Meganda Uganda

COS Conference

2012-02-21T04:07:00.005-08:00

Hello, and welcome back!

Wow... where to begin? In my last post, I detailed the first days on my overland trip that too me through 10 countries plus Uganda. As I am still in Peace Corps and therefore in a position where I can get kicked OUT of Peace Corps, I cannot go into all the details of the trip. However, I am dead set on publishing an itinerary of my adventures, as, disregarding all the once in a life-time experiences I had to pay a pretty-penny for, the trip was incredibly affordable and very easy (in terms of the road being beautifully smooth and paved, the people being friendly and welcoming etc...). And, my god... the pictures. I've already posted pictures through Capetown on my Facebook page, and I'll post the rest from Capetown onward to Uganda once I get home and have more time and bandwidth.

Here's a quick list of things I did on the trip:

Bungee jumped off the bridge connecting Zambia and Zimbabwe (a couple weeks later, that same cord snapped when I young woman jumped off... she lived... and if I had been home, Michelle would have killed me...)

Four-wheeled and Skydived (like dirt-bikes but with four wheels) in the dunes of Swakopmund, Namibia. Skydiving is probably the coolest thing I've ever done... and I'm honestly thinking of getting certified so I can dive solo.

Watched the sun rise and hiked around Namib-Naukluft State Park in Namibia, possible the most beautiful desert environment I've ever seen (and I am VERY fond of the SW in the US).

Climbed, in a day, Devils Peak, Table Mountain and Lion's Head in Capetown, South Africa and drank beers and good wine while watching the sun set over the Atlantic.

Pony Trekked, got pummeled by malaria for the first time (Ugh...) and hiked around Sani Pass, Lesotho, the most beautiful mountainous region of our entire adventure (and possibly in my life, for that matter).

Got PADI certified (i.e. I'm a registered open-water SCUBA diver) in Tofo, Mozambique, where every picture is a postcard.

Snorkeled and boated around Vilankulos, Mozambique.

Snorkeled and Kayaked in Lake Malawi... home to the most diverse collection of fish of anywhere on the planet.

And, the rest, aside from a brief stay with some snorkeling and some hilariously-tippy-canoing in Nkhata Bay, Malawi, was just travel, getting our asses back to site on time.

Again, pictures to come, but probably not until months from now. I'm busy.

On to the point of the post: COS Conference.

COS stands for CLOSE OF SERVICE.

That's right, folks. I'm damn near finished with two years of service. Soon, now actually, I'm packing up my bags and planning for the second stage of my Capetown-Cairo trip which will ultimate terminate in Tel Aviv, Israel at the end of May. From there, I'll fly back to the US for my best friends wedding (a great movie, by the way) and begin the first days of the rest of my life. In the middle of march, I'll leave Kyenjojo for Kampala. There, I'll do three days of medical and paper-work nonsense, and then I'll be, um... kicked into the pool of 200,000 + Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs) that have served since March 1st, 1961.

ABSURD!!!

The conference lasted two days. We talked about things we’d miss, things we wouldn't, what we were doing next, admin stuff, and in the end, we got give feedback about the good, bad and ugly about PC-Uganda from training onward to our Country Director (boss)... and by feedback, I mean verbal ravaging (this is not the place to talk about the BAD in PC, but my thoughts will be revealed when I am safely out of the axe...).

On day two, the last thing we did was all join in a circle, arms around each others shoulders, and we all expressed something we wanted the group to know. I’d been feeling emotions welling all day, but I just my hangover playing tricks on me (we drank pretty heavily each night).Well, I was third or so in line, and when it got to me, everything just spilled over. I looked to my left at Ashley, and was met with a “Don’t… if you do, I will…”

But I just couldn’t help it...

I choked up on my first words and had to turn away, my head resting on my close friend Elizabeth's head until I could catch a breath (I found out later that my tears eventually rolled down her nose like an Olympic ski-jumper, qualifying me as the most EXTREME cry-baby in the group). Back to everyone, look around, and I somehow got out, “It’s been an honor…” before breaking down again.

When I could speak, but not for long, I squeaked out, “It feels like my whole world is being turned upside down…”

Feeling a bit depressurized, I added on, “I just can’t BELIEVE that I was the first one!!!” to which everyone erupted into laughter (we'd had a bet about who would be the first to break down... the money was on one of the small, cute girls in the group. Oops!).

Everyone had something beautiful to say, and by the end there were very few dry eyes among us.

Things wrapped up that evening with after-dinner speeches and a slideshow documenting our two years together.

I lack the words to explain what it feels like to say goodbye to a family like this... I lack the motivation, at this time, to even try. For me, it is all so surreal. I believe it is nearly finished. I've accepted that. And still, I am a bit numb. Perhaps, in the time remaining I'll be able to write something up that better catches my turbulent emotions... but don't hold your breath. Instead, ask me about seeing a slide-show that I'll put together about the experience. Only with music and pictures can something so priceless be captured.

Oh! My small travel guitar that accompanied me to Uganda is now a MASTERPIECE! I brought it to COS, and I had everyone sign it. My instructions were, "You know, sign it, do whatever, just remember there are a lot of people, so keep it smaller..." The result? Well... see for yourself:

BEAUTIFUL!! Now, I just need a professional luthier to coat the surface with a thin layer of varnish to prevent any smudging from happening in the future.

It's time for me to run for the hills. I do hope to post a few more times before I leave the country, so stay tuned.

Thanks for reading.

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

HELLO FROM NAMIBIA!!!

2011-12-13T05:27:00.000-08:00

All,
I'm writing to you from the ridiculous town of Swakopmund, Namibia. We arrived here yesterday after 24+ hours of travel from Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. After finding our place to camp, we scheduled our first adventure: Quad-Biking (Four wheelers) in the Namib Dessert right outside town. INCREDIBLE! We did it this morning, and I am sold on the bikes. Very cool.

In other news: I jumped off a bridge the other day, literally. The bridge connecting Vic-Falls Zimbabwe to Zambia has bungee jumping, so we bought a huge package where we did a zip-line, a swing over the gorge and a bungee jump for 155 bucks. HOLY SHIT. Greatest rides of my life.

5
4
3
2
1

BUNGEE!!!!

And then you fall 111 meters into the depths.

We hung around Zim for a few days and got screwed out of a bus ride to Namib, but we got everything figured out.

Note: Zimbabwe is a FANTASTIC country with beautiful people... some of the most beautiful I've ever seen. We're all discovering just how bad Uganda has it by making these comparisons to each country we travel to. Botswana, Zim (Vic Falls, really... obviously not the whole country), and Namibia look just like America. It's truly unbelievable how progressed these places are.

Alright, times up. Just wanted to check in. We're having a blast. Almost went sky diving today, but they were booked. We're headed to Nakuluft State Park tomorrow then down to Capetown in a few days. It just keeps getting better and better.

Thanks for checking in!
I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon

Overland: Day 1-3 - Greetings from Botswana!

2011-12-07T07:05:00.000-08:00

First thing's first: You can reach me via my MTN cell number (785954285).

Next, here is the summary of the trip thus far.

Day 1: We flew from Entebbe at 6:30 on Monday morning after spending the night with our friend Rob from the CDC. AWESOME guy! He hooked us up with great beer, BBQ pork and, um, more great beer before we all crashed WAY too late for the early flight.

Entebbe is a very nice airport, and we were through customs quickly. Our flights were VERY strange in that in order to get to Jo-burg, we had to fly first to Nairobi, Kenya, wait two hours, board another plane for Kigali, Rwanda, wait 45 minutes and finally board the final plane to Jo-burg, South Africa.

I got HORRIFICALLY ill on the way to Nairobi! Not a good way to start a trip... I was having heat waves crash over me, I was sweating profusely from time to time, my head was hurting and my mind was spinning. I know what you might be thinking: Malaria. Me too. But, thankfully, I don't believe it was anything more than motion-sickness. I puked a bit on the plane to Kigali (I FINALLY GOT TO USE A BARF BAG!!!!!!), puked a lot more in Kigali (they were offering me a doctor... sweeties!) and crashed on the final plane to SA waking in the middle feeling relatively stable and ravenously hungry. The fog cleared over the next two hours, and by the time I landed, I was bright, sunny and stoked to have just finished a small bottle of Concha y Torro Cabernet. For those who have never flown with them, Rwandair is FANTASTIC!

Jo-burg: Dave had a friend in the city who met us at the airport. Gaven. Freakin' incredible human being! He drove us to his place in South Jo-burg where we showered, unpacked and met his wife before heading out to dinner. Tasty food, good beers, great company. The night ended with a long, deep sleep. The perfect end to a strange first day.

Day 2: We rose early, had some granola and yogurt and headed to the airport. After a brief goodbye with Gaven, we went through the issues with money exchange (FOREX at the airport is criminal), and getting Dave squared away with his money issues (he brought no money... only a stanbic card... and STANDARD does not take STANBIC, so he was in trouble). Once that was worked out, Natalie and I got in touch with the Bus-man who gave us some brilliant, though horrifically convoluted directions from the airport to the downtown where we would be able to catch our bus to Bulawayo (our original plan was to go straight to Zimbabwe and then transfer there onto something that takes us to Victoria Falls). Long story short, he along with everyone else freaked the living hell out of us about Jo-burg. Let me explain:

Jo-burg is VERY VERY VERY dangerous. We were told this by every single person we met. "Jo-burg is DANGEROUS. BE VERY CAREFUL!" We heard stories about people getting jumped in broad daylight, jumped in stores, alley's, streets, everywhere... my god. And the city is HUGE! So we were on high alert passing through town. On the surface, it looks amazing... like Kampala might look after another 100 years. Smooth roads, big nice buildings, ordered streets. Perfect. But always in the background, that fear of getting jumped. So we got our business done with the busses ASAP... which took quite some time.

We ended up catching a but to Gabarone, getting there late at night, realizing we had nowhere NEAR enough money to stay in such a nice place and hopped immediately on another bus Francistown.

Day3: After a strange ride (hallucinations from lack of sleep), we pulled into Francistown at around 4 am and left to the bus park to catch another bus to Kasane in the northernmost corner of Botswana. After some tea and fried bread, we caught that bus and somewhere around 6 hours later we arrived.

My god, I have run away typing again... As of now, we are finished with 18 hours of travel in the last 24 hours, and we are about 70km shy of Victoria Falls. We'll be there tomorrow jumping off of the bridge with buyngee cords on our feet! YEAH!!! Then, we'll likely stay around another day before heading into Namibia and continuing onward.

So! I am safe and loving life. South Africa and Botswana look a lot like America... EXACTLY like America, actually. It's freaky. There is just that damn underlying fear. Ugh. And then there are the prices... if we were coming straight from Jobs in the states, we'd have a much easier time buying the necessities (beer, beer, a place to set a tent, beer and... oh, food). Unfortunately, everything here is two-times more expensive than the states, so we're pinching pennies.

But we're making it.

Life is good. I'm doing GREAT. This is already one of the greatest adventures I've been on, and I am only a tenth of the way through :)

I'm off... I just shut down an internet cafe with this post.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

P.S. Next update, I expect, will come from Namibia!

November Update

2011-11-30T06:23:00.000-08:00

Hi Everyone.

I'm really sorry for the long delay since my last post. I've traveled a good bit recently (to South Western Uganda to put on a Sex-Ed presentation and celebrate the arrival of some newly graduated PCVs, and then again to the SW for what turned into one of the most glorious Thanksgiving celebrations of my life!).

For T-day this year, 8 or 9 of us met up in Ibanda, and everyone got fantastically fat on multiple pies, stuffing balls, green-been casserole, CHEEEEESE, and god knows what else... whiskey for sure... and... oh yeah, a Turkey! By 10 in the evening, we were actually quite sick and regretting our gluttony. Looking back, it as totally worth it.

