Having just spent over an hour and 1000 shillings (ok, it's only 40 cents, but still.) on this, only to be back where I started...yeah. Another worker comes over, pushing others aside (his legs are there, but seem to have no use; they are dangling below him, turning 270 degrees in either direction. He walks over with his hands). This is clearly the man I should have asked for the first time; everyone gathers around to watch him work. 15 minutes later, I have a tube that is in all likelihood stronger than when I bought it brand new. I take note of this man, and make sure that I'll be able to find him the next time. He even told me not to pay. "No problem. I get money from other man. He no good. Nice Day." I shake his hand (you'll never see an arm more rippling with muscles), and bike away with new appreciation for Ugandan's adaptability, for my amazing bicycle, and most of all, for corn on the cob.

Hammocks Galore

2011-08-24T02:27:00.000-07:00

The latest on the Hammock Situation.

Our struggles right now with regard to the NPHC consist mostly of being able to stay afloat against a rising tide of orders. Every day we get emails, texts, or phone calls asking for more hammocks. Right now, thankfully, we are only supplying to 3 companies, of which only two have ordered large numbers. They are all in Jinja, and they are a matter of meters between each other. It is absolutely saturating the market of that community, true enough. We didn't think about that.

Our staff fluctuates more than my music preferences (currently on a mix of Avett Brothers and Kanye West's newest album). There are two standouts, two dependables that are unbelievably vital to the whole operation, in both a sense of completion of tasks but also in a sense of sustainability. There are lots of others that are helping, lots more who "want to join" but don't want to actually do anything, and tons more who want to sign up but would take over the business completely. This needs to be a one for all and all for one kind of deal, where everyone is learning. I am not quite ready to settle for anything less.

These two kids are the bees knees. After this next trip, I'm going to try and give them the challenge of each, separately, starting their own mock NPHC business from the ground up. They will have the same budget that we started with originally (200 thousand shillings each), which we have now been able to make in profits. They are going to have to go back to buying in small amounts, unless they find a way to get a loan in order to buy rolls (which go at 80 thousand in Mbale, which is a round trip 14 thousand shilling journey). They will create their own budget, make their own designs, and work off of their own problem solving skills. They will have to figure out how to pay out the workers that they find and organize. I am still, for the time being, taking hold of the sales portion of the business. I realize that this is a fault, and I'm working on it. Small steps.

Please forgive me, people who I have promised hammocks to in the US. Neither the NPHC nor I have forgotten about you, but you have to understand that I value solid businesses in Uganda and the local Uganda communities orders over your own. I hope this doesn't turn you away from our business; we are trying to make sure that this thing is sustainable, and if we can make it so that this Ugandan company doesn't have to depend on the charitable purchase of Opolot's friends, then that would absolutely be ideal. For those that I have promised hammocks, worry not; we'll get there. And your hammocks will be sick.

Expansion of the company is imminent. The more hammocks that we sell (we are going to break our 100th sell this weekend) the more scraps we have, thus giving us more opportunity to use the scraps in creative ways. I am so excited about this portion of the business, each day I wake up with new ideas in which to use all of these cool scrap pieces.

The machine is here, with all its bells and whistles. We have purchased a second stand for it, bearings, and several other parts that I can't even remember the name of in order to get it in working condition. I'm really hoping that by the end of this week we'll have a working sewing machine in our hands. What a rush that would be for our kids, to see something that THEY have bought with the profits that THEY have made. I'm so proud!

After an increase in the order from one of the companies in Jinja, and an All Volunteer Conference looming, we currently have 24 hammocks at the shops, waiting to be completed. Considering that we've only sold 80 total thus far, that is a big. number. The kids are flying around, and because of our fervor we are working so much faster and yet so much slower. Every mistake sends us backwards...and when you've got 14 year olds as managers, mistakes are inevitable. But, geez, the things these kids are learning. Its something that I will never forget.

A Rant.

2011-08-23T01:23:00.000-07:00

My mind is nearly always caught up with the idea of foreign aid, of my role in my community, and of the things that I can do that will reduce the need for people like me to be here in the future. It paralyzes me at times, motivates me at others, but either way seemingly omnipresent.

Unfortunately, thinking of things in this light is also, in some ways, dehumanizing. When I find people doing me a favor, although I'll say thank you immediately, I will in my mind be on full alert. Why is this person helping me? How far am I away from my home? Should I talk to him or pass by? Where is my cell phone? How much money am I holding right now? Is anyone else around? The furthest thing from my mind is the exact feeling I'd want to have: I wonder how I can pay this person back.

These fears, as is the case with most all fears of the human mind, are not completely unfounded. The overwhelming majority of acts done to me in this country hold only the facade of altruism and in fact are done in search of a bigger greater favor on my part. There have certainly been uncountable times when I've struck up conversations or done/had done a favor, and ended up having to explain that I'm a volunteer, I don't have money. Yes, I'm hungry too. No, I can't give you my passport or get you to America. Look, I see that you are in pain, but I can't do anything for you. No, actually, I'm not a doctor.

And so, what is there to do? I have trained myself (more appropriately put, been trained by Uganda) to control my smiles and cries in such a way that people in the community know me, will feel comfortable with me, can come and talk to me, laugh with me, joke with/at me...but if they come asking for undeserved favors, they will be met with malevolence. I've told kids, mothers, fathers, and even grandparents that they have bad manners. I've made kids cry, scream bloody murder because Opolot is chasing after them. Ok, chasing the kids is kind of fun...but telling a jaja that she has bad manners is pretty terrifying.

Once again, unfortunately, I think that this is really the only realistic way to prevent the community seeing me as an ATM, not to mention to prevent me going absolutely insane. There exists no room to do such a favor for one person with the skin color that I have. It would spread faster than a brush fire. Its happened. And yes, this is the fault of generations upon generations upon generations of "foreign aid," as well as the community.

(Note: There is not a single day that I do not want to empty my pockets, my house, and give the shirt off my back to these people in my community. Not a second goes by that I don't think about how great I could make these people's days by giving them t-shirts, some pencils, an egg, money for some yoghurt. I am no different than any other person who wants to help this country. But, and this is the important part, I SEE that giving them that handout is, while thought to be a selfless act, is absolutely without question the EXACT OPPOSITE. If I wanted to feel good everyday, then hell yeah, I'd give out everything. I'd hardly eat food, saving every dime to give away to these people. I'd feel great. It would be AWESOME. But it is the people that would suffer. These people have been given crutches, and after enough years, they find themselves using crutches as replacements for legs. It absolutely sucks to rip those crutches away from them, and watch them using their legs for the first time. But that is foreign aid done properly. And that's what I'm here for. If I were here for myself, I'd be giving them handouts everyday. For those of you reading this that do give money towards foreign aid, please please make sure you are doing it for the right reasons, and that the money is not going towards the perpetuation of an NGO in a country where they don't belong, but rather towards ENDING THE NEED for what you are donating.

Bottom line: The hardest thing about being in this country is a direct result of all the "assistance" that has been given to it. We, and therefore I, am my own worst enemy here.)

Sorry. Soapbox. Anyway, along the way I've found that this feeling as formed into a desensitization and an inability to appreciate a gift that is just a gift. More generally, a showing of mutual understanding and respect for another, and nothing else. Something so intrinsic is, of course, quite rare, but that doesn't mean that it never happens. When it does, I miss it as such. I figure it is some kind of Long-con, designed to bite me once I've let down my defenses. The respect is given, but not received.

Since this realization, I have sat down with 5 people of my community with whom my respect cannot be higher. It is amazing that after only a year I have 5 people like this. I barely have 5 in America. Anyway, I talked to them (some in english, others in Ateso because they couldn't understand me otherwise) and let them know how much their support and continual care means to me. A couple were awkward, some misunderstood what I was trying to say...but I think they mostly got my point. "Look, because of the world that Uganda is right now, I can't appreciate you in the way I wish I could. Even so, I just want you to know that I see you (couldn't help the Avatar reference), I recognize your help with me, and I also see all the things you are doing for your community and your country." Something like that.

I'm trying to deal with being someone who loves giving out praise, doing favors, etc., in a country where doing so has serious repercussions. I'm confident that I'll never figure it out.

Absolutely

2011-08-11T13:38:00.000-07:00

Can we, the NPHC, make 21 hammocks within a week?(Finished today)

Can I, Matt Boddie, lead a group of girls on an hour session talking about gender roles? And then do it 3 more times, back to back to back? (Next week, in South West Uganda)

Can Ngora be given torrential downpours that, with a tin roof and no ceiling, make it impossible for me to hear myself to think? (Usually helps me go to bed. This time it kept me from sleeping at all.)

Can I save up enough money on the "volunteer" money that we make in this country to travel to Nairobi, Mombasa, Lamu, Dar Es Salaam, Zanzibar, and back for Christmas and New Years?

Can I have already been here for a year?

Cross it off!

2011-08-05T08:11:00.000-07:00

Hierarchic minded volunteers in Uganda always like to say that you aren't REALLY a volunteer until you perform a #3.

For those not well versed in numerology, #3 is a culmination of simultaneous events. While in the "throws" of an abusive, diarrhetic #2, you find that you have to also expel waste threw your other end. The result is a yoga move you don't hear about; having both ends of your body faced in a direction so as not to make your bad day just a little bit messier.

In honesty, I didn't believe I was this flexible. I doubt myself no more.

Less than a week 'til a year in Uganda, and I've finally crossed the barrier of becoming a real volunteer.

Hoorah?

I hate blogs with numbered lists.

2011-08-04T08:37:00.000-07:00

It feels really pretentious, as if this list is completely exhasutive of whatever is being talked about. I hate them more, though, because they are incredibly uncreative. But whatever. I just want everyone to know that, as I do this, well...I'm not happy about it.

Time. It's been blowing by. The only thing that compares to the speed in which time is moving in my life is from my freshman year of college. And, I fear, time was moving quickly for much different reasons back then.

In any case, I've learned a lot with my time here.
1) Spiders may hunt and kill other small animals, but that doesn't mean it's good to let them live inside your house. They bite too.

2) A room is a room is a room. You can be in Uganda or Haiti or Washington D.C., but if you're sitting on your computer staring at a wall, well, don't expect to be blown away.

3) Books are a dangerous ally in the place of isolation. Dangerous because, in time, you find that the books are taking the place of your human relationships. And you might not mind very much.

4) Kindles suck. Books are infinitely better.

5) If you want something to get done, bad, and it shows....you'll end up paying 5 times as much and will get a fifth of the community participation. Do it slow, let it grow, and act like you'd be fine if it never happened. If it doesn't, then your finger isn't on the pulse of the community, because they didn't want it. If they don't want it, it isn't going to exist.

6) Sometimes, in the act of being "Ugandan," you can lose sight of your mission here. I am not an Atesot, I will never be. It's awesome that I wash my own clothes and can cook my own meals, but if doing that costs 3/4 of every day, then what have I really done as a volunteer besides build my own capacity? I am not here for me. That will happen, and in more abundance, if I focus on my community and ditch the "independent man" pride thing.

I've learned how to say hello, how are you, and thank you for cooking in 5 different languages (other than english). I can wash my own clothes in buckets, cook an upside down pineapple cake from a sigiri, I can hand-sew a bowtie. I enjoy my alone time, as always, but have learned not to romanticize it as much as had in the past; being alone is inevitable, so one should also appreciate the time spent with others. I have learned to teach kids, and they have taught me what controls them. I have learned how to dress right in Uganda, and have learned when I'm able to disregard those rules. I've learned that when you're my color, the first price is rarely the right price, and that if you're persistent, you are paying less than most Ugandans.

I'm no longer worried about being able to pay back all of the things my community has taught me. Ok, that's not true; it's a constant sting in my brain that continues to nag me on an hourly basis. But I've realized that, for the most part, that's not what the community is looking for when they help me. Me helping them is listening to them; me empowering them is letting them be prideful in their own way of life. And it's a pretty sweet life.

Series of Events

2011-08-02T23:25:00.000-07:00

I haven't written a good blog post in quite some time. This won't be one either. In the lack of quality, however, I hope to at least attempt catch up the masses on some notable goings-on of my last couple of months. I hope, most of all, this will make me feel like writing a blog is less daunting (think about not checking your voicemail for a week...and then not checking it because you know it will take forever to catch back up. something like that). Thanks for all the emails, some of which were of the abusive nature, getting me back on the horse. I will work hard to start this back up.

JICA vs. Peace Corps Baseball Game

What a blast it was to get together with fellow peace corps volunteers and challenge the JICA (Japanese version of Peace Corps) of Uganda to a friendly match of softball. It was enlightening on a couple of different levels, as well.

I heard the first hand the story that has apparently been circulated quite thoroughly in America about the Ugandan Little League team that was denied visas and therefore entrance into the Little League World Series. This was something they had earned through competition of other countries trying to qualify, and would have been the first African country to play in the tournament in the 65+ years of the competition’s duration. That’s absurd.

I also got to hear a lot from the Japanese volunteers about their struggles and frustrations with the country that we all now call home. They could have been spoken from any Peace Corps volunteer, and have been spoken by me at some point or another. Lack of time management, using the excuse TIU (this is Uganda) instead of taking responsibility, and the unbelievable amounts of resources that go to waste in this country. I hear you, JICA. I hear you.

Sesse Island Weekend Retreat

A couple of guys in my group organized a get together in the islands just south of Kampala, within Lake Victoria. The trip was perfect for what it was intended for: relaxation, stress relief, and spreading ideas and concepts to the other members of our group on what is working/not working in our communities. It is amazing how successful and important these seemingly selfish retreats can be for the benefit of my community. If for no other reason than outlining exactly “What I’m doing,” talking to the group can shine light on things that I have abandoned, forgotten, or perhaps put too much emphasis on.

Jinja NRE/Relax River Camp Business Meetings

The Ngora Parish Harmack Company has officially started supplying two companies within Jinja harmacks for their purchase to travelers in the area. Both of the companies’ main attraction is rafting the Nile River, as well as a relaxed and comfortable place to rest your bones before and after. Prices of each company range from 120-125 dollars for rafting. We have officially sold 13 hammocks to one company, and have additional orders of 10 and 21 hammocks “Whenever you can get them here.” This is great. Like, it’s really great.

The company is learning how to expand its business. It is learning about buying supplies in bulk (versus the cost/time/effort to find where you can buy them), profit margin, appropriate payout, and quality control. The problem used to be getting people interested in joining the company; the problem is now having a stick big enough to keep wannabe staff away. Kidding. Kind of. I have continued to step back from my responsibilities from the company; but if I’m being honest, I’m still doing too much. But I know that, and it’s the biggest step towards fixing it.

I walk down the street
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in
I am lost…I am hopeless
It isn’t my fault
It takes forever to find a way out

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again
I can believe I’m in the same place
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I see it is there.
I still fall in…it’s a habit
My eyes are open
I know where I am
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.

Kids

2011-07-13T01:24:00.000-07:00

Kids. Perhaps it has been due too many movies of protagonistic kids who come from broken homes, bad neighborhoods, or distant lands with little opportunity and who end up changing their community, their country, and becoming an inspiration to all those around them. It is also, perhaps, due to my respect for them, seeing these children walking to school, sans-shoes, 6 kilometers from their home, to sit all day without food or water. It is definitely due my idealistic nature and utopian hopes of empowering these youth and giving them proper skills to see the opportunities that are so (SO) abundant in this country.

For whatever reason, though, I had lost sight of the fact that these kids are just kids. They are selfish, egocentric, jealous, lazy, opportunistic, cruel, unforgiving, generalizing, and irresponsible. Just because they have different house chores, different scales of what a good and bad day is, and other different qualities of live to what an American kid goes through...that doesn't mean they aren't still as "kid-like" as the average pre-pubescent brat in middle class America.

Also, as in America, there are going to be some kids that simply "don't want to". Although I'd love to work with them in my projects, although I'd love to empower them and have them take charge of their own destiny...if these kids don't want to, then it simply isn't going to be possible. I don't mind working to encourage them; I realize that it's my job to remain diligent in not counting out any of these children. But, at a certain point, is it right for me to sacrifice time with kids who are driven, who come to ME, who don't except "ok" for the kids who don't give a darn one way or another? If there is any lesson that would be important for those kids, wouldn't it be that, especially in the world that they were born into, if they don't actively seek out the help that exists (in plenty) in this community, in this country, then it's simply not going to be there for them? It sucks, but there is not going to be someone to hold their hand through this world. They have to grow up quick. To ignore that is, to me, to be unrealistic and possibly the worst kind of teacher of all.

So here it is, kids of Ngora: I am here. I have ideas. I can be a change agent for you, and I can give you information on almost anything you want to know about. If you come to me, I promise you with my full heart that I'll work as hard as I can to insure we accomplish our goals. The door is right there. But if you don't turn the knob, then there's not much I can do. And I'm going to stop feeling bad about it. Help me. Help you.

Class is open.

For (Cheap! Ugandan Made! Towards a good Cause!) Hammock Inquiries...

2011-07-10T05:19:00.000-07:00

... Email the company at NgoraParishHarmackCompany@gmail.com. Give them an idea of what you are looking for, and ask about costs and all of that. I am trying to teach my kids to work on their writing skills, and this email is one of the avenues that we are using to learn. Anything you want to ask for is fine; anything that gives my kids the chance, or mandates, their use of creativity and problem solving skills, all the better.

Thanks,
Matt

Through the looking glass

2011-07-10T05:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve spent the last 3 weeks or so in a blur of travel. Planned trips, holidays, and good friend coming to visit converged into a blitz of moving around that I hadn’t expected would be so…tiring. I also learned a lot from it, though.

1. Life here is crazy. I commonly give up reassurances of safety without thinking, mostly because there is no feasible alternative. Also because I’m more confident about my own ability to control my own safety. Drivers don’t speed when I’m in the car anymore, because I won’t let them. When a boda is coming upon me at a speed unwise, I jack out my arm in their direction, then at the last moment swerve my bike to the opposite side, thereby creating more space and also giving him all that I can. They all hate this, of course, and that’s fine. “Opolot, erai ijo stubborn” No problem. I’m not getting clipped by you anymore while I’m riding to Kumi, so it’s all good.

2. Moving with a man who isn’t used to Uganda, I’ve realized how dirty my life is. Dust is everywhere. I have no idea what my skin color actually is anymore. My house has over 15 geckos and lizards in it at any given time, and 3 times as many spiders. I invite the openly; THEY don’t have the disease that is the biggest killer in Uganda inside of them, and more, they kill the things that do; mosquitos with malaria.

