Wrap Up: Gift-Giving, Funny Names, and Final Words

As promised (if a bit later than expected, due to sheer laziness)- I am writing one last post from home to wrap up my experience in Uganda.

[Disclaimer: If you're not interested in the 17 pages of me sounding a bit holier-than-thou, then skip down to "Sorry this is becoming a novel..."]

During my last week in Uganda, while saying all my goodbyes and packing all my now-very-dirty clothes, I spent a lot of time thinking about gift-giving. As white people in Uganda, my co-volunteers and I were always assumed to have endless amounts of money - money, presumably, that we wanted to and were able to give away. The stereotype is logical enough; most westerners who come to the country are fairly well off (a flight halfway around the world is no free ticket), and many do in fact come to do some type of work that helps others - whether it's volunteer teaching, working for an NGO, helping out in a clinic, etc. So excited shouts of "hi mzungu!" while we walked by weren't always merely innocent and friendly gestures - often there was a plea for money, sweets, gifts, and so on implied underneath. In other words, people were excited to see us not only because we looked strange - and to many, incredibly beautiful [go to Uganda for an ego boost!]- but also because we potentially had something to give them.

This bothered me. I hated the idea that some of the kids at the school might appreciate my presence there only because I could maybe bring them money, notebooks, or new clothes. I understood it - new flip flops are a real treat if you only have one pair of old black flats that are tearing. And if you're running out of space in your notebooks, surely the white American will make sure you have new ones so your education doesn't suffer. Why not? But as much as I understood the feeling, and understood the stereotype, and felt for all of the students, it hurt me a bit to wonder if some only wanted to get close to me in order to secure some future financial aid.

The racial component irritated me as well. It wasn't that I was American, really, that so fascinated nearly everyone in Uganda. It was that I was white, mzungu. Race is something innate, unchanging (unless you get super miraculously tan), and so mudugovs (black people) can never, by definition, become mzungus. And if all mzungus are understood to be wealthy, successful, and privileged, benefactors and helpers, and if you need to be mzungu to become these things, then it follows that mudugovs, in their minds, must forever be poor, low-level workers, and perpetually "in need" of aid. Of course, this is complete bollocks. (Never used that phrase before, don't know why I feel compelled to use it now.) But not everyone there knows that. It's like the best kept secret over in Uganda that black people can be just as successful as whites, that skin color is actually only a color. Case in point: I was watching an episode of the Wire with one of my students, and pointing out all of the characters and their roles to him. Quite puzzled and somewhat pleasantly surprised, he pointed to the stern black boss and then to the idiot white employee and remarked: "The mudugov is in charge of the muzungu." As if this is something that only happens in a completely alien planet. To many Ugandans, it is.

And so, back to my point. I felt uncomfortable picking certain students and leaving them goodies I could easily leave them for several reasons: 1) I did not want to favor anyone. How do I go about choosing one student over the next? How do I know who could really use new shoes, who really needs pencils, or who might benefit most from me helping them out with school fees? I did get closer to some students than to others, but still, I didn't feel that this justified singling some out for special treatment - even if the gifts were well intended and beneficial. Then when the next volunteer comes, will the students race to see who can build the strongest relationship with her, fast, so that she'll leave that one her dress when she leaves? No - in my ideal world, relationships between volunteers and students should not be based on an implied promise of gifts, but instead on emotional support, exciting classroom activities, a cultural give-and-take, good conversations, lots of fun times. And I also did not feel comfortable giving gifts that way because 2) I did not want to contribute to this irritating, race-based sentiment that white people exist to help black people and black people are there to be helped. (If only one of us privileged American volunteers were black - that would be a really handy fix to all of this, an easy way to say "Look! Black people can also own pretty dresses and ipod's!" But all of us were pale and pasty. Shame.)