Let me just say: I hate killing things. I've done it so rarely in my life. Bugs? Yeah, daily. They are basically micro-machines. But real, warm blooded beings? Tough work, that. I did it. This year, I hung our turkey up by his feet from a tree, tied his wings back (so they wouldn't beat my face in), tore some feathers off his neck to expose the skin, grabbed a WICKED sharp Henckel knife and made the cut. It took about three seconds (everyone was very impressed by this), and if I understand the technique used on Polyface Farm in Virginia, the upside down position fills the fowl's head with blood, puts them into a comatose state and keeps the pain to a minimum.

It was definitely an experience. I shook for a while afterwards as we stripped it, gutted it and then put it into a large dutch oven we had fashioned using the large hole filled with coals.

I'll say this: The turkey was a sorry site after a night in which he was nearly eaten by a wild dog. But after several hours of slow cooking with a basting every half hour, he was beautiful brown and fully edible. He was one of the most delicious turkeys we've ever had.

Onward:

The school term is OVER!!!! Well, the classes and testing is finished. Now, we are focusing on filling in report cards. I put together a digital report card system based on one that someone else had done in the PC office... mine is A LOT better. Overall, it has been one of the most ridiculously complicated experiences I've ever had using MS Office and Excel. I'll save the details of the grading systems here for another post... at least I hope to get to that at some point... for now, let me say that it's been a beast of a project. Now, with the program complete, I am trying to get the teachers to use it. I am starting small using it only for the A-level classes first as they have only 80 or so students. The goal is to slowly integrate it into the lower level classes (first in S4, then in S3, etc...) until the entire school is using the program in about a year. As of now, I've got a few teachers literally giggling with excitement over how much time can be saved with the program, and their enthusiasm is spilling over onto the other teachers. The ball is rolling! We'll see how far it goes.

My S6 students are FINISHED WITH SCHOOL!!!! That's right: Moses, Ivan, Mugisa and Suzie (and Leonard, though he transferred at the beginning of the year), are now finished with their UNEB national exams and are thus finished with their secondary education! I met them over the last few days, and they greeted me with enormous smiles on their faces, their relief obvious. Now they just wait for their results, and when those arrive they can begin applying for universities!

I am happy to report that after taking the tests for the classes I taught, they came out smiling and saying, "It wasn't so bad! We did well Mastah!" I'm Happy. Relieved. Thrilled really. Sure, I don't know the scores, but if their attitudes towards the tests are any indication of their scores, they did quite well! (On the flip side, everyone that came out of the tests for the papers I did NOT teach had only "It was VERY hard" to say about it). We'll know the results in February. Until then, my fingers are crossed.

The school term ends officially on Friday, so that gives us tomorrow to finish the report cards. We've got a meeting at 1 and a staff party that should be a great finish. We'll likely all get together at a local hotel, grab a beer and eat some fried goat. Unfortunately, this lines up with a visit by the US Ambassador to Uganda. He'll be in a neighboring village with my Country Director and a few PCVs. It was requested that all in the area attend, but frankly, as busy as we are here, I just can't make it... further, even if I could I think I'd rather pause to celebrate an interesting year with the staff than sit around discussing the ups and downs of development with bureaucrats.

Up next:

As always, I am racked by a guilty conscience over not posting enough (stupid Catholic baptism at birth!). I've actually had a picture post ready since October, but I've put it off and put it off. Well, no longer. I'll post it tomorrow for you. So check back.

For the holidays, I am leaving the country! Yep. December 5th starts my Capetown to Cairo over-land adventure! I'm flying down with 3 friends to Jo-burg, and we'll then follow hit the following places:

Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia (bungee jumping at Vic Falls... naked, if at all possible), Namibia (dune buggying in the Namib Desert), South Africa (again) (Capetown, Roben Island, Beaches, Table Mountain), Lesotho (horseback riding, hiking), South Africa (again), Swaziland (chillin), Mozambique(getting SCUBA certified), Malawi (Scuba and Snorkel in Lake Malawi), Tanzania, Zanzibar, Tanzania and then we'll finally return to Uganda!

The only girl on the trip, Natalie, is hopping off in Capetown and heading to Zanzibar for Christmas, but just as she leaves, we're all meeting up with none other than MR. DAVID FICKE!! Mr. Ficke will accompany us for the remainder of the journey, and he'll be stopping in Uganda to see my site, live with me for a spell, help out at my school and then explore the land. Yes. Uganda is about to become a happier place.

That's as far into the future as I care to look... I leave this Monday, and I get screaming excited thinking about it. We'll have video and cameras to document everything, and I hope to drop updates here and there at various internet cafe's throughout the country, so stay tuned.

That about gets you up to speed. Sorry for a total lack of pictures in this post, but again, check back tomorrow and you won't be let down.

Thanks for checking in.

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

My Women's Group

2011-10-22T06:26:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post will not do justice to the beauty that is this women's group. They are the strongest, most hard working, dedicated, beautiful group of women I have EVER seen, and I almost feel like I am doing them a disservice by not putting up a SERIOUS, well thought out post. But ALAS: Time is not my friend (that, and the power in Kyenjojo has been scream-inducing chaotic recently, so better to get the post up than to have everything cut out right in the middle...).

A quick overview: I met this group through Moses, my friend who started a small NGO called UTOPIA along with a group of neighbors in the village of Kyongera (pronounced: "Chone-gera"). Before I even met them, the women had a savings scheme in which they pooled their money every week or two that they all met and one lucky women would get a loan on medicine or a business related expense. She would then pay it back at a later date. Since meeting them, I've introduced the concept of a Village Savings and Loan Association, and their savings has increased from around 60 thousand shillings to around 750 thousand! They are ON IT.

In addition to the concepts they borrowed from the savings and loan setup, they also get together to make arts and crafts. When my Dad and sister Catherine came to Uganda, we all got together for a big day-o-fun, and when Dad and Cat left Uganda, they had a large supply of baskets, necklaces and other craft work from this group. So: If you are interested in getting a piece of BEAUTIFUL Ugandan craft-work and you are fortunate enough to know my father, contact him and, if available, he can show you what he's got [In fact, the women are holding each piece that they made and sent with my Dad! So you'll actually know the women (somehow) who made your craft!]. We're in the process of setting up a supply line where the women ship more products to us by Air-Mail, we sell it in The States, and 100% of the proceeds (less shipping) goes back to the women.

Ok, without further ado... the women of the Kyongera women's group. (Note: I intend to interview all the women, but at the time I only have three. I've included excerpts from the interviews (quite short), put them more into a statement form and attached them to the pictures).

Beatrice Mbabazi, “Adyeeri”

[This is Moses' mother!] My name is Beatrice Mbabazi, and my empaako [nickname] is “Adyeri” [Pronounced: Aw-dyeh-ree]. I am 42 years old, and I have eight children.

Education is very important to me. I completed Primary 2 [The US equivalent of 1st grade], and there are many things I would be doing today if I had a better education. It is very important that my children receive one.

To help support my family, I used to make money by making crafts such as sweaters and baskets. If I have a surplus of food from digging, I will also sell that. When the yield is poor, it is only for the family. I can earn ten-thousand shillings [bout 3.33 USD] in a month. This money is not enough. There are times when I get sick and must use the money for sick affairs [hospital bills], and what I had intended for the money to go to is diverted to the sickness.

When it doesn't go towards medical expenses, I spend the money I earn on materials for arts and crafts for the women’s group. I also buy scholastic materials for my kids, and some of the money is a contribution for school fees.

It is the lack of income generating activities that is preventing the development of Uganda today. If we have something to do [i.e. work], we can do these things and make money. And by hard work we can have a better life. There are some jobs in Uganda, but often they are only for educated people. That means that uneducated people don’t get jobs or are paid very little.

With the money made by selling my baskets in The United States, I hope to invest in making a clinic so that that money goes on generating. Or I would buy a certain place or area where we can continue making crafts so that we can act as an example to others so that they too make crafts, sell them and make an income for themselves.

The final interview question: "Tell me about the happiest moment in your life."

Her answer: What made me happiest in life was when I got a home and got married, [Baptist, her husband, clarifies here: “That is a home,” he says, “when a man and a woman get married. It is a home, not a house.”] and had children. In the future, I want peace and a source of income so that my home stands.

Maurene Tusiime, "Abwooli"

Edrona Kabahindi, "Atwooki"

[Didn't get the name...]

Mary Balyebwoha, "Akiiki"

Beatrice Tibanjurra, "Amooti"

Victoria Timbigamba, "Abwooli"

Violet Banura, "Ateenyi"

My name is Violet Banura, my empaako is “Ateenyi”, and I am 20 years old. I have one parent, my dad who is a peasant farmer, and my mother is dead. I also have one brother and five sisters.

[When I asked about her occupation, I got this response]:

[Baptist says: “That is a completely dead question for her, she is finding it hard for her to answer.” He said this after Violet answered, “Tinsubura.” which in Rutooro means, “I am not able.”]

“Oli mulimi?” I ask (You are a farmer?). “Ehhh.” (Yes.) “Olima ki?” (What do you grow?) “Ebitakuuli, ebijimba, ebilaaya…” (Sweet potatoes, beans and irish potatoes.) “Nootunda ebijumaa?” (Do you sell those vegetables?) “Tintunda.” (I don’t sell them) [meaning she is a subsistence farmer.]

I am helping Uganda's development by digging and making crafts. I will consider myself developed when I buy a cow. For now, my goals are to continue raising my babies [in addition to her three children, she is also raising a child of her deceased sister. The father wasn't taking care of the child and neither was her (Violet's) dad. So Violet took the child into her house to raise it.]

The final interview question: "Tell me about the happiest moment in your life."

Her answer: Having the babies were the happiest moments in my life.

Consolant Kirungi, "Atwooki"

Stanley Rubaire, "Apuuli"

Clophas Kasangaki, "Ateenyi"

Oliver Kakulilemu, "Abwooli"

Anna Akimugabo, "Abwooli"

Sylvia Natugonza, "Adyeeri"

My name is Sylvia Natugonza, and my empaako is "Adyeri". I am thirteen years old, and I am in Primary 7 [the US equivalent of 6th grade]. I have five sisters and two brothers.

The problem in Uganda today is there is not enough education. When I am not in school, I like to make crafts to sell. With the money I earn from the crafts sold in The United States, I will create progress in my life. With it, I will buy more material for crafts and will make them over the holidays.

The final interview question: "Tell me about the happiest moment in your life."

Her answer: [Before giving her answer, I must state this: After hearing the question and giving it POSSIBLY two seconds of thought, her face erupted into a brilliant smile… the girl was literally beaming, and she gave me this answer.] The day when you came with Catherine and your Dad… that was the happiest day of my life.

The most beautiful women I've ever met.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

WAH, WAH!!!!

2011-10-20T05:09:00.001-07:00

Welcome back!

Today is a very special day: I have been a Peace Corps Volunteer for 18 months! I've completed 75% of my service! Unreal. Recently, I find myself thinking about "what's next?", and I've come to the conclusion that I've got plenty of ideas but am not ready to think about "life after Uganda" yet. Hey... maybe you can help me. So far I've got:

1. Appalachian Trail

2. Pacific Crest Trail

3. Firefighting in California, Utah or Colorado

4. Biking across the country

5. Becoming an astronaut

6. Writing a book

To be honest, I'm leaning towards "all of the above." Figures.

Enough of that...

I wanted to throw up a short post about: H2O. Dihydrogen Monoxide. WATER.

And away we go.

More than likely, you, who are reading this blog from a developed country, take water for granted. In the US, we drink water from sinks, showers and from shiny machines hanging from walls (water fountains) without thinking twice. After all, we pay taxes to insure that someone, somewhere, cleans that water and pumps it to us using something else you probably take for granted: water pressure!

Sure, there are areas where overpopulation is quickly depleting the aquifer (ahem, Albuquerque...), but for the most part, water is not in short supply. Even in those places where water SHOULD be a concern, people still pump drinking water into big white basins and then release it with chrome-plated levers to flush their toilets.

Things are different in Uganda. All water is dirty until purified, chemically treated or boiled. There is rarely a functioning water system and then only in the bigger towns/cities. The following pictures illustrate how I've dealt with the issue of water and also how my fellow townspeople deal with it.

