Melon Days

A couple of weekends ago, I had the pleasure of participating in "Melon Days".  It's a festival that's quite a big deal 'round these parts.  There are a few melon lords in the area- the Dunhams, the Veteres, and the Thayns.  The leader of the Dunham melon empire also happens to be the son of the woman who owns the building where our organization's thrift store is housed.  Her other son is the pastor of the Bible church where I attend, his daughter used to run our youth programs, and his son owns the house that I'm currently living in. Are you getting a sense of how things work in small towns?

These farmers grow variety melons (which I'm so sorry that you folks in Indiana can't experience) in addition to the typical cantelope, honeydew, watermelon, etc.  My favorite variety is probably Canary.  It's crisp and lightly sweet yet flavorful.  The Crenshaw variety, however, is referred to around here as "the Cadillac of melons".  It's pretty good too.

The Cadillac

So, Green River's version of a harvest festival is Melon Days.  It basically consists of a bunch of vendors in the city park, plus some special events like a seed spitting, watermelon carving, and watermelon eating contests.  Oh, and free melon.  So much melon.  In case you've never experienced this, I'll warn you that too much melon can lead to some... eh... unpleasant GI effects.

Hope's watermelon, on the far right, is clearly the best, which is why it won first place.  Also, this is a random child.  I don't know him.

The parade was pretty impressive, partly because it was led by a helicopter and partly because of the famous "largest watermelon" (But really?  How vague is that?  Largest of what??) that resides in Green River.  It's really just a slice of watermelon, it's made of wood, and it comes out on special occasions.

What could you wear to melon days but homemade watermelon shirts?

Epicenter, an arts&culture/economic development non-profit, hosted some artists who made this float for the parade.  The theme of the parade this year was "whatever floats your melon".  Phil, one of the artists, bicycled this melon boat through the whole parade, which I considered pretty impressive.

I must say, however, that I was a little less than impressed with the selection of greasy fair food, so if anyone wants to volunteer to come out and set up an elephant ear/tenderloin/milk shake stand to show them how it's done, I would totally support that.

This is my supervisor, Justin.  And this was a tornado dog, which consists of fried potatoes wrapped around a hot dog.  'Nough said.

The non-profit I work with, PACT, and the other non-profit in town, Epicenter, had an arts booth for kids where I was also selling melon popsicles.  Right before I left Indiana I kept joking that if my VISTA position wasn't great I would just open up a popsicle stand.  Ha.  Funny how life works.  My other new business plans since coming here include a bowling alley, a drive-in theater (both of which used to exist), and a gourmet hot dog stand.  Or all three?  There are a lot of abandoned buildings around here that need rescuing.  

You're never too old for a face painting.

The kids were making felt bracelets, which are pretty cool.  I decided to add goat heads to mine, and I'm now also going to open up an etsy site for "natural" studded bracelets.  It's going to take off, I'm sure of it.  (goat heads are these spiky seed things that come off of some plant here.  If you look closely at the third from the top, I think you'll see the upside down goat head.)

The week leading up to Melon Days I made 200 popsicles.  Here's another thing about Green River... "two day shipping" on Amazon really means "two week shipping".  Which led to me calling stores and driving around the state trying to find popsicle molds the weekend before.  For some reason, stores don't consider September to be popsicle-making season.  I did have one man tell me that in a week he would have his Christmas popsicle molds out... I can think of several things wrong with that.

I'm including the popsicle recipes below if you're interested.  The Coconut Crenshaw was heavily endorsed by Hope, and my favorite was probably the Watermelon Strawberry Mint.

Unfortunately because of poor stand placement we didn't sell as many popsicles as we would have liked.  But we made back our money and most people who tried them really liked them.  At one point, Hope (an introvert) and I decided to walk around the park peddling popsicles to sell more.  You can probably imagine how that went, but make sure you're picturing two tired girls walking around the park and weakly yelling "homemade popsicles" and avoiding eye contact.  Whatever I decide to do with my life, I can assure you that it will not involve peddling anything.  

From left to right, Honeylope Orange Cream, Watermelon Strawberry Mint, Coconut Crenshaw, and Honeydew Lime Avocado.

Kid tested and approved.  