After talking with Segawa and Job (headmaster and treasurer of the school) and other volunteers, these are the conclusions I came to:

-Firstly, instead of giving to individual students, it was important for me to give my donations to the school administration. I left it up to them to distribute the funds to the causes they saw fit - whether that be to individual students' notebooks, to a few new chalkboards, or to beans to feed the kids for the next week or so at school. The school staff knew, more than me, which students needed what the most - which kids could really use some help paying their fees, and which kids might instead need some new medication. By letting the administration distribute the donation, I didn't feel like I was singling out certain students for special attention, and hopefully didn't leave others feeling like they were somehow lacking, less loved, or inferior.

-Secondly, I want to give gifts while still empowering those I'm giving to, and without de-empowering them (antonym of empower? anyone?). However well-intentioned I am, I do not want to enforce the idea that only I can give and that these students can only receive. For instance, donating money to buy bricks and then working with the kids to help build necessary additions to their school could be a useful project**:  the students would acquire manual labor skills while practicing teamwork, and more than that, they'd be literally building spaces (classrooms) where they could learn and grow into curious, responsible, and self-sufficient young adults. In this way, a mzungu volunteer- or someone else who wants to help - could use their time, energy, and money to enable students to help themselves.
**(The kids already do help build their school, but I bring this example simply to show that donations to expand this type of activity could go a long way.)

It is also, I realized, incredibly empowering to know not only that you are able to help yourself, but also that you are able to help others. If I ever return to this school, then, or volunteer at another one like it, I'd consider maybe helping to establish some type of ongoing community service project with the students. Maybe the high-schoolers could visit the primary school once a week, for instance, and tutor younger students in subjects they feel they know especially well. Ideally, by realizing how much they're able to impact others, the older students would become that much more confident in their own ability to achieve.

Enough preaching though. Was just trying to turn some of my annoyance at all these gift-giving issues into productive, somewhat idealistic thinking. Of course, though, every case is different, and every volunteer is different. Sometimes it just feels right to give someone you've come to love a really special t-shirt - and I don't think anyone will judge you for that. I guess I've just come to learn that before I give, I should stop and think, and that not all gifts are always beneficial in the long run.

Sorry this is becoming a novel - but before I close, I wanted to leave you with some entertaining insight into Ugandan culture. All signs in Uganda are in English, but their English is a bit different than ours. As such, their names for shops, salons, hostels, etc. are sometimes worth remembering. Here are some that stuck in my mind:
-"Jesus Loves You Salon." (Because Jesus obviously appreciates a good haircut. Have you seen his long, luscious 'do lately??)
-"Occasional Cakes." (I wouldn't recommend going here often, but occasionally you might find good food. Great advertising right there. And I knoww this could be the other kind of occasional. But whateva.)
-"Desire Girls Hostel." (This one doesn't leave much to the imagination.)

So that's about all, folks. Life back in Boston is treating me well. Though I've never really noticed before just how mzungu this city is! At least in parts. I gasp in disbelief each time I see a black person. For such a "liberal" city, it's incredibly segregated.

I hope someday to go back to Uganda and teach at Extreme College, though I don't know when that will happen. In the meantime, I'll just have to keep in touch with my students who can occasionally access facebook and know how to operate it, and reminisce about incredibly unsafe boda-boda rides, "toilets" that are really holes in the ground, and people that are always sweeter, more humble, and less obnoxious than Americans.

Mwebele (thank you) for reading this blog, and tulabanedda (see you later)!!

Visit to Abayudaya [=Jews of Uganda]

This past weekend, I spent a really fascinating and relaxing Shabbat with the Jewish community of Uganda. Yes, for those who don’t know, there are really Ugandan Jews! They live in five small villages outside the northwest city of Mbale (about 4 hours from Kampala), and today they number about 1500. Apparently, the story goes that about 100 years ago, a man named Semei secluded himself from his community, read the bible, and decided he liked the Old Testament better than the new one. And that was that.

