Plastic Bags

That’s all they wanted, a dozen stupid plastic bags. Yesterday, I was excited as we were giving out shirts and sandals sent from Canada to the kids here. It doesn’t seem like much but you know the cliché. Anyways, they were all excited as we somehow managed to hand out everything without getting trampled. The kids were all very thankful and polite as they looked over their new stuff.

As we were finishing up, Laurence came up to me and asked if he could have the two ripped plastic bags I had in my hand. I gave them to him, wondering what he was up to. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by the rest of the older boys asking if I had more. I assured them that I did back in the guest house and felt like the pied piper as I led them across the property. I grabbed a dozen, stored up from the last few shopping trips, and handed them out. I overheard one of the boys say esomero (school) when it hit me like a ton of bricks.

None of these boys had school packs. A few of the kids do and carry others’ supplies, but for the most part everyone just hopes it doesn’t rain. So, when I gave them the bags, they were ecstatic, unexpectedly more so than when they got the clothes. However, there was one boy, Frank, the youngest, who was visibly distraught. I asked Laurence what was the matter. He showed me where Frank’s bag was torn, right on the handle. I went back inside, found another, and saw Frank’s face light up as I gave him this new prize.

As soon as they were all satisfied, they ran off waiving their bags victoriously in the air. I was only able to snap one pick to remind myself the surreal scene that just took place. A dozen used plastic bags, that’s all they needed.





More to come...

Canadian Family Dycks

I had the privilege of going to visit a family from my home church that spent four months here in mpigi and are now spending three years at a large school/medical/community planning center in another district of the country. It was a privilege as it gave me time to talk with those who have shared this experience and, frankly, gave me some time to recharge. Jeff is the kind of guy that I can sit down and have a beer with, Shannon is very kind and a great cook, and their four kids are full of life but each in a unique way.

Here is Jeff with Kato (from Mpigi):



Here is Shan with Christine (from Mpigi) and their new daughter in the background:


Here is Shan with the kids at their home:



So, I traveled to their home last week, which involved three “taxi” transfers, chickens tied underfoot, and no English until Jeff picked me up halfway. Oh, I also experienced my first bone dry engine breakdown. Jeff had borrowed a truck that, I guess, the owner had not checked the coolant of in a long time. So, that was interesting.

The Dycks live at what I can only describe as a large compound. As I mentioned, it is a school for over 800 sponsored children, a trade school, a large medical clinic, and a community services center which includes a micro loan program. They are a bit more developed than here in mpigi and I was able to relax with hot water!, a freezer with food, and wireless internet. I apologize as I didn’t take many pics…



A couple of stories:

Jeff loves football and has played since he was young. He is in charge of all the building projects and, therefore, was invited to play on the builder’s football team. (That and he buys all the biscuits and drinks) When I was there they had a game against the teachers.

This is a big rivalry as Jeff explained to me that last game the teachers walked off the field because they felt the builders were putting a new player on the field who was a ringer (which he wasn’t). In response, after the referee settled the teachers down, the builders themselves walked off the field in protest. All over a friendly game, I love it!

So, normally I would root for the teachers except that the builders are considered the lesser class, the untrustworthy, the “bad guys”. This was apparent at the game as most of the 200 people watching were rooting for the teachers. So, I ended up rooting for the builders and, thanks to Jeff’s two goals, they won 3-0. Did I mention some players on their team don’t have shoes? It was a great night as all of us were laughing and having a good time.

Can you spot Jeff?

The second day I was there I was sitting under a tree reading when an older mzunugu man came running up shouting that there is a large fire and the bees are in danger of being destroyed. The bees? And you are who to order me to fight your forest fire?

Luckily, Jeff came over when he heard the commotion and explained, as he handed me a broomstick, that there was brushfire and the man had sponsored a honey project a couple of years back. He said I was welcome to relax as there were other people already on their way. “No way,” I told him, “count me in.”

