Posts
Greetings everyone! I hope this message finds you all happy and well! My apologies for taking so long to write, but I have been rather busy in the past couple of weeks.
Last week a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer and myself decided that we would like to go camping over the weekend. On Friday I made the six and a half hour trip out west to Fort Portal to meet him. On Saturday morning we made our way to the taxis and told them that we wanted to go to the Rwenzori Mountains. Now, most of you have probably not heard of the Rwenzori Mountains, but they are humongous. Of course the drivers tried asking where at the Rwenzoris, but we had not thought this far. One driver told us he new a place and to get in the car. Once we were in the car we waited for about an hour for him to find a spare tire, but eventually we made it to the mountains. At this point we were told that we would need a guide and porters to carry our things, but we decided that we would be able to carry our own gear and that we would only take the guide.
In all honesty, I had no idea what I was about to get myself into. We were told that it was about a two hour walk to the park boundary, with twenty some pounds on my back I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant, but I didn’t think it would be too bad. Within the first hour I thought I was going to die; this was not a walk by any means, but a serious climb. I know I am not in great shape, but I did not think I was by any means out of shape until this day. For the first hour, or so, I insisted on carrying the tent; I had my pride to keep, but after some time I realized that if I didn’t give it to Robert I probably wouldn’t be making it to the top of that mountain. It was also at this point that Patrick told us that we were going to start climbing. We just spent the last hour climbing some rather steep inclines and we were just now really start climbing? He was right. I cannot believe we were able to climb some of these inclines. We were making our way through trenches dug out by the rain. I felt like I was at fat camp or on “The Biggest Loser.” I would have to stop to rest for a bit and Robert would keep saying, “Just keep going if you stop it is going to make it harder. You can do it; we are almost there.” I don’t think I responded in anyway to Robert’s comments, but I wanted to push him off the mountain a few times. If I was able to move on without taking a break I would have. I didn’t need motivation, I needed someone to carry me. After a couple of hours we made it to the park boundary and headed farther up the mountain where it only became more steep. Most of the time I refused to look up because just when I thought we would get a break from the climbing I would find another difficult climb ahead of us and want to cry. Thanks to some blue monkeys we were able to take a bit of a break and not long after that we were finally at the top of the mountain, 2000 meters high. Eventually we did make it to the top and it was absolutely amazing. We were in a jungle on top of a mountain.
Despite how much we wanted to, it was still a bit too early for bed when we arrived so Robert and I decided to go for a walk. Patrick stayed behind supposedly to watch the tent. We came to an overgrown area and stopped only to discover what sounded like rain, but the sky was blue. I looked down at the ground and realized that the sound we were hearing was not rain, but millions of ants eating the leaves around us. I then noticed that ants were crawling all over my shoes and making their way up my pants. Now, these are not just ordinary ants. These ants bite and it does not feel good. Robert was trying to knock them off the outside of my pants while I was trying to smash the ones inside my pants. Robert of course found it amusing that I would have ants in my pants. I, on the other hand, did not find it one bit amusing. We spent a good while trying to kill the ants before I realized that some had make it all the way up the back of my shirt almost to my neck. At this point the only thing I could do was take off my shirt. Just as Robert is finishing knocking off the ants off of my back Patrick comes strolling around the corner. I am not exactly sure what he saw, but I am sure it didn’t look too good. I cannot quite figure out why the ants liked me so much more than Robert, but he seems to think it is because I had sweated out the immense amount of sugar I eat weekly.
When we began climbing the mountain we noticed that Patrick was carrying a very small bag; not even a backpack. Once we got to the top of the mountain we noticed that Patrick has stuffed a large jacket in the bag and that there definitely was not a tent, sleeping bag, or food in that bag of his. When we asked him where he was sleeping his response was, “You don’t have two tents?” I don’t know why he would have thought we would have two tents, but my tent is big enough for three so it was no problem. Now, 2000 meters up it gets rather cold so I ask Patrick if he has a sleeping bag, but of course he does not. Robert and I decided that we would share mine and give Patrick his. Now, as far as food goes, we are not sure what Patrick ate. It was suggested that we give him 10,000 shillings to buy food before we left the town, but all we saw him with was a 1,000 shilling bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes. Patrick also smelled of alcohol, so I guess we know where our money went and why he wanted to stay behind and watch the tent. The only food I brought on this trip was an apple and a box of crackers. Robert brought a smashed loaf of bread that tasted like play-dough, an avocado, peanut butter, and some jerky. So him and I took turns sharing the one spoon we had eating a spoonful of peanut butter and stuffing bread crumbs in our mouth. Needless to say, Patrick did not ask to eat any of our food. Around seven-thirty we were exhausted so the three of us and Patrick’s riffle climbed into the tent; Robert in the middle. Within five minutes Patrick was snoring quite loudly and within a half hour Patrick was practically sleeping on Robert. A few hours later and Robert and I still cannot sleep due to Patrick’s snoring. It begins to rain and of course we did not fully put the rain cover on because Patrick told us the rainy season was over so we ended up with wet and cold feet the rest of the night.
The next morning we made it back down the mountain in one piece. Robert and I figured I would fall down multiple times, but in reality, I only fell once and was while walking on flat ground after stumbling over a rock. It is a week later and I am still exhausted.
The thing that really gets me about this mountain is that Ugandans live here. They farm on the slopes. They walk up the mountain to school everyday. They fetch water from one of the two streams that flow down its sides. They carry babies tied to their backs with who knows what on the heads. They walk their cows and goats to the top to let them graze and they carry loads of bamboo down the mountain to build their homes. These do these things everyday. I cannot even imagine how strong they must be.