After traveling 1.5 hours on two “taxis” (mini-buses) from Namayumba to Kampala, another 4.5 hours on a (bigger) bus from Kampala to Mbale, and about ten minutes on a boda-boda (motorcycle taxi), I arrived in Nabugoye, the central village of the Abayudaya. I was greeted by Isaac, the manager of the guesthouse, as well as two other American Jewish volunteers who are staying there for some months. (Naturally, we spent a good while playing some intense Jewish Geography games of who-knows-who—shout-outs to Jews I know at Princeton and Neta Raanan-Lerner, if you ever come across this—and I felt immediately at home.) The guesthouse was a real treat. Running water, comfortable beds, tile floors, and three really hearty meals that included all sorts of delicious fruit and Ugandan peanut butter (which was a first for me)!! It was a nice break from my usual posho (corn-meal type thing) and beans twice a day. The village itself, too, was gorgeous—the area is surrounded by mountains and the air felt fresher out there, far from the busy-ness and dust of Kampala.

Friday night and Saturday morning I attended services at their synagogue –

On Friday evening they did Kabbalat Shabbat and then Maariv, and on Saturday they had Shacharit, a Torah service, and then Musaf. The services followed the Sim Shalom siddur and it all seemed familiar and traditional. They used several common melodies and also incorporated some beautiful original ones—and even sang some psalms in Luganda (the local language), which was all quite interesting. In terms of religiosity, they consider themselves to be conservative. Though men and women sit separately, women can lead services and read Torah, etc – and I was honored with an aliyah J. (Honorary Abayudaya here.) They also seemed to keep Shabbat pretty strictly, which I found out while trying to take a picture (yikes).

Rabbi Gershom, the one ordained Rabbi of the Abayudaya, was really welcoming and engaging. He studied at American Jewish University in California and in Israel, and then returned to lead his community. After services on Saturday morning, he led a large discussion with everyone about the Parashah – Korach – which turned into a passionate and exciting debate about punishment, death, and God’s powers to destroy. The whole thing felt very Jewish—the way he encouraged disagreement, posed un-answerable questions, and made the learning a truly communal experience. I liked it; it was nice to be a part of when education here (from what I’ve seen/understood) often involves tons of lecturing, copying, memorizing, and repeating.

All in all, it was strange but exciting to be in a place that was at once so foreign and yet so close to home. The little kippahs the boys wore, the dancing during L’cha Dodi, the anxious (and often drool-inducing) wait to taste the challah after the motzie, were all things I knew from thousands of miles away—from a place with wireless internet and porcelain toilet seats and white people that don’t immediately stand out as mzungu!!’s. I grew comfortable so fast, and wish I could have stayed longer. It’s true, I suppose, what they taught me at Grossman: “Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish, You’re never alone when you say you’re a Jew, so when you’re not home and you’re someplace kinda new-ish… the odds are, don’t look far, cuz they’re Jewish too!” [I could insert lyrics from Yavneh’s “Minyan Man” as well, but honestly that song’s about Alabama, and I’m halfway across the world here. It doesn’t apply quite as well.]

This could be my last blog entry while in Uganda, as I return home on Wednesday (bitter-sweet feelings all around), but I’ll for sure add some closing remarks from home. Which will of course be supa exciting so be on your toes. Thanks for following my travels – I’m excited to see Boston again and everyone at home!

Extreme College Namayumba

Because I've fallen into a routine here, I don't have many new adventures to report. Instead, I think I'll take this opportunity to elaborate on day to day life at Extreme College Namayumba, the secondary school where I teach. As you might gather from its name, the school is located in a village called Namayumba, about an hour and a half from the capital city, Kampala. That we're an hour and a half away means that the area is much more rural, greener, quieter, and more peaceful than towns closer to the city. Everyone knows their neighbors, there is one lone street lined with shops that we call "town," and cows, goats, and pigs often roam with no apparent owners. As mzungus (white people), we've essentially become the village celebrities, and we say "hi, I am fine, see you" to nearly every child we pass. Houses are mostly made of wood or homemade bricks, and tin roofs. I've learned that in Uganda, instead of buying a house, most families build their own - and then pass it on to future generations. This photo nicely captures a typical day in the life of Namayumbans:

A woman is washing clothes toward the back, that older boy has (maybe) just brought some water from the well in that yellow jerry can, the girl is in her school uniform and is probably returning from school, and the younger children are wearing little to no clothing and have creatively turned various available objects into toys.

