T.I.A.

This is Africa.... I heard the abbreviation for this phrase for the first time after moving to Kampala. We say this when ridiculous things happen that would only happen in Africa.... like say this.

In case you can't tell, I'll explain what this is. The lock on this window has been broken since we moved in seven months ago. Last week a repairman came to fix the lock. Apparently, he couldn't reach the screws he needed to in order to install new ones from the angle he was at inside the room. He told me he was having trouble with the window.... but I just told him to keep trying harder. What do I know about fixing a window? That's what I called him for!

Anyways... I was out of the house when he finished the job and when I came back, that was what I found. Yes, its just what it looks like. He punched holes in the glass and put the screws in from the outside.

So now we have a window that locks..... but it has two holes punched through the glass. For some reason, the repairman thought this a job well-done.

T.I.A.

travel diaries

Good news: for my 15 hour flight to Dubai I got a free upgrade to business class. Yes, that's right. Instead of sitting squashed and upright back in coach, I was reclining in front of a 24 inch TV wearing complimentary sound-blocking headphones and eating cheesecake. Best travel experience ever.

Over the past 7 months, I've had some pretty interesting travel experiences.... Unexpected, funny, and unfortunate things tend to happen when traveling... especially when travelling in Uganda. A couple months ago, I was taking a bus up to Mbale, and arrived at the bus park in Kampala about 15 minutes before the friends I was meeting up with for travelling.

First I need to describe the bus park. As soon as you pull onto the side road where it is located, men working for the bus company swarm your boda and demand to know where you are travelling to. Once you tell them your desired destination, about three or four of them will stick around and try to pull you onto their perspective buses. One wants you to go on the Kampala Coach, the other says you should board the Elgon Flyer bus. How's a girl supposed to know which bus to take when four men are all demanding that you take each of their buses?

The other noteworthy thing about the bus park is that there are no scheduled departure times. You don't know when they're leaving, and they don't even know when they're leaving. Buses don't leave until they fill up. So you might choose a bus and when you get on realize that you're the only sucker that's on board, and that it will probably be about 3 hours until it fills up and leaves.

On this particular day, when I was headed to Mbale, I did not want to make that mistake... especially because I was still waiting for the rest of my group. And I really didn't want to be on a different bus than them. So, instead of immediately boarding a bus, I attempted to wait..... which, believe me, was more difficult than it sounds. As I was standing in front of the four bus options, all of the conductors were harassing me and demanding that I buy tickets onto their buses. I kept saying, "okay, okay, I'll decide when my friends get here." And, trying to make a sale, the men kept saying that they would tell my friends which bus I got on. (yeah, right). The boldest one even wrote me out a ticket and kept trying to shove it into my hand. And then, he stole my pillow. That's right. He snatched my pillow and ran on board his bus to hold it hostage there so I would choose his bus.

Now, if you want me to board your bus, stealing my pillow is the last thing you should do.... because it just made me really irritated. The other bus company rep's saw this and then turned on each other. They started saying things like..."he's a liar and a cheat!"..."his bus doesn't leave until the afternoon!".... "don't listen to him, his bus is completely empty!".... They were all turning and pointing fingers, so I naturally turned to the one guy who hadn't been accused of lying to me about bus times and I asked him when his left. He said 9:00.... and I said "really 9:00? even if the bus isn't full?" ... and to my surprise, he replied "yes." So, it looked like I had found my bus, and at that moment my friends pulled up on bodas and all the men turned and started to repeat the swarming process I had just been through.

I called them over to me and suggested the bus of the guy I had just been talking to, and the other conductors were quite put out. One of the more aggressive ones kept trying to grab my friends and pull them to his bus. He grabbed my friend, Kelsey, by the wrist and she slapped it away, scolding "Don't touch me!" He proceeded to make a scene, yelling "WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? I can touch you if I want to!"

So while this man was still yelling, the conductors of the bus we had chosen made a blockade for us so we could board it without further harassment. I never would have thought that simply waiting 15 minute for my friends to show up and then boarding a bus could be so dramatic. But that's travelling in Uganda for you.

Over the past month, I travelled a good bit during my time in the US. I went all over Texas and I flew to Colorado.... all without anything remarkable happening. The Ugandan method of travel-chaos seemed a distant memory when I stepped foot in Kampala a few days ago. But I was quickly reminded that I was in Uganda.

