Thursday, 10 September 2015

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.    
    

Friday, 10 July 2015

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. 

   

Tuesday, 23 June 2015

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!


Friday, 29 May 2015

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.    


  

Thursday, 28 May 2015

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. 







Sunday, 24 May 2015

Greensie and Beanies

I certainly couldn’t go without posting about one of my primary loves, food.  I’ve made an effort to learn as much about the Ugandan diet as I could (both in theory and hands on… definitely the best kind of learning when it comes to food).  I often tell them how jealous I am because their climate allows them to grow almost anything they want.  I warn you, this post will be long.  Food deserves some good attention.   

The Ugandan diet, like many diets in developing countries, is based entirely on starch.  SO MUCH STARCH.  For a girl who grew up on meat and veggies and has a relatively low carb intake (not for health reasons, just because I enjoy other foods more), this is probably the biggest culture shock.  Their staple foods are cassava (whole or dried and made into flour for bread or posho, a paste-like dish), maize (sometimes whole and roasted, but usually in the form of white refined flour made into posho or porridge), green starchy banana (steamed and mashed to make matoke), Irish potato, white sweet potato, rice, sorghum, and millet.  When they eat a meal, it’s usually a plate full of the carb(s) of choice… like the amount I would consider appropriate for three people… along with a little bit of meat in broth and maybe some greens or tomatoes or beans, which they consider a vegetable.

You might notice that this means the majority of their diet, aside from being mostly starch, is mostly white.  I encourage things like yellow maize, orange-fleshed sweet potatoes, and whole grains, and an organization called HarvestPlus (focuses on biofortification) is also becoming active in the area to mobilize farmers to plant orange-fleshed sweet potatoes… what great timing.   Hopefully these things will actually be adopted.

One of the kitchens I had the opportunity to visit.  The covered pots are where matoke and posho are steaming, and the center pot is obviously some meat.  The only ventilation for the smoke from these fires is a space at the top of the wall, below the ceiling.  I stood in there as long as I could without breathing very much, and Agnes made fun of my strained face.  I don't know how they do it.

This mess of a picture is a field, or garden.  Not all of them are this crazy, but this isn't unusual.  You can see corn, cassava, some peas, beans, a young avocado tree?, and many other plants that I can't identify.

One of the dishes I really like is called pilau (pilaf).  It’s mostly rice, with spices and a bit of meat and some potato usually mixed in.  In the market they also dress it with a bit of cabbage and a couple slices of tomato.  This dish is definitely Hussein’s favorite… he orders it every day for lunch.  I ordered it for a few days, but of course soon got tired of eating a whole bowl full of rice.  One of the more nutritious starch options I could order is probably matoke, and I do sometimes, but unfortunately I don’t like it very much.  It’s so starchy and heavy and mostly flavorless unless they cook it in sauce.  It’s like every time I take a bite I want it to be a little sweet because it’s a banana, but sadly it never is. 

Pilau on a good day, with meat I can easily chew and a decent portion of greens.  I've already eaten some of it at this point, and this was only a half order.  In the background you can see the delicious afia, which is a mango concentrate drink with added sugar.  That baby has like 50 g of sugar.

Agnes tells me that a lot of Indians lived here in the 1970’s, and besides leaving behind buildings and businesses, they also left behind a few culinary treats.  I was surprised to find chapatti (a kind of cross between naan and a tortilla that I’ve eaten many times with Amudhan) was commonly made in the restaurant and marketplace.  It’s delicious.  They also have other versions of fried breads, generally not sweet.  Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve really had any type of dessert since I’ve gotten here, except for the chocolate bar that Andrea gave me (which Agnes and Namukose also loved… thanks Andrea).  Then of course, there’s the soda, which is definitely the most “American” thing I’ve encountered.  Pepsi and Coca-Cola have quite pervasive marketing (their signage is everywhere), and the irony of having bottles of Coke and Pepsi but no clean water source does not escape me.   

I think these little coke delivery trucks are pretty cute.