The school itself lies at the bottom of a hill, and in between others, in a miniature valley of sorts filled with corn stalks, mango and papaya trees, and orange flowers. It's a new school - just in its second full year, and the kids themselves helped in a big way to build it (and continue to help build the additions). During their holidays and after school they make bricks, stack them, and help smooth the cement. If you think about it, it's pretty amazing that these kids can say they actually helped create their school, with their own hands, in a very real way. They're grateful for the opportunity to get an education (many can't afford the time or fees, and secondary school is especially out of reach), and they've worked really hard to get it.

  

Like many schools in Uganda, Extreme College is a boarding and day school. Most students sleep at the school, in two rooms (boys and girls) lined with triple bunk-beds - two people to a mattress. Each student has a small trunk - about 1 by 3 feet -for clothes and books. By books I mean notebooks - the school can hardly afford text books for the teachers - and by notebooks I mean stacks of lined paper bound together with newspaper-covered cardboard. [It's funny now to look back on my time at summer camp, where parents struggled to fit their daughters' three duffle-bags-worth of belongings into stacks of pink plastic drawers. Sixteen t-shirts was a must, hair blow-dryers and straighteners, and soffe shorts of every color. Don't forget a couple white shirts in case we tie dye and hot pink leggings in case we dress up. Oh, and a shoe rack! Kids here don't even wear shoes when they play soccer.]

Class sizes are small compared to most other schools, at least according to my understanding. There are no more than about 25 to a classroom, whereas from what I hear, classes in other schools can reach about 150 plus. (I think this is mainly because the school is new, and enrollment is not very high yet). The classrooms are bare cement rooms that consist of long benches and old chalkboards made of some material that does not quite allow for effective erasing. 

 (Note the blue-tarp divider - there are two classes in this room. Also note the buzz-cuts. Nearly all school kids in Uganda, even the girls, must keep their hair buzzed - something about unity and no distractions and privileged kids standing out if they can afford to do their hair nicely.)

Because paper and books are scarce, printing is expensive, and computers are out of the question, teaching primarily involves standing at the front of the classroom, lecturing, and copying exercises onto the not-so-clear board. I've tried to get the kids up and moving a bit, but coming up with interactive activities that involve zero materials has been a bit of a challenge. I feel like the lack of resources contributes to the style of learning here - there's a lot of focus on rote memorization, on copying definitions word for word, on regurgitating straight facts with little analysis. It's strange for me, after sitting through education classes in the U.S. that emphasize creativity, individualism, expressiveness, and after spending so many years before that in school creating dioramas, book-covers, and colorful poster board presentations. It's a difference in culture and philosophy, yes, but also one, I believe, that partly comes from a fundamental difference in resources. How can children create dioramas with colored paper if they don't even have white paper - if the school itself can't even afford white paper? What about scissors, tape, a shoe box? If kids don't have shoes, how could they be expected to find shoe boxes? Creativity is important - I really believe that it is, for kids of all backgrounds/cultures - but it also costs money. It's also--like pens, notebooks, textbooks--a privilege, though a less tangible one. 

The students learn from about eight until 4:30, with random breaks when teachers decide not to show up, or when someone forgets to ring the bell. (As someone summed up for me nicely, in America we have watches, and in Uganda they have time.) They then play soccer, wash clothes, clean the floors, the bathrooms, help build, and do other sorts of chores. Here's the girls team playing a super exciting soccer game against a nearby school (we won!): 

At night, they eat and then pray. They’re Seventh Day Adventists, and their prayer services are really beautiful. I can’t help but think of the services we used to have at camp – here they have that same sense of spirit, excitement, and connectedness. After prayers is studying, and then finally, sleep. 

Segawa, the headmaster of this school and the primary school connected with it, has really helped to make all this available to these kids. From what I understand, many of them have lost one or both parents, and lots are very poor or have no real family to go home to. Segawa has found many of them himself - on the streets or working in other villages, and has somehow found a way to bring them an education. He's done really great work, and it's nice to be able to participate in it. Mel, the volunteer who brought me here, set up the Uganda Education Project, and has helped raise lots of money to help out: http://www.ugandaeducationproject.org/. See the website for the projects we've all been working on while here.