My counterpart arrived a couple of weeks ago and now I am incredibly busy. While it is great to be busy, I miss out on spending a great deal of time with my village which makes me sad. It also leaves me little time to do all of my chores. For the past week or two my counterpart and I have been visiting schools in our area handing out invitations to come to a workshop we will be holding next week. We have around seventy schools and hand delivering them gets a bit old real fast. We stopped at some of the schools and Fredrick would put me on the spot by telling the teachers that I wanted to talk to them, but I had no idea what I was supposed to be talking about. I would ask them questions about whether they had been trained in thematic curriculum and if it was being taught. I would ask about their lesson plans and schemes of works and most times I would get blank stares. I could be talking to ten teachers and not one would answer me; most of them would be looking at their feet. The reason for this kind of response is because they are not doing the things they should be. These teachers are always so excited to see me until they hear that I am an education inspector and from that point on I will not get a single one of them to look me in the eye. Eye contact is a hard thing to come by in Uganda and it drives me crazy at times. I was in a meeting with the head teacher of the primary school that I live and my counterpart and the head teacher spent most of the meeting playing with his radio. At times the radio was so loud that I could not hear a word that was being said. He was doing anything he could to avoid eye contact. I was completely baffled. Could you imagine a school inspector coming to visit your school and your principal was playing with a radio the entire time? However, Fredrick did not seem to mind so I guess it is nothing out of the ordinary. It is a sign of disrespect for children to look an elder in the eye so when children are greeting me they look at their feet and are so quite I can barely hear them. Coming from America we teach our children to be confident and eye contact is important. How many times have you heard your parents or teacher say, “Look at me while I am talking to you.” Luckily for me the children that have gotten to know me no longer look at their feet while talking to me. Now if only I could get the teachers to stop fearing me and start looking at me and answering my questions.
While visiting one of the schools the deputy informed me that they had computers, but that they did not have anyone to train them on how to use them. I am hoping to go next week to check out the computers and see if I could start teaching computer classes at both the primary school as well as the neighboring secondary school that is supposed to be sharing the computers. The older children have also been begging me to teach them more English and after examining their PLE (similar to the I-Step) I noticed that they are really lacking in English. I, however, have no idea how to go about teaching a language especially when I am not fluent in Luganda. However, I think I am going to start a writing club and encourage them to write in English. They know enough to get started and I can help them fill in the blanks. Eventually, I want them to write story books that can be used in the lower primary grades. If you have any ideas on how to go about teaching a foreign language please be sure to let me know! I also had the opportunity to visit a school funded by a Canadian and it was fantastic. They had a fabulous library that I am hoping to duplicate at Kiyumba. I believe I have found an organization that is willing to donate some books, but I am hoping to find more. I am just glad that I have found a library in which I can model Kiyumba’s after.
As Said By Ugandans:
Frank: “So if I go to America my skin will turn white?”
Me: “No, it doesn’t work that way.”
Frank: “But Michael Jackson turned white”
Fredrick:“I don’t want to have women working at my school because they get pregnant and become week.”
Carol: “Where did you learn to eat corn?”
Anyway, I hope this message has found you all happy and well! Happy Father’s Day dad and Happy Birthday Mom! As always, thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read!
Peace and Love,
Autumn
p.s. I would love to have some Cliff bars for my next camping trip!
p.s.s. It was brought to my attention that I may have given you the wrong address. The correct one is listed on the top of my blog. There is no zip code. Thanks!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
A Numerous Amount of Unrelated Stories
Muli mutya! I hope this message finds you all happy and well! I cannot believe summer is already here and I hope you are enjoying the sweet sunshine! I am jealous that many of you will be spending time on boats and in the water. There are only canoes here and if I swim in the water I will most definitely contract a parasite.
It has happened more than once during my time here in Uganda that my neighbors will spot another muzungu in the village and find me immediately. The conversation usually goes something like this, “Nalubega, there are muzungus! Come and see!” Of course I always come running because it is incredibly unusual to find muzungus in the village. Upon reflecting on this event later I usually laugh. Here we are running outside to find other white people as if we are an extinct species with only a few left in the world. I acted in the same way a few days previous when we saw some rare parrot. On this particular day I met five westerners. Three of these muzungus were from the states on a mission trip. My villagers apparently informed them that there was a born again Christian living in the village which is how they found me; which brings me to the second point. I don’t exactly know what a born again Christian is, but this country is crazy about them. I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked if I am a born again Christian. Why do I need to be born again? Can’t I just be Christian? And where did they get the idea that I was a born again Christian in the first place? Upon walking into the grocery store I have even been given a rosary. If I know anything about this country it is this, Ugandans love muzungu sightings and born again Christians.
An addition to the mission trip people: I went for a run last night and the Christians were back in the village having some sort of assembly and were just finishing up as I was running by. As they are driving by me one of them has a video camera out the window filming me. Now, I am sure it was because many children were running along side me, but come on; it is not a safari. I can think of many things I would not liked to be filmed doing and running is definitely one of them. I am sure they are going to go home and show all of their friends a video of me running and they will probably laugh at how slow I am and how much I am tripping over the uneven ground. Awesome.
Ugandans are very indirect. For example, if you have not ironed your clothes they may ask you if the power was out. What they are really asking is why have you not ironed your clothes. When I was at home stay I was washing my clothes on a Sunday and the father said, “I think you wash your clothes on Saturday.” To this day I am not sure if he literally thought I washed my clothes on Saturday or if he was indirectly telling me to wash my clothes on Saturday. Now that I am in the village my new favorite word is “somehow.” My friend Peace told me she was going to come visit me in the afternoon, but never showed up. When I saw here later I was giving her a hard time about it. The conversation that followed went like this:
Peace: “I am sorry I could not come. I was sick”
Me: “Oh, you were sick? I am sorry.”
Peace: Somehow I was sick.
Me: “You mean you were sick or you were not sick?”
Peace: “I was sick, somehow.”