After picking up my four pieces of luggage, I had to go through another security check point where they x-ray all your baggage. An entire plane-full of people started crowding the area. People would push their carts ahead of you, and completely bypass the line-type-grouping that was forming. I use the word line in the loosest interpretation possible.... it was a mass of people all trying to push their way through an x-ray machine. This commotion was familiar to me, but not to this Australian guy next to me, who became quite overwhelmed by all the people cutting him in line, and said (so read the following in an Australian accent): "Look's like we've got some queue jumpers here!" And I had to inform him that, unfortunately, there is no such thing as a queue in Africa.

And that was my welcome back to the Ugandan way of travel..... And oddly enough, it's good to be back!

good ole america

I'm back in the States for the holidays... and it's been pretty great. I keep getting asked if I'm having culture shock, and my answer is always "not so much..." Since I grew up here, there isn't anything that's really been "shocking." America does feel a little like Stepford now though.... the roads are paved beautifully, everyone follows the traffic laws, there is no trash littering the landscape... Just little things like that make this country feel extra-pristine. But there have been a few funny things that I didn't expect.

I walked into DSW shoe store on one of my first days back and got totally overwhelmed when I stepped in the door. There are so. many. shoes. So many. I could ask for a pair of grey boots and they could bring me 27 different options. In Uganda, you'd be lucky to stumble upon a single pair of grey boots, and they probably wouldn't be in your size. There are so many choices here, not just for shoes but for everything. There is a whole aisle in the grocery store devoted to cereal. And those familiar American brands I get so excited to see are everywhere. Duncan Hines cake mix. Every flavor imaginable, and guess what? It's there today and it will be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next month. My favorite brand of crackers. It's not going anywhere. This is a common problem I've faced in Uganda... I find a brand of something that I like and the next time I go to the store it's gone, only to resurface at a different store across town after about a month or so.

The other big things I've had to get used to is all the white people. I know, it sounds strange.... because I'm white. But seeing another white person in my neighborhood in Kampala rarely ever happens, and spotting other muzungus around the city happens occasionally. Because of this, I've gotten into the habit of scoping them out... Sometimes I try to guess where they're from or I make up a story in my head about what has brought them to Kampala and what they're doing in the city. Doing this when I see other white people has become quite a habit after 6 months of it.... its become a pretty automatic thing. But that creates a problem when white people are everywhere. It means that I'm on sensory overload when I'm in big crowds, or driving, or basically anywhere in public. I'm constantly scanning the crowd and watching all the people. And it's gotten kind of exhausting. I'm on white-people overload here in America. A funny and unexpected adjustment to make.

But so far its been the simple, normal things of daily life in America that have been the most enjoyable. I was skyping with Julie and she asked me what my favorite moment had been so far, and it was this: sitting on the floor of my friend Kellie's room while we went through her closet, picking through her old clothes. I sat on the carpet with her roommates and for about an hour we just laughed as new articles of clothing were presented and either rejected or passed. Its the little day-to-day, seemingly so normal, things like this that I miss the most.

It's good to be back in the States. Strange in some ways, familiar in others. But its definitely been a good vacation so far.

the outsiders

Since moving to Kampala, I've been exposed to a lot of really great organizations and companies doing some pretty amazing things development-wise..... But many of these sources of development are headed up by Americans or Europeans.... outsiders.


Because of this, I've been led to consider a rather uncomfortable question.... If most of these organizations are initiated by outsiders, do Ugandans care about the restoration of their own country?


And the truth is they do. During my time here, I've had some pretty sweet examples of this. It definitely isn't the most prominent thing I see, and I think its natural that I'm exposed to more efforts made by outsiders since I am one myself. But I wanted to share a couple examples I've seen recently.


A few weeks ago in church, a Ugandan family got up on stage for a baby dedication. This was a special case apparently because they were asked to share their story with the whole church, which ended up being incredible. The new mother shared, and one of the first things she said was that her new son was adopted from one of the local babies' homes. They already had a couple children of their own, but they had felt that God was laying on their hearts to adopt, and this little baby boy came into their lives soon after that. He was only a couple weeks old, but he already had some health problems... These medical issues worsened after he came home with them, and they were in and out of the hospital for about a month. Then they ended up needing to go to South Africa for treatment and surgery, because it got so serious and life-threatening. But now their son is just fine, and recovering really well.


Hearing this family speak touched my heart because I know of quite a few families from my home church who have adopted and passed their heart for adoption on to me. I just think it is such a beautiful image of what God has done for us... this family adopted a little boy that they new had some pretty serious issues. He was broken, but that didn't stop them from loving him. And they went through great lengths to care for him... Trips to South Africa and medical bills are not cheap, but when this woman was up on stage sharing her story, I could tell that cost was the last thing on her mind- she was tearing up just at the memory of how hard it had been to have to face the possibility of losing this little boy. And I think one of the best things about all this is that its not some American family that has swooped in and "rescued" this child... Its a Ugandan family, caring deeply for a Ugandan orphan.