3. Seeing other Peace Corps Volunteers sites, I’m struck by how different everyone’s experience is in country. Some people have house girls/boys that come every day to mop, wash clothes, cook food, and clean the house. As a result, they spend more time doing the things they came here to do, and I’m left thinking that they are actually less selfish that I am; I am washing my own clothes and cooking (a little bit) because it’s something I was hoping to learn how to do, as a way of growing. For other people, their focus is solely on Uganda, and they don’t want to be bogged down by menial tasks that will take them away from that. I hadn’t thought about it like that until then.

4. I was also struck by a realization when a PCV was reading to a group of us a small biography he had written for a Ugandan friend of his. He is attempting to have his friend accepted into a 3 week seminar that takes the Ugandan to America and has him visit congressman and entrepreneurs in the country. Amidst reading the nomination, you could tell that he was fighting back the tears of emotion. He was unbelievably proud of this man, and filled with such a respect for him. It’s the kind of feeling that at some level seems strange; when you have such a level of respect for a man, it is odd to think that your word could help him. It would seem more appropriate to be the other way around. Anyway, I found all of the Peace Corps Volunteers looking at the man reading with knowing eyes, with expressions that said “yeah, I know how you feel. There’s a friend that I’ve got at my site (home), too, that I feel the same way about.” It’s a cool feeling, and it’s good to know this country has those leaders in more places.

5. I’ve become extremely condescending and critical in my nature towards “shorties”, or short term volunteers, and it isn’t always fair. These people for the most part mean well, and the only way they are going to learn the effects of what 95% of the foreign aid that comes into this country actually DOES for this country is if they come and see it for themselves. Even still, they annoy me like crazy with their disrespecting clothing, pretentious diction when speaking to Ugandans, and general beliefs about coming here for 3 weeks in their summer to “fix” Uganda. Give me a break, kid. Oh, and just because you didn't actually SAY that, if you are thinking it in even a subconscious way that Uganda needs to be fixed, you are worse than I'm describing. Come with an open mind, prepare to take notes, and expect to have your mind blown. Or don't come.

6. I love my home. Being away from it for more than a couple of days really starts to bother me. It isn’t altogether a good thing; getting breaks away from site are important, to be able to look at what needs to be done in a more rounded, less tunnel-visioned light. Coming back home to Orelia (the parish chef’s 2.5 year old daughter) running up to me saying “welcome back” in the local language and hugging my knees…it doesn’t get much better than that.

Perspective

2011-07-10T05:12:00.000-07:00

When the sun rises, I go to work,

When the sun goes down, I take my rest,

I dig the well from which I drink

I farm the soil that yields my food.

I share creation. Kings can do no more.

In response to my own mind becoming more and more pessimistic, I’ve tried to tone down my efforts of bigger picture accomplishments, and focus more on the here and now. I try not to think about 15 months from now, or 6 months from now, or about next week’s goals. It’s not that those goals have gone, nor does it mean that I’m not conscious of them, but focusing too much on accomplishment and tally sheets is simply not feasible in this culture. It’s not what I’m here for; it can’t be. It can’t be simply because it is not what the community is wanting, not what they’re asking for. And if they don’t want it, it simply won’t be done. Period.

That is pretty disheartening at times. Forget disheartening, it downright pisses me off sometimes. There are things that I could teach these people that could really make a change in this country; I believe that with whole heartedness. Some of them even recognize it to be true, but their resolve remains unchanged; it is a dream that they simply don’t share. Development, I’ll say. People have different reactions. For the older, more wiser people in the community, they’ll remain silent. In their hearts, they’ll ask me why. Why develop? Why work harder on something, with the chance that it will succeed or fail, than remaining the status quo and be sure to survive? Their parents did it this way, their parents parents. When something good enough comes to change our world, it will be shipped to us (old versions) for free, and other people will call it charity. The kids here are a bit different. They all play the part of being interested in wanting to become “modern,” they say all the right words, talk about sustainability, development, and gender equality. In the end they are exactly like their parents, just ignorant of what they are saying and what it entails.

So what’s my play? Is it my job to be acting as a fundamental element of change for these people? Is it even possible for me to do that? I hate it, but I see their point. If I was born into their world, I would be a huge proponent of staying exactly the way I am. I’m laughed at 20 times a day because of my weird notions, because I don’t believe in witchcraft (which is APALLING to these people, even the catholic priests), because I’m harvesting water from my roof even though I have a tap, because I’m trying to dehydrate fruit even though I have money to buy things year-round, regardless the price. Laughed AT; this is something that I’ve become used to, and have developed thick skin for; it is even a source of pride for me these days. Thus for me, it doesn’t matter; I’m already an outsider, I have the freedom to do as I please because it’s what is already expected of me. I get a free pass. But for these kids, being the oddity is the equal to death. They are in the circle; the culture of monotony has engaged it’s talons into them. For these parents, being innovative means you’re desperate, dumb, and disrespectful of the way “things are always done.”

Bottom line, I am starting to believe that my role is to be the person that people laugh at. Laugh at me all day long. For every 100 people that come, speak pretentious insults about my ignorance under their breath in a language that they THINK I don’t understand, there are 30 that are inspired. 29 are inspired not because of the idea, but because I’m white, and what’s more, a white American. But that 1 comes to me with a demeanor that neither reveres me nor dismisses me, challenges me on the feasibility of my idea, gives credit at times and is critical at others, and walks away with something to think about, with something that maybe worth his time. And that’s the person I get the number of, that I be sure to go and meet his family, drink his tea, and offer insights about the difference of our cultures, countries, politics, etc. That’s the person I came here for. It’s also the person I came to learn from.

And so the days continue.

June?

2011-06-19T02:42:00.000-07:00

First of all, Happy Father's Day Papa! I could write novels and novels about how thankful I am for the way you raised me, for showing me the kind of person a man should be, and for guiding me in my progression into becoming one myself. I won't; but I could. Love you Papa.

June has been interesting. I have to look at my watch every day, and each time I do, I gaze with astonishment at the date which presents itself. The 19th? Already? It is pure craziness to think that 3 weeks from now my family will be traveling to celebrate my Grandmother's B-day and the 4th of July (in order of importance?). When I came to this blog, I realized that my last post was actually in May, which confuses me again. How is it possible, that first cricket game was 3 weeks ago? Time is playing tricks on me; events are all partitioned in my head as having occurred less than or equal to 24 hours prior. My day by day calendar continues to be filled, seemingly on its own, and at times is the only way I can actually prove to myself that I'm actually doing...anything...in this country. Time is thus at a standstill, yet moving faster than ever in my life. As if on one of those treadmills on the airport, where the slowest motion forward carries you past all those around you.

On paper, and on my sanity-keeping day by day calendar, this month has been a phenomenal success. I've received 1.2 million shillings from Appropriate Projects for the building of a latrine that is now nearly finished; I've received 2.7 million shillings from Heather Kloer's Class (Thank you St. Thomas More!!!!) for a borehole project that well commence in less than 24 hours; I've started and slowly reduced my responsibilities over the NPHC (Ngora Parish Harmack Company), who have set up an email, webpage, and sold over 40 hammocks to Ugandans, Volunteers, Embassy Workers, and Toursists of the country, not to mention learned valuable lessons about entrepreneurship, ICT, creativity, and problem solving skills. I've traveled around the country, played tennis in KLA (and won, of course; I'm Matt Boddie) and set up future matches. I've talked on a radio for 3 hours to a listening audience of over 100,000 people about healthy living and proper nutrition. Hell, after writing this paragraph, I am almost convinced that it's been nothing less than the best month yet in Uganda.

In a way, though, it's the beginning of a new chapter; I find myself facing more and more of a blank slate. These projects have been successful in-so-far as they've been the culmination of work since me stepping foot in Teso Sub-Region, Uganda. They have been successful in that I have kept my Peace Corps word of honor to encourage sustainability, to lead from the back of the room, and continually remove responsibility from my own hands onto others, who will learn from their experience and be able to carry it on long after I leave. I do believe in this, not just because the Peace Corps wants me to, and I'm incredibly proud of my boys and girls and men and women who have taken on the responsibilities of these roles. But, it also means, necessarily, that my responsibilities and positions are decreasing at the same slow but sure speed.

Only just now, writing this, do I realize that this doesn't have to be a bitter-sweet experience. I've been weighed down quite heavily by the stress of the two grants coming in, and it has been compounded by the expanding NPHC and all of the orders that have come in since it's inception (damn you, di caprio, you made me look up that word to make sure it actually meant "beginning"). It's just, well, it means another episode of trying ideas, giving up on others, hanging on to those that succeed, and finding the people in this country who actually want the help, not the handouts. It means re-entering myself into the unknown, after finding a place in relative comfort. It means being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Uganda.

I love this place.

2011-05-28T02:28:00.000-07:00

Here's why.

Through my continued service in Eastern Uganda, I am able to see the remnants of discrimination against Indian inhabitants of Uganda who were so openly berated in the times of the reign of Idi Amin. Over 2 decades later, and I still hear Ugandans talk about the local Indian shopkeepers in offensive ways, with bad looks, biased reviews, and generally derogatory comments about their appearance, and even their smell. As a result, but also supporting the continuation of such abuse, the local Indian residents have remained completely inactive in society, never going so far as to even try to learn the local language or travel outside for events or gatherings.

Being a foreigner, but also generally accepted and even revered in most parts of my community, I was in the odd position of natural intermediary between the two communities. The Indians liked seeing me, feeling that we shared a common bond of being a person in a distant land much different than their own, and felt more comfortable and more trusting in talking to. The Ugandan's like me because I'm white, because I dance in the streets, bring in revenue to their shops and teach them cool things about America.

One day I was talking to one Indian Shopkeeper in particular, who owns a hardware store in Ngora. We became acquainted randomly (is there any other way to become acquainted?) and instantly found a liking for one another. After a few months, there wasn't much I didn't feel comfortable talking to him about. In fact, I actually talked to him for relationship advice. One day I decided to ask him about his relationship with Ugandans, to which he responded with a sad, seemingly wounded smile of resignation. He doesn't know their language, doesn't like their attitude, and, if speaking frankly, he puts his hands up "I don't trust them." But he mentioned that he would very much like to become more acquainted with at least his immediate community, if for no other reason, to have more fun in this country while he's working. I can understand that completely.

The next day he came up to me and talked to me with great excitement. He said that he got to thinking about our conversation, and asked if I couldn't do him a favor. He took me to a nearby carpenter, who was in the midst of making some odd shaped, three foot wooden dowels. The Indian shopkeeper (I don't even know his name, I just realized) showed them to me as if he were Bob Barker, showing me a brand new car. I didn't get it. Frustrated, he screams at me, "Cricket! I want to play cricket!"

This wonderful man decided he wanted to integrate with his staff and the community at large through sharing his passion (it couldn't be described as anything less; talk to the man for 5 minutes, and you'd understand. Or just watch him bowl, once) of cricket. We started it last Sunday, after the equipment had been made to the shopkeeper's approval. We went to a nearby field, flanked by community onlookers wanting to come and see what the American and Indian were up to. We started playing. Ok, we'd play, and then stop and he'd explain why what I did was illegal, or ignoble, or just terrible in general. 15 minutes later, A man (Ugandan) came and announced that he knew the game, and wanted to bowl (to throw). Yeah, he knew it; I couldn't touch a single ball he threw. I left an hour and a half later, to a cheering crowd of people enjoying a game. I couldn't help laughing, throughout the entirety of it, just from looking at the look of pure joy from the shopkeeper. We all know how rewarding it can be to teach something that you have such a passion for to willing participants, and to see them also enjoy it. I daresay that now, so too does this shopkeeper.

We play everyday, barring bad weather, and sometimes even through it. Other Indians in the community are starting to perk up their ears, although it seems that right now the competition between the Indians themselves is preventing them to play together. I don't think this will last long; another man who owns a market always calls me over after each days event. "how's the arm?" he asks, knowing that I'm not using to throwing in such a way. (Think of fastpitch softball player, but reverse the spin of the arm, releasing at the top but with a straight arm. It's harder than you think.)

I love the fact that these people are able to do the things that I've come here trying to do. It gives me so much pride to live in this community, and it reinforces the fact that I want to ingrain in every American I talk to: These people can take care of themselves. They can fix their own problems. And hell yeah, I'll be there every chance I get to watch it happen.

Hoorah

2011-05-28T00:03:00.001-07:00

http://appropriateprojects.com/node/703

Day in Reflection

2011-05-06T12:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, 5th of May, 2011
By the Numbers

Number of hours the Bishop was late: 1.5
Number of hours the Jubilee was late: 2.5
Duration in hours of the Jubilee: 5
Number of couples married: 48
Number of people confirmed: 71
Attendance: ~2000
Number of white people: 2

The Ngora Parish is celebrating it's 100 year anniversary in quite a drawn out fashion. The event itself will take place on May 1st, 2012; it will be the third consecutive year that the event will have been celebrated. To the thousands of people who attended yesterday, it was, well, it was a chance to dress up and be apart of a crowd.

It's no secret to those close to me that I'm less than excited about having big events in the parish. Events means people, which means among other things people eating food, which means cooking in the stand-up shelter located directly adjacent to my house in large quantities, at absurd times of the day/night/time that should never be named because normal people SLEEP. This proximity of food preparation also means that old ladies will be eating off my veranda, spilling beans and posho all over my previously well sweeped concrete, and preventing my entrance/exit of my home without 10 or 11 Yogas & Biai Bos.

Lack of privacy is not a surprise here, but every time an event happens, it's like the microscope over top of me clicks from 5 to 100 multiplication. It's not all a bad thing; sometimes it's quite fun knowing when you say "yoga kere" you'll automatically get an overly enthusiastic "yoga noi!!!" from 200 people you don't know. It also, in some ways, makes it a bit easier on me and mental sanity with regard to showing respect to the community. Not dissimilar to school or dating, if you make the right impression on the moments you know they'll remember, on the key points on the right stage, they will look the other way at less public, conspicuous times. I bathe about twice a week these days for lack of water, and wash my clothes at best twice a month...but make no mistake that at 6:30am I walked out of my room in pressed gray slacks, an immaculate SOLID white button down (dangerous) and a "smartly" tied tie with a cleanly shaven smiling face to greet all the visitors seemingly camping on my front step.

The highlight of any event, especially with white skin which grants instant access to all the high status places, is the food that comes with. Chicken, pork, goat, irish potatoes, dirty rice w/ bull's meat, deep fried bananas, everything is there and slopped on a plate to be eaten. As long as you feel confident handling it with your hands, you can even go for the greens with peanut butter sauce. I was in such a brown-nosing mood yesterday that not only did I offer to say grace at said meal (Knowing that the Parish Priest would do it, but also knowing that in front of the Bishop he'd love that I offered, being HIS muzungu), but I even baked a cake for the occasion, from which both the cake and strawberry flavored pink icing were made from scratch, without even an oven. Opolot "betty crocker" Matthius. Nevermind that it took me two tries, or that my shoes were sporting red strawberry extract from a mishap which occurred that morning, while trying my hand at making icing.

Speaking in generalities, yesterday was like most of my days here in Uganda. I play the game when I have to, bend it to my own advantage when I can for later on, and try and remember the humor in things as much as I can. On a good day I find that in hindsight, probably without realizing it, I've shown something from my culture that I can be fairly proud of. By his own decree, for example, the Bishop of Soroti ate "from the kitchen of a man" for the first time in his life. The gender equality lesson might not have been entirely welcomed, but at worst, it was bitter-sweet.

I have received a lot of response, to my surprise, from my last post. I apologize if it was a bit too graphic in nature, to an extent. My matatu experience is pretty tame to other stories I could tell, especially ones that have happened to other volunteers even in my class. It is my goal through this blog that people get to experience a small bit of Uganda, as I am, but keep in mind that I'd never write anything to intentionally offend anyone.

(De) sensitization

2011-05-03T11:47:00.001-07:00

One of the great buzz words of the country of Uganda is sensitization. What is the first step of any project? Sensitizing the community at large, of course. How do we fix the HIV problem in the village? Let’s sensitize people about ways to prevent it! Just like How are you Muzungu, I’m Fine, and Byeeeee come standard with every Ugandan kid’s vocabulary, so too do community empowerment, gender equality, and sensitization for Ugandan adults.
Amongst all of my active sensitizing in my past 6 months at site, I hadn’t realized the equal and opposite action also being put on me. Children wearing rags and no shoes no longer shock me. I’m fully expectant that 85% of the cars I see in a week will have a cutely abbreviated NGO name printed on the door, with a “donated by” written just below it. I certainly don’t expect these vehicles, anymore, to stop and give me a lift. Many of the things I’ve been desensitized of are very similar to not having a tv. You don’t really miss it, and don’t really notice it until your situation changes.
The other day I was on a matatu towards Soroti (Ateso’s most well known town, approximately 45 minutes NW of Ngora). I picked up the taxi in Mukura, where I was shuffled in and followed by an elderly lady. Quite obviously, she was sick and disoriented, and it was only with a fireman’s carry-esque effort from me ad her daughter that she was even able to fit into the taxi to the driver’s satisfaction (think a highschool dance couple, but remove the room for the father, son, and holy spirit). About 20 minutes in, I realized that this jaja (grandmother) was a bit more seriously sick than I had at first realized. Some people don’t “look like” something, but rather take on a look of their own, or “have a look.” The difference is small enough to be interchangeable in normal talk, but in this case the dichotomy was shown quite clear to me and everyone else in the car. She had a look, completely transcendent of any language, sex, race, or age barrier (all of which were present to me) that said, with the clarity of sincerity, that this was more than a sickness. I found myself holding her hand, stubbornly resisting the bodily urge to revel in how great of a picture it would be. In fact the entire time on this trip, I was struggling against kitsch-like ideals of quality and oneness of the world. The jaja didn’t have this struggle, or at least her look didn’t mention it.
When the daughter saw my hand holder her mother (or grandmother), she started to well up. Proof of something bad can be verified when people who’d normally never give you the time of day decide to help you. More proof is that everyone is willing to help, probably because everyone knows there is not actually anything that one can do. I clasped an ice cold, wrinkled old hand that wasn’t concerned with the courtesy of grasping back, and instantly the daughter knew her mom was not coming back from Soroti.
We made the stops for people just like normal, despite my proclamation of a need to “get to the damned hospital, now.”
Quietly the matatu driver drove past our designated stop in Soroti and to the referral hospital. When we finally arrived, everyone but the jaja started moving. She still had the look, and that was as good as she could offer to us. We carried her out of the matatu without changing her seated position, where three other men easily carried her into the hospital. The taxi driver didn’t look back, wanted to continue, but the conductor (assistant who collects the money) was helping carry the elderly lady. I decided not to wait; I was close enough to where I wanted to be in Soroti, and sitting in the matatu in the hospital was the last place I felt like sitting.
5-10 minutes later, I was sitting under a mango tree, drinking yogurt from a bag and straw with 3 other PCV friends. Putting aside kitsch-manufactured feelings of shock or remorse, there really wasn’t anything that was bothering me. I even wished the driver of the matatu a nice day with my best friendly smile. Obviously I was upset, but mostly just because I wasn’t upset at all.
A couple of times in the drive the jaja nodded off. She didn’t lose the look. At these points I made sure I was holding her hand, finding it somehow important that if she did die en route to the hospital, at least I would be holding her hand. Once she was taken from my grip out fo the matatu, however, the burden slipped away immediately. Responsibility fulfilled-I was a good person and able to continue on in my day.
I’ve been trying to sensitize Uganda about solar dehydrators, hammocks, proper methods for hand washing, re-usable menstrual pads…and simultaneously Uganda has been desensitizing me of everyday life. Every Ugandan in that matatu knew exactly what was happening to the jaja, even the ones who made the taxi stop 200 meters in front of the hospital so that they could get out and continue on with their day without a long walk. For me, I wasn’t going to actively abandon the jaja, or pretend she wasn’t hurting, but I also wasn’t even considering willing to do anything grossly out of my comfort zone for her. Equal and opposite? Sorry Newton, but it feels a little lopsided.