What does this word somehow mean in this context? I have laughed with Peace about this a lot lately. It was Peace’s way of lying to me about being sick, but indirectly. It was used in a way that if questioned, she wasn’t really lying. I have noticed many Ugandans using this word lately and I laugh every time. I have even started using the word myself. The other day a teacher saw that I was planning to carry two jerry cans and asked me if I was stronger than him. My response was, “Somehow.”
I love big dogs and for the past few years I have really wanted to get a Great Dane. Last weekend I met a German man with a Great Dane as big as a calf and it got me thinking about what it would be like to have such a large dog in the village. First, let me explain the idea of pets here in Uganda. It is non existent. Sure, many Ugandans have dogs, but the are underfed, sleep outside, are never petted, and are used for protection and chasing monkeys out of the garden. Second, Ugandans are scared of dogs that they don’t know. Third, they have no idea how smart animals are. Lastly, all of their dogs look exactly the same; none over two feet in height and none any other color than brown. I would love to have a Great Dane here mostly for the shock factor. My dog would have a very cool African name; perhaps that of a warrior. I would walk him to the local store and people would run for their lives. When I asked my pup to sit and he did, they would be in total amazement. At night when I brought him into my house people would laugh and point. When some thug (not that there are any, but lets say there is a village thug) tries stealing from me, my dog would scare him away with one simple bark. He would probably even eat the bats. It would be fabulous all around. Well, until I was trying to feed him on a volunteers’ salary. I would probably have to ship him home to my parents who would be less than thrilled. No worries Mom and Dad, I will not own a Great Dane in the next two years, somehow.
Under most circumstances living on a Peace Corps salary is more than enough, or so I hear. However, moving in I had to buy everything I own and I quickly ran out of money. The last week in May had been incredibly rough for me in the money department. I was out of money and food, owning only a kilo of beans. However, at this point my stomach was hating me for the amount of beans I have consumed lately. So what I would do is strategically place myself in the path of anyone I saw returning from the garden carrying food. I would then greet them knowing that they were going to ask me if I could identify the food item they were carrying. It was usually an ear of corn or an avocado, but I would look at it in amazement and act like I have never seen such a thing. Because they are incredibly generous and because they want to be the one to give the muzungu their first ear of corn, they would give me some and there you have it; I am able to eat a dinner consisting of an ear of corn. I know it is wrong to deceive them in this way, but I was hungry.
One day I was looking out my front window and I saw my seven year old friend Patrick, also known as Patu, standing behind a cow. After looking around to see if anyone was watching Patrick stuck his fingers inside the cows rear-end. He then looked to see how the cow would respond. When the cow gave no reaction, he did it again! I could not believe this. I was watching a child willingly stick his fingers into a cow’s butt. All I had to do was yell “Patu” and he took off running. A few hours later I passed his house on the way to the store and his mother told me he was really sick and that it was malaria. I should have told her that it was not malaria, but it was probably from Patrick sticking his fingers in a cow’s butts. From now on there is going to be a strict hand washing policy for Patrick anytime he comes to my house. Later in the day, Patrick comes over again. If you remember from my last post, Patrick was the one wearing his sister’s skirt. However, on this trip to my house he decided to leave the skirt at home and opted for just a semi long T-shirt. I know I should love this kid less, but I just don’t.
I think I mentioned that I bought a football a while ago. I have adopted the Ugandan name for the game of soccer; the word soccer almost sounds derogatory to me anymore. Today as I was on my way out for a run the kids were playing with my football and I decided to play with them instead. I soon had a crowd watching me which included, but was not limited to, the entire village. Now, I used to play football as a small child. My team even won the city championship, but I do not think it had anything to do with my athletic abilities. In all honesty, all I remember from my football days is my coach telling my mom not to buy me shorts with pockets because I spent most of my football career with my hands in my pockets. Needless to say, my abilities have not grown exponentially over the years. However, when I was playing against the seven year olds I was winning ten to one. The older kids were intrigued that I was playing so I invited them to play. I knew what was going to happen even before I invited them to play; they showed me how the game was really played. These kids play barefoot on some of the most uneven ground I have ever seen and they are fabulous. Actually, fabulous does not even begin to describe how good they are. The thing that gets me is that they have never had a coach. They have never done drills or worked out. All of their talent comes from just playing during recess with a blow up plastic ball. Bless their hearts, they would pass it to me knowing that I would probably give it up to the other team in a couple of seconds anyway. I have about five kids that have promised to turn me into an all star football player before I move back to the states. We’ll see how that works out for me.
Without electronics and the late arrival of my counterpart I have had great deal of free time. Luckily for me, I have recently inherited a set of water color paints from a PCV about to return to the states and have picked up painting as a hobby. I am not sure which is better, my athletic abilities or my artistic abilities. I like to paint pictures and amaze small children. However, there is always one brutally honest child in the group who tells me as he sees it. “Sagala,” he says. Meaning, “I don’t like/love/want.” I just pretend there is a language barrier and go on painting gaudy things.
I feel that most people can be put in one of three categories. You are either incredibly intelligent, athletic, or artistic. During training I became aware that everyone was incredibly talented. My friends and I tried to find my talent and as it turns out I am very mediocre at everything. For weeks we tried to find my talent. At the end of training, when we still had not come up with anything, Celeste told me that I had good ideas. I think she was being sarcastic or just trying to make me feel good, but I am going to take it. I may not be able to play soccer well, paint well, or be incredibly intelligent, but darn it, I have good ideas.
I sleep under a mosquito net every night. When I first opened the package it told me that it was treated to repeal mosquitos. The other night I noticed my mosquito net was covered with mosquitos. I am not sure what exactly they treated the net with, but I have a feeling it might be sugar water. Some nights I manage to trap a mosquito inside my net. As I am sure you can imagine, this ends up a complete catastrophe. After nights like this, I wake up covered from head to toe with bites that I then continue to scratch like a three year old with the chicken pocks. Between my mosquito bites and the cuts and bruises I acquire in this country, I look like a complete disaster on a daily basis. While my mosquito net may not do much for me in the mosquito department, at least it protects me from bat poop.