Each of these recipes are for about 8 popsicles. My 8-popsicle molds held 2 cups of liquid, so you might need to adjust the recipe slightly depending on much yours hold.  Or you could use ice cube trays.

For all of these, just throw everything in a blender and pour into molds.  They're quite simple and quick when you're not making a million.  I wrapped mine in waxed paper and sealed with washi tape, which worked well.    

Watermelon Strawberry Mint
1.5 cups watermelon 
(seedless would make your life a lot easier.  Otherwise, blend and strain the seeds out)
0.5 cup roasted strawberries 
(roast until juices are running and the fruit is softened and browned)
2 T sugar
0.25 cup mint leaves
2 tsp lemon juice


Honeylope Orange Cream
(this one had mixed reviews... you have to really like cantelope and vanilla)
1.5 cups cantaloupe or honeyloupe
0.5 cups sweetened condensed milk
1/2 tsp vanilla
(or full fat vanilla yogurt)
2 T orange juice concentrate 


Honeydew Lime Avocado
1.5 cups honeydew melon
0.25 cup lime juice
0.5 medium avocado
2 T sugar
Water if necessary to thin


Coconut Crenshaw 
1.0 cup crenshaw melon (or any melon, really)
0.5 cup crushed canned pineapple
0.5 cups coconut milk
1/2 tsp coconut flavor 
(adding coconut shavings might be good if you like a little texture in your pops)


Happy Melon Days!

Trudging

My friend Ana and I arrived in Green River around 10:00 pm on the 23rd of August and were invited to go on a hike at 7:00 am the next day.  That's a good idea, right?  So of course we did it.  The hike was on Mt. Peale, a 12700 ft. peak in the La Sal mountains about an hour and a half away from Green River.  It was a little longer drive than I thought, which led to an adventure involving my car and gas, but that's another story for another time.  

Being from Indiana, I have little experience hiking mountains.  Between that and the elevation, there were many times I thought Mt. Peale would do me in.  I'll state right now that I'm not an endurance person.  My body seems to be built for speed and agility, but slow and steady (or trudging, as I referred to it on the hike) is pretty much my least favorite thing.  In the story of the tortoise and the hare, I'm totally the hare.  My general strategy was to go as far as I could as quickly as possible, and then stop, gasping for air, because I was terrible at pacing myself.  I made it up, and back down, but I didn't make it pleasant for myself.  On the plus side, I'm sure I gave Ana a lot of laughs.

Another hike was planned which took place last weekend.  Mt. Elbert... a 14400 ft peak, almost 2000 feet higher than Mt. Peale and the second highest peak in the continental US behind only Mt. Whitney in California.  I probably should have been more scared for this than I was, but lately I seem to adopt the general attitude of "we'll just see what happens".

These are some of the people I spend my time with now.  Total goons.

We camped by the trailhead and rose at 4:30 after a night of sleep that was possibly the worst of my life... bone chilling coldness, the overwhelming quiet of a silent night punctuated by snores from the boys tent, and being squished to a 1.5 ft wide space by Hope.  The joys of camping.  The beginning of the hike wasn't bad at all, and the rising sun with the changing fall colors of the Colorado forest made it so beautifully worth it. 

Then, the trees faded away, replaced by an intimidating, steep rocky trail through scrub grasses and plants brave enough to survive the altitude.  As we journeyed up this path, there were a very limited number of things on my mind:

Put one foot in front of the other.  Breathe in, breathe out.  One foot in front of the other.  Get to the rock up there. Slow and steady. Water.  Breathe in, breathe out.

By the time we were halfway up the peak, I had blisters on my heel, sole, and toes, and my hip flexors were aching terribly.  My lungs and thighs burned.  I kept looking down and thinking, I don't know how, but my feet are still moving.  Though my steps were generally baby-sized, they didn't stop.  At one point, a man that looked part Native American and all full of sage wisdom passed by me on his way down.  He smiled and said good morning, but I must have seemed miserable because then he just looked at me with a smile in his eyes and said "I know."  

I had learned to trudge, but even more surprisingly, I enjoyed it in a way.  Maybe this is the kind of thing long distance runners experience (I wouldn't know), but there was something kind of cleansing about putting myself through that hike.  It's not really about reaching the top, though of course that's nice (some inspirational Miley Cyrus lyrics are running through my head, but I don't really like her or her music so I'll refrain).  It's something about the lesson of continuing, one foot in front of the other, when your head thinks there's no way you can. It's also about learning what you can handle and pacing yourself accordingly, which is I think one of the hardest life lessons of all.

