What is Coming Up

Just to keep you updated, in the next week I will be doing a few interesting things:

1. Teaching a two day midwifery course to the Village Health Workers. Many of them deliver babies with no training at all and speak only Lugandan.

2. Attending a friends' traditional African wedding in a Gomez.

3. Teaching an English class to members of the Women's Empowerment Group focusing on issues of womanhood, health and the environment.

4. Organzing a youth leadership camp for 150 students.

5. Coaching the girls netball team and running a weekly boot camp.

6. Presenting a workshop for young women on puberty, sexuality, self confidence and leadership.

7. Writing proposals to work collaboratively with nurses at the Uganda Rural Fund.

8. Organzing a interclass competition and grade awarding ceremony for students as they recieve their semester one grades. Nothing is more important than encouraging youth to excel in school.

Also, I love my mother, father, friends and boyfriend David, who I am very proud of and is setting off to Norway for a science conference (good luck!)

Sharing

In Canada you know it is true love when you will share one, maybe even two of your fries; while in Uganda it is a cultural norm to share everything. People share everything here, their families, their food, even a seat on the bus with a middle aged man, a feet licking goat or someones baby.

One day at the market I was buying cassava (sweet potato fried or boiled into long strips costing 1,000 shillings/ 50c) and two small children, no older than three, were watching me. I had some extra money on me so I figured I would buy them each their own small bag. When the first little girl got her bag she started to individually cut each fry into two pieces and give half to her friend.

If someone goes to the market and buys a fish ($5000 shillings/ $2.50) you can be guaranteed that everyone is going to get a share of that fish: your uncle, aunty, grandma, the girl down the street, even the guy who is sleeping, when he wakes up in 20 minutes can be assured his share of fish will be waiting.

Even I am not immune, when I purchase a chocolate bar I may eat one or two squares and share the rest with everyone on the taxi ride home or the children at the house. The odd thing is, I do not miss eating the rest of the chocolate, I am so much happier to share it rather than hoard it all to myself.

So when I see a child with malnutrition or a woman with an infected uterus at a medical camp it comforts me to know that when you help one person with a sustainable development project they will share the benefits with the entire community. Possibly that child or that woman will not see the results, but their grandchildren or maybe even their children, will reap the benefits of the projects we do today.

...and That's How a Monkey Punched Me in the Face

After a gruelling but highly enjoyable 8 hour hike up the mountains of the "Swiss Alps of Uganda," with fellow interns and new friends from the Bunyoni Eco Tourism Resort we had the opportunity to climb inside a deep cave and visit traditional blacksmiths. The resort caters to both international and local citizens and boasts a private island, a tree fort as accommodation with an outdoor shower and toilet surrounded by bamboo and canoes for transportation. As part of the many activities offered such as laser sailing (I am not quite sure what that entailed), a double volleyball/badminton court and even a tour of 'Punishment Island,' a small island 12ft by 12ft that young, unmarried pregnant women were sent to, even as short as 50 years ago. We had the opportunity to climb up an inactive volcano and crawl into a cave meant for people escaping civil war or other dangers. Slither on your belly inside and you will find old fire pits, cooking areas and a large cavern with a waterfall. After that we went to see five male blacksmiths that were creating spears for hunting and needles for crafts. Through a translator they told us that everyone in the village, even the women, are skilled blacksmiths and as I watched the young children continuously blow air into the coals I believed it.

I often refer to the 'pornography of poverty,' because I find that many Canadians are more interested in hearing stories about bad living conditions and daily struggles, while I try to discourage this and focus on the wealth of knowledge and culture Uganda offers, still I was struck by the poverty in these rural mountains. Many of the children had potbellies caused by malnutrition, the school children were following us and demanding money and many of the adults held out their hands.

Along the trip I had a few painful blisters but as I watched Veronica, the girl to my left in the photo, walk in sandals with broken straps down rocky canyons, I decided this was a good lesson in character building for me. As Veronica and I were chatting we wandered a bit farther ahead of the group and came upon two local women and started to converse with them. One of the woman was an elder and carried a large sack of potatoes on her head. I asked if I could carry them for her and after telling me they were very heavy, and was I sure? The woman agreed. I placed the sack on my head, very excitedly, and started to walk alongside her to her house. As we passed by a large field that several women my age were working in I heard surprised laughter and received a lot of thumbs up. After dropping off the package I asked Veronica why the women had laughed so much. "Muzungus always try to carry things on their head but they never can," She said," ...and they asked where you were from, when I told them you were from Canada, they said oh, Canadians are so kind."