My last story is not about Uganda at all, but about Holland. There is a volunteer living in Uganda from Holland and one night some PCVs and this volunteer from Holland were hanging out. A fellow PCV decided to tell this other volunteer everything he knew about Holland. Apparently, Holland has a their own Santa Claus like character, but instead of reindeer he has fifth-teen black men that carry the presents, obviously slaves. However, in recent years they have claimed that these black men were not slaves at all, but merely this Santa character’s friends. On top of this, apparently they have a parade every year with Santa and his “friends.”
As Said By Ugandans:
“Do not go to the next village, they eat people there.”
“Your father must be really rich to have three girls. My friend told me about how Americans have to pay the government money if they have more than two children”
“I am sorry your father did not have any boys.”
“I am sorry I could not come; I fell out of an avocado tree.”
"Did you see my mom? She is the one with only one eye?"
“All women have to do is give birth to children. Men do everything else.” Apparently this man has not given birth to know how much work it is nor has he noticed the amount of work woman do here which is exponentially greater than what the men do.
Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read! If you have not done so already, please be sure to send me an e-mail letting me know what you have been up to! I miss you and think about you all often!
Peace and love,
Autumn
P.S. To add to the list of things I miss. Good flavored teas, but not fruity ones.
P.S.S. Sarah I would love to send you a packing list. Send me an e-mail at auradtke@gmail.com so I can e-mail it to you.
It has happened more than once during my time here in Uganda that my neighbors will spot another muzungu in the village and find me immediately. The conversation usually goes something like this, “Nalubega, there are muzungus! Come and see!” Of course I always come running because it is incredibly unusual to find muzungus in the village. Upon reflecting on this event later I usually laugh. Here we are running outside to find other white people as if we are an extinct species with only a few left in the world. I acted in the same way a few days previous when we saw some rare parrot. On this particular day I met five westerners. Three of these muzungus were from the states on a mission trip. My villagers apparently informed them that there was a born again Christian living in the village which is how they found me; which brings me to the second point. I don’t exactly know what a born again Christian is, but this country is crazy about them. I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked if I am a born again Christian. Why do I need to be born again? Can’t I just be Christian? And where did they get the idea that I was a born again Christian in the first place? Upon walking into the grocery store I have even been given a rosary. If I know anything about this country it is this, Ugandans love muzungu sightings and born again Christians.
An addition to the mission trip people: I went for a run last night and the Christians were back in the village having some sort of assembly and were just finishing up as I was running by. As they are driving by me one of them has a video camera out the window filming me. Now, I am sure it was because many children were running along side me, but come on; it is not a safari. I can think of many things I would not liked to be filmed doing and running is definitely one of them. I am sure they are going to go home and show all of their friends a video of me running and they will probably laugh at how slow I am and how much I am tripping over the uneven ground. Awesome.
Ugandans are very indirect. For example, if you have not ironed your clothes they may ask you if the power was out. What they are really asking is why have you not ironed your clothes. When I was at home stay I was washing my clothes on a Sunday and the father said, “I think you wash your clothes on Saturday.” To this day I am not sure if he literally thought I washed my clothes on Saturday or if he was indirectly telling me to wash my clothes on Saturday. Now that I am in the village my new favorite word is “somehow.” My friend Peace told me she was going to come visit me in the afternoon, but never showed up. When I saw here later I was giving her a hard time about it. The conversation that followed went like this:
Peace: “I am sorry I could not come. I was sick”
Me: “Oh, you were sick? I am sorry.”
Peace: Somehow I was sick.
Me: “You mean you were sick or you were not sick?”
Peace: “I was sick, somehow.”
What does this word somehow mean in this context? I have laughed with Peace about this a lot lately. It was Peace’s way of lying to me about being sick, but indirectly. It was used in a way that if questioned, she wasn’t really lying. I have noticed many Ugandans using this word lately and I laugh every time. I have even started using the word myself. The other day a teacher saw that I was planning to carry two jerry cans and asked me if I was stronger than him. My response was, “Somehow.”
I love big dogs and for the past few years I have really wanted to get a Great Dane. Last weekend I met a German man with a Great Dane as big as a calf and it got me thinking about what it would be like to have such a large dog in the village. First, let me explain the idea of pets here in Uganda. It is non existent. Sure, many Ugandans have dogs, but the are underfed, sleep outside, are never petted, and are used for protection and chasing monkeys out of the garden. Second, Ugandans are scared of dogs that they don’t know. Third, they have no idea how smart animals are. Lastly, all of their dogs look exactly the same; none over two feet in height and none any other color than brown. I would love to have a Great Dane here mostly for the shock factor. My dog would have a very cool African name; perhaps that of a warrior. I would walk him to the local store and people would run for their lives. When I asked my pup to sit and he did, they would be in total amazement. At night when I brought him into my house people would laugh and point. When some thug (not that there are any, but lets say there is a village thug) tries stealing from me, my dog would scare him away with one simple bark. He would probably even eat the bats. It would be fabulous all around. Well, until I was trying to feed him on a volunteers’ salary. I would probably have to ship him home to my parents who would be less than thrilled. No worries Mom and Dad, I will not own a Great Dane in the next two years, somehow.