So we were off. Yes, there was a fire. And, yes, it was spreading. But, fortunately, it was almost out when we got there. And the brooms? I cannot stress this enough. Don’t try to fight a fire with a broom, especially just a broom handle. After the excitement, we had to laugh as we did see people breaking branches off of trees as they were heading towards the blaze but were too ignorant with our "tools". The branches worked much better.

What else did I learn as an ignorant mzunugu? Don’t fight fire while standing downwind. Also, trust your gut when another mzunugu comes running to you in a panic. The fire was at least a kilometer away from his prized bees.

Oh, Blog It...

Motorcycle Ride to Town...Still Alive
Waiting For The Internet To Work...Commonplace
The Power Going Out While Waiting...Frustating
Realizing You Forgot To Load Your Post on Your Memory Stick...Rrrggg

Only three weeks left, I can't believe it. Would love to hear from you. I know from conversations that people are reading the blog but, if you could, leave a comment to remind me I'm not just writing to myself!

It's been one of those days..

Clown Cars, Burials, & The Nile

When I got the opportunity to drive and see a new part of the country as well as to see the Nile river I knew I had to jump on the chance. So, last Sunday Nelson and I headed from Mpigi to Jinja.

Now, where to begin? This story has so many directions I can go with it as it was a wild day. Hmm… let’s start with the drive. Originally, it was Nelson and I driving together. Then, the day before, he asked me if his two sons could go. Later, Amos, the maintenance guy at the children’s home, said he had never been to Jinja and asked if he could come. So, 5 people, the car was full.

As I mentioned in my last post, Nelson lives in Kampala so we had to drive to get him. But, when I arrived at his house, his wife was also waiting. Tragically, her father had died the night before just outside of Jinja. So, a child sitting on a lap later and we were off.

Of course, this added some pressure as I had never driven in the capital before, a city with exactly two traffic lights. However, we somehow made it out and began traveling east. About 30 minutes in, Nelson turns to me and asks if we could give his wife’s sister a ride as she is on the way to Jinja. “Why not?” I thought and we stopped in the next town. So, another child sitting on a lap and we were off.

However, 100m ahead Nelson told me to stop. I guess his wife had seen another sister that was walking to catch a taxi. “Why not?” I thought again. A child on a lap, a child in the trunk, four adults in the back seat, and we were off.

We stopped for “eats”, which means we just stopped at the side of the road and 20 people in white coats came running up to our car with bottled water, mystery meat on a stick, and bbqed bananas in tow. We then traveled through a huge forest (Nelson’s words) that was 3km long and by the largest Coke plant and sugar cane plant in East Africa. We were almost in Jinga when we stopped again. Nelson gets out, disappears into a market, and comes back with another person. His brother, he tells me. A child on a lap, a child in the trunk, five adults in the back seat, and we were off.

The way back was much more comfortable as the kids, aunts, and mom were dropped off. However, driving back through a city of 1.5 million people in the dark was interesting to say the least. I only “almost” lost a side view mirror (thank you hinges). Some things I learned to watch out for in the future were three point turns in the middle of busy streets, broken down trucks blocking traffic for miles, and “suicidal” motorcycle drivers. Fun!



So, as we were in Jinja that day, I attended my first burial/mourning. For these, People come from all over and can spend several days. The body of the deceased is laid out in the house for all to see and wailing can be heard late into the night. It was difficult to experience at first. But, after a while, it just felt right. We tend to “stuff it” don’t we? We are asked to “be strong”. I remembered a teacher once telling me that people in cultures that openly mourn actually, in the long run, do better at dealing with loss. I was beginning to believe him. The memory of the shots on television of mothers in middle eastern countries weeping over the death of their children just got a lot less strange.

After we left the burial, we traveled to a local church at which I taught. Of course, because of the unexpected death, we were late and I was almost immediately whisked to the front. Oh, did I mention they wanted me to speak for an hour?! It actually turned out to be great fun and I was even able to experience the announcement of an engagement. You wouldn’t believe the screams of joy, people jumping up and down, and women literally fanning the soon to be bride as if to say she is too hot! Here are a couple of shots of the event:




Soon after we motored out of town we turned of the main road and went what seemed like forever down a unkept path. We ended up here, rapids near the source of the Nile.