In Kyenjojo, there actually is a small water system in place. Water is pumped from the swamp up to giant tanks on the hill. From there it is dispersed to paying customers around town. As far as I can tell, there are about six paying customers (I exaggerate... there are probably at least twelve)... almost no one here can afford to get their water by such a developed method. Furthermore, the water system is often broken-down for one reason or another. When the water is flowing, it only flows for a short time in the mornings, so during that time, people fill their jerry cans for the day or fill their 50 or 100L rain tanks.

I decided immediately that I hated bucked baths and doing dishes in trough filled with dirty food-water, so I plugged a small tap into a 10L Jerry-can and made a portable water system. Here, it is shown acting as a sink (Steve and Tiff, do you recognize anything in this pic?). This pic also shows my "kitchen" where I chop my veggies and prepare my pancakes. The counter is made of rough boards, and the supporting pedestal is made of beer crates (taken from the hotel... I don't drink THAT much).

I live on the third floor at my hotel and in a wing that is not connected to the giant rain tanks outside. Thus, in order to shower I take my sink from my room and hang it on a nail on the wall. By opening the tap slightly and allowing only a trickle of water, I can usually take a shower with 3 Liters of water (3 Nalgene's full) if I don't wash my hair... which is often. This is like lathering up and rinsing off using a small water-gun.

Side note: When I tell my stories to Michelle, many times she answers with "Ugh..." or "You're gross." For Example, and I'm almost embarrassed to admit this but... : There are periods where I will not wash my hair until my head itches. It takes about 15 days to get to that point... This usually occurs during the dry season when I am beyond anal about how much water use.

Ugh. Gross.

These are my 20L jerry-cans. I use about 2.5 of these a week. I accomplish this by: (a.) Showering every 2-3 days (only on the days I work out), minimizing dishes (I rarely wash my pots and pans... you know... because the heat will take care of the germs!), and wearing the same clothes multiple times before washing them (I cannot believe I am admitting this... I'll wear a shirt boxers 4+ days before putting them into the "for work outs"-pile where they get a few more uses before going to the laundry pile. If I do that with boxers... imagine how I treat t-shirts and pants).

Ugh. Gross.

This is quickly becoming an article about how disgusting I am as a human being. Whoops!

Anyway... I thought I'd pose a challenge to you readers: Disregarding the water you use to flush your toilets and the water used to wash your clothes, I challenge you to use only 50 liters of water in a week. Try it for just a week, and let me know how it goes.

General Ecology First Need Water Purifier: Hands down the BEST water purifier on the planet earth. Notice: I said PURIFIER, not FILTER. This bad boy takes everything out of the water all the way down to Viruses. Today is not only my 18-months-as-a-volunteer celebration, it is also the 8 month-a-versary since I put this particular purifying cartridge into the first need. The website rates these filters as good for around 150 gallons of water. But check this out: at an average of 4 liters a day for 8 months, I've purified around 960 liters of water or 253 gallons of water! And it is STILL going strong. (The trick, of course, is that I am purifying water that has been allowed to settle, so I am not mucking up the filter with large particles.)

When not using a filter or iodine tables, bottle water is available everywhere in Uganda for around 1200 Ugx for a 1.5 L bottle.

Why use a filter? Easy: I don't have the time to boil my water (nor do I want to spare the fuel on my gas stove), and I hate the taste of the chemical treatment known as "Water Guard" that amounts to nothing more than diluted bleach. I use iodine when I'm in the mountains... but for every-day use, nothing beats a First-Need.

The rain tank: My primary source for water. You would not believe how quickly a hotel where almost no one stays can empty this multi-thousand liter tank. A week?

The spring: My secondary source for water. As you can see, the spring often goes dry. Even when it flows, it is nothing more than a small trickle, so it takes about 30 to 40 minutes to fill a jerry-can. The good thing about the spring is that I've never seen it swarmed with people. As it takes so long to fill cans, people are more inclined to take their water from the borehole or the swamp. The benefit of using the spring is that I can kick back and read a book while technically fetching water.

The Borehole: My tertiary source of water. There are several boreholes around Kyenjojo where people go to get water. Boreholes are drilled by NGOS all over Africa, and they often fall into disrepair. In Kyenjojo, for example, I've come across three that are broken down. (The most common problem with the bore-hole occurs from broken handles. The next most common is from failures in the one-way valves deep in the hole.) Typically, as the community has no ownership of the hole, when they break they simply stay broken until (a.) the original NGO returns to pay for the repair or (b.) a volunteer from another organization comes in and pays for the repair. (c.) There are instances in Uganda where PCVs have organized water committees and pooled community funds to make the repairs, this in an attempt to instill a sense of ownership of the hole in the future. There is a committee for this particular hole, and members who wish to use it must pay a few dollars a year for access.

Water that comes out of these holes is often clean, as they are drilled to such great depths that the earth has acted as a filter to anything nasty. However, it does not mean that a hole is impermeable to disease. Unskilled repair-men can soil the components, and often (as is the case with this particular hole which is drilled at the level of the swamp, and thus not very deep), they are NOT deep enough to act as a proper filter.

While the Ugandan's I've encountered are aware that water must always be boiled before consumption to avoid illness, the number one killer of children under the age of 5 years old remains dehydration caused by diarrhea. Thus, the battle to implement better water/sanitation systems around the country rages on.

Women carrying 20L jerry cans from the bore-hole back to their homes. "A pint's a pound the world around!" meaning these women are carrying around 42 pounds of water each for a half-mile or more. Beast.

If all else fails, I could (but never would), get water from here: The swamp. This is probably the dirtiest water around, as it contains the runoff from the city and shallow latrines around the area. A layer of oil shimmers on its surface.

In the center of the picture you can see fish-ponds. Kyenjojo town can be seen in the distance.

When I first arrived in Kyenjojo, this road was nothing more than a walking path. I guess you can call this "development," but frankly, its done little for the residents except increase the likelihood that they'll be hit by a car in a place where once only pedestrians, bicycles and motorcycles traveled.

This is James and Stetson. They have nothing to do with water. But just look at those smiles!

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!).

Devon.

The stick.

2011-10-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

A student ran from me today when I entered his (teacher'less) class with the aim of trying to quiet it down.

I quickly caught him by the arm.

"Why did you run from me?!"

"Sir, I thought you were going to beat me," he responded with tearing eyes,

After explaining that I would never beat him or any other student, EVER, I let him return to class without the typical trash-duty punishment. I simply lacked the heart to punish someone who had been genuinely frightened.

I also felt terrible. I was the object of fear instilled by someone else's brutality.

To anyone who feels that they can beat respect into the young: Damn you to hell. You've failed us all. Enjoy your Karma.

My Market (Akatale kange).

2011-10-03T00:48:00.000-07:00

I'll begin this post with a sing-along.

"Making your way in the world today

takes everything you've got.

Taking a break from all your worries,

sure would help a lot.

Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,

and they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see,

our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows

Your name."

When the stresses of this two year existence get me down, I'll often escape to the cherished serenity of the mountains. There, I am one with the hills, nothing more than just another trudging mammal, quads burning, sweat streaming, steam rising. In the depths of the green, my skin color loses all meaning. The only thing begging for me to look their way are the rolling hills peaking through clouds in the distance. The only creatures staring are the startled monkeys peering from behind limbs. All the while, spectrum-colored birds flit about me.

Lately, I find that another place will brighten my day. Paradoxically, I escape the stress of being surrounded by jumping into a deep pool of activity. I return to the one place in Kyenjojo where quite literally everyone knows my name.

I go to my market.

For a new PCV, the market, any market, is a scary and exciting place. Transactions are happening all around you. You're dodging people, vegetables, carts and mud-puddles. And when it comes to making your own purchases, you just never know when you're getting a Mujungu-price. Your market, after all, didn't come with an instruction manual:

"Tomatoes should be 1000 shillings for a stack of 5 'big' ones and 500 shillings for a stack of four 'smaller' ones. Often, a woman will offer you 'enyongeza' meaning 'bonus' just because she is happy with your business and your attempt at speaking her local language. If not offered 'enyongeza', it is fully acceptable to ask for it using the phrase ‘Enyongeza?’, as the women often find it so hilarious that they'll give a bonus-'bonus' because you are just so damn cute!"

etc...

No. No instruction manual.

When you first arrive in town, the market is shark-infested waters. Everyone is trying to make an extra 500 or thousand off you. Why? Well... why not. They don't yet recognize that there is a dramatic difference between you and the other white guys that are driven to the market by black drivers of white Land Cruisers.

With time, however, perceptions change. It becomes known that you are the water-sanitation work/teacher/health-worker from America, that you're here as a "volunteer" and you just want to help a little bit. You're no longer seen as a mark, but, if you’ve played your cards right, a friend.

I love my market women. When I enter every Monday, I am greeted with giggles and shouts of “Osiibire ota, Amooti?!” (How have you spent the day, Amooti?!) I do my best to carry on using the extent of my language skills. My progress is slow, but every step is noted. “Nokyayega, kurungi!” (You are still learning well!) they say through bright smiles. They defend me against those calling me Mujungu. “Onu, ali Mutooro!” (This on, he is a Mutooro!)

When I’m happy, I leave the market happier.

When I’m upset, I leave the market happy.

Last week provides a great example: a man tried to overcharge me for a SIM-card for my phone. It was the first run-in with a shark I’d experienced in months, and I was absolutely livid. A ‘Mujungu-price’ is nothing more than racism packaged in a pretty box with a card that reads: “Don’t worry, it happens to all white people in Africa. It comes with the territory!”

In seconds, I went from stoked about life to pissed off and filled with loathing. Sadly, my disgust with one asshole spilled over in a sickening display of transference. Leaving the store, I wasn’t just angry with one person. I was angry with “these people.” I had pigeonholed an entire society in a span of just 5 minutes.

I resolved, even in my angry state, to go to the market to get vegetables (I had had pancakes for the last 5 meals and was in need of change).

On entering the market, I was met with the same cacophony of greetings. I tried to smile and greet back, but I just wanted to get in, out and back to the seclusion of home. I walked quickly to my friend Abwoli’s stall and told her what happened…

“A man just offered me a terrible price on something only because I am white.”

“Oh, nooooo. He should not have done that.”

“I’m just so angry! I’ve not felt this mad for a long time.”

“Are you sad?”

No. I was angry. Was I sad also? I had to think about it. Yes. Yes I was very, very sad.

“Yes, I’m sad. I’ve worked so hard to be accepted here, to be thought of as one of you. It hurts my feelings when someone treats me like a stranger.”

“Otofaayo.” (Don’t mind.) “He is a bad man. Forgive him.”

Forgive. I hear it a lot. “Forgive us.” “Forgive him.” “For me.” And something in Abwoli’s eyes sparked it in me. She then poked some fun at me, and soon we were laughing.

I spent the next 20 minutes making my purchases, catching up with the women behind each stall. With every smile, the weight on my chest reduced, I felt it easier and more natural to laugh. And on leaving, I had all but forgotten why I’d been upset to begin with.

Of course, I still remembered. I had come into contact with an asshole. But my market experience reminded me that it was only one asshole among many, many beautiful people.

I’ll say it again. I LOVE the women at my market.

I’ve often talked about the freshly-picked and incredibly affordable vegetables I eat every day, but as far as I know, I’ve never actually shown them. Surely, I’ve posted pictures of markets around Uganda (out of respect for the women at my market, I’ve never ventured there with a camera), but I never got into details about what is available, prices and how they are called here. This post is meant to remedy that. Last week, I took my camera to my market, reluctantly removed it from my bag and began to inform everyone around what I was doing.

“Nkwenda kusomesa ab’omuka mu America hali ebyokulya mu Uganda, nka ebijuma, fruits, hamu n’enyama…” (I want to teach people back home in America about food in Uganda like vegetables, fruits and meat.)

They were beyond receptive. Many, who I had thought would shrink from the camera, were asking for their pictures to be taken. They sent me to other stalls to “take their pictures!” Kids in swarms crowded around me asking to have their pictures taken. And of course, there was all the food.