Annoying

2011-04-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

We've been put to standfast, meaning that I can't leave site until after these demonstrations fizz out. The demonstrations seem to be getting more intense and wider spread each time they occur; currently they are being held every Monday and Thursday. As far as my safety, one need not worry. I live in a village's village, far away from all that crazy stuff.

Hammock making is causing me and everybody in the parish to act like chickens with our heads cut off. Life should return back to normal this week, and then I will be hosting daily sit-ins at the district to get this wahoo water engineer over to work on the well. I came up with many words before I settled with wahoo.

Power comes in 2 hour intervals, usually from 7-9 at night, then stays off until the next day. Sorry for all of those who are trying to reach me.

The fan has started spinning...

2011-04-14T09:26:00.000-07:00

But as of yet, the proverbial material to hit it hasn't quite reached. Not for lack of effort, though.

Readers Digest version is that Uganda's leaders (led by Besigye, the runner up in the elections for the past 15 years) have been struggling against the Ugandan Police to hold demonstrations surrounding the rising fuel prices in the country. The walk to work campaign produced arrests and tear gas on Monday, and today rubber bullets were also used, specifically on Besigye himself, who broke (but probably won't lose, apparently) his middle finger off of one. We will pray that this is the apex of the excitement, and that only falling action and resolutions will come from this. I'll keep everyone updated. As of yet, we are on Alert but not officially on Standfast, with regard to Peace Corps.

Lets Talk About Sex, Baby

2011-04-10T02:46:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I talked to a group of around 75 students of a nearby teachers' college about sex. We started off ominously enough, with me quoting a sex talk from Varsity Blues "Penis penis penis, Vagina vagina vagina." Although we didn't end up having anyone give alternative names for the male organ, I certainly was given some real doozey questions.

Most of these kids have already been taught a lot about sexual health, but they haven't really been able to ask anybody questions about it. In a land that is extremely conservative (I never see women wear anything besides skirts that go at least half way past the shin) and very non-pda (in 8 months I haven't seen a single heterosexual couple holding hands once in country), it's tough for these kids to get their answers. The questions, given that they are the ages of 20-23 and are living in a boarding style housing with their peers, are quite explicit, obviously incriminating of their current extra curricular activities.

After I gave them a couple of warm up exercises, I opened the floor to questioning. I spent about 30 minutes giving a small talk, and it then took a little over 2 hours to answer (most) of the questions given. The questions were extremely specific, and 90% of them I wouldn't feel comfortable posting them online. I will say that I dispelled many myths about apparent "safe days" of sex, about virgin women, and about the healing effects of coca-cola.

The coolest thing about this is that I would never have been able to give this talk had I been gently forced to do it by another volunteer in Rakai, Uganda. After completing it there, I realized how easy it was to do, and what an opportunity it was for the boys who came to talk and air out these issues. It also is a great bonding experience for me, and it was amazing to see what these kids would admit in front of their peers. One kid admitted, with serious worry, that his undersized penis wouldn't be able to satisfy women. Luckily, Jon Lesica had taught me a phrase that I said immediately: It's not the wand. It's the magician

Anyway, the talk was such a success (in pay-it-forward fashion, I gently forced another nearby volunteer to talk to the girls) that now I am going to combine the two classes this Saturday to have a talk about gender issues. Well, I think that's what it will be about. I'm basically going to talk about the differences most commonly found in gender roles of America/Uganda, and then I'm going to give both the girls and the boys a chance to ask 3 questions, no rules attached, to their peers of the opposite sex. I know it's only April, but I'm expecting fireworks.

Akim is Over

2011-04-08T05:39:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of posts. Internet has been unbelievably shotty ever since rainy season started. This, combined with the fact that I have to rely on the parish priest's desktop to get to the www makes my ability to communicate to the outside world quite difficult.

There has been an uproar of response sent my way from my last post, which I greatly appreciate. Most of the response has been positive, some negative, but the best were ones which challenged me to give examples of how to solve the problem that I have outlined. I have done some research and come up with a couple of different organizations who seem to be doing foreign aid in the correct way; through the goal of eradicating the need for the aid itself. www.Kiva.org, and www.appropriateprojects.com are two extremely good examples, and I will continue to post any other company's that I've seen doing good things around where I live.

As far as site goes: It's all happening! I am stuck trying to figure out what to write about exactly, because it's been so long since my last post substantive about happenings here in Ngora. We set up a weather station at my favorite primary school, continued communication to America with my 4th grade class, I've started teaching the teachers geography (they didn't like that the students were starting to know more than them, so now I'm backing off and teaching the teachers and letting them tell it to their kids), The tree seeds donated by trees4thefuture have been potted and the water well has been dug, fenced, and started to be used for construction (in the meantime, we are trying to appeal to the district for a borehole, checking the water, and trying to put in place a solid water committee to look after the well's maintenance). I am starting to build boomerangs out of scrap wood for kids here, in a continued effort on learning of geography (where is Australia? What is Australia?) and also a way for them to more easily hunt down the mangoes that are ripening on the trees. The biggest project right now is the Hammock business that has been started up; put your name on the list now, and you could be the first person state-side to own your very own, locally designed, high quality, unbreakable rip-stop hammock. All funds are going towards the continued education of the members of the group. More to come on this.

I was able to keep fairly updated on the NCAA tournament, although looking back I'm not sure why I made the effort. I heard that the final was possibly the ugliest national championship game in televised history, so it makes me feel a bit better that I wasn't able to see it. UNC made it further than Dook did, and lost only when they faced the best freshman money could buy...so I'll take that and look forward to next year's domination (granted that Barnes does in fact decide to stick around).

Thank you all for the packages that keep coming in. There was one in particular, which consisted of a pound of velveeta cheese, two thick crusted pizza crusts, tomato sauce...I could go on...which was not only beneficial to me, but to the entire parish.

Until next time,
Opolot

Dear Donators to Uganda,

2011-03-23T09:56:00.000-07:00

"Be sure you give the poor the aid they need the most. There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root, and it may be that he who bestows the largest amount of time and money on the needy is doing the most by his mode of life to produce that misery which he strives in vain to relieve." --Thoreau

I know that your intent is admirable, and in some extremely rare and isolated cases, I believe that your money actually produces the results that you have intended to bring about. Without question, there is a lot of good things that money can do for this country, if it is done correctly. The other 95% of the time, however, your contribution's most significant impact on this country, and from all accounts, this continent, is the creation of a begging culture. Receiving foreign aid is no longer a blessing, but an expectation; no longer an increase of livelihood, but a necessity for life. By trying with an honest effort to relieve the hardship of others, we have created permanent conditions of disparity.

If I have ever thought about quitting service with Peace Corps and ET'ing (Early Terminating), it is because I fear continuing the mentality that has been laid down, hardened, and paved into the streets of this country. Perhaps in vain, I spend an average of 1-2 hours each day turning around and approaching the child or group of children that greet me with a "you get for me also a soda/chips/bike/money." No, kid, you are NOT going to receive a shilling from me. You have not earned it.

I hide away from projects that I may have spurred when recognition is given, fearful that my community will attribute all progress in my 2 years to my presence within it. It wouldn't be at all true, and it would be a shame. Every project that I have been apart of in Uganda has had people in it that are motivated, are capable, and have DONE the grunt work, details, and the logistics. It is not fear that they recognize my true amount of impact in this community, but rather that they unfairly augment it, and scratch out the work of many to a conclusion of it being a result of a visiting Imusugun. When I do fear that I'm getting too involved in the process, and too many people in the community are calling it "my" project, I back off. I stop work altogether, and see who steps up and picks up my slack. Then I give him/her the credit they deserve, and give them my expectation of having them lead the rest of the way.

Please, for the good of the country of which you think you are trying to help, make sure your money is going towards ending the need for your donations. The idea of foreign aid should always be to lessen the need for foreign aid down the road; not to set up permanent shop, giving handouts to those who don't deserve it and begin feeling entitled to it. If your donation simply creates another step from which to fall from, or another broken borehole which nobody has taken ownership of, or reinforces to a kid to believe that only through others will he/she be able to succeed in life...please. Keep your money.

I would be happy to give advice, if you would like to donate money to Uganda, on ways to ensure that it goes towards the goals you would like to see completed. M.h.boddie@gmail.com

Paul Theroux, former Peace Corps Volunteer (he was kicked out, great story) and world traveler, wrote about his overland journey from Cairo to Capetown. He explains my feelings better and more thoroughly. Below is a quote from his book on this very adventure, called Dark Star Safari:

"The conceit among donors is that the poor or the sick or the hungry will take anything hey are given. But even the poor can be particular, and the sick have priorities, and the famine victim has a traditional diet. The Germans had built houses that did not resemble any others in Harar, did not allow for the safety of the animals, and had the wrong proportions. So they were rejected by the lepers, who chose to live more securely, with greater privacy, and--as they must have seen it-- more dignity in their mud huts by the road. The German buildings, more expensive and new by badly maintained, were the only real slum in Harar.
"

"Present, Absent, Escaped"

2011-03-10T07:45:00.001-08:00

When I first started thinking about applying for Peace Corps, the only thing I was sure about was that I absolutely 100% did not want to be a teacher. Having failed an uncountable number of times as a Math tutor in Middle/Highschool, I had a pretty solid belief that teaching in a different language with less supplies than normally would be allotted would be a TERRIBLE idea for any/all affiliated parties. I wanted to come in and build things. Make a difference.

Of course, now Peace Corps has infiltrated my thoughts, taken out the words efficiency, speed, tangible, and inserted words like co-facilitator, capacity building, winnable victories, patience, and sustainability. I used to think building a school, fence, well, latrine were the absolute pinnacles of success for a Peace Corps Volunteer, and more generally, of development towards a better community/country. Now after seeing so many once beautiful (I'm sure) schools in their current, delapidated and uninhabited state, I've come to abhor the very notion of what I might describe myself as; "an agent of virtue," trying to do good things and yet causing a whole country and I fear continent towards a mentality which could be described by an image I see everyday. It is of a small boy with an outstretched hand, syaing the only words he knows in English: "Give me money." He's probably been taught these words by his parents, who have been taught by experience that it's the best thing white people come to offer. I can't help but think about Hilton Head Island, where we were told to beware of the crocodiles (alligators?), because as a result of too many people feeding them, they had become trained to approach people.

Anyway, along with this new mentality has come an acceptance, if not gravitational pull towards helping out nearby schools. Ironically it is these kids who are proof of my importance in this country, because of their interest and yearning for information. You should have seen the look of the kids when I brought in a map of the world. It was probably one of the very few times in my time in Uganda that I was sure that noone was staring at me. (While writing this, I flashed back to some MTV Awards Ceremony, back when J-Lo wore that crazy green dress clasped with a single button, and David Duchoveny (sp) was walking beside her to give out an award). After 6 months of being J-lo, it was nice to be David for a couple minutes.

I am now connected to 3 teachers in the US, and am in continual contact (some more than others) with them through their paired classrooms.

Yesterday I passed out letters written from Georgia to the kids here in Uganda. To speed up the process, the kids emailed me on an E-pals account, which I printed out, cut up, and stuffed into handmade and labeled envelopes (Thank God for my Mom and Craft Days). You should have seen these kids! I've never seen 10 year olds move so quickly as when I called their name to inform them that "They've got mail". Most likely, for one of the only times of their lives.

One thing I found, and was interested in, was the number of kids that weren't actually there. The previous trips to school, I had always come in the morning; this time I came in the afternoon after lunch. What I found was that over 25% of the students were not present, and only a couple of so were actually decreed "absent." The rest were labeled (the class had learned to chant together every students status) as "escaped." these students have gone AWOL because they had to go home to eat, and it's not possible to eat and come back in time for afternoon classes. Yeah, Not in Kansas anymore.

Today, the kids had written letters back to their newest friends from America. Some were quite good, and I'm thankful that I saw only a couple traces of kids asking for money (which, not surprisingly, came from the letters where the vocabulary and grammar seemed much more like a parent than the student). Even so, it was awesome, and I'm psyched to let these 10 year old American's get to see a glimpse of Uganda.

Karate, Wrestling, and Bacon

2011-03-07T10:55:00.000-08:00

After a short medical trip, a successful meeting about an upcoming boys empowerment camp, and getting to help train some of the PC neophytes, I have returned home. There are few feelings that I know of than walking into a room where everybody immediately jumps up and hugs you after being gone for more than a couple days. So happy to be back home.

Taking it easy tonight; tomorrow I will be cooking with the parish priest for the ladies of the parish (international women's day!), which I'm super pumped about. I, of course, will be cooking grilled cheeses. I'm also going to be writing a LOT of letters to my newest American classroom, which has already been a lot of fun. One lady who wrote me gave me her likes, and it seemed to me to depict America so perfectly in only three words...thus the title of this post.

If anybody has any cool ideas to help get these kids in Uganda thinking creatively, holler. I am starting up egg drop competitions, paper airplane objectives, trebuchet building days, etc. etc. etc.

My number is now specifically +256757817300; the rest are more than likely going to be off from here on out. Just so you know.

ALMOST FORGOT. GO HEEEEELLSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
The moment that I got the final score (5 am my time) I went outside and jumped over an old lady with a fire going to cook breakfast. She wasn't impressed. I sang the fight song. She stared. I jumped over again. She left the fire completely, deciding to cut her losses and to let the looney have his day. It isn't exactly Franklin Street, but it felt like home.

The 4-G's Grilled Cheese

2011-03-01T10:54:00.000-08:00

I've had a fairly miserable couple of days. I busted up my toe while on the assembly line of brick making, which has sidelined me from my self-proclaimed "X-tremem February" where I've tried to be apart of, if not leading, evertying manly and physically strenous in Ngora. That same day my little piggy was attacked, I decided to go shirtless; two hours of equatorial sun against shoulders that haven't seen the daylight in 6 months...flawless victory for the sun. Pain for me. Things I should have packed: Solercaine, steel toed chacos.

With the combination of mandatory rest (as decreed from a yelling counterpart nurse, a raging suburned back, and a whiny swollen toe), no power for 7 days, and a library full of already read, quoted, and summarized books on my library...things were getting a bit desperate. After failing yet again to make a proper lom for the compltion of a new style hammock, and cursing back to my house after accidentally kicking a rock with my stupid toe, despair was being penciled in for the word of the day.

After a bit of sulking, even more pised in how under-whelming the short story "curious Case of Benjamin Button" is, I realized it was my time for the 5 o-clock snack. I go into my kitchen (stomping grumpily), and silently complain abotu another triple decker p-nut butter and honey sandwhich. I look around with no conviction of expectations of anything, but sitting beside the month old egg, I spot it. Cleverly coded in Hindu or some other Non-Amurr'kin tongue was a can portraying an image of CHEESE. I can't stress both how much cheese I eat in America and also how rare it is here. It's a LOT, and it's REALLY rare.

I guess I can.

Anyway, I open the can, using for the first time my Target can opener bought specifically for Africa (thanks "packing list"). I spill...I strenously knife out (same knife I've used every day for my PB & Honey sammies...yet to have been cleaned) all 4 thousand shillings worth of the 3-days-shy-of-a-year-old-cheese.

10 minutes later, literally humming "taps" because it was the first thing that came to mind and I'm impestuous, I placed down the charred to perfection grilled cheese on a never before used plate, gurgling with molten Egyptian or Chinese or Iranian Cheese brimming every edge of the Clearly unprepared bread slices designated as captors.

11 minutes later, I realized how happy I was. how glad I waited 7 months for my first grilled cheese, and proud to of found my newest defense mechanism against an otherwise crappy day.

And how good cheese is.

Darkness Falls

2011-03-01T09:59:00.000-08:00

...And stayed there for around a week.

After my computer charger got fried (again), the power was at least nice enough to ease the blow and cut itself off for a solid 7 days. Now the power is back, and I'm on the Parish Priest's computer (Thank you, Computers 4 Africa) for the time being. No big deal.

I have done a lot of writing. As a result of said loss of power, an annoying accident involving an oversized brick and my big toe, and another annoying accident involving the equatorial sun and shirtless shoulders has left me in the shade for the large portion of this week. I will organize and get them up here when I can.

For now, The Danny Green UNC jerzey has been adorned; it won't come off again until after the Dook game. Looking forward to some payback.

What have I gotten myself into?

2011-02-23T02:31:00.001-08:00

The date for the biking trip has been pushed back until Early May. Thinking about (if this is even allowed, which I'm not sure it will be) pushing my Peace Corps Close of Service date back 4 months so that I can bike with the boys from Uganda (Kenya, Ethiopia, Libya, Egypt and Tunisia then take a ship to Italy, Switzerland, Belgium France, Germany, Denmark) to Sweden. I am literally jumping around my room thinking about how awesome it would be...I'll do my best to keep you updated on how it all shakes out.

Guess I need to get in shape.

Quick Update

2011-02-20T03:11:00.000-08:00

Elections have gone extremely smooth with regard to its safety. Isolated incidences occurred, but as of yet, not at all big things. I will refuse to comment on the rest of the election status (fairness, bribery, personal choice for the next president, etc.), even with the cute little disclaimer on this blog, because of a myriad of reasons.