Amos, Nelson, and his brother stood and stared at the rapids for quite a long time. They had never seen water like this, the power and volume was overwhelming. The were shocked even further when they saw guys who, if paid a few dollars, would go over the rapids while clinging to an empty jerry can. I had to drag them away after an hour as the sun was setting. It was a marathon day, but one I will never forget.





A story…

I never mentioned this, but a few weeks ago one of the youth in the area got funding to film a music video for his album. So, the whole church community got involved and practiced acting and dancing for days on end. They filmed all over the area and this week the time had arrived to unveil the edited video that would hopefully go into rotation on Ugandan television. I was planning for something “interesting”.


The video was set to premiere on the property at 5:00. I hurried to finish the teaching I was doing as people began to slowly trickle in. 5:30, 6:00, 6:30 rolled by without any video. There must have been 100 people there but no one seemed to mind. About an hour in, music began to play and a small boy, no older than 3, began to dance on the stage. He was amazing and everyone stood and cheered for him. He must have danced for a half an hour without pulling out the same move twice. Once he finished, almost as if was organized, 50 people began a dance party in the back of the building that lasted for an hour.

At 7:00, an announcement was made that the video would be there “soon”, maybe five minutes. So, we waited another half an hour and decided to go up for dinner and for a child to run up to get us when the video arrived. At 8:30, a full three and half hours after the advertised time, the videos started.

The reason I say videos is that I guess people don’t make one video, they make a video for each song on the album! The first two videos I got what I planned for. The third wasn’t bad and the last one had something to do with staying in school or you will end up as a farmer for the rest of your life, a good lesson I guess. For some reason, much of the cinema was footage from a film about a white Jesus interspersed with traditional dancing, guys busting a move with their shirts off, and older women in traditional clothing. However, after seeing some local videos on television since then, it was definitely above par.

I think what I will remember most is the waiting, how no one seemed to care, and the random dance party, where everyone found something fun to do. A different culture, for sure.


More to come…

Mpigitown Community

Ah, the second post for today. I thought I would make up for last week. Here is the building where the Mpigitown Church meets.





Simply put, I love it. I enjoy meeting there and I love looking out to the sky while singing and praying. It is great squeezing in on benches and having children come to sit with you. I love the openness as you can hear what is happening inside from down on the main street. People come up and look through the cracks in the wood to see what is happening. It is strange, but practical, that a cow grazes out front (no need to cut the grass or fertilize it!). The dirt floors are humbling and I am beginning to grow a dislike for carpeted church meeting places.

Yesterday, I was teaching and learning from the “youth” here. (The youth is age 19-30) We met for over three hours, which is normal. But, what happened next, is something I will never forget. After about half of the people left, a few of the “youth” began to teach me how to use the base drum. This turned into what I can only describe to Canadians as a dance party. There are traditional dances from every tribe in Uganda and each one has a different song. So, they danced and danced. Then, one of the wives left and came back in with a giant bucket that she proceeded to dish out of. It was pork and, as I explained in a previous post, an honor to eat as meat is scarce. So, I pitched in and bought a case of sodas. Everyone cheered and hollered. We had a great time partaking together and we even invited a couple people we ran into on the street on the way to get drinks.



This was fellowship. I learned a lot from their love and generosity. What would this look like in Canada? Can’t we be so boring sometimes, especially as the church! Like I said, it was a joy filled evening that I will never forget.

This is Nelson, the pastor of the church in town. He is in his 50’s but looks in his 30’s. It is humbling to be teaching him to say the least. The picture I took is of his family in Kampala, where they live. Nelson commutes out this way as the live on government sponsored land and have free rent. It is always a state of restlessness, though, as the government can come in anytime and take the land from the people and simply demolish the houses.




Both Nelson and his wife, Irene, speak excellent English. She especially fluent and corrects him sometimes when he translates for me. As you can see, they have five children. The youngest, Joseph, is always at my side when I go to visit, even though he doesn’t understand much English. All the kids are in school and Nelson and I are going to visit a couple of them at boarding school when we go to Jinga, a city on the Nile River.