Sometimes our little group got spaced out, and there was a time I ended up walking with a nice woman named Denise, who was about 45, hiking alone, and had climbed 14000 ft peaks approximately 65 times in her life.  Pretty amazing.  We encountered a man on the way up who thought it sounded like a good plan to spend his morning jogging. JOGGING. up Mt. Elbert. Denise just shook her head and said "He must be from Leadville."  Apparently people from Leadville are nuts.  I wonder if he could feel the daggers everyone was staring into his back as he passed by, because there were plenty of them.  Here you are, just pleased that you're still moving, and he suddenly makes you feel like you're super lame for struggling up this mountain.  You're pretty much a 90 year old woman waddling up in her PJ's, by comparison.

It's a little how life can feel sometimes, or at least it is for me.  I'm generally a "results" person, not a "process" person, and that can make it easy to compare myself to others.  So even if something is a personal achievement it always seems like it pales in comparison to the amazing things that other people are doing (I'm sure no one else has this problem).  It's an ongoing struggle, but I think the past year or so has helped me begin to see things a little differently.  To focus a little more on the journey and less on the peak.  To realize that in each season of my life, I am able to give something unique to the people and opportunities that have been placed before me- something that I couldn't give at any other time.  To remember that the successes or good opinions of others are not what I'm striving for.  And, in the end, to feel comfortable with my own pace.   

Yes, I did actually make it.

Beginnings

This begins a new chapter in life.  A chapter in a small place with small town people, lots of sunshine, melons, run down old buildings, and big skies that are clear blue by day and littered with stars at night.  Sometimes, if I'm standing by a tree and a house that actually has a yard (don't get me started on the futility and and wastefulness of maintaining a yard in the desert), it feels like another small town in the Midwest.  But then I see the buttes rising across a wide expanse of dirt and scrubby bushes and I remember otherwise.    

Honestly, despite the desert landscape and other differences, it's amazing how quickly this new place has felt like home. Maybe that doesn't always happen so easily, but I think I've been lucky.  I was talking to someone recently and we compared our experiences moving away, them to a bigger city and me to my 1000-member town.  Ironically, while their life has become more isolated, I have entered into a family of volunteers and community members that nearly ensures I will never feel lonely. It's what I hoped I'd find here, but I'm glad it's turned out to be real.        

I was also determined to have a good attitude about moving halfway across the country, and I suppose the power of positivity should not be underestimated.  I think it allowed me to come to this place with an open heart and open mind, ready to make the most of the experience.  The realist in me says that I'm sure that things will not always be so rosy, but for now, I love this town with all of its quirky people and places.  A friend recently said, "the best movie endings are the kind that surprise you, but you couldn't imagine ending any other way."  And that's kind of how I feel about ending up in Green River for my VISTA year.  

I hope to use this blog to relay bits and pieces of my life and work here.  I'm excited to share these things with you, and I hope, if you're interested, you get an accurate picture of life (or at least one of them) in Green River, Utah.

Note: I might also occasionally post about totally random things, possibly food related.    
    

Going to Green River

Those of you who have talked to me recently know that for awhile now whenever asked "what's next?" I've been vaguely saying "I'm planning to volunteer with AmeriCorp for a year".  Well, things just got a little more concrete.  

I finished applying for a few different positions on a Monday night... the same Monday night I was in the midst of moving out of my apartment and temporarily into my sister's.  The next day, I received emails about a couple of phone interviews and a missed call/voicemail from a man in Green River, Utah.  The position in this small desert town was basically building the capacity of their existing food pantry and expanding into more community gardening, meals, possibly cooking/nutrition education, etc.  

Great, right?  But the coordinator, Justin, said that if I was interested in the position, I had to interview that day because they were at the end of their allotted VISTA recruitment period.  The keys to my apartment were due at 5:00 and I still had a lot of cleaning to do, so that news was a little stressful.  Luckily for time differences, I had my interview at 6:00 pm our time.  About an hour after we finished 25 of probably the hardest questions I've ever answered (including doosies like "who are you?", and "describe your life philosophy in 7 words"), I received a call and was offered the position.  I also needed to decide if I wanted the position in less than 48 hours.  Long story short, after much (quick) deliberation and a couple of interviews at other locations, I chose to go to Green River.   