Leaving that Hornet’s nest, I have been having a blast at site the past couple of weeks. Things have opened up (literally, figuratively) quite nicely to me, and it’s making me look very good in the community without too much actual work. Firstly, thank God for my white skin; when I get dirty, it is SO much more obvious than when a Ugandan does. Thus, when a Ugandan is working beside of me in either the latrine or the tree nursery, it looks as though I’m working 20x as hard. This is hardly ever the case, and despite my attempting to tell the onlookers this…well, yeah. And, ok, I guess I don’t try too hard to set the record straight.

Heard about a well the other day, which had been closed for some silly reason like, oh, a kid fell in it and died. I heard they at least took her out of the well before they closed it, and after I heard it had been closed 12 years, I thought maybe I’d take a look. 47 blows of a chisel later (I counted. The moment this news came to me, I got so excited about this “right in front of their eyes, but needed Opolot to see it for them” story that I wanted to document everything. Not sure why I’m admitting my vanity to the www) I was looking down into a giant-ass hole. There is no standing water…but after meeting with the wat/san minister on Tuesday, I’m gonna see what that bad boy has got lurking underneath its loose soil at the bottom. I’m selfishly excited; this would mean walking 200 feet instead of 2 kilometers to get my water.

Kicking myself, terribly. There is a Scout group going to Sweden and back, via bike, and planting trees throughout their path. The leader is a straight baller, and he’s awesome. I had heard about this trip, but in honesty I kind of thought it was a joke, and dismissed it. After I met this man (his company has donated all the seeds from which we are using to plant our tree nursery), he brought it up. He’s leaving next week. Getting my visas in order would be ok, but I simply can’t bike across the country without giving my Country Director time to approve or disapprove. A trip of a lifetime has thus slipped through my fingertips. I have promised myself to be more proactive on the next one that presents itself.

Which reminds me. Dubai. Tennis Championships. February 2012. Who wants in?

“Sucks to your Kindle”

2011-02-14T07:02:00.000-08:00

It seems that everybody in the freeking world is doing their reading on kindle, or the facsimile thereof created by other, less creative and more piggy-back intended companies. Perhaps this is the result of my lack of knowledge of world statistics, and that my fallacy of composition deals with only volunteers in Uganda, who read a book a week. Be this as it may, I would like to stand up and be recognized as one of the last proponents of a real live, non-animated, cut-giving paperback book.

Yes, I do have to turn the pages MYSELF. When I’m laying down on one side of the bed, with one elbow holding up my head, the other holding the pages open, it is really annoying to switch each page. Sure, When one side of my body gets tired, and I have to switch, I have NO doubts that the lack of light I am receiving to read (because the lamp is on the opposite side, which I am now obstructing with my own body now that I have turned over) will totally ruin my eyesight for later years. I am really sure that it is true; you probably DO read books faster on a kindle, as a result. Yes, how NICE it is to get all of the really old, classic books for free. What an amazing opportunity this Kindle thing really is! How could one live without it?

I like turning the pages. I like feeling the rough texture against my fingers, and I like having to balance the book on its spine, careful not to pull the pages too far apart and leave a permanent bowlegged nature in the first quarter of the book, which you’ll be forced to inadvertently turn to EVERY time you accidentally let the book slip into closing without properly fitting in the bookmark. I like choosing if I respect the book enough to actually keep up with a bookmark for it, or if I decide to give it the equivalent of the scarlet letter of a book; the doggy ear, placed every 10 pages of length that I can manage before it makes me choose sleep over its words. (Because this, of course, is much different than the bowlegged disability, which no self respecting reader can leave; the ear mark is a declaration of respect, a conscious act of superiority over a less than worthy book. The bowlegged is only noticed after the fact, and is never a conscious act; the vast number of ways it can occur can be proof of either interest or boredom in the book, thereby disqualifying it as a kind of act of ranking or approval.)

I like the character of the book that is formed during my involvement with it. When I’m drinking something from my large-mouth nalgene, and it drips, it stains. The pages get swollen. When I throw it in my pack and take it with me, it gets bent, becomes more malleable. Even though I have never figured out how, the cover gets scratched, marred, individualized. These stays, folds and creases are the exact imperfections that make it my own. Like your favorite recipe, it suddenly makes it stronger. It is these miniscule imperfections that makes it perfect for another. For you. And it is those same imperfections that give you a chance to judge the beholder of the book before you. Whether it is snickering at the words in the margins (they CLEARLY did not get what the author was saying), or pure anger at an earmarking (how could they do this to a GOOD book?!), it is absolutely part of the experience.

I even like losing my place, and having to find it back again by reading before pages (“right, this is where that guy did that IDIOT thing”) and ones after (“Crap! I totally just ruined it! I wonder if that means she already left him?). I like finding the spot, the page where I look and instantly I can tell it is where I left off; it’s like I have just reached home after a long days work, and the dog has started his obligatory bark with wagged tail following close behind.

More than anything, I like putting in the bookmark (for this is a book that I am truly enjoying, that I am currently describing), closing the book, and reveling at the forward progress made for the day. Sure, you may have just completely wasted what would have been a beautiful day outside saving the world, but, geez, you covered some ground in Monte Cristo!! You sleep well as a result of it, confident that tomorrow’s adventure will be an even greater step towards completion, and the subsequent beginning of another, even thicker and ever more daunting novel.

Never will I be reading a book and have it tell me “low battery.” Never will I push a button to turn a page, unless it is some kind of Jeffersonian invention, copied from the actresses of the movie “Real Genius,” that has been given to me as a present from one of my creative and superbly proud sons. Never will I put my book into my bookbag, and think, “wait, did I do that gently enough?”. “Should I have put the cover on it first?”. “Did I turn my book off?”.

The book I’m reading has it’s own weight, own font size and type, and its own characteristics. It’s that book which I will finish. If it sucked...then I'll discard it like an odd-shaped child in Ancient Greece. If it was worth anything,I'll pass it on to the next (ever dwindling) person willing to accept it, hopeful that he will notice its character, inadvertently add some of his/her own, and let the book continue on its path towards universal entertainment, enlightenment, horror, or whatever it intends to bring its reader. If you want it next, let me know.

But I won’t be able to send it to you over email.

As per request, and as it pertains to the subject, here is the list of books that I’ve read, in order of my enjoyment:
1) Poisonwood Bible (fiction, set in Congo during revolution)
2) Shantaram(guy escapes from prison…sets up a free medical clinic while a drug runner and on the run from another country)
3) Unbearable Lightness of Being (If you enjoy thinking, too much, about relationships, pick it up)
3) Papillon (facsimile of Shantaram, minus romanticism, plus more ridiculous badass stories)
5) Brave New World (Stepford Wives + The giver…kind of)
6) Les Miserables
6) The Illiad
8) Invictus
9) Naked (funny short stories, good bathroom book)
10) Catcher in the Rye
Excited about reading these, on deck for the next month (in no order):
1) Dark Star Safari
2) Lolita
3) Curious Case of Benjamin Button
4) Extremely loud and incredibly close

Next week

2011-02-11T08:31:00.000-08:00

I've (as have the rest of the PCV's in Uganda) been officially put on house arrest, until the craziness of elections have subsided. I've made next week extremely busy as a result; it's not that I dislike being at site, or that I haven't made good friends here. But sometimes when your parents lock you in your room, the first thing you want to do is figure out a way to get out.

Thus, I've created a big list of things to keep me occupied.
1)Complete hole for the latrine (we are over 7 feet done! 3 more to go!)
2)Move the dirt over to the foundation for the new Maternity Ward we are constructing
3)Set up hammock poles next to the house (I plan on sleeping out under the stars every night that it is clear, starting tomorrow)
4)Dig hole for my plastic waste; putting it in boxes in my office doesn't make it disappear, apparently.
5)Buy glass sections for a big fancy solar dehydrator from which to use as example at the health center
6)Start the process of connecting these Ugandan children to American classrooms; this is already underway for a couple of my classes!!
7)Start 4-school wide competition for the best artistic expression of proper nutrition, to be rewarded by given paint materials and supplies to paint poster for the health center to post
8)Put up a big ass pole in the middle of the Primary School, and attach signs with mileage postings and directions to Johannesburg, Tokyo, Sydney, Rio De Janeiro, and of course Chapel Hill.

Oh, and if all else fails...I just started The Count of Monte Cristo.

Thanks for all the emails and messages through facebook; keep them coming through my lockdown at site!

happy v-day weekend,
Matt

Don't Steal in Uganda. Check.

2011-02-08T02:28:00.000-08:00

In order to keep my mental health strong, I thought it was pertinent to get out of site before we get put on Standfast for the remainder of the month of February.

(Standfast is an Emergency precaution; in times of trouble in the country, for whatever reason, we can be put on Standfast by Peace Corps. Basically this means that wherever we are in the country, we have to stay exactly there and sit tight until we get more instructions. It is designed to make it easier for the next progression of the emergency program—consolidation of a volunteers into central locations. )

Because of the elections, happening on the 18th, we’ve been given notice to expect to be on standfast from the 11th to the 25th, at least. Therefore, for now, I’m stocking up on my book to-read list and using my last chances of the month to speak American English to fellow PCV’s in the area.

Got super super lucky yesterday, and was able to watch the superbowl (without commercials. Whomp whomp) in its entirety. The game was actually good enough to make up for the monstrosity that was the halftime show, which is saying a lot. (No, it wasn’t good. Nope, not arty either. I was pretty embarrassed that people, like those in Uganda watching the game with us, believe that’s the best music we can come up with.) Anyway, it was extremely odd to be watching the superbowl, then to walk outside and realize that you were in Uganda. Like that feeling of being in a movie theatre, and realizing it’s still light out.

As if the country wasn’t sure I was appreciating exactly where I was, and more specifically the differences between here and the USA, it decided to remind me at halftime. While walking with a friend, we saw a man get dragged across the street (away from the police station) into a small alley. The man had apparently stolen something, but that’s all the information we got. The crowd was convinced with whatever kind of intel they had, however; convinced enough to start beating him with everything in sight. Fists rained down, on him, as the perpetrator/victim raised his hands in a general acceptance, knowing that if he were to resist, it would only get worse. Even a leg-less man was in on the action, beating the man repeatedly with a sugar can with all his strength.

Eventually, the man was unable to stand, and the mob continued to beat him as he fell to his hands and knees. It became, very quickly (this entire story takes place in about 3 minutes time) too much for me to watch, as I was losing confidence that the mob was actually going to let him go alive. I heard later that he was able to escape, and ran to the police station where he was finally arrested. Ridiculous.
Going to be in Jinja tomorrow quickly to meet with a fellow PCV in hopes of getting her PEPFAR funded organization to come and teach my district about HIV counseling services, and what exactly proper counseling entails. In a country where every town talks like a small town, and nothing is private…it is much needed.

PUMPED about Wednesday. Take those dookies down, Tarheels!!!

“yeh you know nuff’ people say they can’t believe…

2011-02-04T01:23:00.000-08:00

Jamaica we have a bobsled team. “

Obviously being the first white person that many of these people have seen, people are going to look at me in disbelief for all two years of my service. I’ve gotten used to this idea. Even though they may have never seen an Imusugun before, though, that doesn’t mean they don’t have a preconceived notion about us. I realized this as I was walking past them one day, with my backwards cap, sunglasses, shorts and a t-shirt on. They didn’t mind this so much as they did what I was holding: a Ugandan hoe, and a pickaxe. I quietly walked past everyone at the health center, to the back of the compound where we had decided to build a new pit latrine (the old one is filling up). The white man, with work tools in his hand? Their skin is so weak! They don’t use tools, where is his machine to do the work for him?

Instead of paying an exorbitant 325 thousand shillings to have someone else dig a hole, I decided I would see what happens if I started digging it myself. I knew that people of Uganda consider it in their culture to dig, especially women. I knew this related to gardening and subsistence farming, but I wondered if people would join in the help with the hole as well. Within 30 minutes, and having my pick axe taken out of my hands in the nicest way possible, I had my answer. 2 hours later, when a sister of the convent, and the In-charge of the health center, came in her rain boots and brown dress to start her work, I knew I had found a backbone of pride for Ugandans.

It’s been two days, and already we’ve completed about 20% of the hole. The entire staff has helped, walkers-by have pitched in a few blows, and even some school children have aided. Nice to see the community say thank you, in the only way they can, for the health center that is working so hard for them. Also nice to see that I won’t be digging the pit by myself; I’d have to rent a bulldozer.

PDA

2011-02-03T07:58:00.000-08:00

Uganda is quite interesting with respect to it's views of sexuality and male friendship.

It is fairly well known that Uganda is quite strict on their lack of understanding for LGBT rights. When I came there was even a section in the newspaper that outed homosexuals in the community, in a way condemning them to possibly fatal mob violence from their neighbors. When I speak to people about it here, they brush off the issue without too much trouble. "We don't have gays here," they say. In fact, its one of the few faults that they find with America. "It's a great country," they'll say, "but at least here we don't have that gay problem."

Not getting into my responses to these comments, there is an ironic presence of affection shown by males to other males in this country. The guys that know each other and greet, and want to show respect, will touch their foreheads together, and hold in an embrace for a good 10 seconds. There are probably only a handful of days out of my some 160 here that I have NOT seen two men holding hands, with inter clasped fingers, walking around town. I have come to think that it is a good judge of how well I'm integrating into my community; the more adults that shake my hand and then hold on to it as we talk and walk around, the better I'm getting at becoming accepted. Today was a good day. I snagged 3 prolonged handshakes, and a hug-turned hand hold for about 35 meters. I even started sweating, and he didn't let go. That's true friendship.

I guess it is just a little odd to me that the country where they consider homosexuality to be an abomination is the same country where I've had to expand my comfort zone with male contact. Like it or not, Uganda, you've made me more comfortable about touching guys than in America. And we've got a gay problem, for god's sake.

Keeping it in the family

2011-01-30T05:25:00.000-08:00

I have struggled a lot with trying to feel like I deserve all of the things that I've been given here at site. They have put me up in the equivalent of a baller house in Uganda, and have continued to offer me meals every day, even if they know that I'm planning on cooking my own. They have been as nice as any group I've ever met. With that, I really want to give them something so that they feel like it was worth it, in the end. It took a friend of mine within PCV visiting to remind me that, sometimes, it's the things that you would never consider important that are exactly the things that they are hoping to get from you.

With that said, there are a few things that I shared with my surrogate family that I thought they may enjoy, because if nothing else they were most definitely hits in my family reunions. These two things went especially well:

1) Spoons
In 3 months, I have literally never seen the parish priest laugh harder than when we were playing this game. The coolest part though was that the chef, the parish priest, the youngest son of 12, and I were all sitting at the same table. In Uganda, that rarely EVER happens, for anything. Indirectly teaching them a silly American game, I also saw my first true signs of equality at home. Pretty cool.

There is also one kid who always, always cheated. I named him Stephen.

2) Sound of Music
I took this to the convent, after purposefully buying the illegal copy in Kampala while I was in In Service Training. For the first time ever, I saw Ugandan's get up and leave the room when they had a phone call, and even tell people to be quiet at certain parts of the movie. Unbelievable. The nuns gave it to the parish priest, who last night stayed up with 5 or 6 others until 2am watching it. How cool is that!

So, thanks family. It seems some of our traditions are powerful enough to transcend cultures, language barriers, and the Atlantic Ocean.

Days at Site

2011-01-30T05:02:00.001-08:00

The days at site, like usual, are speeding by at a pace I've still not gotten used to.

Biggest challenge I've found currently is the lack of H20 at my house. The water source that I had just began to take for advantage (the running tap that fills into a tank above my hallway) has given out completely to the dry season. Thus I am now forced to hall my 20 liter jerrycans to fill them at the nearest bore hole. The walk DOWN to the bore hole isn't a big deal, and it's only a little over a kilometer away...but when you're carrying 20 liters of water in each hand back UP to your house, It is a little annoying. My technique of carrying the jugs actually reminded me of a man I met on the Appalachian Trail, named Rewind.

He had two duffel bags, and he'd hike 50 yards with one bag, set it down...then go back, take the other duffel bag, and walk 50 yards to bring it equal to its counterpart. He then repeated. And repeated.

I was able to carry both jugs at once, thankfully, but my pick up and (30 seconds later) set down method was pretty frustrating. Add on the 30 plus kids that I (so slowly) passed by with this process, and it was also pretty embarrassing. Stupid muzungu, you got too much water!! So greedy, muzungu!! Caning is a terrible thing, and I really hope I don't have to see kids getting punished in such a fashion at my nearby schools...but at the time it seemed like a pretty fun idea. Just saying.

The worst part about the water though is that the only real access I have as far as #2's is through my toilet. The toilet was at first a welcome surprise, but has turned itself quickly into a water guzzling handicap. After taking 35 minutes bringing back 40 liters, I could have cried pouring in 8 liters for one flush of the toilet. I didn't though. Couldn't waste the water.

Anyway, besides that, everything is going well. The health center is now something I look forward to traveling to, as opposed to the dread with which it used to fill my days with. I have found some small ways to make myself useful, even if right now that means, most days, diagnosing malaria and typhoid on a high school microscope.

This coming week should be a good one, with scheduled appointments with people from local start-up groups, to the local government officials, to even a meeting with the inspector general of the police of Uganda. Pretty cool.

Thank you to Ann and Mama Boddie for the packages!! Ann, i promise that I didn't eat all of the goodies at one time! In fact It took me nearly the whole day to eat them. Haha.

Also got an awesome package from the parentals with some good "don't make them like they used to" books, one of which is the perfect eclectic collection of DIY projects.

Thanks guys, I really appreciate the love!

And I'm Freeeeeeeeee.....

2011-01-28T08:00:00.000-08:00

The month of January has come and gone, though not entirely in Vain. Ive done some pretty cool things, and I've done some pretty stupid things, and most coincide with both of those characteristics.

My last weekend was certainly one of note. After In Service Training (which is the final step towards Peace Corps giving me and the rest of my group free-king of-reign to go out and do the projects we want to do) 36 out of the 45 of us decided to celebrate our new found (relative) freedom by conquering the Nile. Let me describe said conquering action well, so that you all can be terribly jealous of me.

As we arrived at Nile River Explorers, I knew that I was going to be in for quite a night. Because I had done the coordinating of the trip for the weekend, I was fully aware of all of the bad and good planning that had been accomplished. The stupidest of all of these plans made by yours truly was to set up the "Sunset Cruise" of the Nile the night Before the rafting.