Nelson is who I travel into the bush with. He seems to know everyone. Actually, he is described by Geoffrey as (cue Schwarzenegger voice) “The Mobilizer”. He is always full of energy and excited for our “programs”. Everything is a program here. If you want to ask what someone is doing that day, you ask them what their program is. I learned this early on as I didn’t want a translator up front during church services. I explained this to Geoffery several times to no avail. Scott then suggested to tell him that it was my “program” to listen without a translator. The next Sunday, no translator.

A couple of stories…

Football with the boys has been even more enjoyable recently. We laugh a lot and I am going to miss it immensely when I leave. I have even started to play a bit with the little ones as they come back from school early. I keep forgetting that they are 4,5,6 years old as they play like they are teenagers.

So, I said we laugh a lot more. Mainly, we are now able to laugh at each other when we mess up. Sometimes the boys (or myself) shoot way off target. Sometimes they (or I) miss the ball completely. The other day, one boy missed and ripped his pants. Another missed and fell right on his butt.

Also, I have taught them a new phrase, “he is sleeping”. During one of our games I shot it from the other end of the field as I realized that the goalie was lying on the ground. He scrambled to catch up to the incoming ball but to no avail. I said, “the goalie was sleeping” and it is now used whenever someone is not paying attention.





So, the story. Last weekend it was a tie game, 3-3. The sun was going down and we didn’t have much time. I stretched a pass to one of the strikers who almost scored but a defender kicked the ball out at the last second. So, we had a throw in near the goal. The kids always try to get me to throw in as I can throw the farthest. I am glad I did this time, as it gave me a perfect view for what happened next.

I saw Laurence running the front of the goal and I heaved the ball as hard as I could at his feet. He turned to kick it when suddenly a white chicken came out of nowhere onto the field, almost as if it was chasing the ball. Well, Laurence booted what he thought was the winning goal. Instead, we heard a loud squawk as a mass of feathers went flying into the air. We must have all laughed for the next five minutes as the sun continued to set.



I feel strange carrying around a camera here. I never did at home and it makes me feel like I am a tourist. As well, it is dangerous to take pics in certain places as someone will either try to steal your camera or ask for money because they are in your picture. This is why I want to share about the craziness of the taxi park and its hundreds of vans but only have some “hidden” pics so far. This is also why I am having trouble taking pictures of town here. I think I might take some on Thursday as I will be hiring a boda. We can zoom off if anyone comes to confront me.

So, that being said, the kids here love the camera. It is hard to get a pic in without them posing. Now, with digital camera displays, they all want to see themselves as well. This fact has led me to befriend some kids that seemed to want nothing to do with me. Shafik is one of those kids. Whenever I would talk to him he would shy away. However, one day I went and sat beside him on a log. I pulled out my camera and took a picture of us together. I showed him the shot and his face changed instantly. He began to laugh and talk with me. Now, whenever I see him, he comes up to me and says hello. Here is the pic of “Fiki” and I.





More to come…

Seasons

Uganda has two seasons, the wet season and the dry season. We are now in the dry season which means HOT weather, minimal rain and water conservation. In the past, the property has had a problem with a shortage of water and so, this year, someone donated enough money to put in an ingenious water system.





When I tell people that, in Canada, we have four seasons they are shocked. When I tell them we only have one growing season, they are even more amazed. How do we survive? they ask. Here, they have two growing seasons and so, as students are finishing college courses, they are heading home to work. I met a man, David, as I was walking through the trails yesterday who was home and working at, as Geoffery humorously puts it, crop betrothment. He was tilling the field so his mother and grandmother could pick food to eat in the next months. It is difficult seeing someone like David who works so hard and is still struggling for money for school. I come across this situation almost every day. It also makes me think of a post a few weeks ago where I asked, “How important is higher education in a society where there is extremely high unemployment?” Even if David graduates from college there is no guarantee he will get a job.