If you kept track, the whole thing was done about 50 hours after I applied.  I wouldn't recommend making all life decisions in that time span, but I suppose it was nice to have these things move quickly for a change.

Now for some fun facts about Green River, Utah:

1.  The town's population is a little less than 1000.
2.  It receives about 7 inches of rain per year.
3.  I think the closest town with a Walmart is 60 minutes away.  
4.  It is the last town on I-70 before a 110 mile stretch of no services, hence the town largely runs off of hospitality, some tourism, and...
5.  Melon farming.  Apparently they grow world class melons in Green River, and they have a festival called "Melon Days".
6.  It is surrounded by some incredible and strange landscapes and national parks.
7.  Green River sits on the banks of the Green River.  What?  Whoa.  
^number 7 gives me hope that I won't wither away from green withdrawals  

That little spec right there is Green River.

So, what is AmeriCorp VISTA, and why am I doing it?

Whenever I explain AmeriCorp to someone who hasn't heard of it, I usually say "It's like a domestic Peace Corp".  And I think that's the best way to understand it.  It's a national, government-funded service organization that partners with local non-profits, schools, community and faith-based groups, and the like.  VISTA was started as an anti-poverty program by President Kennedy and was later incorporated into the family of AmeriCorp programs.  While VISTA focuses on service through capacity building, AmeriCorp NCCC and FEMA Corps engage in more direct service and disaster relief.      

I think I've always had this vague idea that I wanted to improve people's lives through food and nutrition, but after an internship last summer I began to question whether that could happen in the product development role I had imagined for myself post-graduation.  As I explored other government, NGO, and non-profit options (this obviously drove my trip to Uganda as well), I came across AmeriCorp and felt like it was a really good way to see anti-hunger and nutrition programs in action in the US.  I'll get the chance to serve a community, and I think I'll learn a lot.  If you're curious, VISTA volunteers are given a living stipend equivalent to the poverty line in our area of service, so we're not working for nothing.  Just very little.  That in itself will be a great learning experience (and not so different from college).       

And why middle-of-nowhere Utah?

Well, the short answer would be: Why not?  I like adventures, and apparently I like places that start with "U".

Really, I can't say that moving to the desert was my first choice.  I pictured myself in a picturesque town in Maine, or maybe in a trendy city in Washington.   I certainly tried to make as logical of a decision as I could, which involved asking Justin, the coordinator, a series of ridiculous questions that he kindly answered.  I even called him at one point to tell him I wasn't taking the position, but after telling him that I just asked him a bunch more questions and asked for more time to decide.  It was like I couldn't let go of it.  At the end, I chose this position over others that were more logical in some ways because... for lack of a better explanation... it felt right.  I understand and appreciate the simple life because that's how I grew up, and I'm excited to become a part of a small community.  I like the fact that a small town will allow me to get involved in different aspects of community life.  Most importantly, I'm excited about the position.  It will be challenging, I'm sure, because this is all pretty new, and I love a challenge.  It also allows me the flexibility to be creative and make things happen that I think will benefit people, in addition to learning more about a non-profit.  

All in all, I'm pretty excited.  I'll miss my family and friends, of course, but I can't wait to begin this next phase.  And seriously, start planning your trips out west because all visitors will be welcome. 

   

Mwereba

Getting back in the swing of life in the US definitely left me with some reverse culture shock.  We simply have so much that they don't in Uganda, and at every turn I keep running into all the small simple things we totally take for granted.  In some ways too, I miss my life there.  I miss the colors and warmth and simplicity.  I had adjusted to the way life worked in Uganda, and I honestly didn't usually feel the absence of the things I was missing.  I think when you leave a place like Africa you don't saw goodbye when you get on the plane.  It takes awhile for the experience to leave you, and in some ways it never does.  "Mwereba" is the Lugandan word for goodbye (referring to many people.  "weeraba" would refer to one person only).  It's one member of the small amount of words I collected... as Martha would always say to me, "you just keep gathering a little at a time, and soon you have a small bundle".  