I will post the picture as soon as I can charge my camera but recently lightening hit our house and destroyed our television, fridge and fried our electrical cords. I am not missing any of the appliances because the electricity in Uganda is so undependable we do not have much use for it anyway. It only took once for me to put fresh milk in the fridge one night when the power was on, to drink sour milk in the morning when power was still on to realise the power had gone out in the middle of the night. It tasted like evil, if you were wondering, even worse than the fried grasshoppers you can buy in the local market.

!@$#

Learning Lugandan, the traditional language of Uganda, is more exciting if you use it to insult your friends.  “Ahlingah messah (You look like a rat).” “ Abana bo bambe nyo nyo nyo ( Your children are so, so ugly).”Charles, Caroline, Jaja and I often find ourselves in hysterics at the breakfast table and across the office as we invent new insults to pass around. As the insults get longer and more interesting it tests my Lugandan skills as I search my memory for the words duck, chicken, cow and turkey. Today after a battle of the Lugandan wits with Charles he leaned close and with a mischievous grin, whispered “You look like... a Taco.” I looked at Caroline with quizzical eyes looking for an interpretation. “It means bum,” she said, “and don’t you ever say it in public or to Jaja because it is a very vulgar word.” “You know,” I tell Charles, “...there is a restaurant in Canada called Tacobell and you can order tacos?” “I should like to go there,” He says before bursting into laughter.

Jackfruit

One day sitting by the house was a middle aged man. I did not know him so I decided to wait until someone introduced him to me. I grabbed some jackfruit from the kitchen and walked out. Still no one had arrived to introduce us so I sat down beside him and split the jackfruit into two, offering the other half to him. He started to talk rapidly in Lugandan, shuffling away from me on the bench and becaming increasingly anxious. Finally Charles arrived and greeted the man. “Charles what is he saying?˝ I asked.  Charles translated that the man was complaining about how dirty he was in front of the muzungu, how he had grass in his hair and could not believe he was sharing jackfruit with a muzungu and would not speak English. He wished he could take a picture. I slid over next to the man and told Charles to tell him that I had just come from coaching the girl’s netball practice and I was dirty as well. Then I grabbed my camera and to the man’s delight and surprise we had Charles take a picture of us.  I snuggled in close to him and made pretend kissy faces and he could not help but laugh and say he would be telling everyone about this.

Cancer

Often people ask me if I am religious. I admit I take some glee in telling them that I am not because their faces light up in shock, followed by disbelief, a need to make me a born again Christian and then wonderment. I often give them an out by saying “crazy muzungu,” and they nod silently while I advert my eyes to the ground, giving them a moment to compose themselves.  Yet each morning as I lace up my sneakers for my daily run I feel like a religious fanatic. As the mist rises and the sunlight stretches thinly over the landscape, the only thing that can be seen is my sneakers beating against the pavement as I make my way up and down hills to Emirizi village. It feels religious because it is my alone time every day to remember my grandmother. My adored grandmother Anne Johnson recently died from breast cancer and nearly every morning it feels like she is running beside me. My shadow; a part of me but always 10 steps ahead is my grandmother beckoning me over every steep hill and impossible climb. Once I get back to Canada I plan to run for my grandmother again in the Run for the Cure breast cancer fundraising campaign. If other runners in Kamloops that would like to participate in this July event I would welcome teammates.

I would like to dedicate this post to my Grandfather, Mother and Uncles Kelly and Dwayne

Malaria

The human body is an amazing combination of an autonomic nervous system and a somatic nervous system that creates the fight or flight response to stress. In the English language we have several words that immediately cause this system to react: fire, rape, natural disaster. Although no words make our flight or fight re response respond faster than hearing the words “Last night I dreamt....” Your body sweats and pulse races as you prepare for an onslaught of the most boring 5 minutes of your life to ensue. For that reason I will not describe to you the obscene hysteria of my malaria induced dreams. For those of you that do not know, a morning dose of doxycycline is known to induce side effects such as strange dreams, heart burn and nausea among the usual allergic reactions. My only advice to future travellers is to take the tablets at the same time every morning after breakfast to avoid stomach upset and to religiously use your bed net and mosquito repellent to avoid awkward verbal exchanges about dreams...I mean malaria.