And just this week, I had the opportunity to witness another example of Ugandans promoting the restoration of their country. I went to a benefit concert for the international hospital here, and the crowd was made of maybe 30% ex-pats, but was mostly attended by Ugandans. I went with my roommates, and it was so cool to be doing something so typical of our lives in America, but in Uganda. In the states, I've been to numerous benefit concerts, special events, and African Children's choir performances to raise money for some cause in Africa. But this event was held in Uganda for the local hospital. It was just so much more meaningful to see Ugandans responding to needs in their own country than Americans reaching into their pockets to support a cause across the ocean.

There can be a tendency for people here to get into mindset that the white-man will just come in and fix everything for us... the whites will build us hospitals, and care for our orphans, and construct clean wells, and they will take care of us. I love seeing that mindset combated. It is my prayer that more and more Ugandans will drop that old mindset and pick up this new one that takes ownership of the issues in their country... and that more and more people would strive to rebuild and restore this place in any way they can.

seasons change

.... but sometimes they don't.

I never thought I would struggle to adjust to the lack of seasons here. Coming from Texas, we joke about not having seasons. We just have hot, hotter, and a short month of "cold." But here, there really, genuinely are no seasons. There's the rainy season and the dry season, but temperature-wise things are usually only within about 10 degrees of each other. It's the middle of November and its in the 7o's everyday. Sounds great, right? If you know me well (or even have just driven in a car with me), you know that I tend to be very temperature sensitive, so this sounds like an ideal environment.....

Okay, I promise I'm not just rambling about the weather.... the point is in this observation: time goes by differently without seasons. In fact, it flies. There aren't the usual makers that keep time going in a regular pace. I feel like time just takes off running since there are no season changes to hold it back. I arrived in Kampala in May, almost 6 months ago... and because the weather is exactly the same, part of me feels like no time has gone by... That when I got back to the States, it will also still be summer.

Will I feel stuck in summer 2010 forever?

Not sure... I wonder if I just need to find another way to mark the passing of time. I'm just not sure how to do it.... Even though it doesn't feel like fall, I wonder if looking back on this time, fall 2010 will have any distinction from the other seasons I spend here.... When I reference life-events, I usually reference a season a long with it. Like, "my family moved to Houston in summer 2007" or "in the fall of 2008, I was really missing my friend that was studying abroad."

I also think that for me, seasons provide a good reference point for reflecting on how my life has changed. I can think back to last spring and see how much I have grown in a certain area. Or view a new season coming as hope for a new season of life when I'm struggling with something. Right now, it just feels like time is moving along and there is nothing stopping it, so stopping myself to reflect for some reason takes more effort. I don't know if everyone is like this, but I also think of my life in seasons (outside of the weather-changing type of seasons).... seasons of struggles, seasons of feeling beyond blessed, seasons of doubt.... seasons.

I'm not sure if my time will be broken up in seasons here.... Right now, the way I think of it for the most part is in the form of people coming and going... who is living in the Cornerstone basement.... who is my roommate... who is up in Gulu. In Uganda, the seasons stay the same, but the people come and go. So I think, looking back, instead of saying "in fall of 2010, this happened...", I'll be saying "when Emily and James were around..." or "when Jon and Amanda were here..." or "when Brooke lived in Gulu..."

So I guess life-seasons still change, even when weather-seasons don't.... I'll just be thinking of these shifts in terms of people instead of temperature. What an adjustment....

normal..... what's that?

Last weekend the crew from Kampala went up to Gulu for a Halloween party. This was the fourth annual Halloween bash that was hosted at the Invisible Children house, and I've been hearing epic tales about this party since I arrived in May.... stories of Celine Dion and her back-up dancers.... the Village People... orange haired trolls.... the list of amazing costumes went on and on. We knew that for the 2010 party, our costume idea would have to be huge. We went all out.

Yes, we were Oompa Loompas from Willy Wonka. I think we pulled it off pretty well. These were pre-party pictures... As soon as we left the house to go to the party, it started pouring. We were sopping wet Oompa Loompas sprinting down the road in the rain. And the whole time we were running, all I could think about was what the locals were thinking. We passed by a bunch of waving kids on our way and everyone else was just staring at us from the shelter of their houses.

There are a lot of muzungus in Gulu, so I'm sure the Ugandans there are used to seeing Americans like us doing crazy things. They have probably gotten used to ridiculous sights like we were running down that road in our costumes... Just a typical day in Gulu.