So, against my fingers wishes, I’ll now cease typing. I hope you enjoy the pictures, and as always, if you have questions or comments, please don’t hesitate to contact me (deevo at vt dot edu).

[FYI: The current exchange rate is 3000 Ugandan Shillings per 1 US Dollar.]

My market!

These three pictures sum up why I am a vegetarian at site. If I really missed meat (I do not), I would probably cave, buy it, and boil it for a few days before eating it. It could be done. But again, I could care less. That said, it is always nice to have a burger or a cut of meat from a nice restaurant in Kampala or Fort Portal every now and then.

Beef - Enyama y'ente (6k /kg, ($2.00))

Fillet, anyone? Actually, my buddy has really taken advantage of the fact that butchers here haven't a CLUE as to what a "cut" of meat is (they simply take a machete to whatever slab of animal is in front of them). He pays a bit more to get meat without bone in it, and he brings his own knife to do the cutting. In doing so, he's getting fillet at less than a dollar per pound! I asked him, on average, how much meat he eats per week:

"Oh, it varies from week to week, but usual around 6 kilograms."

Guy is extreme.

Banana(s) - Ekitooke, Ebitooke (12k/bunch, ($4.00))

Bananas are steamed after being removed from these green skins. The finished product is like hot mashed potatoes, but instead, it is bananas. It gives me horrendous heart-burn, so I rarely eat ebitooke.

After being shipped in, produce is stored in these big, lockable bins. The women pay 25k shillings each to a security guard who prevents theft from the markets at night.

A typical stand: a few poles covered with scraps of fabric and plastic. I feel for the women when the harsh rains move in. Everyone gets wet on those days.

Tomato(s) – Orunyanya, Nyanya (Small pile (4): 500 ($0.17) or Big pile (5): 1k ($0.33))

Abwoli. This is the lady who sets me back on track on the down days.

Orange(s) – Omucunguwa, Emicunguwa (1k, ($0.33))

You may not see the oranges. That's because they are GREEN. A bit more tart than those in the states but no less delicious. The best are those random ones without seeds.

Egg(s) – Ihuli, Amahuli (7000k tray of 30, ($2.33))

There are two types of eggs: Village Eggs (free range) and large-scale chicken farms. The villagers are partial to the free range eggs, as am I. They are a bit smaller than the others and a bit more expensive, but the yokes are tremendous and nearly fill the shell. They remind me of the $5/carton eggs Michelle and I would get every now and then back home.

Devil onions. Smaller than a quarter, and wickedly hard to peal, every volunteer I know has made the mistake of buying these bastards on more than one occasion, declared they'd never buy them again (aloud and in texts to other volunteers) and then, of course, they buy them again after forgetting just how miserable they are. BAH!

Millet – Oburro (1.5 – 2k /can, ($0.50 - $0.67))

This is pounded to remove the shell and then ground into flour. Mixed with cassava flour and then boiling water, you get a sticky gob of food called "carro" which is served with "felinda" a soup made by removing the skin on beans and smashing them into a fine liquid. Sounds strange, but it is my favorite traditional Ugandan dish.

Irish Potato(s) (lower picture) – Ekilaya, Ebilaya (500 – 1k /stack, ($0.17 - $0.33))

Sweet Potato(s) (left and right center) – Ekitakuli, Ebitakuli (1k, ($0.33))

Cassava (upper right) – Muhogo (1k, ($0.33))

Starch, starch, starch!

Mushroom(s) – Akatuzi , Obutuzi (1k, ($0.33))

Cheese! After mutiple "Seka! Seka! Seka!"-s (SMILE! SMILE! SMILE!-s), I finally got one with some teeth. Getting Ugandan's to look anything but serious for a camera is truly a challenge. But as soon as the camera is down, they RADIATE.

Ginger – Tangawuzzi (500, ($0.17))

Avacado(s) – Vacado(s) (200 – 500, ($0.07 - $0.33))

Bean(s) – Ekihimba, Ebihimba (1 – 2k /basket, ($0.33 - $0.67))

Looking down the main isle. This is the route I take every Monday or Tuesday, jumping this way and that to share a laugh at the stalls. Notice the obstacles...

Salt – Ekisura (500, ($0.17))

This salt is taken from a lake in the middle of Queen Elizabeth National Park. There are some gnarly stories about the workers who mine this stuff (salt does terrible things to your reproductive organs when all you do is swim in it day after day). Interestingly, this gray, seemingly un-pure salt is more popular and more expensive than the iodized salt available in shops around Kyenjojo. My neighbor couldn't get the translation out. She just said that the white iodized salt is "thicker" than the gray stuff.

Carrot – Carroti (500, ($0.17))

Onion(s) – Akatunguru, Obutunguru (500 – 2.5k, ($0.17 - $0.83))

Pea(s) – Ekaho (2k, ($0.66))

Cabbage – Cabbagee (500 – 1k, ($0.17 - $0.33))

Pineapple(s) – Enaanaasi, Enaanaasi (1k – 2k, ($0.33 - $0.67))

Charcoal Stove - Sigiri (3.5 -10k, ($1.17 - $3.33))

This is how the average Ugandan cooks EVERYTHING. A small pot, clay or metal, filled up with charcoal, boils the water than steams their posho (corn meal), beans or ebitooke. I ran the numbers when I bought my last propane tank, and based on the price of charcoal vs. propane, it is far more economical for a Ugandan family to continue using these stoves or the three-stone fire method than to upgrade to gas. Why? Because everything they eat requires boiling water for hours on end. Gas stoves aren't made for that.

The results are disastrous for the environment: trees are being cut down at an astonishing rate that increases every year as the population explodes. The policy is: Cut down a tree, but plant two. But the policy is rarely if ever followed.

Blasted: They get'em started EARLY in Kyenjojo!

I totally arranged them.

Cassava is often dried after removing the hard outer root covering. After being dried, it is ground into a flour. Nasty, stuff. I can't eat it without a lot of water on hand, as it is so dry it gets stuck in my throat.

Small fish – Mukene (500, ($0.17))

Nasty stuff. Most volunteers crush it up and feed it to their cats or dogs.

Peanut(s) – Ekinyoobwa, Ebinyoobwa (3k, ($1.00))

Dry beans. They are usually around the same price as the fresh beans.

Pumpkin(s) – Ekikeke, Ebikeke (But we call it Omwongo where I stay.) (2k – and up, ($0.67 – up))

The lady at this stand tried to charge me to take a picture of her pumpkins. She is new to the market and clearly does not yet understand my place in Kyenjojo.

Green Pepper – Green Peppah (200 – 300, ($0.07 - $0.10))

Eggplant(s) – Biringanya (200 – 500, ($0.07 - $0.17))

A beautiful stand of vegetables. It took me a month to get the word "Mujungu" to stop coming out of this lady's mouth and to stop charging bad prices. We've since reached an understanding, and she is one of the ladies who stands up for me. We have a very teasing relationship.

More bananas.

Charcoal – Amakara (15k – 17k/HUGE bag, ($5.00 – $5.67))

The baskets that tomatoes are shipped to market in.

The Magical Fruit

Thanks for reading!

I hope you've learned something!

I love you all (But especially you, Michele!)

Devon.

A looooong overdue post.

2011-09-23T06:31:00.000-07:00

Greetings from “way the hell over there”!

It certainly has been a long time since I last posted, July I think, so I figured I’d get you caught up with recent events. First off, I’ll answer my most frequently asked question as of late, namely, “Where the hell have you been?” The short answer is of course, “Uganda.” The long answer is just a bit longer…

In August, my Dad and Sister came to visit! On August 2nd, I picked them up in Entebbe, the town where the international airport lives, and on August 29th, I dropped them back off at Entebbe, hugged them goodbye and watched through lifeless glass as tears streamed from my sisters eyes. “Hey!” I said, fighting off emotions myself, “We’ll see each other soon! You’ll be Peace Corps one day, and it’ll be me visiting you!” And there I continued to stand, hassled by security (apparently, I look like a terrorist… assholes), and watched as my family cleared customs and disappeared behind barriers guarded by AK47s and sub-machine guns.

The visit was an incredible success. Dad and Cat both fell in love with Uganda. Sure, the roads could use some work (On the first LONG trip, Cat shed a few tears of discomfort). Yeah, pooping into a pit isn’t always the most pleasant (At my site, Cat had a case of violent #2’s followed so closely by a puke session that we could in all honestly give her credit for “Pooking”, i.e. going #3. And in true PCV style, she also earned her “Brown Badge of Courage” on her final night in the country. YEAH CATHERINE!!!). But they LOVED the people, the fresh fruits and vegetables and the sites. We spent many a day in Kyenjojo where they met three of my physics students (Dad took everyone to lunch at the ritzy hotel in town and we followed it up by taking about 1000 pictures of Moses playing super-model), and we also spent a day with the women’s group I’ve been working with. Riding home from the deep village with the women, Cat couldn’t stop talking about the day:

“Those women are so incredible… They are so strong, and beautiful… They are building something from nothing… They are so happy!... ”

This was the point in the trip were Cat really broke out of her shell. Dad and I had been encouraging her to take advantage of her time here, to speak to everyone she could, to learn as much as she could about the situation. Until that point, she had been somewhat introverted, but after that day, she was speaking to people freely, haggling over prices of her market purchases and enjoying her time much more fully.

Dad went wild on the visit. After 14 days in the country, the man had taken around 30 gigs of pictures! THIRTY GIGS! More than all of the pictures I’ve taken to date, in just two weeks. I told him to keep it up, to take more. This was the trip of a lifetime, and he, as well as I, wanted to document it right. The motto of the trip was; You can always delete a bad picture, but you can’t retrieve a picture you never took (actually, the motto was: “If you want that expensive bottle of liquor, buy it!” Which we followed to a T). I believe he is in the process of sifting through the masses to choose the best of the best.

I leave the details of the trip to Cat and Dad to tell you all back home. Surely they have pictures posted on Facebook and will be showing them to friends and family from their computers (I want them to take the best and make a photo album with them). I will, however, post pictures sometime in the next 2 to 7 years. No worries…

Moving on… In early September we had our All Volunteer Conference at a small hotel outside Kampala. Originally, due to budget cuts (Thank you Mr. Obama and Congress, you worthless imbeciles…) All-Vol. was canceled, but after numerous complaints from PCVs around the country, funds were scraped together and two days were allocated to the event. Miraculous! All-Vol. serves as the ONLY time in the year where volunteers can meet, mingle and exchange information about how they are handling problems and their sites and be inspired by tales of other volunteers from afar. It is probably one of the most beneficial events PC can put on next to teaching us language in our initial training, and nearly every volunteer agrees with this. Unfortunately, as I greeted one of the high ups in PC-Uganda (i.e. someone who makes around $110,000 dollars a year) telling them just how happy I was about the event materializing, my enthusiasm was met with a dull, “Well, enjoy it. It’ll be the last one for a long, long time.” Why? “Budget restrictions and Kampala Policy.”

Budget Restrictions and Kampala Policy… subjects for future posts.

All-Vol. was a great success. After two days, the volunteers that had attended were well acquainted with the new PCVs (Educators that hit the field in April, exactly one year after I myself hit the field), had met the Newest group of Peace Corps Trainees, had seen multiple presentations covering education, economic development and water and sanitation, and were well partied-out by the end. From there, we all headed back to site…

Back in Kyenjojo, I was haunted by the memories of my sister and dad’s being here. I definitely miss them, and readjusting to living alone after being with family for so long was difficult. I am now back in the groove.

School started this year with an attempted strike by the teachers of Uganda which was as affective as the strike that we ended the second term with (read: not affective at all). Why the strike? The teachers want to be paid more. How much more? They want 100% increases in salary (i.e. a secondary school teacher who only shows up to class 50% of the time wants to be paid as much or more than a Ugandan doctor or Lawyer, who also probably only show up 50% of the time to their jobs…).