Everyone, of course, asks you "How was Africa?!" when you see them.  It's totally expected, but an impossible question to answer.  Good?  I lived by myself in a developing country and saw and experienced a lot of things which left a print on my life that I'm sure even I don't yet fully understand.  So, as a random point, if I haven't seen you yet and you want to ask me about Africa, try starting with a specific question.  (:

One thing that helped bring a piece of my life in Uganda back home was the large, 18-lb jackfruit that my dad surprised me with on my second weekend back.  I had thought this delicious fruit was out of my reach in the US, but I was wrong.  You can buy it at the Payless on Greenbush (and I'm sure others), as long as you're willing to fork over a fairly hefty fee.  They only get a couple of them at a time, and they're not always there.  Hence, my dad became known as "the guy who called about the jackfruit".  It was perfectly ripe and yummy, seriously one of my favorite fruits.  Rumor has it that Wrigley modeled the flavor of Juicy Fruit after jackfruit, and I think it totally tastes like it.    

It took five of us a good chunk of time to deconstruct the jackfruit.  If you're looking for an expensive group bonding or ice-breaker activity, I highly recommend it.

For the main point of this post- I wanted to put in a plug for anyone who thinks they might be interested in this kind of opportunity.  As I've said, Catholic Relief Services is an NGO whose mission is to serve the vulnerable in a variety of developing countries.  This happens through several types of development and relief projects, which means there are lots of different opportunities.  Mine was just one example.  There are also many other NGOs, so if you're interested in this type of work I encourage you to do some digging to see what's out there.  

Catholic Relief Services is always looking for volunteers to complete assignments like the one I did in Uganda.  A lot of the assignments of course pertain to agriculture development, but some assignments are looking for other business, food, or nutrition skills.  The link to open assignments (in Uganda, Tanzania, Kenya, and Ethiopia) is below.  And because I'm sure you realized that this is an expensive trip- all of my expenses were paid for by the Farmer to Farmer program.  

http://farmertofarmer.crs.org/  (click on the "Assignments" link to view open assignments)

As one last push... this truly was an awesome experience.  I learned a lot, and I think the work I did in Uganda was able to impact their lives for the better.  I've talked about how much more we have than Ugandans, and by far the most important thing is simply knowledge.  Not usually advanced or complicated knowledge, but rather the kind of stuff we don't even realize we know.  If you think that you can be of service, you'd like to get out of your comfort zone (and really, we all should), and spare a few weeks sometime now or in the future, check it out!

Africa

I’m back in my hotel room in Kampala with plenty of time to think about my experience here in Uganda: to think about what I’ve learned and seen, to try to figure out what all of this means for me moving forward.  But it’s a difficult thing to mentally condense and explain.  Uganda, and probably most of Africa, is the kind of place that evokes a lot of emotions and thoughts.   It’s rough and raw and yet full of potential.  It’s a place of contrasts- of clashing colors, beauty and dirt, happiness and pain, chaos and calm.  Mobile phones and technologies are juxtaposed on a background of huts and shacks lacking running water or electricity.  And at any point you might see someone who looks like they stepped out of the 80’s, 90’s, or Little House on the Prairie.  It’s like having a snapshot of a developing America, only entirely different because of the influence of countries like the US.  When I see what they’re reaching for, some part of me wants to shout “Don’t follow us Africa!  We’re not that cool!  You don’t want our pollution and dependency on oil and expanding waistlines.  Don’t eat our white bread, eat insects and silver fish and paw-paws. Develop, but find your own path- a better one.”    

Things don’t always, or really ever, go perfectly smoothly in rural Uganda.  It’s a place where you must go with the flow or you’ll drive yourself crazy.  It asks a lot of you, and it consistently tests the limits of your comfort zone and patience.  You make the conscious choice to learn and adapt and laugh when things go wrong or be miserable.  And those things force you to grow, or at least they did for me.  I think it taught me to live with a little more flexibility and calmness, celebrating the everyday simple, happy, funny things that I usually miss in my busy life.  