Under most circumstances living on a Peace Corps salary is more than enough, or so I hear. However, moving in I had to buy everything I own and I quickly ran out of money. The last week in May had been incredibly rough for me in the money department. I was out of money and food, owning only a kilo of beans. However, at this point my stomach was hating me for the amount of beans I have consumed lately. So what I would do is strategically place myself in the path of anyone I saw returning from the garden carrying food. I would then greet them knowing that they were going to ask me if I could identify the food item they were carrying. It was usually an ear of corn or an avocado, but I would look at it in amazement and act like I have never seen such a thing. Because they are incredibly generous and because they want to be the one to give the muzungu their first ear of corn, they would give me some and there you have it; I am able to eat a dinner consisting of an ear of corn. I know it is wrong to deceive them in this way, but I was hungry.
One day I was looking out my front window and I saw my seven year old friend Patrick, also known as Patu, standing behind a cow. After looking around to see if anyone was watching Patrick stuck his fingers inside the cows rear-end. He then looked to see how the cow would respond. When the cow gave no reaction, he did it again! I could not believe this. I was watching a child willingly stick his fingers into a cow’s butt. All I had to do was yell “Patu” and he took off running. A few hours later I passed his house on the way to the store and his mother told me he was really sick and that it was malaria. I should have told her that it was not malaria, but it was probably from Patrick sticking his fingers in a cow’s butts. From now on there is going to be a strict hand washing policy for Patrick anytime he comes to my house. Later in the day, Patrick comes over again. If you remember from my last post, Patrick was the one wearing his sister’s skirt. However, on this trip to my house he decided to leave the skirt at home and opted for just a semi long T-shirt. I know I should love this kid less, but I just don’t.
I think I mentioned that I bought a football a while ago. I have adopted the Ugandan name for the game of soccer; the word soccer almost sounds derogatory to me anymore. Today as I was on my way out for a run the kids were playing with my football and I decided to play with them instead. I soon had a crowd watching me which included, but was not limited to, the entire village. Now, I used to play football as a small child. My team even won the city championship, but I do not think it had anything to do with my athletic abilities. In all honesty, all I remember from my football days is my coach telling my mom not to buy me shorts with pockets because I spent most of my football career with my hands in my pockets. Needless to say, my abilities have not grown exponentially over the years. However, when I was playing against the seven year olds I was winning ten to one. The older kids were intrigued that I was playing so I invited them to play. I knew what was going to happen even before I invited them to play; they showed me how the game was really played. These kids play barefoot on some of the most uneven ground I have ever seen and they are fabulous. Actually, fabulous does not even begin to describe how good they are. The thing that gets me is that they have never had a coach. They have never done drills or worked out. All of their talent comes from just playing during recess with a blow up plastic ball. Bless their hearts, they would pass it to me knowing that I would probably give it up to the other team in a couple of seconds anyway. I have about five kids that have promised to turn me into an all star football player before I move back to the states. We’ll see how that works out for me.
Without electronics and the late arrival of my counterpart I have had great deal of free time. Luckily for me, I have recently inherited a set of water color paints from a PCV about to return to the states and have picked up painting as a hobby. I am not sure which is better, my athletic abilities or my artistic abilities. I like to paint pictures and amaze small children. However, there is always one brutally honest child in the group who tells me as he sees it. “Sagala,” he says. Meaning, “I don’t like/love/want.” I just pretend there is a language barrier and go on painting gaudy things.
I feel that most people can be put in one of three categories. You are either incredibly intelligent, athletic, or artistic. During training I became aware that everyone was incredibly talented. My friends and I tried to find my talent and as it turns out I am very mediocre at everything. For weeks we tried to find my talent. At the end of training, when we still had not come up with anything, Celeste told me that I had good ideas. I think she was being sarcastic or just trying to make me feel good, but I am going to take it. I may not be able to play soccer well, paint well, or be incredibly intelligent, but darn it, I have good ideas.
I sleep under a mosquito net every night. When I first opened the package it told me that it was treated to repeal mosquitos. The other night I noticed my mosquito net was covered with mosquitos. I am not sure what exactly they treated the net with, but I have a feeling it might be sugar water. Some nights I manage to trap a mosquito inside my net. As I am sure you can imagine, this ends up a complete catastrophe. After nights like this, I wake up covered from head to toe with bites that I then continue to scratch like a three year old with the chicken pocks. Between my mosquito bites and the cuts and bruises I acquire in this country, I look like a complete disaster on a daily basis. While my mosquito net may not do much for me in the mosquito department, at least it protects me from bat poop.
My last story is not about Uganda at all, but about Holland. There is a volunteer living in Uganda from Holland and one night some PCVs and this volunteer from Holland were hanging out. A fellow PCV decided to tell this other volunteer everything he knew about Holland. Apparently, Holland has a their own Santa Claus like character, but instead of reindeer he has fifth-teen black men that carry the presents, obviously slaves. However, in recent years they have claimed that these black men were not slaves at all, but merely this Santa character’s friends. On top of this, apparently they have a parade every year with Santa and his “friends.”
As Said By Ugandans:
“Do not go to the next village, they eat people there.”
“Your father must be really rich to have three girls. My friend told me about how Americans have to pay the government money if they have more than two children”
“I am sorry your father did not have any boys.”
“I am sorry I could not come; I fell out of an avocado tree.”
"Did you see my mom? She is the one with only one eye?"
“All women have to do is give birth to children. Men do everything else.” Apparently this man has not given birth to know how much work it is nor has he noticed the amount of work woman do here which is exponentially greater than what the men do.
Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read! If you have not done so already, please be sure to send me an e-mail letting me know what you have been up to! I miss you and think about you all often!
Peace and love,
Autumn
P.S. To add to the list of things I miss. Good flavored teas, but not fruity ones.