The idea of a typical day here is a funny concept in and of itself. I've gotten used to odd things happening here... My roommate, Dani, actually just wrote a post last week about how things around just seem not quite right sometimes.... But what I think is funny is that I could describe my day in a completely "normal" way, and it would sound just like anyone else's day. Or I could describe the exact same events to make my life sound as strange as it is.

I'll give a couple examples.

Last night I ate dinner with my roommates, read a book, took a shower, and went to bed..

OR ... Last night I went down to the vegetable stand outside my gate and bought a dozen tomatoes for 50 cents to add to the pasta I was making. While my roommates and I were cooking, the power went out so we scurried around looking for candles and matches to finish cooking our meal. Then I grabbed my head lamp and used it to read a book for a bit. After that, I hung the lamp from a nail sticking out of the wall in the bathroom so I would have light to take a "shath." {Shath is a term that was coined in our house to describe the shower-bath combo we have to partake in. The water pressure is so low, that we have to sit in the tub and let it get filled as we use the hose that's connected to the faucet to try and wash ourselves... Did I mention the water is cold?} After my nice cold shath, I crawled into my bed, tucked my mosquito net around my bed, and fell asleep to the sounds of the Glee soundtrack blasting from the dorm building next door.

To start my work day, I went to a meeting at Cornerstone. Then I went to buy some fabric from the market in town and headed home after making some purchases.

OR... After waking up to the sound of our neighbor's obnoxious rooster, I start my work day by heading to Cornerstone. I walk out my gate and there is Denis the boda driver waiting for me. I hop on the back of his bike and ride through town. At the first stop light, I encounter a bunch of hawkers, trying to sell me anything from car chargers to maps of Uganda to live goldfish. We speed past them as soon as the intersection clears and I make it to my meeting quite windblown. After my meeting, I hop on another boda to go into town to the fabric market. After weaving through traffic, we make it near the taxi park and I opt to walk to rest of the way because the jam is so bad (yes, instead of abbreviating "traffic jam" as just "traffic," people here call it "jam"). I walk into a store where I'm a regular, and am greeting by the lady behind the counter asking me how America is and when will I get her a job. She thinks I'm Liz (my boss), because many Ugandans can't tell muzungus apart. {Often I'll be walking down the road or through Owino market, and someone will call me Jennifer because some white girl named Jennifer was once their customer}. After buying the fabric I was looking for, I push my way through the crowds to get on a taxi home. After weaving through the park with my arm-full of fabric, I find the right taxi and wait for it to fill up. Once its full (about 16 people fit in these "matatus"), we head off on our bumpy ride toward my neighborhood.

"Normal" life here can sound like normal life in the US.... or not so much. But life is life, wherever we are. And our concept of normalcy can adapt quickly.... Whether you're a Ugandan watching an American with green hair, an orange face, and white overalls hauling it down the road in the rain, or an American girl trying to make it through her work day.

sipi adventures

I just got back from a great weekend trip to Sipi Falls near Mount Elgon (is it just me, or does Mount Elgon sound like it should be in Mordor instead of Eastern Uganda?).

This is where we camped... no big deal. It was stunning. We only hiked to two of the falls, but on the drive up the mountain, we passed probably a dozen more like the ones we saw.

The first stop was at one of the falls with a cave behind it that you can walk into, so you can see both sides of the falls.

The next one dropped down into a cave and disappeared. All of us went up to the edge of it and got totally soaked from the mist.

The whole hiking experience was great. Instead of taking an official guide, we just let some local kids lead us around. They took us on trails that went through coffee plantations, banana groves, onion fields, and their own houses. This was their neighborhood. This was where they got to grow up.... in the presence of so much beauty. I wish we could just transport Sipi to the edge of Kampala, so I could take it in all the time.

Sipi Falls was great. The only thing that wasn't so great was my sleeping experience the next night. On Friday night when we got there, it poured rain from 4 in the afternoon until evening and our tent was flooded before we even went to bed... So, we opted for the bandas that provided more shelter from the rain. Saturday night we were still in the bandas, just because it was easier to stay where we were, and the skies were threatening us with rain again.

At about 3:00 in the morning, I was awake, wishing I was outside camping. Why you may ask? Because I was awakened by the sound of rats scurrying in the walls of the banda. One of the rats got trapped in the wall right next to my bed and was doing something that sounded like the rat-version of screaming (I would say squeek, but that word doesn't convey the volume of this noise). So off and on for about an hour and a half, I battled the rat. I would hit the wall with a book, and shine my headlamp at it, and plead with it to go away, but it did not.... In resignation, I put in my headphones and tried to fall back asleep without much success.

All in all though, it was a great weekend. Great view. Great people. Great adventure.