As expected by all, even the teachers, the self-destructed almost immediately. UNATU, the Ugandan Teachers Union failed to rally the schools and keep them in the loop, so some schools remained closed while others continued teaching. The government won’t turn its head if only a few schools out of hundreds refuse to work, so by day two, most schools had reopened and teachers were back to not showing up to class and the students were back to not learning while being forced to sit in crowded classrooms all day…

I taught through the one day of strike, so I guess you could call me a SCAB. My reasoning, and I explained this to the teachers, was that I was not paid by the Ugandan government, and therefore I had no reason to be angry. That, and I have so much more to cover in my classes that I cannot afford to miss days of school (Neither can they. Their classes will simply suffer now and down the road). There are a few teachers at my school that I have the utmost respect for, and in their cases only, I understand and support their desire to strike, namely:

(a.) A Universal Secondary School (USE) teacher’s salary is too low for a person to send their children to private schools in order to avoid the horrendous education that USE schools provide. (A good Kampala school can cost 800,000 per three month term, meaning a secondary school teacher desiring a good education for their kid would work full time simply to pay the school fees of ONE CHILD… what happens when that parent has 3 or 4 children?)

(b.) If the government refuses to pay teachers and schools, then the teachers cannot work, and the schools shut down. This is obvious as refusing to refill your cars gas-tank while trying to take a cross-country trip. Something’s got to give…

Speaking to the teachers that I do care for after the strike, I applauded their efforts and encouraged them to try the strike again another time but with better organization (while gently mentioning that a 100% increase in salary was a bit ambitious, though looking back, they could have unknowingly been using the “door in the face” method of negotiation). I also mentioned, as in spilling the words into the air where they could float freely and not put anyone under my finger, that for it to even be cost effective for the government to respond to the strike that teachers would have to better fulfill their end of the deal (i.e. improving their attendance, anything over 50% would be an improvement, and doing more than simply reading notes to the kids each class and testing at the end of the term).

It is safe to say that after swimming in it for 18 months, I hate the Ugandan education system with every atom of my being. Underfunded (with the remaining funds plundered by fat, pin-stripe suit wearing cavities…) and therefore understaffed and with an almost comical lack of teaching materials, the test-based system is a multi-tasking demon: while robbing students of the joy of learning it devours from teachers the joy of teaching.

I continue to feed a ravenous hunger for books. Among my recent top-reads was “Dark Star Safari” the tale of Paul Theroux as he travels overland from Cairo, Egypt to Cape Town, South Africa. The story of Paul’s journey was especially intriguing to me for more than the fact that I will be doing my own overland trip from Cape Town to Cairo beginning in December. You see, this was not Paul’s first trip to Africa; in the early 60’s, he had been a Peace Corps Volunteer in what is now Malawi before becoming a professor at Makarere University here in Uganda. He returned to Africa after more than 30 years abroad, and was confronted by the discontinuity between Pre-developed and “developed” Africa, one that I liken to a wise grandfather and a spoiled-rotten grandchild, respectively.

He summarizes his findings at the beginning of the book as follows:

“Africa is materially more decrepit than it was when I first knew it – hungrier, poorer, less educated, more pessimistic, more corrupt, and you can’t tell the politicians from the witch-doctors. Africans, less esteemed than ever, seemed to me the most lied-to people on earth – manipulated by their governments, burned by foreign experts, befooled by charities, and cheated at every turn. To be an African leader was to be a thief, but evangelists stole people’s innocence and self-serving aid agencies gave them false hope, which seemed worse. In reply, Africans dragged their feet or tried to emigrate, they begged, they pleaded, they demanded money and gifts with a rude, weird sense of entitlement.”

Entitlement is the name of the game. From little kids and adults coming up to me and saying, “You give me my money!” to the heads of state who are happy with the current scheme of things (one in which for the last many years, upwards of half of Uganda’s yearly budget has been funded solely by foreign aid... and still is). The more I read about foreign AID and its negative effects, the more I am appalled by the (a.) fact that money continues to flow in, straight into the pockets of corrupt leaders doing absolutely nothing for their people and (b.) if you view the lack of good governance here as a “Strike”, then I am nothing more than a SCAB once again… I’m filling a roll that another able-minded Ugandan could fill but won’t because they would never sink so low as to become a teacher due to lack of necessary funding from the pin-stripe suits on high.

For months now, I’ve justified my presence in Uganda with the statement: “Well, I’m not giving money, I’m giving an education, and there can’t be anything wrong with that!” But again, I’m just a very-very-very small excuse for the government to not take responsibility and continue making a mess of things. A battle of morals rages within me.

Later in Dark Star, Theroux, with startling accuracy, defines his stance on foreign AID.

“It is for someone else, not me, to evaluate the success or failure of charitable efforts in Africa. Offhand, I would have said the whole push was misguided, because it had gone on too long with negligible results. If anyone had asked me to explain, my reasoning would have been: Where are the Africans in all this? In my view aid is a failure if in forty years of charity the only people still dishing up the food and doling out the money are foreigners. No Africans are involved – there is not even a concept of African volunteerism or labor-intensive projects. If all you have done is spend money and have not inspired anyone, you can teach the sharpest lesson by turning your back and going home.”

This update has gotten just a bit out of hand in length, and for that I apologize. This is what happens when I slack on posting!

I write to you now from Kampala. I took a bus in yesterday morning after saying “enough is enough, I need to see medical.” For at least a week now, I’ve had a pain in my left year when I touched it, layed on it, etc… At times it felt like something was crawling around in there. Using a cue-tip, I got a bit of dirt out, but the pain progressed and being deep inside the ear, I was worried that I might be doing damage by letting it go. Well, the diagnosis was simple: “AH! You have BIG ball of wax in there!” which I took as good news, for it was better than hearing, “It seems a cockroach has turned your tympanic membrane into a pillow!” The fix was also simple: squirt some peroxide in there, let it work on breaking up the funk and then flush the ear out with rocketing streams of warm water with the syringe. After 5 or 6 pulses, a few of which brought mist to my eyes, I heard an “AH! GOT IT!” And after one more pulse a piece of wax the size of the tip of my pinky finger fell into the collection container. Shockingly, considering the size of the plug, I don’t feel that I can hear any better, but the pain is gone, and I have a new nasty photo to show you of what our bodies can produce.

My trip to Kampala lined up with another far more exciting trip planned for this weekend: The Rhino Fund’s RACE DOWN THE NILE! Just like last year, me and a team of 5 other racers will battle it out with a number of other boats for the grand prize (last year it was a round-trip flight to Nairobi!). All proceeds go to the Rhino Fund, an organization formed in hopes of reintroducing white rhinos into Uganda’s game parks (It warrants mention that this organization was not spearheaded by the Uganda Wildlife Authority further showing the “FreeMoneyYESplease!"-mindset.) This year’s event is special in that it will be the last time the race will occur at Bujagali falls. By next year, a new dam will have opened, and all of the falls will be under water. As an additional celebration, there will be two-man kayak races too. I’ll let you all know how things go. Our team consists of 5 burly gentlemen and 1 strong lady, so our hopes are high!

Alright. This update has gone on FAR too long. I apologize for my lack of brevity, but I had a lot to cover. And how about this: if you’ve made it this far, I’ll sit down to drink a few beers with you after I return Stateside. Your treat!

Know that I am still doing well in Uganda. Am I struggling? Yes, and no. Physically, no. Mentally, yes. I’m still having a great deal of fun, but service has been eye-opening. My blind idealist mind-set, born and raised on organic bunny-hugger propaganda is currently at war with my realist mind-set born of experiences on the ground. Ignorance is bliss, and these days I find myself thoroughly sickened and deeply saddened by what I see in the (3rd) world around me.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!).

Devon.

The "M"-word.

2011-07-20T04:58:00.000-07:00

When Ugandan’s learn that I have a girlfriend, I am often offered a wife on the spot.

“You take a Mutooro woman! They are very beautiful. Take this one!”

When I decline, I must always be sure to inform the speaker that, “yes, Mutooro women are beautiful,” and “no, I have nothing against Ugandans/Africans.” Once that’s diffused, I am inevitably asked a series of questions about our relationship. Two in particular always bubble to the surface:

(1.) How can you know that she is true to you?

(2.) Don’t you get feelings?

I’ve discussed my answer to the first question in a previous post, but obviously, it boils down to trust. Trust is often best conveyed by using the word “faith” in its place.

“Well, how do you know there is a god that has a plan for your every daily choice and future?”

“Because I believe in him.”

“So you have faith in him?”

”Yes, faith. I have faith in my lord and savior.”

“Well, I have faith in my girlfriend. I have faith that she does not want to find another man.”

“That’s good… but don’t you ever get feelings?”

And there’s question number two.

Feelings of course mean “sexual feelings.”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“Well,” they say, giving me a deeply questioning look that says What do you do about them?

That question, if posed to any American child from somewhere around middle school age and up, has an obvious answer. To most Ugandan’s, however, the solution is not so straightforward. While perusing the manual outlining the “Presidents Initiative on AIDS Strategy to the Youth” (PIACY, pronounced “Pee-Aww-See”), I stumbled upon the reason why.

The book uses a question and answer format:

“Is it wrong to practice masturbation?”

Answer: In Africa and in Uganda, it is socially, culturally and morally not accepted. Likewise, religious principles do not allow this sexual practice.”

Why doesn’t the word “masturbation” jump into a Ugandan’s head as a potential solution to “feelings”? Because to participate in the act is an affront their country, their continent and their religion.

Straight from the PIACY manual, incorrect grammar/spelling and all.

PIACY doesn’t stop there:

“Does masturbation protect one from HIV/AIDS?”

Answer: It does not provide you with effective protection from HIV/AIDS because you are likely to end up in penetrative sex. Penetration is the predominant approach to sex in Africa. Many young people who practice masturbation as a “safer sex practice” therefore end up being emotionally triggered into penetrative sex, which increases their risk to HIV.

How are marijuana and masturbation alike? It turns out they are both gateway drugs!

Fear not. PIACY gives young Ugandan’s the means to abstain this devious act:

“How can one resist pressures to masturbate?”

Answer:

(1.) Do not let your mind dwell on thoughts, pictures and literature that influence sexual feelings.

(2.) Avoid watching or reading material which arouses your sexual feelings.

(3.) Avoid hanging out with people who say and do things which may arouse your feelings in that direction

(4.) Be assertive and speak out your stand regarding your values.

(5.) Develop Godly principles and honor them.

(6.) Keep close company with people and friends who share your values.

(7.) Find active ways of occupying your redundancy period such as sports, music, drama, reading positive literature.

[Note: The exercise of picking each of these points apart is left to the reader to be done in one of their “redundancy period[s].”]

"Masturbation is wrong.

Do everything to stop it.

Yes it is possible to stop it."

["With friends like these, who needs enemies?"]

Needless to say, the super-majority of Ugandans choose the lesser suggested and HIGHLY effective method of both resisting the urge to masturbate WHILE relieving sexual feelings. They…

(8.) Have A LOT SEX, UNPROTECTED and with a VARIETY of sexual partners.

…the results of which are catastrophic:

The population of Uganda is exploding. As of 2010, there were an estimated 33.8 million people (49% of which are under the age of 15) living in a space somewhere between that of Utah and Wyoming. Following current trends (3.4% /year) the projected populations for the years 2025 and 2050 are 53.5 and 91.3 million, respectively. (Source: http://www.prb.org)

The percentage of people infected with HIV in Uganda is 6.5-7% (though many believe these to be very optimistic), and the number is climbing. In fact, Uganda is the only sub-Saharan recipient of The United States Presidents Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) money where the prevalence of HIV/AIDS has recently INCREASED. (Source: http://www.unaids.org)

So how do I handle the topic of “it” when it comes up in the conversation?

First, I tell my listener what PIACY suggests.

Then, I line those suggestions up against a wall and execute them with a quiet-rage reserved for a government who is systematically planting land-mines that will inevitably kill cities of innocents.

Finally, I dispel the myths (“No, you will not lose interest in wo/men.” “Yes, you will still be capable of producing children one day.” "No harry palms..." etc…), and I praise the benefits (“No HIV/AIDS!”, “No BABIES!”, “It’s FREE!” etc...).