In a few days I’ll go back to warm showers and consistent electricity, a clean apartment with a closet full of clothes, and a varied diet.  At the very least that contrast makes me feel thankful, and at the most, guilty.  But I think the guilt would only come were I not terms with the privileged nature of my life in comparison with the rest of the world.  Fact- I have many things that billions of people do not.  And that sucks.  But feeling guilty about it and giving away all my clothes to goodwill is not going to change it one bit.  The differences between my life and my friend Martha’s, for example, were at times quite stark, but most of the time it felt like we were just people, and we were mostly the same.  We share the same cares and emotions and stories, just on a different stage with different props, settings, and conflicts.  And there are things that she has that I don’t.  By saying this, I’m not trying to make light of the fact that there is a lot of work to be done in Africa- there are people dying of hunger and AIDS and other illnesses, people who lack basic rights, and a lot of infrastructure and business to be built.  I think I’m just trying to say that they aren’t people to be pitied.  They’re bright people who, like us, work and live in the only way they understand.  They could use our love and knowledge and technology and sometimes our money, but they don’t need our pity.  It helps no one.

    

The Africa I saw is a captivating place, one that I’m sure will be hard to forget.  It gets under your skin, and it draws you in despite the hardships- like a friend that you love but has some big issues to work through.  This friend is also a pretty blunt friend who stares you in the face and says “Yeah?  I’ve got a few problems.  So what are you going to do about it?”  I think the best kinds of experiences (or friends) are the ones that challenge you- they invite you to stretch and learn and give.  And Africa is nothing if not a challenge.    

  

Baboons, Boxes, and Boda-Bodas

Though wild animals are hard to come by in the part of Uganda I traveled to, I felt that I couldn’t leave without seeing something.  So on my first weekend a little carload including Hussein, Agnes, Namukose, the girl from the copy shop, and myself set off for a forest reserve about 20 km from Bugiri.  Mission: to find the baboons.  It really isn’t hard because they sit by the side of the road and wait for passersby to throw bananas, sweet potato, cassava, or whatever to them.  They come right up to the car and kind stand there hesitantly waiting for you to throw them something.  Agnes wouldn’t let me get out of the car because she was afraid I would get attacked or taken or something, so I just threw bananas and took pictures. 

We also found some cute little monkeys by the forest.  I didn’t realize that monkeys are so greedy, but the male monkey stole the bananas we threw every time.  We tried to throw them to the females who would creep out of the bushes, but it never worked.  I’ll refrain from making a comment on how this relates to the natures of human males…

The greedy male is there in front.  And we didn't throw that water bottle, just to clarify.

On the way back we stopped for fresh roasted field corn from one of the roadside stands.

The next weekend Agnes and I planned a trip to Jinja to go shopping and see the source of the Nile.  But first, we went with Namukose to visit a school for AIDS orphans and children of single mothers, which also housed a training school for those mothers.  The mothers learn to sew on old Singer sewing machines with the goal of getting a certificate and starting their own tailoring shops.  While we were there, they had a program to hand out Christmas boxes shipped from America through Samaritan’s Purse to the children.  At least, they were supposed to be Christmas boxes, but they didn’t get there until April.  I’ve packed similar boxes myself before, so it was great and a little surreal to see these children actually opening them.  I found out that though the boxes are free and the shipping is paid for by the organization that sends them, the fees for further shipping and storage once they get here can be at least 50,000 shillings for one carton of about 20 boxes.  It’s only about $17 for us, but it’s a lot of money for them.  Consequently, they could only afford 1 carton, and not all of the children were able to receive one.  The director assured us that the children would share, but it was still a little sad.  When they opened the boxes there was such joy and amazement over little things like stickers and markers.  It also suddenly became clear what kinds of things are probably better to send and which things aren’t… like socks.  Not very practical when you don’t have shoes. 

Those children that received boxes.

The children gathered around some of the sewing trainees.

We had to take “public transportation” to the school, and while we were walking to the taxi stand a few of the men who are always hanging out in front of shops yelled something to us, and Agnes yelled something sassily back.  When I asked (as I always have to) what was said, Agnes said that they had said they wanted to be my friend, and Agnes replied that to be my friend they must give her cows.  10 Friesian cows, to be exact, which I’m told are pretty valuable.  Mom and dad, now you know what I’m worth. 