The name sunset cruise was seen through immediately by my group, and referred to it always as the "Booze Cruise"; basically it was a double deck pontoon boat that powered us around for two hours while supplying unlimited drinks and food. Giving this opportunity to people who have chosen to live off of less than $300 a month for the next 2 years is dangerous; free refills are never overlooked. Combine this with the fact that the bartenders at NRE spoke Ateso (my local language in the east), and committed to giving me free shots BEFORE the booze cruise...yeah. It was an interesting night. Fade out...

Fade in. It's 8:33, says my watch...but wait, don't the buses going rafting leave at 8:30? Yeah. They do. Before I can realize what's happening, I'm walking out of my room in the clothes that I wore all day yesterday, and throughout the booze cruise and the subsequently fuzzy events afterwards, outside. Immediately I notice a bunch of very familiar white people leaving on a bus, all of whom are wearing bathing suits and general athletic attire. Ah. This is my group. I cut my losses, run towards the bus with Cole Haan penny loafers, J-Crew Khakis, and a Brooks Brother long sleeve Button down. If that isn't Rafting gear, I simply don't know what is. My group thought the whole thing was hillarious, of course. As was deserved, I got questions of my well being from almost everyone in the group, even though there was NO question how I was feeling, and that "well being" would not be my first words of description for myself.

Throughout what must have been the bumpiest and most terrible 30 minute ride of my life, I am just hoping that I'm able to regurgitate the liquid substances that I consumed the night prior, so that I may be able to actually enjoy what should be one of the coolest experiences of my life. It doesn't happen, and we arrive at the site where the company is going to serve us breakfast. I arrive at the front desk, and luckily they know my name, and because I have coordinated the trip and brough this company around 40 muzungus worth of business, they allow me to borrow some board shorts. I skip breakfast, and instead find a comfortable spot of compacted dirt just beside the building to lay down in.

By now everybody has seen my terrible state, and questions are arising as to whether I'm even going to be able to ride on the Nile at all, much less face the 4 class V rapids which will be facing us in the 6 hour rafting trip we'd all signed up for. Pride is luckily strong enough of a personality trait inside of me that I recognize my group's doubts, and counter them by jumping up (thereby nearly inducing a vomit all over the helmets laid out for our use) and asking the head rafting guide who the "craziest, stupidest, most fucking crazy rafting guide that is going on our trip is." She laughs, and points over to Nathan. Nathan and I exchange handshakes, and he sees how I feel, hears what I'm asking, and instantly we understand each other perfectly. Hangover or no hangover, this is going to be one hell of a trip. And hell yeah, I'm sitting in the front of the raft.

6 hours later, Me and the rest of my raft (consisting of Alexi, Aregnaz, Kate, Lisa, and Bryce) have flipped 5 times, and completed what was absolutely one of the coolest things I've ever done. It wouldn't have been the same without my group there, encouraging me and (perhaps mockingly) pushing me along the entire way. I am SOooooo happy that we got nearly the entire group to go; there is NO WAY it would have been the same, or half as much fun, without all of you there.

That night, I fall asleep at 9. I wake up at 6 the next morning, and within three hours I'm signing up to do another dream; bungee jumping. Over the nile, from 145 feet up? Ughhhh, ok. I take a tequilla shot (my only taste of tequilla since being in country) with Alexi and Chelsea, and then those two, Rebecca and I each take our solo plunge into the Nile. It was terrifying. I wish I could do it 40 more times. Alexi and I have promised to continue this rush on the next big trip, to Victoria falls. The bungee is almost 3 times as far a drop from there. Yikes.

After the Bungee, I went into Kampala and did some relaxing (kind of), then headed on home after a frustrating day of mock-consolidation tests. It was an amazing weekend.

Moral of the story: Don't feel bad for me, the lonely peace corps volunteer in the middle of nowhere in Sub-Saharan Africa. There is plenty of American'ed style fun here too.

"Here's to you, Ms. Wilkinson...

2010-12-29T04:48:00.000-08:00

...Jesus loves you more than you may know."

Well, Hell, at the very least I know that I sure appreciate you. For all of those who are not aware, Amy was the nearest Peace Corps neighbor to me in Ngora. When I had first arrived, bright eyed and bushy tailed, she had already been here for 2 years time. She had already learned the language, the location, and the people to a level that I can only help will achieve in two years; so needless to say that after a week at site, I considered her a Golden Goddess.

Giving me small tips and advice on the best shop, worst roads, best shortcuts would have made her one of the more vital contacts that I could have. But because of her (albeit bittersweet) closure approaching in Uganda, as she’d already served in Peace Corps for its 2 year duration, and also because of how close in proximity she was to me…well…I got most all of her stuff.

Big deal, right? We are given money for moving-in, and as Peace Corps Volunteers we make well over the national average salary, so who cares? It’s not the money aspect though. It’s traveling 45 uncomfortable minutes to actually get to a place where most of these things that she gave me can be bought, and then another 30 going around store to store to figure out what the Actual price is, not the price because you’ve come in with white skin and what’s sure to be, as a result, a fat wallet. It’s then finding a way to get it home, without it being mishandled while being thrown on the roof or stolen from the trunk at a stop. It’s then getting back home to figure out the damned thing doesn’t work at all, and that you didn’t get a receipt (which wouldn’t matter anyway, because they sure as hell won’t give you a refund. It’s the ONE instance in which a Ugandan will absolutely Not remember you from your last visit). It’s stress, and it’s time, and it’s usually the first step in a day that usually ends in locking yourself in your home for 3 hours to punch walls and…well…write blogs about how happy you are!

Bottom line, it’s invaluable. Whether it’s scented candles, hand saws, A FAN, steel nails that don’t downward dog on the first hit, custom made, previously unknown to Ugandans Futon, gas stove with tank and tube, two much needed jerrycans to hold water when the water stops being running water…you get the idea. It’s awesome. It’s one hell of a Christmas gift, I’ll tell you that.

So, Amy, I appreciate it. You will be missed.

Side note, completely unrelated in anyway:

Hey, Fam--Have any ideas on sending my 138 mb video to you? Cause I have been shut down by every sending device I know. I have turned it into a 43 mb version, but this has also failed to be allowed to send through anything I could think of. Ideas?

Christmas

2010-12-29T04:44:00.001-08:00

Obviously, this Christmas was a lot different for me than any other Christmas I’ve had. In fact, it was a lot different for my whole family; my brother was with his fiancée and her parents’ house, I was in Uganda, and my parents were in Mississippi. All new locations with all different kinds of people attending. Craziness.

I think at first the idea of Christmas got me a little sad. Obviously it’s the quintessential time to be with the family, and it would be the first time I wouldn’t get that “Christmas morning” that we Americans all know so well. The fact that I wasn’t going to be waking up my parents by banging on their wall with my brother at the crack of dawn, well it kind of got to me. It also didn’t help that everybody I knew was saying how much it must suck that I wasn’t “home for the holidays”. I also wasn’t going to be giving presents, and had no expectations to receive any, besides maybe a beer or two from the parish priest. Not getting to wrap presents, a good Boddie tradition, was probably the biggest hit that I took out of all of it.

But I started thinking; there is a whole hell of a lot that I’ve been given this Christmas. Considering that in August I was Bartending/Managing in Chapel Hill while living in the basement floor of a (lovely) 70 year-old ladies house, and now I’m on the Board of Trustees for a Health Center in Ngora, Uganda as a Peace Corps Volunteer…I think there are a lot of things that I have to be thankful for. Looking at my life on paper, PC obviously took a risk on spending all the time, energy, and money on me that they have. Moreso, the Catholic Parish where I’m living has given me a house, running water (even though it runs all over my house), and electricity (on a good day) in a land where all three are designated only for the extremely wealthy. They have done this on THEIR OWN dime, without the help of PC, strictly to allow me to kind of run free in hopes that I will be making changes that will account and exceed these costs. I’ve been given 170 peers from America that would, at the drop of a hat, come to my home if I ever had something where they could help me with. Also, from one of those 170 people, I’ve been given pretty much every single thing a guy could need for moving into a house (more on her later.)

Anyway, bottom line: Don’t feel bad for me. I’m making out like a bandit. Ok, attending 4 masses from 7:30-2 isn’t exactly my normal Christmas, but hey. I drank beer, I taught my people how to shag (dance) and the waltz (thank you, Ballroom Dancing class), and I had fun. It was a great Christmas, despite my doubts beforehand.

To come: New Years! I think I’ll be staying close to home, despite earlier plans to head down to the South West part of the country with a bunch of other PCVs. Bushonyi sounds awesome, but having to go through Kampala when Al Shabaab has been doing all their antics isn’t really worth it to me. Besides, if what we are doing at midnight is what we’ll be doing for the rest of the year, I’d rather be in Ngora with my arranged family. And that’s an awesome feeling.

The Line of Control (Sequel to “Fog of War”)

2010-12-27T08:34:00.000-08:00

A team of specialists have eradicated the water problem…for now. I will defer the scoring of a point to myself…because I kind of just sat around and watched. It’s nice to have friends that (kind of) know what they are doing, or at least are willing to try things out and see, cause hey, it’s not their house they are possibly about to screw up!
The cow killer escaped unharmed. Don’t you hate it when the strikingly big animals or their class are also just as if not faster than their smaller cousins? I refuse to accept that as logical, and will continue to underestimate animals for this exact reason. I will also refuse to give said cow killer a point, because after all it WAS he who retreated, not me. He knows where to find me.
The other Battle that has emerged (just minutes after the blog post) was that against the cow killer’s smaller versioned, but much more plentiful, infantrymen. Perhaps the cow killer is acting as general in command of his infantrymen, the sugar ants. These little bastards are everywhere, and they are super fast. I found most of their major barracks, however, and caused the sky to rain in their plummet (they are mostly in the cracks of the wall and wood that is in the rafters. It literally sounded like a light rain storm inside the house with all of them falling, after I’d completed my genocide with chemical warfare). The battle has reduced now to smaller skirmishes, whenever they build up the courage to attack a stray egg piece or if I leave the bread too close to the shelves, which I’m content to allow, for now. They, at least, have seemed to learn who the master is.

Side note: I am trying to save Internet Data (I get charged for every MB that I use, both in uploaded and downloaded material), so I am writing these off the internet and then posting them quickly. Thus there might be a cluster effect on my blogs from now on. Sorry.

Also, guess what book I've just finished? Haha, yep, Tom Clancy's Line of Control. Hope this counts as my citation to the title.

Fog of War

2010-12-20T20:59:00.000-08:00

Water is a big deal in Africa. Water isn't taken for granted, because for the large majority of people, they have to travel more than a kilometer to get any. When they do, it's clear at best, murky puddle water at worst. Clear doesn't mean that it is clean, yet some people consider that good enough.

Needless to say, I felt/feel pretty lucky from having a running water source inside my house. The water tank is suspended precariously over my walls, held up by 2 2x8 boards that I question the strength of everyday. Last night I decided to take a shower. I stripped off my linen pants and button down (standard wear), put on my sandals and turned on the knob controlling the shower. 1 part water, 2 parts ants, and 2.5 parts mosquitoes come pouring out of said showerhead, directly into my hair and on my face. Sweet life.

The water must have sensed my displeasure and ungrateful attitude towards it, because now it has refused to come out at all. Such a pretty sink, toilet, shower, and water spout have been rendered useless by the maniacal acts of the apparatus that threatens to squish me every time I walk underneath it. This feels like a war that I can't win; it certainly has the higher ground, and for now the score remains 0(me)-2(water tank).

---Holy hell. Just spotted a cow killer ant on my desk. The water war has been tabled; It seems that more pressing enemies have surfaced. I will keep you informed.

Kampala Rant, and Awesome News From Home

2010-12-20T04:45:00.000-08:00

After dealing with the Kampala style life for a couple of days, there was no better feeling than getting back to site. Correction; getting back home.

Kampala is awesome for the services it provides, and the mass amounts of material which you can get from there. There is enough muzungu traffic in Uganda's capital to ensure that, if you have the money, you can get pretty much anything you'd like. I ate pizza, had a soft-serve strawberry ice cream, enjoyed a hot shower, and even bought some over-priced mueslix for when I got home, to mix with my yogurt. I certain lady back home introduced me to mueslix, and I guess when I saw it I couldn't resist.

The problem with all of these material items and services that are found in Kampala, you realize, can be found in the reason why they are there in the first place: the people. The crowds that amass in seemingly every nook and corner of the city take its toll on the sanity of anyone not accustomed to it. Every amazingly serene, welcoming, and genuine people that can be found almost everywhere in the village have been replaced with 50 people hardened by the quick and dirty city lifestyle. Smiling seems to be a weakness as opposed to comfort; peoples arms are grabbed, not held.

So whatever. I love the fact that Kampala is and will always be there; I'm just glad I get to deal with it on my own terms. I really hope people don't come to Uganda, hang out in Kampala for a few days, and say they saw the country. Sorry. That's not Uganda.

For now, I'm loving the small luxuries I have afforded to give myself. I recognize them as dangerous; a computer playing Ben Harper into a reverberating (no ceilings + tin roof=automatic surround sound, from bathroom to bedroom to office to kitchen) house that is all my own, reading the summaries of the daily news received through a contact of the U.S. Embassy, printed off on my own personal laser printer (thanks Mama and Papa!) doesn't exactly seem like I'm roughing it. In honesty, these things make it more difficult at times. Sometimes being reminded of luxuries only brings back memories of everything else that you could be having. Where's the refrigerator, the electric drill, the air conditioning, the cheese or endless supply of ground meat? And then you are hit with reality, and realize that you didn't put any water out on the roof last night; you'll have to boil your water today if you want to drink it without getting a ring-worm or amoebic dysentery. Why'd you forget? Oh, you were watching a DVD while drinking a beer? Great job; way to use those luxuries. I guess there is a Kampala in me as well.

Biggest news of the year: My big brother is getting married!!! I have no idea how the man actually managed to convince a person to even CONSIDER spending the rest of their life with him, much less a female, much less somebody so intelligent and driven as the lady which he's asked...but hey, whatever. ---Just kidding, Will. You have always served as a great inspiration to me, both with regards to your achievements, your drive, and most of all your steadfast nature in being nobody besides yourself. The amount of pleasure that you gave me when you called me and told me the amazing news is something I will always remember. Moulin Rouge taught me about what the "greatest gift you could ever receive" is, and I'm really happy and proud that it's been given to you.

Package! Package!

2010-12-16T23:26:00.000-08:00

Got into Kampala, via sweeeeet ride from the PEPFAR coordinator of Uganda from the US Embassy, and made into the office today. There was a package waiting for me!

Thank you Grandmother, for the article regarding N. Uganda; THANK YOU Melanie for the hammock information; I am super excited about spreading this wealth of information once I get back to site! And thank you Mama for sending it. The map is perfect, and I'm going to use the post it notes and pens more than you could imagine.

Lessons learned: Crystal light doesn't travel well. I opened the (already torn open) padded envelope to find what I first thought was presents wrapped in sand. But sticky. haha.

SO weird that only 8 days separate today and Xmas. It is getting hotter and dryer with each morning here.

Have to get going; need to find some items in KLA before I head back home! much love.

Days in Slow motion, month in fast forward

2010-12-13T10:40:00.000-08:00

Been awhile since my last blog. For that I apologize; I didn’t realize how many people were keeping up with me through this media until I stop writing…and start receiving the questioning emails. Yes, I’m alive, and kicking quite well.
In honesty I’ve been really busy. There are many different branches which I am trying to balance on top of, with an intense stubbornness unwilling to admit that I’m stretching myself too thin on all sides. When you give a guy free reign on a country, and pay him enough salary to actually roam it at will, well, he’s bound to be pretty occupied.

A lot of my time currently is going into my house. I was able to commandeer a big slab of wood (freshly cut from a mammoth tree), and I’ve cut it into several pieces in order to make a desk. The cutting, with the crappy hand saw that I bought for the equivalent of 3 dollars, took some time. The hammering, with a head that falls off every third swing and nails that bend more than yoga instructors, wasn’t exactly efficient either. Luckily enough, Ugandans don’t understand what I’m saying when I curse. I have kept the scraggly edges and strips of bark, because I think it’s beautiful and an awesome contrast to the marble-eyed pattern it gives on its face; the Ugandan’s have decided that I’m either too lazy to cut it, or genuinely mixed up in style. “Why, if you have the ability to make something look factory made and uniform, would you not do so?” is what they seem to be asking…and the language barrier doesn’t allow me to answer in convincing enough of a fashion. In time, perhaps.

Another chunk of time is continuing with the orphans living in the women-headed household. I had the first meeting, and we set up another meeting for what was yesterday. My goal in these meetings is to continually remove myself from importance of my attendance, in hopes that the ownership will more and more be their own and less just coming because of the white guy in the front of the room. (I say room…we have our meetings under the mango tree, just like everyone else who has a meeting in Teso Region) In order to help with this, I brought along a government official who is the point-man of NUSAF-2, which is a government run grant application for the northern parts of Uganda. He and I show up to this meeting, to which I’m expecting to see the same group of 20 kids…and I find myself looking upon 205 children, all of whom are orphans, or living with HIV/AIDS from birth, or street children…it was unbelievable. The government official was absolutely ecstatic from the turn-out, and admitted that he has been trying to find a group like this for some time. Score one for Opolot Matthew? We’ll see. The spark has certainly been lit, and it’s bright enough to make you squint….just hope it gets enough air and attention in order to continue on.

The rest of my time is meetings. Meeting people is a full time job…or 3. One time every week or so my suspicion is confirmed in some odd, roundabout way that the people that I meet and become connected to are going to dictate my success in this country. I am realizing more and more that my successes will never be things that I will do, or I am going to be building, but rather the ones in which I helped bring together, facilitate, and let run.

Got to go to Soroti yesterday for a World Aids event, which was awesome. Lynne Mcdermott (spelling? Sorry Lynne) was the lady in charge of this event, as well as every other World Aids event sponsored by the US Embassy in the country. She was a PCV of Uganda in 03-05, and so it was really cool to have a person high up in the food chain of American’s in Uganda who also understands the things that we are going through on a personal level. She is also highly involved with PEPFAR, which pays for about 9 dimes out of a dollar on HIV/AIDS relief in Uganda….so she’s somebody I would very much like to get to know.

Right now a Youth Conference for the catholic diocese is being held in Ngora parish, aka my backyard. It was really excited in prospect, to get so many youths and people in one place to try and tell them about water and sanitation…but now that they are all here, and using part of my house for storage and the building directly adjacent my house for cooking…it is getting a bit old. Last night I was able to fall asleep only after the chants had died down at around 2am…but then I was woken again by a rousing version of “Jesus is coming” at about 4:30am. I am going to have to find a place to go, outside of Ngora, so that I don’t immediately lose my mind. I’ve gotten used to the magnified glass being put on me by my villagers, but when it’s multiplied by an additional 2500 kids below the age of 20…well, you get the idea.