Ultimately, we part. I’ve spoken. They’ve listened. But like a farmer who lays the seed, walks away and never returns: I’ll never know what’s grown.

And the weeds continue to strangle everything in their path.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!).

Devon

P.S. These are old but no less relevant: Human Rights Watch, Success Story Unraveling

My First Portrait.

2011-07-14T00:04:00.000-07:00

After first noticing his drawings of other students and people done using MS paint, I was quick to praise the artist, an S3 student here at Kyenjojo SS. Unlike most of the students here - who do the same thing day in and day out, typing the same words over and over again exactly as they were first given to them by a teacher - he is using the computer as a creative outlet.

He found MS Word, he found the "Spray Paint" can and he hasn't looked back.

One day he came to me and says, "Masta', you come look."

And there it was: my first portrait.

It immediately drew a crowd.

Kids giggled and laughed all around, because there I was: a beard, my long straggly hair up in a pony-tail, my cargo pants and SSC shirt... even my long-worn bracelet (though he got the hand wrong).

[And what do I do when using the computer? I check Gmail, of course!]

I saved it to a USB like I have a few of his other drawings.

This morning he showed me yet another picture of me - this one done in a sketch book for is Fine Art class - only this time I was walking across the school yard with my backpack and water-bottle in hand. The picture was accurate right down to my Chacos.

While I am flattered by the sentiment, I must admit, it is just a bit unnerving (ahem, creepy) to realize that when I think I am sitting alone at a computer or walking across campus, I never escape the watchful, curious eyes of my community. And now, one of them might just be recording it with sweeping strokes of a pencil or mouse.

After 17 months in Uganda, there is still a small piece of me, deep inside, that screams when it knows that it is being watched. But every day, the scream diminishes.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

Tetanus for Teaching.

2011-07-09T08:03:00.000-07:00

About two months ago, my friend Charlene (a PCV, and also a fellow Virginian [she lives about 8 miles from my dad and we share 8 or so mutual friends... small world]) invited me and a few others to her Primary Teacher's College for a Science Demonstration Day. She asked that we bring around 5 demonstrations to show the kids and told us we would have three 30 minutes sessions attended by 50 kids each in which to teach.

For some reason... I wanted my session to steal the show, to bring the house down, so start a riot... And what accomplishes this desire with students better than the potential for DANGER and EXCITEMENT??!?!! (The correct answer is: NOTHING.)

I built a bed of nails!! (DUN, DUN, DUNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!)

This project in the states would have taken about an hour, maybe less with right power tools. Here in Uganda? It took about 6 hours of SOLID work. I had to locate the wood, haggle over the price, find a drill-bit, fix my stupid hand-held drill (twice), drill a shit-ton of holes, pound a bunch of nails through those holes, sacrifice my back to the evil contraption to see if it "worked", drill MORE holes, pound more nails and sacrifice my back again to ensure that I was successful.

It was AWESOME! And using it was even BETTER!

My original grid was 1 inch x 1 inch.

Here is my POS hand drill.

A close-up of the tip. Note 2 things here: (1.) The "drill bit" is actually a NAIL! The carpenter in town didn't have bits, but he said I could sharpen the tip of a smaller nail with a file and it would work fine. It worked GREAT, and I saved money on the bit! (2.) See the welding? Yeah, these drills are the six-sigma rejects that no one else in the world would accept... save Uganda. I had it tack-welded the first time (that failed). I had the guy use half a welding stick the second time.

Drilling A LOT of holes. There were around 400 nails in the finished board. On each of the 10 lines along the boards width, there were 22 nails. 22 nails on on would grain creates MONSTER cracks. Pre-drilled holes are a must (in the states you can just use peg board).

Here is the product after throwing nails into all of the original holes. That empty space is the location of what developed into a full board-length crack. I didn't put nails there in hopes that the crack would not propagate (it did anyway, so later I put in the nails).

Here is my back after my first try on the board. The inverted pictures shows the holes better. It hurt like HELL laying on this thing, so I had to add almost 200 more nails.

I placed the extra holes in the middle of each square. The big crack is clearly visible, but the bed didn't fall apart because of the added supports across its width.

FIERCE! It was hilarious traveling with this thing from Kyenjojo to Ibanda. As I walked by I kept hearing people say, "VERY! VERY! DANGEROUS!" while pointing to me. The cool thing was that I didn't even have to bargain down the Mujungu-price set by the Fort-Kamwengi and Kamwengi-Ibanda taxis like I normally have (I don't think they didn't want to risk my fury :)).

I saved the bed for the last demo. I gathered all the students together around the stage. Here I am inciting their cheers ("Listen, I'm scared of this thing! If I don't hear your cheers, I don't know if I'm going to have the strength to do it! CHEER, CHEER, CHEER!!!"

(Sorry about the blur.)

The first part is the worst. It does hurt a bit.

SUCCESS! It didn't kill me after all!! I love the faces in the background. People were cheering and clapping and jumping up and down. I never really thought I'd enjoy a stage... but on occasion, I definitely do! (look at that dirty butt!)

Of course others in the crowd had to try it out.

Try as I might, I could not get a girl to try the bed. But plenty of guys either volunteered during the demo or simply ran up to the front of the class when my back was turned to try it on their own. It was definitely a hit!

The bed of nails was a TOTAL success. It accompanied 4 other demonstrations that showing various applications of pressure.

While the kids may not remember the MATH behind the "magic," I doubt they'll ever forget the day when they saw an irish-potato get STABBED right through the middle by a 3.5 inch nail but then watched in amazement as a (part)-Irish MUJUNGU tried to go to sleep on a hole bed of the same damn nails a few minutes later!

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

P.S. How do you like my pink, cut-off denim shirt? The back is covered in white Hawaiian flower outlines. I am the epitome of elegance and taste!

Physics Blows?

2011-06-30T02:11:00.000-07:00

When I think back on high school physics at Northside, I remember three things off the top of my head.

(1.) A competition to see who would create the best egg catapult that fit inside a 1 ft cubed box and weighed less than 1 kg (2.2 lbs): I came in second place to Jamie Close. (His father, a mechanical engineer, designed and built his... it was INCREDIBLE [It took Jamie, a HUGE football player, all his strength to cock the damn thing!]) Mr. Simmer's didn't think a single one of us would be able to break 50 yards with his design requirements, but Jamie's catapult, if I remember correctly shot his egg 54 yards.

(2.) Mr. Simmers had jokes or small puzzles at the beginning of each class. Example: "What do you call a millionth of a mouth-wash?" Ans: A micro-scope. (Get it? Micro = 1e-6 = 1 millionth, and scope is a mouth-wash!). Another example: "What is a Joule per second?" Ans. A WATT (get it? What = Watt!) Jokes are always better when explained.

(3.) One day, Mr. Simmers brought a glass tube with a plunger on it to class. He put a small piece of paper inside the tube, inserted the plunger and with a massive pressing motion forced the plunger downward. What happened? The paper caught on fire!!!

Two thirds of the things I remember of physics in HS happened in a total of about 10 seconds. The time it took to tell 2 jokes plus the time it took to slam a plunger down. And sure, the jokes were corny as hell, but I've never forgotten that "micro" means "millionth" or that a watt, a unit of power (i.e. rate of change of energy), has a unit of a Joule per second. And I'm never without a picture of what an Adiabatic Compression process can result in!

That information STUCK!

My point: sometimes, it is the small stuff, the things that teachers could look at and think my god that is trivial, that really lodge bits and pieces of information into kids heads.

Many times in the last year-plus that I have been here in Uganda, I've gotten completely wrapped up about the amount of material that I have to cover. I get so stressed, so frazzled, that I focus more on the derivations than presenting the principles in a way that makes my kids ABLE to remember them, in a way that makes them worth remembering ... that makes them fun.

Classes like that suck. I hate them. Surely my kids do to.

So I've tried to incorporate more 5 minute demos here and there to illustrate more complex topics we've been studying. I present them as "magic" tricks, and afterwards, I discuss the science behind them.

In the next few blog posts, I'll try to post a few of the better demo's I've done along with some pictures. We'll start with Bernoulli's Principle.

Have you ever seen the ball above the blow-dryer trick? You turn a blow-dryer on and place a light, round ball in the air stream. One who has never seen the trick before when asked might suggest that the ball will simply blow away when dropped into the stream. What happens? It levitates! Why?

Bernoulli's principle!

Air passes around the ball with approximately equal streams of air on all sides. Because the total pressure along a stream line is constant and all the stream lines are roughly the same, the pressure and thus the force acting on the sides of the ball cancel out (thereby keeping it above the stream of air). The ball levitates above the stream because of a static pressure at the bottom surface of the ball. The static pressure creates an upward force that eventually equates with the balls weight, so the ball floats within the air stream.

I didn't have a blow-dryer here in Uganda (though absolutely need one after 18 months of not cutting my hair). So my air supply was limited to what I could generate with my own body. It needed to be constant over a longer period of time, so the tube I blew through could not be to large (large area = more space to air escape = one breath escapes a lot faster... it takes less time to blow a chest full of air through an open mouth than lips puckered to whistle). A STRAW!

Now, what type of ball could I use? It had to be small and light enough to be balanced by my measly puffs of air. A PING-PONG ball! (The problem of course is that these are hard to come by here. I had to wait until I passed through Kampala at mid-service to get one).

Well, I finally got the supplies, and last week I was able to do my experiment. The following pictures show how it went.

Proper execution requires that you hold the straw perfectly straight up and down so the air flow is vertical AND drop the ball on top once you've begun blowing. Clearly, this was not a one man job for Mugisa.

... so Moses stepped in to help. The next important step is to coordinate when you drop the ball onto the air stream. If you drop the ball to soon, you get hit in the face with a ping-pong ball. If you drop it too late, there isn't enough air flow to keep the ball up. We ended up doing an "Ok, on the count of three, you start blowing and I will set the ball down then." Of course then it was a "Is it one, two, three...?" or "is it one, two, three, go?"

Here I am marveling at our fist successful levitation. Moses is holding the straw, and Mugisa is acting like a bag of hot air.

Moses gets a turn. Suzy, the only girl in the class does the drop while Ivan (at first completely against the experiment because he was just 'too cool') holds the straw ("Vertical Ivan, VERTICAL!").

Suzy, wearing a skirt, is unable to lay on the three stools we had set up, but the table worked just fine.

All in all, the experiment worked our perfectly. Each kid got a chance to try. Afterwards I was able to go through the physics behind the magic, and before leaving each of them, almost at once, they asked me if they could keep the straws and borrow a few ping-pong balls so they could do the trick for their families.

"Of COURSE!" I replied.

I am still stoked by their excitement.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!),

Devon.

Poor Billy

2011-06-07T03:56:00.000-07:00

“You cut a [goat]’s throat to let the blood out,” said Jack, “otherwise you can’t eat the meat.”

“Why didn’t you – ?”

They knew very well why he hadn’t: because of the enormity of the knife descending and cutting into living flesh; because of the unbearable blood.

Lord of the Flies, William Golding

“Dude, he’s still alive! Just fuckin’ kill him, would you?!” I shout.

I’m up to my elbows in blood. Spatters extend as high as my face, my glasses freshly freckled. People stand around us, staring in various degrees of wonder. Cameras snap and roll, recording these moments for eternity.

His back legs, initially kicking in fear are now clamped in Brian’s rock-climber grasp. His front legs are held by a stranger. And clasped between my hands is the head of an old billy-goat, his neck exposed and gushing as his executioner works quickly to finish the deed.

All of this started several weeks ago with a simple declaration: “I’m going to kill a goat and roast it for my birthday.” Soon thereafter, the sacrificial grounds were selected, friends were assembled, the goat was purchased and before Lex knew it, the desire to expose his inner hunter/gatherer was realized.

I’ll admit, I was stoked about the weekend and the prospect of being so “Peace Corps.” After all, how often does one get to partake in the selection, slaughter, butchering and roasting of their meat back in The States? Sure, we’ve seen farm animals, but how many of us have actually acted according to our lofty position in the food-web? I dare say, not many.