P.S.S. Sarah I would love to send you a packing list. Send me an e-mail at auradtke@gmail.com so I can e-mail it to you.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Holiday is O-V-E-R
I am white, okay, maybe I am more brown now as Frank pointed out to me the other day, I am now more aware of that fact than I have ever been in my entire life and I also more popular than I have ever been or ever will be again. Sometimes it saddens me to think of how unpopular I will be when I return to the states after being so popular here. I am amazed by the amount of people that I hear yelling my name no matter if I am in my village or the next. I usually have no idea who they are, but they know me. Today as I was walking to get a taxi a large truck drives by with a couple of men with a microphone and large speakers on the bed of the truck. When I heard the truck coming I knew what I was in for. As the truck was inching by I thought I was in the clear, but at the last minute the man with the microphone caught a glimpse of me and says, “Oh! Muzungu!” He then went on for a good while saying things to or about me in Luganda, I could not figure out which, all on his microphone loud enough for the entire village to know that I was nearby How often do you find yourself being humiliated by a man on the bed of truck with a microphone? There are times when I think I am going to run out of things to tell you about, but then things like this happen and I realize that I will never run out of things to laugh about here.
Lately I have noticed that some of the kids around here are just downright naughty. I have chosen to use the word naughty because they are cute kids and they always make me laugh, despite their bad behavior. To me that is what naughty is, a humorous word used to describe a bad action. Last week I was painting my front room an obnoxious color orange. I was trying to mix Tibetan Yellow and Ruby Red; at first I got magenta, but with a little more Tibetan Yellow, I ended up with what Crayola calls red orange. It is a disaster. Anyway, I left the paint on the back porch and I walked out my back door to find that someone had stuck their little paws into the paint and smeared it all over my wall. Next, I bought a football (soccer ball) for the kids to play with and they will come ask for it whenever I am home. I always leave my doors open so people know I am home if they want to visit and I just like the openness of it. The other day the boys were outside my window asking for the ball and when I went to get it for them I saw them in my house getting it for themselves. Another day I gave it to some small children and soon saw them sitting on my porch without the ball. I then realized that some older kids had stolen it from them. As I mentioned before the borehole is broken and apparently it is because children had been playing on it. Because most of these things happened in about two days, I was annoyed. I told myself, “This would never happen in the States” and clearly this is not the case, but it is a bit different here than in the states. Things happen in the states, but we ask “Where were their parents?” Here, kids are on their own. Two year olds wander across the street to my house alone, seven year olds are taking care of infants. The other day I asked a teacher what she does with her four month old baby when she teaches and she told me she leaves her at home alone. I realized she was not joking when I heard the baby crying for a half hour while she was teaching. The lack of supervision and the amount of responsibility given to these children is, at most times, frightening.
Even though I just got done talking about how these children are naughty, let me tell you about why I love them so much and how it already saddens me to think about leaving them in two years. There is a family of four children, Ivan, Angel, Patrick, and Martin and they are probably the funniest kids I know and the ones responsible for painting my back porch. Today they came over as usual, Patrick wearing a skirt and Angel wearing pants. Clearly Angel store Patrick’s pants, but Patrick couldn't care less despite how much the other seven year olds made fun of him. Although Patrick was wearing a skirt and not wearing underwear, he did not want to be left out of doing handstands and again, couldn't care less when the kids were laughing at him exposing himself. He is a complete and total ham and will dance for anyone that asks. Today when I was showing them the fighting bats on my back porch ceiling Ivan went and got a stick and tried shooing them from my house; when he didn’t succeed he decided to free my house of wasps nest in stead. When I went to fetch water today and was carrying two twenty liter jerry cans many small children would try to help me in any way their little arms could. Yesterday one of the brightest thirteen olds I have ever known came over just to sing for me and offered to help me clean my lamp. They let me play soccer with them and never laugh at me when I make a food of myself, well unless I laugh first. All the kids in my village are wonderful and fabulous and I am so lucky to have them. I think the adults think I am crazy because I play with them so often and my house constantly looks like a day care, but I do not care. Hopefully I can inspire them to play with their children as well.
The holiday is over and students returned to class on Monday and while I was excited to begin work, I am sad that all of my friends are gone. All along I knew that Carol and Kennedy would be returning to boarding school, but I did not realize what school would do to those who are not boarding students. Before holiday, children were everywhere. In the mornings the village was quiet; everyone in their gardens digging. I would sometimes see the children on their way to fetch water and they would stop and talk. In the afternoons the children lived on my porch and I would have to beg them to go home when it was time for me to lock up for the night. Now that school has began I hardly see children and I live at a school. I will see a few of them while they are on break or taking their time walking to the latrine. While the educational part of the school day ends at 3:30, students are at the school until five and at five the students scurry on home to do their chores and homework. Before school children were at my house or playing football in front of it; now it is like a ghost town and I miss my friends.
While the man I am supposed to be working with has not yet showed up, I decided to meander on over to the school the other day to look through some educational materials I had been told the school had been given by an American organization. I was incredibly happy to see that many great things were donated such as educational bingo, flash cards, story books, and dvds. However, everything was still shoved in boxes and clearly not being used. Over the next few weeks I hope to organize the materials in the resource room as well as train teachers on how they can best use the resources. I just hope that everyone is excited about these materials as I am, but I am sure they are not considering that they have had some of them for over a year and they have not been touched.
Ugandan children do not have books. Part of it is that they are expensive and I think that part of it is just not in their culture to read books for leisure. While walking past the school the other morning I noticed that the P2 teacher had not yet shown up an hour after the school day began. The class of fifteen children were sitting patiently waiting and I decided to stop in and say hello. After a bit I decided to go grab a story book I had saw in the donated materials and read it to the class. The story was decent about some angry lady bug and the kids did not understand most of what I was reading, but they loved the fact that I was reading to them and they had beautiful pictures to look at. While they may not have understood exactly what I was saying, they were sure to shout out in English objects that they were seeing in the pictures. It was fabulous and I am really hoping to influence the teachers into reading at least one story to their class a day. However, for this to work the school needs more books. I have looked into another organization that donates books and I am in the process of contacting them to see if I can get some books. My main goal is to establish a library at the school which would allow children to access books whenever they would like. One of the issues that I am having a bit of trouble with is that the books I have come across here in the resource room are culturally irrelevant to children here. For example, there was a book talking about a school day, in America, and there were very few things that correlated with a classroom here in Uganda. For example, students were riding a school bus to school and not walking miles on foot, they were feeding their classroom pet, and they were being fed lunch which is a huge issue here right now because students are not fed at school. However, there are many books that show cultural differences and others such as Chicka Chicka Boom Boom that can be used in both cultures with no problem both of which would be great. While I love having English books to get children of all ages used to seeing English words, I would also love to be able to buy Luganda language books here in country. If anyone would like to contribute in any way please be sure to let me know!