It’s funny, of course, but at the same time not so funny.  Marriages here begin when a boy decides he wants a girl, the girl agrees, and he offers her family a dowry of cows or goats, maybe rice and other pricey foods, chickens, or money.  A dowry doesn’t seem like a big deal, but to me it’s one sign of a culture that doesn’t value women as much as men- as though they’re something that can be bought.  There are other signs in the stories I’ve heard of men eating the eggs and chicken and generally nutritious foods while the women and children eat potatoes and corn.  The practice of polygamy is extremely common.  The last trainings I conducted were at a house of a man who had nine wives.  Nine.  And over 50 children.  After that I casually asked my driver Hussein if he planned to have more than one wife, and he said yes, if I can get the money, I can get another wife.  Really the only reason he has only one is that he’s too poor.  After that we had a good chat, which really consisted of me getting a little fired up about it all and harassing him.  I asked him how he would feel if his wife had more than one husband, and he shook and said “No, I wouldn’t like that at all!”  It doesn’t matter that his wife would feel the same way.  These co wives often have to share the same house, and the competition between them is visible even during trainings.  On the last day, Hussein was talking about visiting me in America if he ever had enough money.  So I told him he could only visit America if he used his money to buy a plane ticket instead of buying another wife. 

Sorry, I really didn’t intend for this to be a man-hating post… moving on.

On the way to the school we had to transition from the taxi to motorbikes to get the rest of the way.  These motorbikes (boda-bodas) are everywhere.  They’re common taxis in the city and they’re how the majority of people in the rural areas get around.  Either those or bicycle or on foot.  It’s not uncommon to see three Ugandans and a baby packed on one of those motorbikes.  I had been forbidden to ride one because they’re just slightly dangerous, especially the way they weave in and out of cars, but I was secretly glad that we had to take them.  (;  

If it looks slightly awkward, that's because it is.  While they're driving their backs are pressed against you and it's really the main thing keeping you on.  This is Friday, the director of the school that we visited.  He's obviously dressed a little nicer than most boda-boda drivers. 

An aside: one of my favorite things is watching Ugandans negotiate the price of boda-bodas, or really anything.  They speak so deliberately and discuss things with such passion, like it takes the whole of their face and bodies to push out the words.  They're definitely not afraid of conflict.  During trainings when these discussions would break out, I obviously had no idea what they were saying. I always tried to guess what the conversation was about, and with the intensity it was easy to imagine that the fate of Uganda or perhaps the world hung in the balance.  But usually it had more to do with the fate of someone who washed their plates in dirty water or ate too much fat or something like that.

Our next transportation adventure was the ride from the school to Jinja by taxi.  I’m not sure what you’re picturing when I say “taxi”, but picture a sketch 15 passenger van rigged out for the purposes of ferrying people back and forth.  These vans are also everywhere.  It’s pretty cheap, like 4000 shillings to go 70 km, but they pack you in like sardines.  There’s a man who hangs out the window trying to get people to ride in his taxi, and even when you think the van is completely full they pack in another person.  At one point we had 20 people in this 15 passenger van.  Half of me was wedged under the armpit of the young man on my right and the other half behind the sweaty man on my left.  For some reason I found the whole thing amusing and just tried keep from laughing, which is probably how I’ve handled most of the uncomfortable situations I’ve been in here.  But then it got hot and my patience started to wear very thin.  It seemed like we stopped every 5 minutes so these men could pack another person in the van (what should have been a one hour journey took two hours).  After a while, I honestly wanted to kill something (the likely target being the taxi men).  I was so happy when we finally made it.  I doubt jail in Uganda would be very pleasant. 

The trip in Jinja itself was fun but fairly uneventful.  I saw other muzungus for the first time in 2 weeks.  We got to ride some more motorbikes, she took me to some of the local craft shops, and we went out to see the source of the Nile.  From the shore, at least.  Turns out, Agnes is afraid of boats.  She felt bad, but she wasn’t going on that boat.  We ventured to a reptile park a little ways down from the boat dock, the whole way telling Agnes she would have to hide my eyes when we passed the snakes.  If you don’t know, I have smaaallll, little snake phobia.  And if you use that against me I won’t forgive you.   So when we got to the reptile park I decided it wasn’t worth paying money to be scared.  Agnes was scared of the boat and I was scared of the snakes, so we were even, but we made for terrible adventurers.