Last night was amazing because I got to talk to Shay and Will, on the same night! I hadn’t talked to them in over 2 months, and since I’ve been in Uganda, respectively, so it was a great surprise to get to have some interaction with both of them. I also got in contact with Andrew Johnson, a fellow fraternity brother from home, who is in Kenya now for a documentary he is helping shoot. Trying to work out having him come down to UG for New Years.

Apparently my dth article got leaked to Peace Corps, and was put on the front page of the National Newsletter. I kind of hope that isn’t the truth, but if it is, cool? Haha I don’t know. Feel silly writing an article about Peace Corps to other PCV’s after being in country for less than 4 months, but I suppose I should be appreciative of the gesture.

ALSO, just saw that UNC beat Kentucky. Really hope that my uncle, Stephen, (A huge UK fan, who regularly attends the games) was calling my dad (UNC Alumni) beforehand with snide comments, because I know that my Dad called him after the game was over. Go heels.

Yoga Kere

2010-11-30T22:21:00.000-08:00

Wanted to let everybody who is interested know that I wrote a column that will be run in tomorrow's (Thursday's) Daily Tar Heel. I've been told every year of schooling that I am terribly wordy, poor with descriptions, and am never captivating enough; obviously writing an article for one of the best college newspapers in the country (me? biased?) is a logical step after not writing anything for the past 2 years.

Things at site have gone well. I am getting less "How you Musugun?" and more "Opolot, YOGA!!," which I am more than a little proud of. I am hopeful that after this weekend, there will be a charger in my hands that has capability to power my laptop, which I am more than a little excited about. Of course, I know my immediate family remembers the last time that I tried to have a replacement charger power my laptop (cue flashback to Will's creation of a charger being plugged in and, subsequently, my computer smoking and going black for all eternity)...so I admit to being...more than a little nervous about trying it.

I have also had some connections that I've made start to bear fruit. I biked over to CDC (Child Development Center) on a whim that I might be able to help with a survey that I had heard they were conducting in the area regarding water and sanitation. As it turns out, they had already completed the surveys of over 300 households (which, in Uganda life, means over 2500 residents) and were about to send the surveys in order to be summarized by people in Kampala. Would they let me steal the said surveys, then for the 2 days before they are shipped out? Sure! Two days of exceling later, I have some pretty good information and, for a philosophy major, not too bad of a spreadsheet with which to work off of.

I feel like I'm only showing the greener side of the pastures when writing the blog. I purposefully only write when I'm in a good mood, and things are going well, just so I don't start ranting and, in the process, freaking out Mother Boddie; with that said, things aren't always fantastic. I had my carabiner stolen (which is much more crippling than I would have thought)and I currently have no PC-allowed way to get into a town with actual supplies (PC doesn't allow the riding of boda-bodas, which are the motorcycle taxis. It's dangerous, and I agree with their policy...but it means a 22 KM minimum bike ride just to get mail, yoghurt, or a hammer and nails). I've gotten food poisoning twice now, and have started to think that the mefloquine I'm taking is affecting my ability to sleep. Being stared at by everyone you know, and being so obviously different than everyone in town, definitely takes it's toll as well. When working so hard to make a place so different a home, it's frustrating to know deep down you will never actually 'belong' to this area. Even if I live in Ngora for the rest of my life, it is simply the option that I have of leaving that could separate myself from the rest of my neighbors, neverminding the difference in education, language, and skin color.

So anyway. That stuff is in the back of my head, and sometimes it does get to me; for the most part, though, I'm really happy. The greatest part about living here is the simple potential that it possesses for me and the community. We both have so much to learn from one another. It is impossible, after really thinking, to feel like there is nothing for me to do. It's the question of how that I'll keep working on, and the question of what that will keep emerging itself to me with each passing day that I put myself in a position to see it.

Roses and Thorns

2010-11-21T06:43:00.000-08:00

Highlight of my day: Amy Wilkinson telling me that my charger did in fact reach her house in time for it to be carried with some PCV's to Uganda in a couple days' time.

Low of my day: http://espn.go.com/mens-college-basketball/team/_/id/153/north-carolina-tar-heels

Going to see if Africa has gophers. So I can cook one for dinner.

100th day

2010-11-20T03:40:00.000-08:00

...or something like that.

Can't believe it is already November 20th, and about to begin the final month of the year. While in America the middle of November signals a return to the corduroy pants, whool scarfs, and other warm weather gear, here in Eastern Uganda we are settling in for the hot and dry season. Although the temperature doesn't get above 85, and the humidity is always at about 10% or less, the sun's direct rays provide enough sizzle to keep me under the shade for as long as possible.

There are so many sets of pools of ideas that I have put my toes into since being here. I have been continually considering, updating, renovating, and evolving several different IGA's that I think would be easily to implement, cheap to make, and have real possibility to sustain. I have started talks with the Water School of Uganda, in hopes of working out SO-DIS purification as a way to combat lack of drinking water and deforestation. I am also working on a syllabus for WWS (world wise schools) for next term so that I can link up my teachers to classrooms in Uganda. (TANGENT: If you are interested in working with me, and you are a teacher, SEND ME AN EMAIL!!! I am in contact with several schools, each with several teachers, all who would love to be a part of an American program supporting the exchange of cultural norms. I have lots of ideas and would love to share them with you. M.h.boddie@gmail.com)

I am also now well versed with LC1, who eats dinner at my house regularly,as well as the DHO (District Health Officer), Minister of Water and Sanitation for the District, Councellor of Ngora, Resident District Commissioner, Police Commander, NUSAF coordinator at the town council, Sr. Nurse at the local hospital, and so many other influential figures. This makes it much easier to think of ideas on the grandiose scale that my mind enjoys, but of course also makes everything I do ripple so much further in the small pond of Ngora. For now I'm trying to pull the levitation act, hoping that I will be given the time I need to gather respect at the lower levels of government and the community itself before these big-wigs start asking me to do a cannonball.

I have finally been made mobile; I have bought, and then the next day fixed, a second hand mountain bike that should work just fine. I have made a report with the local bike shop to let me use their tools when I need, and they are very happy just to have the local muzungu at their shop with nearly everyone in town staring. Walking around the town was a drag after the first hour; after 3 weeks, my skin was starting to sizzle even underneath the long sleeve button down and long pants.

Since said purchase, my life has really hit a different gear. That was awful. I am now traveling to Fredecarr (the local hospital, and the location of the district headquarters for health) once and twice a day, whereas normally it was a once a week trip due to it's hour long walking commute. Today marks the first day of Eastern Ugandan's house-house approach towards stopping the polio outbreak which was first confirmed a month previous. Ministry of Health and UNICEF have now come in to help with the task. It has been extremely enlightening to be able to sit in on the meetings. Today, the day of implementation, was even more enlightening (I am scared to think of another, more suitable word besides this) to be able to stand around the table while supplies were being passed out.

My house is nearly complete! I made the mistake of actually answering the question of what my favorite color was, when my priests asked me. I didn't realize that this color would result in me seeing nothing BUT this color in my house, a day later. Silly of me really, when I look back on it. Anywayyyyyy, as if the absolutely gorgeous Carolina Blue sky isn't enough for me everyday to wake up to, I will now have it in every room of my new house. Nothing could be finer...

Integration into my community is going extremely well. I'm pretty impressed with myself, with all honesty, in my ability to stay upbeat around town. Kids screaming muzungu is one thing, but when you're biking up a hill with the sun beating down in full business attire, and the damned kids just want to stare and look at you with something recognizant of Rambo's 1000 yard stare...lets just say it makes you want to test if they actually ARE as badass as Rambo. As of yet, no blow ups have occurred, though. I do have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be working out harder and harder, though...

I've also joined the ranks of the permanent soccer crew. Every night at around 5 I go out with the boys from the PTC (primary teachers college) and kick it around until they are called in for dinner. They are all of similar ages, maybe hovering around 3 or 4 years younger than myself. They are in much better apparent shape than me...so it's a good thing they are lazier than me too. Oh, playing in cleats while half the others plays barefoot doesn't hurt either. No, I absolutely do NOT feel bad about that. Come play with me. You'll find out quickly why.

My most frustrating set-back right now is that it seems my computer charger, that I paid arms and legs to reach a PCV's parents house in the states at a certain date so that it could be carried back with said PCV when she came back from her US vacatio, has not showed up on time. This puts me back at square one for finding a way to power my computer.

Most inspiring was definitely two younger ladies that came looking for me by name (Opolot, which has stuck like no other nickname before in my life...besides maybe cuerpo). They are both orphans, living in a house together. Suddenly, after taking in a fellow orphan who's parents had died of HIV/AIDS, they have woken up to find over 15 mouths in their kitchen, waiting to be fed. They are asking for ways to sustain themselves, wasy in which they will be able to make this work. What are they NOT doing? They aren't asking how to get these kids out of their home, or how to receive funding from America, or how I'm going to fix their problems. They are asking for a little coordination, and any possible ideas from the kid with new perspectives. What else were they not doing? Speaking in English. Thank you very much, asisiankinan Susan Oce; your teaching of Ateso has been so fundamental to any and every role that I have performed in this country, and there is nothing I am more appreciative of than your commitment to making me learn.

As for pictures, I'm sorry to say that my foresight while packing for this country was quite short (surprise surprise, right?), and I have no way of loading my pictures from my computer without the SD slot embedded into my laptop. Considering my laptop, as mentioned above, is out of commission...yeah. I'll work on it.

As for the future...
There are some small plans for me on this glorious Thanksgiving week coming up, which I'm super excited about. I am also, I'm proud to say, excited about staying at my site with noone else but my new family of Ugandans for Christmas. I have been hearing rumors about it since I have arrived, and there are few things that I'm anticipating more.

After quickly re-reading this, it sounds like I'm quite busy I'm sure. Cut out TV, the ability to deeply conversate with another person within a 20km radius, the internet, and a computer...then throw in the fact that I finished my last novel (Catcher in the Rye) of which I have in stock...and then consider my previous work schedule with Spanky's, Squids, and Psychology Lab Work...and you'll see that my days are quite empty. Send emails, send texts, all will be welcome...even if I can't see them or get them for a few days time.

New number. +256757817300 (zain line)
+256700797157(Warid line-shitty service in my site, but cheapest and easiest to use in a more urban setting)

My MTN line (the first number I had) is currently not in my phone, so it won't be picked up. If I change, which I inevitably will in the next couple of weeks for some reason, I'll let you know.

Gotta go. Need to look up the process of starting to grow dreadlocks before I get kicked off the internet...

Awanyunos bobo lukapolok kede nukapolok,
Opolot

Ngora else I'd rather be

2010-11-08T01:38:00.000-08:00

So after 26 hours of traveling, a week in Lweza, 10 weeks in Wakiso, I've finally started to settle down in the location where I'm actually supposed to live. It's been quite the experience, and I'm happy to say that thngs are going quite well.

One of the things I've learned is to stop being surprised when crazy things do happen here in Uganda. I still get annoyed by them, like when I lose all of my electrically useful instruments, but I'm no longer saying "where the hell AM I! What is going on!" I kind of just accept it for being part of the location and living conditions that I have, after all, volunteered for. I am typing this as a goat is being chased out of the house where I am living, by the 3 year old daughter of the house maid. Said 3 year old, Orelia, has just finished her first cup of Ajon, which is the local Teso brew. Yes, it's acoholic. I know. I'm working on getting the mother to stop her.

Life here has been extremely busy, if not efficient. I have been to tons of meetings, and each time I find myself sitting in the middle of a group of people, shoulder to shoulder, for something like 4-5 hours. This would be fine if they were speaking in a language that I could actually understand, OR if all of them weren't staring at me every chance they get. I have counteracted this experience with copying down copius amounts of symbolic logic problems into my "waste time" notebook, which I'm able to write in and seem busy.

The meetings are not useless, however. I am meeting the people that I am going to be working with, around, through, over, and under in the next two years. Many of these people who are found in meetings are present in several others; it seems it is a group of about 20 people in Ngora that pretty much run the place in every aspect. I am very proud and very happy to say that my supervisor is absolutely one of these 20. There are many doors that are continually opened each day, because of him and because of my ateso speech that is ever-growing in size and vocabulary.

I have also gotten into a bit of a groove, with regards to my daily routine. I usually wake up around 5:30, work out until around 6 or 6:30, then shower and (most likely) fall back asleep until around 7:30. I go and sit on the veranda of the father's house, where I write in my journal about yesterday and the days goals. Then I eat breakfast. There is a huge block of time in between 8 and around 2 which always, always gets filled with something that I'm not planning on. Then after lunch, at around 3, I always always get hit with something that I am supposed to be attending and am "being waited on" for. At 7 I take tea, and at 9 I eat dinner with my boys.

Ah, my boys. Where I live right now might be thought of as the living quarters for the father of the church, but it could much more easily and accurately be described as a fraternity lodge. There are 5 guys living inside the house, along with a house maid and the daughter mentioned earlier; there is also another father that lives around 20 feet away who frequents our lodge. The boys and I drink Ajon pretty much at will, and I'm constantly having to turn down bottles of more domesticated beer (much to the dismay of one of the Fathers-in-training). It's all quite a good time, to be honest.

The house becomes closer to completion after each day. The water is set up, and the plaster is done; the veranda concrete is layed and cured. All that is left is a fresh bucket of paint, a possible power supply, and a cleaning out followed by a moving in. I give it a couple of weeks, but I think I'll be very very happy there.

Am in the process of writing an article for DTH (UNC's college newspaper). I'll let you know if it actually comes to fruition. Also got some news from swearing in, and you get to see my pearly whites on the front page:
http://www.newvision.co.ug/D/8/19/736210

Does anybody have an online susbcription to the Economist? I'm feel like now that I'm other-worldly, I should try and become a bit more worldly while I'm here. If I can get the online subscription, I'd be able to print it out each week at a local duka. Thanks!

-Cuerpo

Argh!

2010-11-05T12:39:00.000-07:00

In a matter of 30 minutes, I was convinced that I had destroyed: phone charger, phone, computer, computer charger, and solar lamp. Luckily I fixed my phone and my computer wasn't broken...but that still leaves the charger to both. Thus, I will be a bit out of contact for the next few weeks. I am using the Father's computer now, and don't like bothering him about it (we are running the generator just for me, currently). More back later! Thanks for the birthday wishes!!

Swearing in, First days at site

2010-10-25T05:16:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened since I have last posted. I have finally been sworn in (!), and have moved in to my new home in Ngora, Uganda. Here I sit, amazingly at peace in what should seem like a terribly unfamiliar world. Unfamiliarity isn’t always so terrible, and at this point, it is the possibility of routine and progress towards my comfort level that gives me peace of mind. I have been released, and I’ve never been more confident about my independence than in the past couple of days.

Swearing in finally happened on 21/10/2010. After a week of getting to hang out with my group at Ridar Hotel, we were bused over to Ambassador Lanier’s house, where we enjoyed the company of RPCVs, our supervisors and counterparts, the CD, PTO, Admin XO, WHO representative, and Program Managers. Oh, the Ambassador was there too. After being sworn in as official U.S. Foreign Service volunteers, we were given some finger foods (delicious) and sent on our way to party one last night with our group. (Insert all the stories I wish I could tell here.)

The next day we woke up and headed out with our supervisors and counterparts. When I arrived, after a long day of traveling, I was almost immediately given a seat in the middle of a circle of chairs. An hour later, when the chairs were filled, I found myself staring into the eyes of some of the most important people in my district. The Local Chairmen, the chairmen of the church committees, the school headmasters, the parish elders, the grandmothers, and the “in charge” (the person…in charge…of the health center in which I will work) were all ready, looking very smart in their Sunday best. I was sweaty, smelly, and wearing a t-shirt. Sweet first impressions, Matt.

I am absolutely amazed at the abilities and work that the people in the meeting were doing. They all were shining examples of the kind of potential any driven man/woman has in a country like Uganda. It was humbling, without a doubt, but it also gave me a strong sense of pride for the kind of community that I have been asked to join. After we started the meeting (which in Teso means, after we’ve started drinking the local brew, Ajon), and I had a couple of beers in me, I felt comfortable enough to stand up and give thanks and goals in the local language. Although I hadn’t been given prior knowledge of the meeting, I felt like I portrayed my intentions fairly well. Speaking even a few words in the local language is without a doubt the most powerful weapon anyone can have in this region. I’ve used it like a skeleton key for pretty much every door I’ve needed to open, so far; hopefully they will give me a few months before they change the locks.

I almost forgot about my house! The people in the community were really encouraged by my visit, and after I left they put in some SERIOUS work into my home. There is now a beautiful A-frame roof, and they have begun with fervor on the bathroom (I’m not holding my breath for it, but they say I might have running water.) Next will be the plastering of the walls, and then it’ll basically be done! Sooooooo excited about it. It looks amazing already, and it’s a place I’d be proud of in any country, 1st or 3rd. More, it’s a home.

My community has not only given me a house, but also a new name. From here on out, I will be referred to as Opolot Matthew. To be honest, I’m not sure it translates very well. From what I can tell, I have been given a great honor with this name, and it’s even the same name as the most respected man in the village, the LC I. There is definitely “friend” and “helping hand” and “volunteer” intermingled in its meaning…I think. Everybody gives me quite a lot of respect when I introduce myself with this name, which is reassuring.

My home (sans roof), and the church about 20 feet away from it

2010-10-17T00:54:00.001-07:00

LPI, Farewell to Kisimbiri, Uganda

2010-10-17T00:07:00.001-07:00

Intermediate Low is the level of standardized language skills that I had to achieve in order to avoid a mandatory tutor, extra training days, and a retest in 3 months. I was one of the few to actually go above and beyond this and receive a intermediate mid. Want it! (sorry for being gaudy about this, but I worked hard. Deal with it.)

Everything is coming to an end in Kisimbiri. In similar style of one of my first posts, I suppose I should say Farewell:

To the Kanakulya family: Thank you so much for your warm hospitality. The 9 weeks of training was made possible largely because of your great cooking and willingness to let me study. I am sure that my going to bed at 9pm every night wasn't exactly what you were expecting, but I appreciate your flexibility. Take care of the kabwa for me!

To Choice Gardens (the local bar in Kisimbiri): Re-felt your pool table. Get some new cues.