That's all for now. Weird that I'll be home in about ten days - I'll be sad to leave the kids here, but I'm excited to see everyone. As every kid in our village shouts to us as we pass - SEE YOU!

Thank you God, or Mr. Obama, or the other Powers that Be in the U.S. of A.

Before coming here, I prepared myself for a life without running water, electricity, and the internet. I knew I'd miss those things, learn how to live without them, and come to appreciate them more than ever. But I did not realize which other small goodies that I have back at home would be lacking in this country. So I've compiled a list - one that I'm sure will continue to grow - of all of the things I take for granted back home, things that keep life in America comfortable, easy, and smelling like roses.

1. GARBAGE CANS, garbage cans, garbage cans, and garbage trucks. This tops my list for a reason. In the busy areas here, the amount of trash that litters the streets is astounding. People litter because there is nowhere else to put trash. There is nowhere to put trash because there is no trash pick-up service - at least that I've ever seen. Ugandans burn their "rubbish piles" instead. Considering how lush and green the Ugandan landscape is, the garbage situation really makes a mess of something beautiful underneath. (Since being here, I've learned how to litter also (it's the only way), and let me tell you, it is STRANGE to disregard one of the greatest cultural taboos I grew up with. Oh well, as we've been saying while here, "When In Africa...").

2. Smooth roads. I threw up last night from car-sickness on the way back from Kampala. Sorry if that is TMI [For the adults in the crowd, TMI = Too Much Information].

2A. Traffic lights. I think I've mentioned this one before. I've maybe seen one traffic light since being here? And it was ignored. So, to add to that:

2B. Traffic laws. Enforced ones.

3. On that note, policemen that don't regularly accept bribes. I was on a boda-boda (motorcycle-taxi) the other day with another volunteer, and apparently, by law, boda-bodas are only supposed to take one passenger at a time (though you would never know it, since two passengers are so common). A policeman stopped us, and our driver slipped him something under his sleeve. And that was that.
Also - policemen who don't tear-gas citizens. But that one's obvious.

4. Lines! (Lines of people, that is, or "queues" if you will). I thought that Israel had already made me appreciate these. But nothing - really, NOTHING - in Israel or in America or anywhere, has ever come close to the crowd of people I experienced while walking into the Uganda "Cranes" soccer stadium last Saturday. When we neared the gate we literally could not move in any direction without being moved by the crowd. It was like an especially squishy mosh-pit - but one that was trying to move a hundred yards forward. At the gate, people were climbing over and around to get inside. It was somewhat thrilling at moments, but mostly very, very dangerous. I'm a bit surprised that my 5'1 frame made it out in one piece. As Alex, our Ugandan friend, house-mate, and co-teacher, warned us while we were making our way through: "If you fall, you die." Thanks for the comforting words, Alex.
---Sidenote: the game itself was super fun. More noise and excitement than any U.S. sports event I've ever been to. And we won! Go Ugandan Cranes!

5. Good umbilical cord scissors, and skilled belly-button-sculptors. Oh, and upper-body clothing for toddlers. 'Nuff said.

6. Rooms that are quiet. A couple days ago, Kirstin and I spent an unfortunate night with Emma at the clinic while she recovered from a stomach bug, and even THERE we could not find quiet. Music blasting through the windows, people shuffling in and out, cars whizzing by too fast, etc. etc.

7. Napkins, paper-towels, and of course, beloved toilet paper.

8. Which leads me to... public toilets. I don't care if it's a pristine, porcelain toilet seat or a 5 x 4 in. hole in the ground of an outhouse, just gimme SOMETHING to work with, please! I've got a small bladder.

9. Cash registers, bar-code scanners, and receipt printers. We spent three hours buying textbooks the other day because the lady at the counter had to add up the prices on her calculator three times, and then write out our extra-long receipt by hand.