The Ugandan Elite

Just as Uganda has a hierarchy of beauty according to the lightness of your skin, there is a hierarchy of power. The Kampala male elite drive expensive cars, go to the best restaurants and night clubs, speak almost exclusively in English and date beautiful women. This exclusive group controls the Uganda Broadcast Companies, own successful businesses, perform as popular artists and operate the country’s banks. They choose the women they want to date and keep them by paying for their partner’s meals and phones; arrange their transportation and maintaining their cash flow. As one woman described the relationships, “As soon as the money is gone, so is the woman.” While these elitists work long hours to maintain their position of power, they choose not to date other professionals, but young female university students.

While other citizens are struggling to keep home, food and school fees paid for, the elite enjoy their selection of beautiful women and western style entertainment. Many engage in what is known as “transactional sex,’ an exchange of money, transportation and gifts for sex with a young woman. The man may or may not be married and it is common knowledge that if a boy grows up into a man of influence he too will be able to afford such a woman.  Many young women and girls agree to this exchange because of limited funds and enjoying the privileges, even, as one girl put it, at the exchange of her dignity. When asked why he did it, a man replied that he enjoyed the young women’s strong bodies and since he could afford it, he engaged in it. While some men buy affection, other men take on extra wives. Bigamy is illegal in Uganda but for men with healthy bank accounts, they think as long as they can afford the extra wives and children (sometime up to 40 offspring) that it is acceptable and normal. The first wife is often acquired because she becomes pregnant and both their families encourage them to marry. Often the man will only have an introduction ceremony with her, a Ugandan engagement party.  When he meets the second woman he will marry he often professes his “real” love to her and has an introduction ceremony and a wedding in church. Any subsequent wives will only have introduction ceremonies. If the man has enough money he will buy each wife her own home and car, but if not they will all live together. One wife remarked that she had no money when he introduced her to his family, but now she has a house and car and when she meets the love of her life she will leave this man a d take the processions with her.

I had the opportunity to travel around with several girlfriends of the elite, and while I am positive this happens in Canada as well, I have never witnessed it. Being white and presumed to have money gives me a certain privilege in Uganda and often an invitation to a world that is closed to many other citizens. It is important to me that I continue to situate myself and think critically to ensure I reject these “white privileges,” as the life of the Kampala elite seems within reach. I could easily stay in Kampala and enjoy the sense of power, the use of money and the feeling that I could date (or own) the people around me.

I do not know if you have ever had the sensation of walking into a room, any room, and knowing you could have anyone in there that you wanted, and that is what I mean by white privilege.  I know that white women and men are desired because it is believed they have money, and could expand their lifestyles onto a significant other. Due to the lightness of our skin we are seen as superior to many Ugandans and the knowledge that colonization is still so deeply engrained on the people here feels embarrassing and sad. While talking to Caroline’s brother Kitto, he said “Everyone wants to marry white because then it will be like you are lifted up, you must be very special if a Muzungu wants to marry you, because Muzungu’s have money.” All of this leads up to the fact that solely because of the colour of white skin, and not due to a special attribute or talent, white people enjoy privileges, and nowhere is it more obvious than Kampala. 

Malls and restaurants cater exclusively to the Kampala elite and the white foreigners that can afford the extravagant prices.  In a country where the average person makes a dollar a day, these restaurants charge 12,000 shillings ($6) for a milkshake and stores charge 80,000 shillings ($40) for a lipstick. It is easy to see how once these women, the ones functioning as girlfriends or as transactional partners, taste the rich life they would fear ever leaving it. This creates a strange dynamic as the ones with power often never get to enjoy it because on one hand, the men need money or else they will lose the women, so they work hard and fear the loss of power is nipping at their heels, while the women are not comfortable either as the knowledge that they could be dismissed for a newer or younger woman and be catapulted back into poverty is always at the forefront of their brains.

Mariahs Beauty Parlour

Caroline's sister Mariah owns a beauty parlour in Kampala and we spent the day there with her sisters and friends getting our hair done and preparing to go to the highly reccomended Botabota nightclub friday night. We congregated in Secoola's University room then left in a car. Nightclubs here do not have a time limit so you can party until morning, we did until 4am.