For protein foods, they eat meat (usually beef or goat… pork is not around due to Muslims), chicken, eggs, fish (larger fish or the small anchovy-like silver fish), organs, eggs, and insects.  The protein component of a meal is usually small though, and because meat is expensive many in the rural districts can’t afford it on a regular basis.  There’s a little bit of a “poor people” stigma connected to eating silver fish and insects, but I tell them they’re good sources of nutrition and I hope they keep eating them.  I feel a bit hypocritical when they then ask me if I eat them.  :/  Agnes talks about these white ants that they take and dry and then eat as a snack.  She says “It is not yet the season for these ants.  It’s too bad you will not be here to try them, they are very good!”  Yes Agnes, I’m devastated.  (;  This might be one dish I’m ok missing out on, but of course if they offered them to me I would try them.  If they can eat them, I can, right?

When I first walked through this little market, I stopped at the stand across from this fish stand, the cabbage lady, and hadn't yet seen the fish.  The whole time I was standing at the cabbage lady I was like "what is that awful smell??  It can't be the cabbage"... and then I turned around.  You can't see all the flies, but let's just say there were enough to make me not want to try silver fish.

One of the many open-air butcher shops along the market and streets. 

They also grow beans, peanuts (usually they eat roasted or boiled fresh), other types of nuts, like sesame, peas, and soy beans.  I’ve taken to calling them soya beans because it’s what I hear all the time here.  Ugandans use maize and soya beans as staple foods in the diet, rather than animal feed or ingredients for food processing as we do in America.  

The most common vegetables by far (not counting potatoes/sweet potatoes) are greens (from any number of plants, like amaranth, peas, and pumpkin) and cabbage.  Tomatoes and eggplant are also common.  I’ve also seen peppers, pumpkins, green beans, and a few other things.  

Cabbage is commonly sold sliced in little bags, and I think it just ferments a little by the time they eat it.  This obviously isn't the most hygienic situation for slicing cabbage, so I'm sure there are plenty of natural bacteria.  (: 

Fruits are in abundance during harvest season, and they’re all the delicious tropical things I wish I could grow in my backyard- avocados, bananas (both sweet and starchy), mangos, pineapple, citrus, passion fruit, jackfruit, etc.  More than once I’ve been given mangos, avocados, and even a pumpkin as gifts at the trainings.   I think they expect me to take some of the fruits and vegetables home with me, but I have to tell them there’s little chance of getting them through the airport.  I’ve developed the important life skill of peeling a mango with my hands and teeth and chewing it off the seed like the children do.  So much more efficient than using a pesky knife, and then I get the whole mango.  Oh, and they also grow coffee and cacao. 

One of these jackfruits is the size of a small child and a quick internet search tells me they can weigh between 10 and 80 lbs.  I have yet to taste them because it's a little early in the season, but I am determined.  

In the mornings I take breakfast at the hotel, which involves a slice of white bread, potatoes or starchy bananas in some form, an egg either hard boiled or in an omelet thing, and some black tea with milk.  Ugandans often seem to sit with people they don't know at meals, so every now and then I meet someone interesting at breakfast.  Last weekend a popular Ugandan singer named Bobi Wine happened to be staying at the same guest house as me (it’s really the only option in the area).  He and his manager and one of the members of the band sat down at the table with me and we talked for a bit.  Bobi drove a big loud truck, talked mostly of partying, made some crude jokes, and was generally kind of a tool, but it was still a fun experience.  

I obviously didn't take this picture, but I wanted you to have the pleasure of meeting Bobi Wine too.  (;

Other than breakfast, I eat my biggest meal for lunch around 2:00 or 3:00 when Hussein and I go to the restaurant, and I don’t really eat for the rest of the day.  Maybe some snacks in the evening if I’m hungry.  I’m thankful that after a few days my system decided to adjust to Ugandan time and temperature, because for a couple of days I could hardly eat anything and just guzzled water. 

The restaurant experience is one that has taken some getting used to.   There is one restaurant in town, which Hussein and I went to every day for the first week I was here.  A meal typically costs between 3000-6000 shillings depending on what you get, which is the equivalent of $1-$2 American dollars.  They don’t have menus, so when we sit down Hussein just says “What do you want?”  The typical order is the carb source, some meat, and maybe some greens or beans on the side.  For me it’s something like a puzzle, a game to see how I can try new things and end up with as few carbs and as many vegetables as possible.  It’s more challenging than you would think.  For instance, if I wanted to order just beans and meat and vegetables, they wouldn’t know what to do with me.  One time I ordered just chapatti and beans, and again, they didn’t know what to do with me.  Hussein usually asks me a few times to clarify really, that’s really what you want? before relaying the message to the waitress.   And when he orders me greens and beans, he says greensie and beanies, which never fails to make me laugh.  I think at this point I’ve tried pretty much everything they offer.