10. Wheelchairs. Disabled people walk around Kampala with flip-flops on their hands.

11. Clean chalkboards, paper, red pens for teachers, books with firm bindings, desks with flat surfaces, private office space, shelves for books, books to fill them.... I could add a whole 'nother list especially for schools.

12. And of course, the mother of them all - money. money, money. The poverty is EVERYWHERE, but it hit me especially hard the other day when a young girl came up to me in Namayumba, noticed my white skin, and politely, quietly, asked me to pay her school fees. In America, children hate school. Here, many don't even have the privilege to go.

The list goes on and on and on, but I'm trying not to leave you with a novel.

Importantly, though, these are things that I notice. Everyone, I'm learning, is a product of where they grow up, and because of where I'm from, all of the above items feel noticeably absent - to me. Ugandans, on the other hand, do not seem "in need." Those that I've met - at Allen's house, at the school, in the village - live comfortably, peacefully, without complaint. It is rare, in fact, to hear a Ugandan cry - and that includes babies and little children. People learn to live with what they have, and find ways to compensate for things they don't. So while I'm pretty sure I'll always want toilet paper when I go to the bathroom, I'm finding that there are ways to live without some small conveniences I'm used to. And while there are a couple things I can certainly bring to this country (a child's school fees, for example), my way of life isn't objectively "better," and life here is by no means objectively "lacking." Instead, it's a difference of perspective, a difference of habit, a difference of culture - and as a result, each day here is a challenge, for sure, but also an incredible learning experience. And when switching cultural norms feels like a bit too much, we've just learned to shrug, follow along, and accept that life is different "When in Africa...."

Toilets are for Wimps

I've now been here for almost two weeks, and while I am not yet officially Ugandan, I'm getting close. I am becoming increasingly more adept at weaving through moving cars without fearing for my life in areas as crowded as this -

(though yesterday I did sustain a toenail injury), I can competently build sturdy structures like wells with homemade bricks and cement -

I can wash my clothes by hand -

(while I'm not technically in that picture, I was HELPING - I swear) and lastly, but definitely not leastly, I can successfully complete my private business in bathrooms that look like this:

(Yes, that is my bathroom, and yes, that hole is approximately 4 by 9 inches. And yes, I have never appreciated toilets so much in my life.)

This past week, I've begun to really get into my routine here. I moved into a small house in Namayumba, where I live with five other volunteer American teachers my age and one Ugandan teacher from the secondary school where we work ("Extreme College"). I started teaching on Monday, and have taught  about 2 - 3 classes of English grammar and composition each day. My "schedule," though, is...let's say... hardly a schedule at all. Classes here seem to begin and end at random times, teachers are repeatedly and unexpectedly absent, and half the subjects on the posted "schedule" are not actually taught. I've realized that it's easy to teach on a regular basis - but I have to take some initiative and be a little bit creative to do so. I can't depend on being in the classroom at set times everyday; instead, I generally walk down to the school in the morning and slip in when classes don't have teachers (often), or when the head teacher suddenly sends me to a classroom. I'm getting used to the spontaneity of it all, and the flexibility in my schedule leaves room for day trips, extended naps in the grass, sick days if ever necessary, and so on.

The teaching itself is an absolute breeze. I don't know if it's all teenagers in Uganda, or just those at this particular school, but the students here are just... a teacher's dream. Pleasant, eager to learn, sweet, friendly, mature, and hardworking. They've all been through some hardships (lost parents, HIV, poverty...), and some don't have families to go home to when the boarding school lets out. They study hard, and they dream large. If all goes as they wish, in some time they'll become doctors, engineers, teachers, social workers, and soccer players. Unfortunately, though, the reality is that most won't have the privilege to attend university after graduating. Even being able to come to high school is a treat for a lot of them. Segawa, the head of the secondary and primary school attached to it, worked hard to gather the funds and resources necessary to educate all of these students. Working with him, and meeting the students, has been continuously inspiring.