Last weekend I had my first visitor from the states! Miss Sarah Matthews, who I met in Kenya last year while she was doing research, was back in Kenya doing some follow up research and was kind enough to fly into Entebbe to visit me for the weekend! We spent the night in Entebbe and the following day at the pool and then made our way to Kampala for dancing and good food. As always in Uganda, it was an interesting evening, filled with other Muzungus from all around the world. My favorite part of the night had to have been when I noticed a very intoxicated girl on the ground clearly searching for something. I watched her search and search in between pulling her pants up and falling over. I felt bad for her and decided to ask her friend what she was so desperately trying to find in case I could be of some help. He looked at me with one of the most disgusted looks I have ever seen and said, “You’re never going to believe me if I told you; she’s looking for her teeth.” Apparently she had fake teeth and they fell out at some point in the night. For the remainder of the night she could be found on her hands and knees searching for her teeth. Part of me hopes she never found them; it just seems like bad hygiene to be putting things in your mouth that you found on the floor of a bar.
And lastly, I finally have an address! It is P.O. Box 849 Masaka, Uganda. Some tips for sending packages. Be sure to write Air Mail on everything and usually if you write educational materials or something religious on the package (Sister Autumn Radtke); things are less likely to be tampered with. My mom has also informed me that the post office has prepaid envelopes that you can shove as much as you like in and that is probably the most inexpensive way to send things. I, in advance, thank all of you who have been wanting to send things and those who will in time send things! While I do not really need anything, except for photos and music, there are of course things that would make my day. Things I miss: trail mix, Taco Bell mild sauce packets, puzzles, decent razors, chocolate covered salty things, books, and smell good things for my house. In all honesty, I would love anything you sent!
There are also many things I wish I had for the kids. Children in my village do not have toys. They make their own balls out of plastic bags, today a kid made a toy gun out of who knows what, and they pull each other around in cut up jerry cans. While a part of me loves that these children are so creative, I want them to have more. My mom had sent me a package of things to give to the children in my home stay family, but it arrived too late and now my village kids are making use of them. They love chasing bubbles, looking at postcards, playing with an etch a sketch sort of contraption, and a deck of cards. I recently inherited a small map of the United States and the World, as well as a deck of cards showing famous landmarks on one side and giving a description on the other, from a volunteer that is returning to the states. Last night I brought them both out and I would show the picture of the landmark and they would find its location on the map; they were ecstatic about it and they were learning at the same time. Oh, and I am sure they would love puzzles just as much as I do. So if you would like to donate toys, both them and I would love it!
Anyway, thank you for taking the time out to read my ramblings!
Peace and love,
Autumn
Lately I have noticed that some of the kids around here are just downright naughty. I have chosen to use the word naughty because they are cute kids and they always make me laugh, despite their bad behavior. To me that is what naughty is, a humorous word used to describe a bad action. Last week I was painting my front room an obnoxious color orange. I was trying to mix Tibetan Yellow and Ruby Red; at first I got magenta, but with a little more Tibetan Yellow, I ended up with what Crayola calls red orange. It is a disaster. Anyway, I left the paint on the back porch and I walked out my back door to find that someone had stuck their little paws into the paint and smeared it all over my wall. Next, I bought a football (soccer ball) for the kids to play with and they will come ask for it whenever I am home. I always leave my doors open so people know I am home if they want to visit and I just like the openness of it. The other day the boys were outside my window asking for the ball and when I went to get it for them I saw them in my house getting it for themselves. Another day I gave it to some small children and soon saw them sitting on my porch without the ball. I then realized that some older kids had stolen it from them. As I mentioned before the borehole is broken and apparently it is because children had been playing on it. Because most of these things happened in about two days, I was annoyed. I told myself, “This would never happen in the States” and clearly this is not the case, but it is a bit different here than in the states. Things happen in the states, but we ask “Where were their parents?” Here, kids are on their own. Two year olds wander across the street to my house alone, seven year olds are taking care of infants. The other day I asked a teacher what she does with her four month old baby when she teaches and she told me she leaves her at home alone. I realized she was not joking when I heard the baby crying for a half hour while she was teaching. The lack of supervision and the amount of responsibility given to these children is, at most times, frightening.
Even though I just got done talking about how these children are naughty, let me tell you about why I love them so much and how it already saddens me to think about leaving them in two years. There is a family of four children, Ivan, Angel, Patrick, and Martin and they are probably the funniest kids I know and the ones responsible for painting my back porch. Today they came over as usual, Patrick wearing a skirt and Angel wearing pants. Clearly Angel store Patrick’s pants, but Patrick couldn't care less despite how much the other seven year olds made fun of him. Although Patrick was wearing a skirt and not wearing underwear, he did not want to be left out of doing handstands and again, couldn't care less when the kids were laughing at him exposing himself. He is a complete and total ham and will dance for anyone that asks. Today when I was showing them the fighting bats on my back porch ceiling Ivan went and got a stick and tried shooing them from my house; when he didn’t succeed he decided to free my house of wasps nest in stead. When I went to fetch water today and was carrying two twenty liter jerry cans many small children would try to help me in any way their little arms could. Yesterday one of the brightest thirteen olds I have ever known came over just to sing for me and offered to help me clean my lamp. They let me play soccer with them and never laugh at me when I make a food of myself, well unless I laugh first. All the kids in my village are wonderful and fabulous and I am so lucky to have them. I think the adults think I am crazy because I play with them so often and my house constantly looks like a day care, but I do not care. Hopefully I can inspire them to play with their children as well.