I was excited about the learning opportunity… right up until I saw the damn goat and realized, whoa, that is a living, breathing creature. He experiences pain. He enjoys food. I bet he enjoys sex. We have a lot in common.

There he was, chomping away on elephant grass, completely unaware of the fact that in less than ten minutes, he would be dead. You poor bastard, I thought, you don’t even know what’s coming. I pitied him.

Soon, I was holding his head, splashed with his fear and hoping, as surely he was, that it would all just - end.

Those present at the killing will tell you that I was clearly shaken by the experience. How so? Did I become a vegetarian? No. Did I start believing that “animals are people too!”? Absolutely not. More than anything, I was interested in finding the source of my intense discomfort born of the slaughter.

I found it. You don’t even know what’s coming. What a strange thought. Because neither do I; neither do we. While we know which way our on/off-switch invariably flips, during the interim it has a mind of its own. But the same cannot be said for animals. More often than not, their life-switch is controlled by a bigger, more blood-thirsty being.

I had aided that being. I, too, had blood on my hands.

Perhaps I sound regretful over my participating in the goat roast. I am not. It was a learning experience that provided an extreme adrenaline rush. But unlike the emotions that arise from, say, adventure sports, those that I experienced were of a more brooding nature, and they forcefully opened the “ethics of an omnivorous diet”- can of worms (an extremely healthy food for thought) that I had previously shelved.

“Devon, would you do it again?” Absolutely. “Will you do it again?” The jury is still out.

Note: For a fantastic investigation of the world-wide economics (Ahem, “sustainability”) of meat-eating, I highly recommend the book Hope’s Edge written by Francis Moore Lappé and her daughter Anna.

More Pictures? Already?! YES!!

2011-05-29T06:37:00.000-07:00

Weebaleo! Welcome back!

The last pictures I posted were pretty animal-heavy, so I thought I would a few pictures from the people side of my life. As you may know, my group and I recently hit the 1 year mark (it happened on April 21), so we were given clearance to head through Kampala for a Mid-Service Conference in Seeta earlier this month. These are a few of the pictures from the week before the trip and as I passed through Kampala.

This is one NOISY-ass bird! He has some sort of edible-something in his mouth, and still he is able to making screaming, high-pitch squeaks. He and his buddy landed here, one on the rail, the other on the window ledge. The one on the ledge was looking at his reflection and screaming as a result. The bird on the rail was screaming right back. And I was screaming to scare them off.

Strangest contents of a pannier I have ever seen. Hands down.

A few of us got together to build a climbing wall at a buddies place. These were the climbing holds we made from spare bits of wood laying around his parish. While the manufacturing of the holds was successful, the wall itself was an epic fail, as (a.) we, I mean, I broke the drill bit that allowed us to pre-drill the holes for the concrete nails in the wood. This left us driving the nails through brittle wood... which is similar to driving nails through glass bottles... CRACK, SPLIT, DESTRUCTION! and (b.) We were trying to anchor the pieces in the wall with cement nails instead of expansion bolts. Getting the nails in was a challenge, but once in they tended to wiggle loose and then pull out of the wall. Bummer. The good news is that we did get a few holds to stick, we built a very cool rope ladder attached to my buddies rafters that he can do some strength training on, and, ANNNNNNND, we got to drink some VERY classy Bushmills Whiskey. YEAH BABY!!

Halt. Who goes there?

Peekaboo!

Yeah! Funny faces! This was a group of children at Elizabeth's site who waited with us for a taxi. We began playing around with them, and this collage is the result. Take a closer look... some of these kids are hilarious. (One of the hand gestures was an attempt at Spock's "Live long and prosper.")

The horse became a motorcycle, the carriage a small sedan. The tumbleweeds became empty vodka plastic baggies blowing in the wind. But the immortal dust remains. Uganda: A slightly more modern Wild West.

While waiting for a taxi in Nakaseke with Brian and Elizabeth, I broke out Brian's newly purchased used guitar. This small girl sat down next to me to hear me play and was happy to help me strum when given the opportunity.

A small child in at the market.

I've presented this picture twice because I would like you to download both and use a viewer that lets you switch back and fourth between each picture quickly. As you do it, I want you to note your emotions. When you move from color to black and white, does something change inside you? Does one picture draw out more emotion? And if so, why do you think that is?

Far more effective than a "No Parking" sign.

A street vendor with her merchandise. Woman vendors such as this one can be found on just about every street around the city selling books, school materials, newspapers, sweets, locks, wallets, bracelets, necklaces, etc... you name a trinket, and you can probably find a street vendor who has it. In certain spots, fresh produce can also be found. As you move more towards the richer areas of the city (i.e. Kololo) where the malls and golf course and upscale restaurants are, you will see far fewer vendors crowding the sidewalks. Surely, this is an attempt to keep a certain *image* in the Ex-pat side of town.

Entering my favorite restaurant alley in Kampala. Crowded. Dirty. Delicious. I've visited here enough that people know me by nickname, and I always get shouts of "Amooti!" as I pass by.

My favorite dish: Chapati and Beans. A dish like this costs 700-1000 Ugx ($0.29-0.41).

The chapati-man at my favorite restaurant.

Women further down the alleyway serving up their various dishes for customers.

One of Kampala's many homeless citizens.

Ever wanted to know if it is possible to carry 10 mattresses at once? Here's your answer!

This is the street outside Owino Market in Kampala around rush-hour. Owino (the shack-looking structures with steel roofs in the upper right of the picture) has... anything you could ever want to buy.

Imagine the largest maze on the planet earth: A maze with walls, often narrow enough that you can hit vendors on either side of the isle with your elbows if you walk face-forward; walls of clothing (used and new), shoes, backpacks, chickens, belts, flashlights, tarps, ropes, hangers, metals, fruits, vegetables, sewing machines, fabrics, people, used wood, sacks of grain ... just about anything you can imagine... dirt floors that develop puddles big enough to swallow people after stiff rains because the patchy roofs can't keep the inclement weather out... and add, at least in my case, shouts of "American!", "Spaniard!", "Muzungu!", "American Height!", "Ohhhh, my friend, my friend!", "T-shirts?!", "Jeans (I've got diesel!)!", "Yes! Yes!" accompanied with sweeping gestures of the arms towards their wares (or in the case of the more aggressive, grabbing of my arm to pull me towards their stalls) and you've got Owino.

Needless to say, there are some who when presented the choice between being burned at the stake or a venture into those walls would gladly choose the fiery stake. I've grown quite fond of the market, however. Walking the maze has become an adventure, and I've made friends with several of the salesman inside, so my visits have become more fun than stressful.

The same street as before. Owino Market and Nakivubo War Memorial stadium are on the left. In the upper left side of the picture you can see the mosque in Old Kampala. (See google maps to get a better handle on where this is in the city.)

Thats all for now. Thanks for looking/reading. I'll try to get even more pictures up in the next couple weeks.

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

Murchison!

2011-05-26T01:45:00.000-07:00

You all are well aware that I am a shit-bag at posting pictures with any regularity. Months can go by, and then 30 will pop up. A few weeks after that, perhaps 20 more will appear. By this point, you've probably ascertained that you are never fully aware of what is going on in my day to day life, what I did last weekend, the weekend before it, or even the month before that (unless of course you are Michelle, who we can all agree is RAD).

The good thing about my delayed posts is this: When I do post pictures, my guilt for having left you in the dark so long gets the best of me and the picture counts are usually pretty good. Right? Right?! Right.

(In my defense, uploading just the following 25 pictures took me close to 5 hours because of the maddeningly slow internet speeds.)

The following pictures are my favorites from a trip I took with friends in early February (I could have said last weekend to make you think I was changing my ways, but I frown on dishonesty).

I'm gonna go ahead and quote the Uganda Wildlife Authority website to introduce you to the magic that is Murchison Falls National Park:

"Uganda's largest national park protects a chunk of untamed African savannah bisected by the mighty river Nile.

It is named for the dramatic Murchison Falls, where the world's longest river explodes violently through a narrow cleft in the Rift Valley escarpment to plunge into a frothing pool 43m below. Wildlife populations have largely recovered from the poaching of the 1980s; in the lush borassus grassland to the north of the Nile, elephant, buffalo, giraffe and a variety of antelope are regularly encountered on game drives, while lion are seen with increasing frequency.

In the southeast, Rabongo Forest is home to chimps and other rainforest creatures.

The Nile itself hosts one of Africa's densest hippo and crocodile populations, and a dazzling variety of waterbirds including the world's most accessible wild population of the rare shoebill stork."

Altogether, we spent two days in the park, entering early on a Saturday morning from our friend Jake's house, spending one night at a small lodge in the center of the park and leaving the following day after a 5 hour game drive the following morning.

A momma warthog with her babies.

This is a crop of an already zoomed shot. I dig the hair.

As the mass stampes off, the lone buffalo stands his ground. Renown as Africa's most dangerous animal, these guys are BURLY and aggressive. On seeing you in the land cruiser they usually grunt and shuffle away only to turn, buck their head up and try (with their terrible eye site) to see just what in the hell you are. If you are anywhere CLOSE to their size or smaller, look out.

This trip gave me my first glimpse of giraffe's in the wild. Let me say: If there is anything more graceful than a Giraffe sprinting across the savannah, I've not yet seen it. So smooth was their gate that it wasn't until I compared their speeds to the wild bush bucks sprinting alongside them that I realized that the "fast walk" was an all out run.

Approaching the river, we stopped to snap pictures of three elephants gobbling up leaves on the trees.

One of many baboons hanging around the river crossing site. Of course stupid tourists are keen on feeding them. And then the stupid tourists get pissed when a jealous baboon who WASN'T fed runs up and snatches their pineapple.

He must be thinking: "Washu lookin' at BISH?!"

Elephants on the riverside. At this point we were on a boat headed up the Nile towards Murchison falls. For $15, we got a three our game float up river followed by another 2 hours down the river.

Another animal you should NOT mess with. Hippos. The rule: don't get between a hippo and water lest ye be trampled.

I know what you're thinking. No. It's an African Fishing Eagle. We saw one of these guys on Lake Victoria while kicking back on Banda Island for July 4th last year. Very fitting.

NO SWIMMING!

These guys were all over the place as we approached the falls. All of us were hoping for a Planet Earth-worthy kill, but it was a no go.

A heard of elephants.

The crew with Murchison falls in the background. From this angle, they don't look big. In fact, for anyone who only sees them from this angle they usually scoff at the statement "Murchison Falls is recognized as the most powerful waterfall on the planet (in terms of water pressure)." The next pictures show why...

After the river cruise, we hopped into the land cruisers and drove to the top of the falls. We could have hiked up there and saved time, but the hike is only 2k-ish, and it wasn't even CLOSE to worth it for the 10 USD they were charging. These are awe-inspiring rapids. Your chin drops, and you gasp a bit when you see them. My first thought was, "I wonder if anyone has ever sent them in a kayak." This the Nile river at its most furious!

Brennan washing the feet gives the river some scale.

This answers the kayak question. HELL NO! no one has paddled through this.

Looking up river just down from the rapids. Ferocious.

Murchison Falls at Sunset: "Where soul meets body."

Another sunset pic.

On the following morning, we set out early to cross back over the river in hopes of seeing some lions. Epic fail. But we did see more bucks of all sorts, and we hung out a bit at the delta where the Nile meets Lake Albert. (I got bit on the foot by something with much stronger than I and got a few of my friends worried that the injury was fatal with my cussing.)

It is this type of territorial flex-nutting that leads to...

...enormous hunks of flesh being ripped out of your side!

I LOVE the trees in Africa!

That it, and that's all! I'll do what I can to have more pictures up soon (but don't hold your breath).

Thanks for reading/looking!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

"To celebrate or not to celebrate?"

2011-05-03T05:23:00.000-07:00

“To celebrate or not to celebrate?” That is the question.

September 11, 2001: I’m sitting in freshman Chemistry with several hundred other stunned students. The classroom projector flashes images of chaos on repeat. A plane hits a tower. A plane hits another tower. People are jumping out of windows. A tower collapses. The other tower collapses. Over, and over.