After about a week of eating at the restaurant, I asked Hussein if there were any other restaurants in town, to which he said no.  I asked if there was food at marketplace (I’d seen them at least making chapatti), and he seemed surprised that I wanted to go there, but agreed.  Side note: he kept calling restaurants “hotels”, which I didn’t pick up on for a while and led to some funny exchanges.   When we eat at the market, we sit down at a little table outside, they bring us our orders, and we eat it with our hands.  There are usually 5-10 people watching me while I eat.  Sometimes they laugh or say things, and Hussein says, laughing, “They are wondering… wondering what is this white skin doing in the marketplace eating with her hands??  White skin don’t eat in the marketplace.”  I love eating in the market and I love eating with my hands because I get to use one more sense to experience it.  When I eat when my hands I feel more connected with my food and the people who made it, and I love being among Ugandans eating Ugandan food how the Ugandans eat it, even if it makes them wonder and laugh.   

My view of the market from where we sit to eat.  The place where we usually get our food is on the far left.


Thursday, 21 May 2015

Humans of Bugiri

I’d like to introduce to you some of my friends here in Uganda.  I think they’re all pretty great people, and I hope their stories will give you some idea of what their lives are like here.  There are others I have met and interacted with, but these are the people I know the best.  

Agnes

Agnes, my translator, is a lovely, strong, funny women.  She is a farmer, school teacher, the leader of Nankoma RPO (Rural Producer Organization), and the mother of eight children.  She has six boys (the only name I know is Andrew).  In her words, “For a time I was having a baby every year!  I was breeding like a rabbit!  So I finally said, enough!  We are going for family planning.”  (:  Later she decided she wanted to try for a girl, so Esther and Immaculate were born.  Her oldest boy just finished studying agriculture at the university, and her youngest, Immaculate, is six years old.  Her husband is a retired animal vet.  Agnes is the most fluent English speaker I know, so in waiting times before trainings we’ll talk about America and Uganda, especially pertaining to agriculture and food and health.  She shows me different plants and talks about all the different things that people eat, and every now and then she’ll buy me something to try.  You can tell that people respect her, and I won’t be surprised at all when someday she runs for a district office. 

Peeling sugar cane for me to taste.  You can't eat the fiber part, obviously, but you mush it with your teeth and suck out the sweet water.  These machete-like knives are everywhere.  I think it's the only kind of knife they have.  The little kids even walk around with them to cut up their jackfruit.

Esther and Immaculate, who I met when we briefly visited Agnes' home.  The boys were all out working or away at school.  Esther (11) was cooking silver fish, a common anchovy-like fish (or maybe they are anchovies, I don't know) that you buy dried in the marketplace.  Immaculate (6) always seemed to have a ornery look on her face, and I think she looks just like her mom. 


Hussein

Hussein, my driver, is the person I spend the most time with.  He is probably about 35, has a wife and two kids, and usually drives a taxi or something for a living.  When I asked him if he wanted more kids, he kind of groaned and shoot his head and said “No! I don’t want anymore kids.”  (:  He takes me to Nankoma every morning, hangs around while I do the trainings, and drives me home.  He’s also my go-between at the copy shop or market or restaurant to make sure I’m getting when I want and they don’t charge me extra.  He seems to have many friends in the town, so he’s often yelling or waving or honking at someone.  Because his English is barely conversational, most of our time together is spent in silence, punctuated by my curious questions. 

Hussein, do you have lions and elephants in Uganda?  

(Yes.  One time there was a boy, Ivan, riding with us, and he asked me if we had wild lions and elephants and leopards in the United States.  I sadly had to inform him that we do not.  There would be some logistical issues with wild lions and leopards in the US).

Hussein, why do you turn your turn signal on too when someone passes you?

(In Uganda, if a driver wants to pass, he must first request to pass, and the driver in front lets him know that it’s safe.  Can you imagine American drivers being that nice?)