To Wakiso Gardens (" "): See my comment to Choice Gardens

To Kisimbiri: Thank you for your seemingly endless supply of children shouting muzungu at every chance. Their rousing, rhythmic chants of "Seee youuu, Seee youuuu, See youuu Muzungu" have been permanently engraved into the back of my memory banks. You have taught me many important things, one of which is the holy grail of street snacks: the Rolex. This godly design of fried bread and scrambled egg could, and did, solve pretty much every problem that ever did arise in your great town. I hope that my morning, mid-day, and evening street dances were enough of a payment for the knowledge of said rolex.

Taking off the Band-aid

2010-10-14T23:54:00.000-07:00

After over 2 months in country, my group and I are now less than a week away from swearing in, and exactly a week from heading to our own respective sites where we are expected to remain for 2 years. Peace Corps has weened us more and more off of it's motherly touch and deemed, finally, that we are worthy of fending for ourselves.

Yesterday and today we are all taking our final LPI's, which are the language tests that determine if we are at a level of proficiency acceptable to the standards of Peace Corps. If we are found wanting, we will be assigned tutors for our first three months, and will be given the LPI again afterwards. For some, this is reason enough to stay up all night and cram every possible scenario in before their interview. For others, that find the idea of a tutor an assurance of less loneliness and more sense of duty in the first three months, the LPI is something that is merely another piece of the long strand of events that we've had in training.

I myself took the exam yesterday, and feel fairly (jinx) confident that I have reached "intermediate low" standards, which is what I need to get by without mandatory tutor. I'll find out on Monday how I actually did, with everybody else. Regardless, the LPI is for me the last step of real responsibility before we get sworn in. It feels great to know that the next week I'll be staying in a (for Uganda) fancy hotel and living stress free with no looming examinations to worry about.

Another cool development; it seems that I have been signed up to be a part of a sponsored Peace Corps Uganda outdoor team in a white water rafting race on the Nile. Winner (which, btw, PC is defending champion) wins a free round trip to Nairobi. Loser gets a free ride on the Nile. Sounds like a hell of a way to spend a Saturday, and an extremely fitting way to spend the first weekend away from training.

By the way...the lady-pup that I was so dramatically writing about in my last post is doing just fine. Her mother has taken her back, and her wounds have healed at a rate that would impress wolverine, if you ask me. Sorry for making you cry, Meagan.

Matt

Wake up call

2010-10-13T05:55:00.000-07:00

Hard to see the way they treat animals in this country, most of all dogs. From a country where most people greet their canine friends before they greet their wives, Uganda is a tough place to stomach for it's complete indifference towards a dog in need of attention. I came home to my homestay family brothers playing with a 3 week old, lady pup. She was bleeding on her entire, 5 inch left side of her stomach, and was unable to step more than 3 paces without falling over. When I picked her up, her stomach was orange; not from dirt, or dried blood as I first guessed, but rather from the pure mass of dead and still moving fleas that totally encapsulated her skin. When I began to clean her, she simply lay in my hands, ready to admit defeat towards what must seem like a worthless world to even attempt to live in. I cleaned out the initial layer of fleas to find 4 small pen size holes in her left side, filled in with swarms of maggots in each orifice. 2 hours later, after digging out the maggots with my fingernails and washing away most of the fleas, I was able to find the mother of the dog and reconnect them.

The hardest part about all of this was the incredulous nature that my homestay family had with me even trying to help the animal. They sat and laughed while I stressed out about it's well being, running inside to grab antibiotic, salt, and iodine to clean the wounds that would have soon ended the animals life. It's not a question of personality, or of their inability to feel pain; simply a realization that this is not a place that has time to worry about the things we do in America.

Did I tell the family why I was upset? yes. Did we talk about it, and did they understand and did I possibly change their outlook on it the next time it might happen? Perhaps. I think I just have to learn, though, that I'm not in Kansas anymore.

10 days till I go home. (to Ngora). Can't. Wait.

Site Visit

2010-10-10T05:54:00.000-07:00

After a 7 hour bus ride, plus an initial two hours of waiting for the bus to actually get off, and including an unexpected bus change (I saw the driver holding a part to the bus in his hand...) in Mbale, I stepped off into Kumi Town. After receiving a ride (no, PC, it was NOT a boda-boda ride), 30 minutes time placed me in Ngora district, near their "shops." These refer to about 4 dukas, or open buildings that can be used for either modest housing or extremely limited markets. Traveling about 3/4 of a mile...which at this point it feels much more comfortable to say 1km...up a dirt road, I had reached my site.

I'm in a Catholic Diocese, affectionately called "the mission" to everyone in town. It is known to be the main site of the parish, and thus these two names are also quite often synonomous with each other. I rolled up to a nun sitting on the veranda of the Fathers living quarters, drinking ajon (local brew beer) from a 4.5 foot straw and a plastic pitcher beneath her. After she escorted me inside and went "back to the straw" as they call it, I sat in the dark (the light had gone off in town) waiting for the Father to come out. Before he did, the cutest. baby. you've. ever. seen. walked into the room, silently. She came over to me, put up her hands...and before i knew it, and without her even making a sound besides a slight groan when i greeted her in Ateso, she was asleep in my lap. Never had such a good welcome.

Eventually, the lights would come back on, shedding light on both my surroundings and my situation and responsibility for the next 2 years of my life. The HCII (the lowest level of actual possible facilities in Uganda) in the diocese is in need of some serious work...almost as much as the house that is supposed to be my home. I'll get to that later. The health center is run by a staff of 8, and the Father told me that the majority of the 33,000 people in the district, catholic or not, consider it their only source of healthcare. There are also 3 schools within a stones throw of the church, from primary to high (5-20). The convent is just behind the church, which is just beside the father's quarters. My "house," is about 20 steps behind where the Father sleeps.

So my house. It's 3 rooms, not including a small bathroom area where water is (apparently) going to be put in for a shower and running toilet. I have used probably 2 running toilets in Uganda, up to this point, as a point of reference. The rooms are all quite small, big enough for a bed in one, a desk in another, and a stove and possible guest hammock/bed in the other. The main problem with the house is pretty evident when you first look at it: there is no roof. As in, when it rains...yeah, my floor is what stops it's fall. No problem, they say. A couple of weeks, the ensure. I'm guessing about 6-8 months.

I'm staying in the guest room, located inside of the Father's house, until that time comes. Oddly enough, in large part because of how welcoming and honest Father Robert is, this doesn't actually make me to apprehensive to the whole idea. I have a nice, single room, with a double bed, my own bathroom. More than that, I have a home. Even though it's not my own house, yet, when I walked in, part of my stress and weight of being in Uganda was most definitely lifted. I could live there; I can exist and find success and sustain myself in that amount of space without much more than minor inconveniences in the day. An incredible feeling, to be honest, to be assured that there is a home for you to make your nest in. After 10 weeks of living out of a bag, with the constant reminder of the percentage of people who quit before swearing in, then the even higher percentage after the first 3 months...it's nice to finally feel like things are being put in their place. And yeah, fine, it's nice to know that i'll be able to drink at my site. The Father keeps a fridge stocked full of Bell, and the ajon is something i've already grown quite accustomed to, even in the first two days.

Walking into the church on friday, for morning mass, there wasn't a single eye that wasn't on me. For many of these people, it's the first time they've ever even seen white skin. At the end of mass, with a previous warning the night before, the Father called me up to the front to say a few words. Haha never will I ever be a rock star, and never will I be able to get up in front of thousands of people and amaze them with a skill that will keep them entertained for hours...but for the 5 minutes that I was speaking in front of the 300 people or so inside the church, that's exactly who I was. Every five words that I would speak in Ateso, they felt compelled to stop me, beat on their drums, and scream at the top of their lungs in excitement. It was pretty sweet, and I'm not going to pretend that I didn't like it, a lot.

My group and I have become extremely close, as the end draws on our community atmosphere inside the country. In a matter of days, we will all be 1-15 hours away, and I didn't expect to be so nervous about it. It's not so much that I will feel lonely, but more just that I want to somehow find the time to make sure that I stay connected with all of the amazing people that I've come to know so well, in so little time. Within the larger group, there is definitely a smaller group of friends that I've connected with more, and I'm excited that I am so confident that we will remain in touch.

So. C/o Matthew Boddie, (Father Robert Ecog), St. Anthony's Catholic Diocese P.O Box 50 Ngora District, Uganda. Packages are welcomeeeeeeeeee. Always report there to be less than 25 dollars of value, and don't be afraid to emphasize the religious nature of the destination on the package to reduce a person's temptation to steal. "air mail" in all different languages also helps.

Thanks to all those that have responded to me in emails. I haven't emailed all of you back yet, and I promise that I'll get on that...but don't stop sending emails! It's really nice to have rememberences of home everytime I get on the internet.

Matt

2010-10-03T08:08:00.000-07:00

Just got placed yesterday. I am in Ngora district, and I'm paired with a Catholic Diocese HC II. It's a huge shock to me, and I have no idea yet what it is actually going to entail; there are still many questions. This entire process is starting to remind me more and more of Lost; each little tidbit of information that we are given, each morsel of knowledge that is dropped on us, the more I feel like I don't know. Right now, my PC experience is about the end of Season 2-beginning of Season 3, because I'm starting to wonder if there is ever a point where I'll stop asking questions. Hopefully, hopefully, I don't feel like I do right now (I'm in the middle of the last season) with lost when I'm COSing (close of service). Or maybe I should just hope that I could be as enamored with Peace Corps as I have been at times with Lost, and let all else figure itself out.

More later; I have to get back to home so that I can help my kids with their hammock.

Cheers,
Matt

Next Couple of Days, and the Coming Week

2010-09-26T00:43:00.001-07:00

For the next couple of days, I will be using up the surplus of data that I've been using so diligently over the past month. If anybody has the urge to see my (burly) smiling face, and wants to g-vid, now would be the best time for that.

On the other hand, my host-family and I have hit a setback, which will limit my ability to use said internet; apparently the electrical company decided to come and cut the power from our house. In Uganda, that means that somebody went up a ladder, got to the powerline, and took down a wire that was connected to our house, and walked away with it. APPARENTLY, my fam has been trying to pay some kind of bill for the past 12 (or more) months, but that every time they ask, they haven't received any kind of bill for payment. I don't know what the deal is, but it's likely that I will not have power for the remainder of my time in Wakiso. I am taking it as a sign that this would be a good time for me to get used to not having power.

Anywayyyyy, the entire group and I are all really pumped about next week. The countdown is starting to get serious on the number of days until site announcement (4!!). Peace Corps Staff has allotted 4 hours for process of telling 45 individuals where they'll be spending the next two years of their life. As a Ugandan would put it, just before an accusatory laugh, "Matthew is fearing this placement."

On friday, we all will be giving our exploration study projects as a presentation to the class. It's all very reminiscient of a 3rd grade english project where some people have spent 40 hours, others 40 minutes. I myself am trying to stay in between giving my all and giving up altogether on the project (stole that from Grits, Ooh-Ahh).

I don't think I have written yet about this, and if I have, then I'm sorry. The one thing that really gets me about Uganda, and that I promise myself I will never actually mimic in my 2 years, is the lack of honour that is used while playing pool. Everybody knows that when your opponent is lining up for a shot, you don't go and put your crotch on the hole that is being aimed. When you are down 5 balls in Eight ball, you do NOT try and play ridiculous safeties. When you do play safeties, and you don't hit a rail, then it IS a foul. And unless you want to get smacked, you also do NOT shoot twice if the opponent isn't looking. I have tried like crazy to assert myself in these matters, only to the laughter of fellow Ugandans that are watching. They just don't get it.

Despite my ever increasing frustration with the attitudes and styles people hold when playing one of my more sacred games, I have enjoyed sports alot here. I met a coach of a secondary school, randomly, one day in Wakiso; we wound up playing basketball for over an hour with his team a week later, after I'd gathered some troops. We're making it a weekly thing now. I've also been able to play some soccer (futbal) while here, which has been fun...if I'm playing with 12 year olds. Anybody thats older than that just runs past, around, through, and over me.

I will update with information on my site and my NGO when I am informed. Until then,

Matt

Tech Immersion...and having to come back

2010-09-23T10:53:00.001-07:00

Last week was earmarked by all of us in the PC group, because it was our one week in training that we'd actually been allotted some real freedom. We were to go out on our own from Wakiso, and wind up at a PCV's site to stay with for a week. We all got sent different places, varying from 2 to 9 hours away. I wound up with a PCV named Jonathan Blanchard, and it couldn't have been a better time. He is a Water/Sanitation Engineer as well, and it was awesome to get to see the things that he does, and thereby the things that I could possibly be doing.

Obviously, getting to see a PCV's site, realizing his schedule of activities, and seeing all of the privileges and freedoms that he is given in his service...it's all very attractive. The toughest part of Immersion Week was without a doubt the realization that we weren't ACTUALLY there, we hadn't actually reached the point that our PCV host already had (mine, for over a year now). It would still be a month before we got to go in a bus with all of our stuff, and drop it off later that day at a place we could truly call our own, a place that we could call home. There is nothing that occupies my thoughts more at this point.()

And so, as a result, the current week has been a struggle for us all. After being given a fairly comprehensive view of what life might be like for the next 2 years, we are really supposed to go back to being 8-5 lecture listeners? Well, yes.

It seems that the PC staff has foreseen our lack of enthusiasm for the return to the classroom. Their solution is assigning several tasks and examinations, testing our overall knowledge of language and of tech sessions up to this point. Although disgruntled, we all know that we really have no choice in the issue, and we continue on. Blinders only have to remain attached for a few more weeks...

In the mean time, I'm keeping my short term highlights of the week, and making them up whenever I don't have them. I started talking to a musician on the street, for example, who it turns out is a basketball coach for a secondary school in Wakiso. I gathered up a team, and we're going to skirmish them tomorrow. I'm pumped, and I'm hoping Kevin Bacon will be there to watch us, and scout some of the Ugandans. On the following week, we have a scheduled Talent Show, which I became one of the Emcees for. I've heard that if there is one thing Ugandans can do, it's a hellacious Talent Show, and I'm excited to see what they bring to the table.

The highlight of the week so far was definitely Wednesday, when a group of us went over to Kiboga in order to help a fellow PCV and support him in a project he's been working on for about 6 months. The community, with his help (co-facilitation, rather), set up a tree planting parade, and had over 800 trees donated for the cause of keeping their town clean and green. We showed up there for the ceremony, which was supposed to start at 9. At 12, after the ceremony had still not begun, we decided to start playing with the 4 primary schools who were waiting with us. I did the Vista skit (thanks, Boy Scouts), we did the wave, and had handstand contests. We later had a parade on the streets, and were not hindered at all by the monsoon that would come in the middle of it.

Sorry for my length of time in between posts. Time is moving at a ridiculous pace, and everything seems to be coming and going too quickly to comprehend. I am still checking my email pretty much everyday, even if it's just once a day for about 30 seconds.

Next week: Sites are given!!!!

Until then,
Matty B

pictures

2010-09-18T23:19:00.000-07:00

Here are some pics from around. post coming soon.

One Month In Country

2010-09-12T09:47:00.001-07:00

Has it really been that long, already? Without thinking, it seems like it has been so much longer than a month that I've been in Uganda. There seems to be so much that I've done. When I really stop and look back, however, it is difficult to create a substantial list of things learned, accomplished, or seen. Regardless, we as a group have completed our first real, tangible amount of time under Peace Corps watch. To some, We have one less month to complete our missions, and to others, we have come one month sooner until our return trip home. As for me? Besides the physical presence of a few family and friends, my mind has found little resistance calling Uganda home.

My diet has varied VERY little since arriving in country. Every day I eat bananas, an egg, tea and maybe a piece of toast at around 6:40. At 10 we have tea with either french toast (sans syrup) and g-nuts (peanuts), in small portions, at RACO. By 12:30 we are all ravenous and awaiting the spread of matoke, irish/sweet potatoes, chapati, g-nut sauce, beans, meat (more commonly bones, than meat, though), pineapple, and raw bananas. I get two full full plates these days. We have another break at 3, where I usually scarf down some clif bars, and have tea. I eat dinner at 8:30, where my host mother feeds and feeds and feeds me, as though each meal is the only meal that I have eaten in the day. After Agnes has sufficiently served me her mountain of food, Michael, my host-dad, usually comes behind and drops some kind of fruit as supplement. Avacados are grown everywhere, and so i usually have at least a half during the course of a day.

My beard has yet to be trimmed in any way, besides my shaving technique at the bottom of my neck, which I practiced at home in order to keep the managers of Spanky's and Squids happy. My host mom made an honest attempt at controlling the hair on my head...but after 5 or 6 wild snips, she admitted little experience with muzungu hair. The rest of the group's experience with salons in the area hasn't exactly raised my opinion of their skill...so for now it remains. I am toying with the idea of trimming the head down to a buzz, and keeping the beard. We'll see.

I have started a self exploration project, which I am to present an idea of at one of the last weeks of training, with my host-brothers. My idea is to inspire and positively reinforce creativity into these kids, and prove to them that there can be a result of increased sanitation and even income, if they are motivated. My brothers and I are going to figure out how to build a hammock tomorrow; after we (probably) fail, then we can go back tomorrow night and draw some designs and think of what things looked promising,and which things we need to alter. The next day we'll implement our new design. Eventually, I hope to have a hammock made for their father, whom is looking upon my own hammock with very envious eyes. I am amazed that these simple structures are not more common in Uganda; they can't even be found, to my belief, in Kampala.

Next week I will be off to Masaka, on the west coast of Lake Victoria. I am staying with a PCV who is in the middle of his masters in environmental engineering, and will be going through a typical week with him and his mission in being a wat/san man. I'm pumped to get a more practical learning experience, outside the classroom.

As for other things...We found a pool (may or may not be chlorinated...) in a place called "Kavumba." It's nice! The first day we went, last saturday, we all got burnt to a fairly well. One in our group got a legitimate 2nd degree burn all on his ankle and shin. pretty nasty, honestly. Even with the rapidly increasing list of bruises that we all are acquiring, our group as a whole is unwavering with positive energy and optimism in the coming years. It really is a great group of people that I am coming with, and I'm proud to be a part of them.

Thanks everyone for all the emails! It's great, great to hear about everyone. It is those emails that keep my mind assured that the people i care most about are safe and doing great things back at home. Keep them up!

Matt

Water/San tech session, ALLVol lunch

2010-09-03T08:58:00.000-07:00

Since my last post, there haven't been too many changes in itinerary for us. Our group has spent the mornings walking to class, getting filled with knowledge about either economic development or community health, depending on your program that was assigned (for me, it's community health).