The holiday is over and students returned to class on Monday and while I was excited to begin work, I am sad that all of my friends are gone. All along I knew that Carol and Kennedy would be returning to boarding school, but I did not realize what school would do to those who are not boarding students. Before holiday, children were everywhere. In the mornings the village was quiet; everyone in their gardens digging. I would sometimes see the children on their way to fetch water and they would stop and talk. In the afternoons the children lived on my porch and I would have to beg them to go home when it was time for me to lock up for the night. Now that school has began I hardly see children and I live at a school. I will see a few of them while they are on break or taking their time walking to the latrine. While the educational part of the school day ends at 3:30, students are at the school until five and at five the students scurry on home to do their chores and homework. Before school children were at my house or playing football in front of it; now it is like a ghost town and I miss my friends.
While the man I am supposed to be working with has not yet showed up, I decided to meander on over to the school the other day to look through some educational materials I had been told the school had been given by an American organization. I was incredibly happy to see that many great things were donated such as educational bingo, flash cards, story books, and dvds. However, everything was still shoved in boxes and clearly not being used. Over the next few weeks I hope to organize the materials in the resource room as well as train teachers on how they can best use the resources. I just hope that everyone is excited about these materials as I am, but I am sure they are not considering that they have had some of them for over a year and they have not been touched.
Ugandan children do not have books. Part of it is that they are expensive and I think that part of it is just not in their culture to read books for leisure. While walking past the school the other morning I noticed that the P2 teacher had not yet shown up an hour after the school day began. The class of fifteen children were sitting patiently waiting and I decided to stop in and say hello. After a bit I decided to go grab a story book I had saw in the donated materials and read it to the class. The story was decent about some angry lady bug and the kids did not understand most of what I was reading, but they loved the fact that I was reading to them and they had beautiful pictures to look at. While they may not have understood exactly what I was saying, they were sure to shout out in English objects that they were seeing in the pictures. It was fabulous and I am really hoping to influence the teachers into reading at least one story to their class a day. However, for this to work the school needs more books. I have looked into another organization that donates books and I am in the process of contacting them to see if I can get some books. My main goal is to establish a library at the school which would allow children to access books whenever they would like. One of the issues that I am having a bit of trouble with is that the books I have come across here in the resource room are culturally irrelevant to children here. For example, there was a book talking about a school day, in America, and there were very few things that correlated with a classroom here in Uganda. For example, students were riding a school bus to school and not walking miles on foot, they were feeding their classroom pet, and they were being fed lunch which is a huge issue here right now because students are not fed at school. However, there are many books that show cultural differences and others such as Chicka Chicka Boom Boom that can be used in both cultures with no problem both of which would be great. While I love having English books to get children of all ages used to seeing English words, I would also love to be able to buy Luganda language books here in country. If anyone would like to contribute in any way please be sure to let me know!
Last weekend I had my first visitor from the states! Miss Sarah Matthews, who I met in Kenya last year while she was doing research, was back in Kenya doing some follow up research and was kind enough to fly into Entebbe to visit me for the weekend! We spent the night in Entebbe and the following day at the pool and then made our way to Kampala for dancing and good food. As always in Uganda, it was an interesting evening, filled with other Muzungus from all around the world. My favorite part of the night had to have been when I noticed a very intoxicated girl on the ground clearly searching for something. I watched her search and search in between pulling her pants up and falling over. I felt bad for her and decided to ask her friend what she was so desperately trying to find in case I could be of some help. He looked at me with one of the most disgusted looks I have ever seen and said, “You’re never going to believe me if I told you; she’s looking for her teeth.” Apparently she had fake teeth and they fell out at some point in the night. For the remainder of the night she could be found on her hands and knees searching for her teeth. Part of me hopes she never found them; it just seems like bad hygiene to be putting things in your mouth that you found on the floor of a bar.
And lastly, I finally have an address! It is P.O. Box 849 Masaka, Uganda. Some tips for sending packages. Be sure to write Air Mail on everything and usually if you write educational materials or something religious on the package (Sister Autumn Radtke); things are less likely to be tampered with. My mom has also informed me that the post office has prepaid envelopes that you can shove as much as you like in and that is probably the most inexpensive way to send things. I, in advance, thank all of you who have been wanting to send things and those who will in time send things! While I do not really need anything, except for photos and music, there are of course things that would make my day. Things I miss: trail mix, Taco Bell mild sauce packets, puzzles, decent razors, chocolate covered salty things, books, and smell good things for my house. In all honesty, I would love anything you sent!
There are also many things I wish I had for the kids. Children in my village do not have toys. They make their own balls out of plastic bags, today a kid made a toy gun out of who knows what, and they pull each other around in cut up jerry cans. While a part of me loves that these children are so creative, I want them to have more. My mom had sent me a package of things to give to the children in my home stay family, but it arrived too late and now my village kids are making use of them. They love chasing bubbles, looking at postcards, playing with an etch a sketch sort of contraption, and a deck of cards. I recently inherited a small map of the United States and the World, as well as a deck of cards showing famous landmarks on one side and giving a description on the other, from a volunteer that is returning to the states. Last night I brought them both out and I would show the picture of the landmark and they would find its location on the map; they were ecstatic about it and they were learning at the same time. Oh, and I am sure they would love puzzles just as much as I do. So if you would like to donate toys, both them and I would love it!
Anyway, thank you for taking the time out to read my ramblings!
Peace and love,
Autumn
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