Living in Uganda is not very expensive. My rent is exactly $5.70 a month, and no, I did not accidentally put the decimal point in the wrong place. Cheapest rent I'll ever have? Unless I live in another African village someday, most definitely. Our electricity is unpredictable and we don't have running water (refer to the photo of our "toilet" above), so utilities don't add very much to the cost. We live in a cement house with four rooms, an outhouse, and a stall for bucket showering. The house is actually quite luxurious - and massive - for our village:

The smaller house to the right is more typical-looking. I tried to take a picture of our neighbors, an over-sized mama pig and her babies, but the lighting wasn't right. Our other neighbors, who all appear to be under the age of six, and who seem to number 5,000, enjoy constantly invading our little backyard to catch a glimpse of us strange white Americans. Here they are helping us build our new table:

(I'm proud to say I helped build that table also. Between that, building the well, and hand-washing clothes, I'm becoming quite handy.)

That's everything for now. I'm really looking forward to this weekend - we hope to go out tonight in Kampala, and to a Uganda national team soccer game tomorrow night. Hopefully soon we'll make it to Ginga to go white water rafting on the Nile. I'll leave you with this little piece of home I saw so (SO) far away from home:

(See the Patriots shirt on the bottom left.) Patriots fans in Nansana, Uganda? Why not. Still don't know how to say goodbye, but "Sela Belunji" - goodnight.

Since my last post, the culture shock has definitely been wearing down, and this place is feeling more and more familiar. I visited Kampala again a few days after that first visit, and was able to actually enjoy the city. I wasn't as shocked by the congestion, was used to the different smells, and I'm learning slowly how to walk around without intense fear of being hit by a car or boda boda (motorcycle taxi). There is SO much going on - in Kampala and outside the city as well - tons of people on the street, signs everywhere, various stands on the side of the road selling food, phones, "airtime" (calling credit), soccer balls, etc etc. I found the taxi park (parking lot where taxis leave from) to be particularly fascinating - it is absolutely insane how many taxis can fit so close together in one space, and nothing short of miraculous that they are all able to somehow weave through the rest to leave. Without killing people on the way. (Though I wouldn't doubt that that's happened.) Here's a picture:

We've spent some time now outside the city, suburbs, and congestion as well - in Namayumba, where the secondary school, Extreme College, is. The town is far enough from Kampala that it's not too crowded, and pretty rural. Everything is incredibly GREEN there (like much of the landscape in Uganda), including the land around the school, which is really gorgeous:

The day that we moved into Namayumba we went on a little trip to buy a cow for the school. Mel's raised a lot of money through the Ugandan Education Project she set up, and we were able to use that money to buy the cow. They're apparently pretty expensive, but worth it in the long run - one cow (and the one we bought was pregnant) can provide enough milk so that all the kids at the school- around 100 - can have porridge every day. Getting the cow was a small adventure. We rode on the back of a pickup truck to go look at it, with two random little girls from the village who were thrown in there with us. The ride was bumpy to say the least, and I feared for those little girls' lives while they bounced around, but they were completely unfazed. Literally showed no expressions while their heads nearly jammed into the walls several times. It seems like all kids here are incredibly calm and easygoing. Very different than American kids. Later, while we were checking out our potential future cow, it started to pour. We got completely soaked and rode home in the back of the truck through the monsoon. It felt incredibly refreshing, and it was an amazing opportunity take in the Ugandan landscape.
Here's a picture of a Ugandan raincoat:

She looks thrilled to be wearing it.

We'll start teaching on Monday. The other day, we had a meeting with the school staff, and they're really excited to incorporate us into the schedule. It's nice to know that they really appreciate what we're doing, and it seems we'll be able to actually help out a bit.

Running out of internet time now, so one last thought: I don't think I'll ever get over how much people stare at me here because I'm white. Whenever I walk around, anywhere, people shout "Hi mzungu [white person]!" approximately every three seconds. James (a volunteer with us) pointed out how strange it would be if in America, we shouted out "China!" every time we saw an Asian person. Here are some children who could not stop peeking at me from behind a door:

Yes, I am quite a site to see. That's it for now. Miss everyone!