One of the changes is the emergence of the rainy season. It seems now that the weather is planning to stick around, meaning that we should be planning on getting precipitation at some part of most every day. The rain itself is completely fine, and looked at more of a relief rather than a nuisance. The mud, puddles, and small ponds that occupy the majority of the roads are, on the other hand, much more cumbersome. Even if I were agile enough on my bicycle to traverse the small oceans that cover nearly every meter of the roads, I still wouldn't be safe from the splashes that come from my best friends: the boda-boda drivers. They seem to combat the rainy weather with an increased rpm's, brighter smile, and less worry for everyone else. It certainly works for them.

Another high point (but this time I'm serious) in the past week was a couple of our tech sessions. We got schooled in some of the more basic and useful tools of a water/sanitation engineer. The designs presented to us from fellow volunteers Caleb and Steve were awesome, and are so simple, sustainable, and have SUCH a possibility for an impact and change in cleanliness and healthy living here in Uganda. I'm so proud at this point that my job will be primary centered around the possibility of doing these exact things. I have found myself dreaming up new inventions of low-tech fixes to everyday problems that the average and below-average Ugandan may face in a given day. Most are absurd...but that won't stop me recreating them at my site, once I get there.

Some of the things we learned about were bio filters, so-dis methods of achieving potable water, first flush methods to decrease disease, dirt, and virus in the drinking water, and other simple tools that could drastically reduce diarrhea as a result of fecal-mouth transmission. Not all are glamorous, but ALL are awesome, plausible, and completely important.

Another cool part of the week was that yesterday we were able to go and see all of the volunteers in one spot, while they were being put up in the Ridar Hotel (on behalf of the volunteers...thanks taxpayers. The hotel looks like a palace). Little did we know, we would be joined at lunch by not only the volunteers from all over the country (thereby giving us a chance to meet the guys that we'd be near for the next 2 years), but also the CD Ted Mooney, and ALSO the main man, the Ambassador. When it was announced that he actually is from North Carolina, I had no choice but to go up and shake his hand personally. As it turns out, he went to UNC for 6 years of Grad School and has been following our (diminishing) college football prospects for the year. Nothing like eating lunch, talking to the AMB about Marvin Austen and Butch. Sounds like home.

Oh. The volunteers also decided that they'd choose me out of our group to kidnap, blindfold, and throw in the hotel's pool. I managed to keep my phone and wallet dry, despite being dunked...however the volunteer that did the deed came out much worse. I suppose he didn't expect me to put up much of a fight, and so he (cockily) didn't worry about taking his phone or wallet out of his pants....and they were ruined. Sorry I'm not sorry.

All else is going quite well. I will give you some more updates when I have them to give...Until then, I hope all are managing amidst the high seas and increased wind speed on the east coast...I've heard Hurricane Earl is either imminent or presently sweeping through. Stay safe everyone.

Matt

sharpening the tool

2010-08-28T22:03:00.001-07:00

The last days have been very helpful to me and my understanding of exactly what will be expected of me once I am sent out into Uganda on my own. I am being given crash courses in as many things as possible in as many ways as possible; it is clear that Peace Corps aims to shape me into a machine. I have learned much knowledge of location specific infectious diseases (prevalence, exposure, anti-viruses, stigma, impact, prevention), community mobilizing (mapping, needs assessment, swot analysis, seasonal calendars, daily activity sheets), language learning (3-5 hours a day, 6 days a week for 10 weeks), technical training (permaculture(permagardening, agronomy), brickmaking, clothes washing, cooking, efficiency stove making, composting)...and the training is still in it's very early stages. All of the information is kind of like, to steal a phrase from a friend, trying to drink from a fire hydrant.

It's amazing how extremely different we all are in our group of 45. We have experts of infectious disease, a nurses with over 40 years experience, a social worker for the past 30 years, a permaculturist, a nutritionist, a carpenter-turned-mason-turned-massage therapist, we have camp counselors and we have bartenders. Everyone is starting to feel comfortable enough to admit their strengths to the group and let the rest learn from them, which is awesome to not only see but to be apart of. My contribution, besides the baseball gloves, has been the implementation of Trivia Nights at our favorite watering hole. The more things change...

I've also gotten more comfortable with my host family. I taught my youngest sister to waltz tonight (thank you social dance) and worked on a beat to lay down my first single (my family has a music studio.) I'm writing the lyrics as we speak.

More practically, I've also talked with them about HIV, malaria, stigmas behind both, old wives tales of Uganda, and other generalities of a culture that could only be figured out on-site. It is critical that I have a connection with people who I can ask the stupid questions (what happens when you have to go to the bathroom, but you can't get out of the house because the door is bolted after 11?) and the awkward questions (why do you think only 3% of women in Uganda use condoms, in such a highly prevalent area of HIV) to the really important questions (When I where shorts outside, our the Ugandans going to point and laugh at my skinny muzungu legs?). I had no idea just how important this connection was until a couple of days ago.

Beyond that, I'm just really lucky because my host dad is a baller. He is one of those guys who you always wanted to talk to, because they have this quiet glint in their eye and seem to be doing things just a bittttt different than the rest. You know he'd love to sit you down and talk to you about all of the things that go on in his head, you just never get the chance...well I actually have gotten it. It's awesome to hear him talk about politics, life, the American Dream (except for Uganda), and about his aspirations both for himself and his children. He is the kind of man that as long as "a man is never old until regrets take the place of dreams," his youth will be present until his death.

Time is really starting to speed up here. At first I was furious to have to tell Ugandans that I'd only been in country a week, because it felt like 5 months...but since, the days have started to slide. Our schedules have gotten more compact, and there are now expectations of retention from several different facets of our day, be it from language class to technical training to cooking at home with the family.

You can also feel the group's dynamic changing. At first there was a strong sense that we were all clinging on a bit to each other, in a way acting as our own home away from home. We were put in a bubble in Lweza, and have slowly been trying to rip off the bandaid from 1st world life. As tools are being given to us, we find our selves wanting to play with them, wanting to branch out and learn more. We all start making excuses for going home early, because we aren't quite ready to admit to each other that we might actually just WANT to learn a bit more about to build a keyhole garden or about the LC 1's rights in the village. I find myself striding in place in preparation for the marathon of the next two years. Of course I realize its much more like me striding 100 yards for a 100 mile race...but still. It's nice to be excited about it from a new perspective, from a perspective of actual confidence in ability to give the capacity to make a change.

I am interested already in how my perspectives are changing amidst all of the change around me. It will be fun to "return to a place unchanged and find they ways in which I myself have been altered."

Send me an email at M.h.boddie@gmail.com. I might not respond quickly, or at all depending on internet capability, but I promise I'll read it and I'll be interested in what you're up to.

Also heard about something that might be useful; onesuite.com. Apparently you can set up an account with them, and call with a 1800 number to Uganda for only 2 cents a minute. For those interested in keeping contact, maybe this could be a (much) cheaper way to accomplish?

Much love,
Cuerpo

2010-08-28T22:01:00.000-07:00

Uganda is an interesting place. The first thing I noticed after traveling for about 26 hours were the boda-bodas. I have never seen such careless disregard for ones own well-being. These motorcycle taxis could weave through a New York City traffic jam while eating a piece of toast and talking on the phone. Or maybe they couldn't, but the point is, they would absolutely try without thinking twice. Their appeal is undeniable, and it is with some relief that Peace Corps has such strict regulations against using them; there is no opportunity for my curiousity to take shape.

The second thing is how interested the people are in you. There hasn't been a single person in the country who wasn't intrigued by me. A man with even a stitch of less confidence that he isn't being a complete idiot during every part of his day would be in trouble. I find myself sub-consciously checking to see if there is something in my teeth, a "kick me" sign on my back, or a cowlick in my hair. No, it turns out I'm just the village Muzungu (whitey), and this is how it works. There is no insult intended; I could imagine seeing the first white person in their lifetime could bring about quite a lot of shock. With that said, I can't say it hasn't begun to wear on my nerves a bit.

The third is just how nice everyone is; not just to you, but in general. Everyone is on "uganda time" (take whatever time you are on currently, then throw it out the window. You are now on Uganda time.) and everyone has no trouble walking you across town towards the nearest pub. "it is not a problem" they say, with the look of "hey, kid, what else have I got to do? Let's just have a chat on the way and we'll call it square". It's the kind of place where where noone actually has change when you buy something that costs 1,000 shillings with a 10,000 shilling bill; luckily, it's also the place where the cashier can get change from the native behind you with a non-spoken agreement that they would pay them back. It's a place where when you go to a restaurant and ask for a drink, if they don't have it they will go around the back, go to the store neighboring their own, buy it and charge you 500 shillings more.

The fourth thing you notice, after you've been around for awhile, is that everyone might JUST be talking about you after all. You start keying in on their local language dialect; not only do you hear the word Muzungu from all of the village children (these kids scream it at you, and you have no question that they are talking to you), but also more sneakily from the adults. They will hide the word amidst a variety of quickly spoken, as-of-now completely nonsensical words to me, and you wonder if they just considered asking you to marry their daughter...or deciding if they felt like slashing your bag and taking whatever falls.

Another thing I immediately started questioning was the definition of development. You start considering all of the things that we have in the US that simply can't be afforded in 95% of the homes in Uganda, and of course at first it seems sad. But if I had to point out one thing that really bothered me after 6 days of living with a family in Uganda, it would be easy. It's the TV and DVD player that sits proudly next to the dining room table, playing philipino soap operas that are dubbed in english and then dubbed over top in Luganda. Everything else is quite nice.
With regard to my family, I have never seen such discipline. The 4,5, and 9 year old children get up at 645 on a Sunday so that they can cook breakfast. After breakfast they are quickly off to washing clothes, where the mother and father have conveniently forgotten to take out a few shillings in their pockets. Then they are eating, laughing, and playing until it is time to start cooking for dinner alongside getting ready for church. Lunch is on the stove before they all leave, and is ready when they get back to be served. The clothes are now dry and need to be brought in, and there are now a stack of dishes from breakfast and lunch that need to be washed in the traditional 3 pot standard.

The kids in my home are creative as hell. My mom will be proud to hear that I gave them a deck of the "house of cards," the same ones that I used to play with as a child and get bored with after 30 minutes, and it looked like they had been given the moon. For the next 4 days, the kitchen table was given the responsibility of displaying trains, bi-planes, skyscrapers, the Rwenzori Mountain Range...and several other engineering feats. I've heard of recruiting Africans for basketball, but if you ask me there should really be some Odyssey of the Mind scouts in the backyard checking these kids out.

0788033477 is my number, i think. text or call anytime.

2010-08-22T04:59:00.000-07:00

Life here in Uganda is pretty unbelievable. Currently I'm staying in a village called Kisimbiri in the district of Wakiso. I live around 4 kilometers away from my training center, where we go everyday from 8-5 to learn language, community interaction training, and capacity building expertise. I am staying with the Kanakulya family, consisting of a mother, Agnes, father, Michael, and 5 siblings: Samuel(19), John(15), Faith(9), Emmanuel(5), ???(4). Still working on the name of that last one.

I have started to learn Ateso as my language. This puts me in the Eastern Uganda region, apparently home to some of the more isolated villages in the country. I'm very excited about the prospect of moving here. I have been told that my language group is being sponsored by PEPFAR, and I will be interested to see in what capacity I will be working alongside this fund.

In the meantime, life is pretty standard here in Kisimbiri. I take a bucket shower every evening, take tea three times a day, and have learned the finer points of using the Ugandan latrine. I have gotten a bit ill and recovered from it, and I've already managed to split my head open and get it mended (long story). Anyway, I already feel myself starting to call Kisimbiri home. After 5 days in town, I am very happy with this progression.

Although this might not be a surprise to anybody here, the internet here is very shotty. I am writing this in "notepad" in hopes that I will be able to hook up my computer to the internet cafe and copy and paste this into my blog. This will (hopefully) prevent me writing large amounts and having the computers shut down or lose power just as I am about to send (which has happened twice already.)

We were issued bikes on Wednesday. I was pretty pumped to receive mine, given that it takes me 45 minutes to walk to class...after receiving the bikes, however, I have to admit that I didn't realize how spoiled I was from my bike at home. My pedals are made of plastic, and they have broken twice already. The bike is a 6 speed, but only changes into two gears. It's also brand new, so I'm confused. Anyway, it sure does look pretty...

Anyway, here I am! Today is a learning day for me, and I am hoping that at the end of it I will be well versed in the ways of cleaning, washing clothes, and (kind of) cooking some meals. I was also able to snag some information on well digging and a how to book on fuel efficient ovens while I was in Kampala getting my stitches from my head split (long story, promise it's fine.) I know that I may never actually use the contents of the book, but they are just so interesting that I felt it could be some good post-Ateso reading material.

If anybody just Happens to be making a shipment to Uganda, here are some things I was thinking about:
-music. I had to wipe my computer's memory once i got here. Womp Womp. Anything would be great.
-shampoo. Stuff is ridiculously expensive here, and it's not exactly vidal sassoon.
-rechargeable batteries. These won't be needed needed until much later on...but they'd be nice. for now i'm using up a pile of regular batteries that I brought with me. I already have a charger.
-peanut butter.
-pens. They suck here.
-Drink Mix
-Any pictures!!! Would love to have more here.

Thing that I have used the most since being here that I questioned bringing: UGA visor. The thing is one of the few things that I brought that reminds me of...well, you know. It travels with me always; if not on my head, then attached to my backpack. I anticipate most all of the pictures taken by the rest of the group will verify this.
Thing that I have used the least since being here that I absolutely thought would be vital: sunscreen. I'm wearing pants and longsleeves, as is custom. No need.
I'm an idiot because: Didn't bring a towel, or an ipod charger (because SOMEONE lost mine in Richmond), or a power adapter.
I'm a genius because: One of only two people to bring a hammock. Use it all the time.

My beard and hair is growing out of control. A fellow trainee has made promise to tame the wild mess, but results have not been present as of yet. I will continue the struggle.

The mefloquin (sp) that I am taking for Malaria has some interesting side effects. My dreams have become increasingly vivid. Looking forward to getting some real doozies in a couple of months time.

And so until next time, take care of yourselves everybody.

Wakiso, at Homestay

2010-08-18T07:57:00.000-07:00

Here I am in Wakiso! I once again only have time to touch base; the electricity here is extremely shotty and the last time I tried to post something, I got a couple paragraphs in and it turned off completely. Ohwell.

I have started to reside with the Kanakulya family. Samuel, the eldest of 5 children, is the one who I have gotten closest with. He has shown me around Wakjso, and introduced me to his friends and his hang outs. Already I feel comfortable calling him my brother. Boddies, you have new family members!

Michael and Agnes are my father and mother, and they couldn't be more helpful with everything in helping me to become proficient as a volunteer. I am going to start helping to build some structures at home that they can use, that they can then share and help spread among their community. Many of the items are fairly simple but can greatly reduce the spread of several kinds of malaria. I am so privileged to be given such a great power and, therefore, responsibility.

That is it for now. Other things need to be done before the electricity shuts off!! Send emails and I will do my best to respond, and comments are more than welcome and certainly make me feel nice. Thanks for all the love that has already been sent my way. Good luck to all until next time!

Greetings from Uganda!!

2010-08-15T03:09:00.000-07:00

Hey guys! Just got my first chance at heading into kampala, and thus my first chance to actually make a statement to the outside world. Life here is unbelievable. The temperature stays at a breezy 75, no humidity, rain comes and leaves in a matter of minutes, and the countryside is amaaaazing.

Was put into a Ateso language group; this means I will be living in east, not quite to Kenya. Pumped!!!!!!

Everybody here is really nice. Have a phone now, but am figuring out its number still. Will inform as I know. Get your skype ready, parents and friends!!!!

Farewell to the Hill

2010-08-04T11:53:00.001-07:00

Today was tough. It is the last official day and night that I will spend in Chapel Hill for the next 27 months.

To Chapel Hill, UNC: To say you and I have memories would be like saying Roger Federer has a good tennis game. I have lived here for 5 years now, and each year...each month...each day I have felt myself daydreaming about how much I love this place and your unbelievable campus. I am so proud to have lived here, so proud to be a tarheel. With this pride, I absolutely feel as though there is a weight of responsibility for me to represent Chapel Hill and UNC with whatever I do with the rest of my life. It is a weight I take gladly; an honor to know that I have become part of your tradition. I will take care not to embarass you.

To Spanky's: Thank you so much for all you have done for me. You took me in my sophomore year, and put your faith in me that I would be there for you. As I moved up the ranks, I only gained respect for the jobs that you provide and the service that you provide for both employees and the customers themselves. Even though you're not the best dating setter-upper (haha), you have always given me piece of mind to pursue the things that I want to do in life. There is no job that I would have rather had.

To Crunkleton: It has always been a dream of mine to be a regular. The idea of it is so homey, so warm and comforting to have a place where, as they say, "everybody knows your name." You have provided that to me, and more. As it is an honor to be a part of UNC, so to is it an honor and a privilege to consider myself part of your greater whole. I will keep my pool skills sharp, and will look for you at the tables.

To Chi Psi: Wow. I've Hated you, and I've loved you. I've ignored you, and I've been immersed in everything that you do. I will look upon my 4 years with you, and my 2 years under your roof, as the type of years that I hope to emulate for much of my life. But maybe not too much of my life.

To Squids: How quickly you took me in and brought me into your group. Although there wasn't much time shared, it is amazing how comfortable working for you has been. Fried Chicken will never, ever be the same to me because of you.

To Uganda: I hope you know how many places, lives, and living places that I have sacrificed for you. I have found people, and I have found a woman, whom I would be so lucky to be with as long as I live; yet here I am giving myself to you for over 2 years. Are you ready for me? Am I ready for you? Do you realize the passion that I am bringing? Am I going to be able to really make this worthwhile for both of us? I can only hope that you will be close to as loving as my Chapel Hill has been to me.
You've certainly got a lot to live up to.

Mailing Information

2010-07-23T08:17:00.000-07:00

Sending mail during Pre Service Training (PST)
This takes 3-4 weeks, on average.

Matthew Boddie, Peace Corps Trainee
P.O. Box 29348
Kampala, Uganda

Mail after PST should be sent to each individual Volunteer’s PO Box at his or her assigned
site, which he or she should communicate to you after settling in to his or her assigned site. (I don't know my site yet)

Sending packages

Matthew Boddie, PCV
U.S. Peace Corps
P.O. Box 29348
Kampala, Uganda

t-minus 22

2010-07-20T20:11:00.000-07:00

Welcome all. It is my hope that this blog will be used for communication with the masses back at home while I am in Uganda, serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Stay tuned! I hope to give you some more information, as I am given it, with regards to my location, my mailing address, living status, etc. Should be interesting!