Hussein, why do I often see men walking along holding arms or hands?

(I asked this one pretty carefully, and it took awhile for him to understand what I meant because he didn’t know that it was anything unusual.  Ugandans, and probably Africans in general, are just more physically affectionate with their friends, even the men.  (:  They’re very community oriented, and their personal bubbles are definitely smaller.)

Hussein, why is that small child wearing a fuzzy snow cap when it’s 80 degrees?   

That one is still a mystery.

When I ask things he usually says “come again?” and I repeat the question at least twice.  Sometimes I’m able to understand the answer, and sometimes I have to bring the question to Agnes.  Probably the longest back and forth conversation Hussein and I had was about politics.  Go figure.  For the record, he likes the Ugandan president.  But apparently he’s been in office for 30 years, so many people would like a new one. 

Hussein has to put up with the most of my questions and antics.   Every day after the trainings, we go to the restaurant for lunch (lunch here is later, around 1:00 or 2:00 pm… we usually get there at 2:30 or so). When we go to the restaurant, I insist on eating with my hands like he and most Ugandans do (shout out to Amudhan for teaching me).  Now, the chicken in Uganda is not like we have in America.  The chickens are definitely free range, so their meat is tougher.  One day specifically I had to gnaw and chew on that little chicken quarter in a most unladylike way, and he politely ignored me.  I generally make a mess and probably look ridiculous, but he doesn’t make fun of me (usually).  He also scolds me when I clean up the mess I’ve made on the table because he says it’s not my job.  He gives me suggestions and tips when I ask for them and tries to make sure I have what I need, like napkins (he usually offers to have them bring me a knife, but I stubbornly refuse).

Like most Ugandans, he is also perpetually late.  One morning I specifically told him to come at 8:45 because we needed to go to the copy shop and a store before heading to Nankoma.  He showed up at 9:30.  When I asked him why he was late, he said he was washing the car (eye roll… men…).  That morning power in the whole town happened to be out, so we also had to drive around to four copy shops before we found one with a generator.  I guess it’s all part of the adventure.

Hussein waiting for me to catch up as we walked through the market to buy sweet bananas.

Martha

Martha works at the reception desk at the guest house where I’m staying.  Morning and evening she always greets me with the biggest smile, and says “Amba, I have missed you!”.  We usually spend some time chatting in the mornings while I wait for the ever-late Hussein.  She’s somewhere in her early 20’s, and she actually started the job at the hotel only two days before I got there.  She is from Jinja, a city about an hour away and a popular tourist destination.  She had finished school (I’m not sure whether she meant secondary school or college) a year before, but it is very hard to find work in Uganda, so she spent a year applying wherever she could.  She says that to get a job in Uganda, you must either know someone or bribe them to hire you, if you have the money.  Finally, a friend who worked at the guest house was able to get her a job here.  She works 6:30 to 11:00 pm every day of the week, and I think the only free time she gets is on Sunday when she is allowed to go to church.  Every time I see her though, she’s smiling, and I think she’s just grateful for the opportunity to work.    
   
Namukose Nulu

Namukose, Agnes’ friend, is a mother of at least 6 children I think (it’s hard to keep track of them).  She is also a nurse, a midwife, and a chairwoman of a ministry for orphans of AIDS.  She’s always very helpful during trainings, passing out handouts and taking attendance and helping make soya milk, though I’m sure she must have many other things to do.  This afternoon as we were waiting for the soya milk to cook, Agnes casually mentioned that there was a newborn baby in the house next door, born just a little while ago.  At my confused and slightly worried stare, she explained that Namukose, who was sitting right next to me, had just delivered a baby a couple of hours ago in that house.  The woman didn’t have time to make it to the hospital.  She said, you want to go see it?  So we did.  And when I say we, I mean Agnes, Namukose, and the caravan of 10 children who went wherever I went.  We found the baby all wrapped up in blankets and the first-time mother both sitting on a mat on the dirt floor in their dark house.   It was actually the newest baby I’ve ever seen and touched, even newer than any of my nieces and nephews.  (:  It couldn’t have been more different than the sterile hospital rooms and hand sanitizer dispensers at all my other newborn baby visits. 

Namukose, Agnes, Me, and Hussein after one of the trainings.  If only they would smile in pictures...