A person can only hear what they understand

After Easter dinner Kitto (his name is also Wasswa, the name of a male twin), Carolyns twin brother and I went for a walk around their village of Kyunga. Coming up to a group of two young men they talked a bit in Lugandan and Wasswa laughed then put his arm around my waist and led me away. "What was that about?" I asked. He looked at me and said, that man asked me "How much to buy the white woman?" "You want to buy her?" Wasswa asked. "Yes," the man replied. "You want to buy my wife?" Wasswa asked and led me away while the mans laughter died in the background.

Kampala Excitement

Praise to Samba and Mataba! (The traditional female and male names of the Ugandan Gods.)
...there is a western supermarket here. Pause for a happy dance because you can buy sliced meat, cheese, mangoes, breakfast cereal that is not Weetabrix and Canadian jam. For an exorbadant fee of course, but once you go two months of eating biscuits, mango juice and matoke, meat that comes in a package feels like the invention of the computer.

Not only is there a supermarket here, but the malls Garden City and Natumarket are open 24/7 and sell the most beautiful shoes by local ugandan artists. Caroline and I went to a store owned by Stella Ortwori, a famous fashion designer and had the opportunity to meet her and watch her fashion show.

After looking around we decided to meet up with her sister Shivah and her boyfriend Alex at a local restaurant. The only problem was getting through the two hour long traffic jam looming in the distance. The answer was a botabota ride for 3,000 shillings by a man that could have been a stunt driver for a Vin Diesel movie. Once traffic came to a standstill he drove up onto the sidewalk, and once the sidewalk became crowded with botabota drivers he drove us up a dirt road into the park. 10 minutes later and after Caroline narrowly had her leg squished by a parked truck, we arrived at our very trendy destination.

Inside, the restaurant glowed with black lights in the ceiling and music played in the background. Famished from the ride I ordered a chicken dinner while the others drank smoothies. At the end of the dinner Alex got up to pay, "I can't let you pay for my meal, " I said. The cultural custom is if a man asks you out, he must pay for everything, and your friends expenses as well. Oops, I figured that one out too late.

Arriving in Kampala

Reader,
I must apologize for my absence, though please believe, I was thinking of you the entire time. You will forgive me once you hear about my road trip to the capital city Kampala and the tourist heaven Jinja for my exciting weekend with a friends family for Easter weekend and a conference about restoring traditional religion at the source of the Nile River.

I have found that my English has become a bit cumbersome as of late, I am so used to speaking in broken Lugandan and in explaining myself in alternative ways when speaking English so as to be understood. Even talking with my boyfriend David back in Canada has required a bit more effort on my English language abilities. Although in Lugandan my abilities to tell everyone I have diarrhea and require the assistance of a nurse is very clear, if only because it gets a laugh out of everyone: the students, JaJa, Caroline, and the URF staff. So apologies if my writing is not quite the same as it used to be.

I bought a Lugandan/English Dictionary and wander the halls of Hope Integrated Academy School asking the secondary school students to help with this word or that, the conductor and people in the taxi to Masaka because they are trapped in a car with me and can not escape, and even the waitress Rita, who I am happy to say has given me her number and insisted I meet her parents. She asked me if I was lost and I started talking to her in Lugandan, the conversation ended with me inviting her out to Ambiance Nightclub for this Saturday with the girls and I.

My friend Caroline and I have gotten rather close as of late and I happily accepted when she invited me to leave the rural village of Kyetchyme and accompany her to her apartment in Kampala and then Easter weekend at her parents home with her 8 siblings. She left wednesday morning and I was set to meet her in Kampala for thursday night. I left after work in a car driven by our friend and driver Yassein with the other interns Greg, Leandrea and Rohan and except for a flat tire we arrived safe and sound in Kampala by 7pm after a 3 hour drive.

To get to Carolines house we drove on the highway (the highways have been under a lot of construction lately but now we are reaping the benefits of a newly paved and speedy road) and then into the outskirts of Kampala. She shares a house with some of her eldest sisters and they all pay a little to keep it and drop in when they like. The house was surrounded by a cement wall that had a small door, no bigger an opening than meant for a hobbit. Inside the wall there were washing lines and 6 apartment style houses connected in one long row and at the end of the row were 6 latrines, each with a lock on the door. Inside her home were two rooms: a livingroom with a tv and fridge and a bedroom  with an open space shower. Her walls were painted a beautiful torquoise colour, but what I was most impressed with were the many shoes, purses and earrings coating the walls.

As night descended on the city I watched the many buildings on the distant hills light up, indistinguishable from fireflies.