Culture Shock

Currently sitting at an internet cafe in Kampala, in what I'm told is a very "muzungo" mall. Muzungu = white person and everything associated with white people (aka wealth, mostly). That this shopping center is "muzungu" indicates that the cafes are really nice and have logos that imitate Starbucks's, that the stores are particularly clean and well organized, and that generally the walls are not falling off. This is the first muzungu place I've been to so far in Uganda - the first time that I feel like I could be back in the U.S. Everything else, as the title of this post indicates, has seemed completely foreign.

I'll back up a bit: I landed in Entebbe airport on Friday night. I was most nervous about arriving (being alone in a new country, etc.), but definitely should not have been. Immediately, I was treated as a VIP at the airport - an airport employee greeted me, had me cut the entire line, helped me find my luggage, and was super friendly and excited to meet me. Apparently, my grandfather's Ugandan caretaker, Allen, who is in Uganda now visiting family, had contacted her friend and set up that whole greeting. Then I was greeted by about ten more people - by Allen and half her family, and by Segawa - the head of the school I'll work at - and some of his students. It was a RELIEF, to say the least, to feel welcome.

I stayed at Allen's family's house in Seena, a town outside Kampala, for the weekend. Despite the no water or electricity there, it was really comfortable and also really gorgeous: 

(This is farrrr from typical-looking, as most homes I've seen are made from sticks strung loosely together or dilapidated slabs of cement, 3 Little Pigs style.)
I took my first bucket shower, and learned how to flush a toilet by just pouring water in. I also learned how to spend a weekend without internet. I emerged a new person.

At Allen's house, I was quite the spectacle. Ugandans don't often see muzungus (white people), and when they do they basically treat them like celebrities. The dozens of kids running around Allen's house stared at me (completely dumbfounded) while I ate, and cracked up hysterically whenever I walked by. They were ADORABLE, and I had many pleasant conversations with them which consisted primarily of "howaarr you," and "goood morrrniing."

My first real encounter with Kampala, the capital city, came when Allen, her husband, and sister-in-law took me there for a day trip. It was interesting to see the city, but in all honesty, I was glad to leave. The city is incredibly congested (imagine the crowded-ness of New York x5) - or at least the parts that we saw. People and cars are EVERYWHERE, and neither pays any attention to the other. Oh, and boda-bodas, which are motorcycle taxis that seem to follow no traffic laws. Actually, I'm pretty sure there are no traffic laws. I think I've seen one traffic light this entire trip. And I don't think it worked. Here's a picture (imagine tons of dust in the air if you can't see it):

Here's another one (note the building made of sticks):

I was sad to leave Allen's house. We took lots of pictures before I left. Here's one - It's a mix of Allen's family, neighbors, friends - I honestly couldn't begin to keep track of all the people running around. (There's Allen to my left. And I'm the muzungu, for those who don't know me.):

On Monday, I met up with Mel and Mac (two other volunteers) and Segawa, the head of the school where I'll be teaching. We visited the primary school in Nansana, and the secondary school connected to it in Namayumba. For these few days we're staying at Segawa's house in Nansana, but in a few days we'll move to Namayumba where we (the 6 volunteers) will teach, play soccer, and generally get to know the kids. After seeing the two villages, I'm really happy we'll be staying in Namayumba -  it's much more rural than Nansana, and less crowded, very green, and generally gorgeous. I'll post pictures once we move in there.


Finally, I'll leave you with a couple of today's exciting moments:
-My first boda-boda ride (motorcycle-taxi)!!!! They drive super fast--zoom through cars/people/random huge pits in the roads. I was way too scared to ride alone, so rode on one with Mac. Still, I'm proud.

-Met my first African gorilla! And by African gorilla I mean a man in this mall that's dressed in a gorilla costume, who came and tapped me on the back and scared me half to death. And then he did it again.

And that's all for now. I can't wait to move to Namayumba, start teaching, and meet the kids. I'll update this again once my routine begins.

I don't know how to say goodbye in Luganda (the local language of Central Uganda), so instead I'll just say "Oliotio" which means "How are you." It's all I know - It'll have to do.