The video cuts to new footage from somewhere in the Middle East. Crowds have gathered in celebration. American flags and effigies are being burned. A woman, front and center, dances while exclaiming “LA! LA! LA! LA! LA!” at the top of her lungs.

For the first time in my life, the enemy has a face. I hate it. I hate them. I hate her. My rage is fueled by their celebrations.

May 2, 2011: Initially, the stateside celebrations ignited by the death of Osama Bin Laden had me torn between two sides of the same coin. The near decade long search for the leader of Al Qaeda is over. Good. But is it cause to run through the streets with American flags and bottles of beer, screaming and singing "Osama, Osama, hey, hey, hey, goodbye!"?

Should the answer be obvious? Has my distance from home desensitized me to the momentousness of the occasion? I don't think so. Instead, I believe the distance has provided me a new vantage point from which to view the actions of my fellow American's more critically (a more or less arrogant way of saying, “my ‘World View’ has developed.”).

So what do I see?

Never have our televised actions been more aptly represented by the parody on American patriotism, the movie "Team America: World Police", than now. And for the first time since moving to Uganda, I must admit… I’m embarrassed.

I am reminded of the video footage of “the enemy” the cheering crowds and the “LA! LA! LA! LA! LA!”-woman. I compare and contrast the memory with the exuberant partying of the last 36 hours. The only difference? Us and them. In my eyes, it has reduced the "War on Terror" to nothing more than a college football game: when they score, they cheer; when we score, we cheer.

But it isn't a game. It's a WAR.

Further, I am troubled by the implication of these celebrations (The head has been removed, so the body will soon die!). To this I suggest the following: more damaging to our society is not the inability to see the forest for the trees but the common delusion that a tree IS the forest.

Bin Laden wasn’t the Fountain of Terrorism. He was merely a vessel. "Ding, dong, the Witch is dead!" Indeed. But the evil lives on.

I digress. “To celebrate or not to celebrate?”… that was the question.

Well, if a leader is humble in victory and gracious in defeat, then a world leader is humble in victory and never accepts defeat. The common thread is humility. Thus, as representatives of the most powerful nation on Earth, we should act as such. Do we have a right to be happy that a battle has been won? Of course. But should that victory, the death of a single man, induce riotous celebration around the country that will only stoke the flames of hatred from our opposition?

Decidedly, no.

One year...LEFT?!?!

2011-04-21T02:25:00.000-07:00

Fella's and Felines,

I am happy to report that as of today, I have been a Peace Corps Volunteer for 1 full year! That's right... on the 21st of April, 2010, I raised my hand and took the oath (something about helping people while promising not to turn my back on the US?). At this point, I can safely say that I've complied:

As of today I have:

(1.) ...taught...A LOT. Comprehension is improving as are grades, though my students continue to CRAM which makes me want to shake them silly.

(2.) ...planted hundreds of trees, the leaves of which will one day supplement large populations of orphans deep in the bush near my town.

(3.) ...had hundreds of conversations with hundreds of people concerning the state of Uganda development, why I am here, where I am from and the beautiful people that I call "My Fellow American's" back home.

(4.) ...made friends that I will have for life.

(5.) ...read. A LOT (see list). I've noted the books I think are worth reading with a "yes" and those that are not with a "no." Books that qualify as maybes are marked "EH..."

1. Desert Solitaire - YES. Brilliant.

2. The Things They Carried - YES.

3. Five Quarters of an orange - YES

4. Don't Let's go to the Dogs Tonight - YES

5. Army of the Republic - YES. A new-age "Monkey Wrench Gang".

6. Breaking the Chain - YES (if you are a cyclist)

7. The Curious Case of the Dog at Midnight - (HELL) NO

8. Intern - EH... if you are considering the field of medicine.

9. Playing the Enemy - YES. Quickly learn about Mandela's brilliance.

10. Life Expectancy - NO.

11. The Scarlett Letter - YES. (Read it in HS? Read it again. You'll see why it is a classic.)

12. My Favorite War - YES.

13. Disgrace - EH... I say this because this book made my skin crawl... Reading about a sociopath by a writer who has earned a Nobel in literature is creepy.

14. Middlesex - YES!

15. The Naked and the Dead - YES. A classic war novel.

16. The Monkey Wrench Gang - HELL YES. It'll make you want to blow up a dam.

17. The Devil in the White City - YES. Awesome history of Chicago. I could have done without the serial killer story, though.

18. In The Hot Zone - EH... An interesting, but not terribly so, look into many of the worlds conflicts.

19. State of Fear - YES. If only to discuss the fact that there is in fact another side of the "Global Warming" argument with dirty Peace Corps Hippies that boil over at the though.

20. The Wild Trees - NO. BORING.

21. Between a Rock and a Hard Place - YES. You'll want to climb a 14er in the winter afterwards.

22. The Shadow of the Sun - YES. Read it if you want to SEE and SMELL Africa from the safety of your suburban home.

23. Caught by the Sea - YES.

24. The Ice Soldier - EH...

25. Black Like Me - YES.

26. Women - YES (if you don't mind the chauvinistic rantings of Charles Bukowski).

27. Archangel - EH...

28. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - YES.

29. Down Under - (Hell) NO.

30. Intensive Care - YES, regardless of whether you aspire to be a nurse.

31. The Tipping Point - YES.

32. The Big Sleep - YES.

33. Slaughterhouse-Five - YES. (Even if you did read this on in HS and walk around bragging so... read it again. You'll appreciate it more now that you're "all growed up.")

34. The Grapes of Wrath - YES, YES, YES!

35. She's Come Undone - YES.

36. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - YES.

37. The Prisoner of Vandam Street - YES.

38. Slow Man - EH... written by the same guy that wrote "Disgrace" this one also made me squirm...

39. The Crucible - YES.

40. Op Center: Line of Control - (HELL) NO. Screw the guy who "book bombed" me with this one.

41. No One Left to Lie To - YES. Clinton is swine.

42. The Road to Hell: The ravaging effects of foreign aid and international charity - YES!

43. Brida - EH... check out The Alchemist instead.

44. Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates - YES!

45. The Audacity of Hope - YES. Get to know Barack "The Tightrope Walker" Obama. The book showed me that while the man is fantastic about seeing an argument from both sides, he lacks any defined vision for the US (lest he offend someone, somewhere).

46. Into The Wild - NO. Read "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" instead.

The goal is 100 books by 2012. I think I can... I think I can... I think I can...

(6.) I've never been so fond of my Mother-Land. Sure, I was bitter when I left, and there are still bits and pieces about the U.S.A. that make me want to break things. But over all? I've come to regard The United States as the greatest country on the planet, a place for which I will never cease to be a proud citizen.

So there it is. I continue to learn about myself and my new world every day. It's a great world! And while I continue to ride the standard issue PCV emotional roller coaster, I feel happy, free and optimistic about the remaining year to come.

To all of my family and friends (but especially you Michelle):

Thank you for your support (the cards, a few delicious packages, and phone calls)! To become a volunteer, I had cut the umbilical cord of proximity, jump into an ocean and learn to swim again. And while the distance that continues to separate us is vast, know that I think of you all as my solid land on the horizon. You give me bearing, a destination to swim towards, a life that I will, sooner than we all might think (as this year as proven, "tempus fugit"), return to.

And to my fellow PCVs:

You have become my family, and I am more thankful for that than you can know. Keep up the great work, and I'll see you all in a few weeks at MST.

Muikare kurungi! (Y'all stay well!)

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle)!

Devon.

Circumcision

2011-03-20T03:58:00.000-07:00

In December of 2010, I had the honor of witnessing the climax of a two day Bagisu circumcision ceremony: the circumcision of four boys ranging in age from 13 to 18. The experience remains the single most cultural event of my Peace Corps service. The event took place in the lush farming communities outside Mbale, a large town on the slopes of Mt. Elgon.

**WARNING** **WARNING**

The photos in this blog post are graphic. They show male genitalia during and after the procedure. There is a knife. There is human flesh. There is blood. If you have a weak stomach, are offended by the site of a man's penis unaccompanied by the vows of marriage or are simply not interested in exploring the topic, I urge you to close the page and wait for the next blog post.

**WARNING** **WARNING**

For the Bagisu tribe there are few events more important in a boy's life than his circumcision. Like the Vision Quest right of passage for a young Native American, the circumcision pushes a Mugisu over the threshold into manhood. While permitted between the ages of 9-18, the most common age range starts at 14. There are men known to dodge the ceremony, but they are viewed as cowards by their community (I was told a story by a local about a man who left Uganda on travel while young and missed his time-frame to undergo the procedure. Upon returning to the country he was captured and taken to the east where he was forced to partake... but this is likely a fabrication to engage in conversation with a white-dude.)

Circumcisions ceremonies only happen during the even numbered years. They happen all year, but December is the most popular month on account of everyone who hasn't been circumcised in the previous 11 months rushing to get it done.

Here's how it goes: You, my dear reader, are going to dance a while in their shoes...

Two days before the event, you begin to dance around, run around, walk around, dance around, run around, walk around. Slowly the crowd picks up in numbers behind you. The rules dictate that you cannot be sedated for the cut, so one can only assume that the dancing is to numb you with exhaustion.

After two days of dancing, you pay a visit to the highlands of the mesa above your villages to cover yourself in mud and yeast from the local beer that you will drink after the event, you continue to dance around, run around, walk around with what has now become a huge crowd behind you. The drums are kickin. The people are screaming, shouting, singing, talking. All of a sudden, a few white people turn up to see the spectacle. You are too tired to care, but if you could, you would probably be proud to have them along... at least, that is what the white people gather by how warmly they are welcomed into the crowd.

The oldest boy.

The youngest boy.

The group moves forward. The crowd is thick. Each boy holds a stick which he periodically slams together after jumping into the air and shouting. Intense.

The crowd behind you grows and grows. You are in the final hours now, and the intensity of the drums and dancing keeps you moving. It is your heartbeat. You are only awaiting the call from the surgeon saying he is ready for you.

The call comes. You turn down a dirt road. Suddenly, half the crowd splits to the right. Nearly all the women and children are gone now. It is just you, the boys soon to be men, encircled by other boys and men.

The procession. Almost completely boys and men now. Only a few girls remain.

Turning off the road, we cut through a banana plantation and casava field. Men began to scream and shout. Our pace quickened. Men began to beat the ground with sticks. The drums became louder.

A crowd gathers around each boy, tugging at his pants to expose his penis. It must be easily accessed for the procedure, now only a few minutes away.

More beating of the ground. More cheer. You are nearly to the huts, and you see a crowd has gathered. People use branches to sweep the ground before you. There are four rectangular pieces of fabric with dirt (to absorb) in a pile on one side and clean (for you to stand on) on the other. The two white men and woman that have been dancing behind you are now ushered directly in front of the mats. The crowd is pushing, screaming. The white people have their cameras out, they are snapping away (they are encouraged by all that are around them: "Do you see?! Take the snaps! Take, take!").

There are no speeches. The circumcisions begin immediately.

The rule (only one): Before, during and after the cutting - Not a sound, not a cringe, not a change in facial expression. You are allowed to place a stick over your shoulders to pull down upon, and that is all. If you break this rule, you are deemed a coward for the rest of your life. (People are VERY serious about this. Only the youngest of boys are granted some slack in the matter).

You look to the heavens. Say a prayer... and it begins.

The surgeon grabs the tip of your penis, stretches it outward away from your body. Lays the blade upon your skin and cuts cleanly through. Your penis snaps back into your stomach. The hand grabs it again, on the side this time, cuts towards you, 1-cut, 2-cuts, 3-cuts. It is over.

Your eye's never leave the sky. You've not even blinked an eye. You are a man.

#1. The circumcision and the final product.

Cool. Calm. Collected. Not a flinch or sound.

#2. I was taking video before this picture. Again, he is completely at peace... on the outside.

#3. During and after.

#4. The youngest boy. Some slack is granted to the youngest boys. The boy's face, before and after, says it all.

It is over. You are now a man (and you will walk around in a skirt for the next month to prevent chafing).

Finished!

Proud.

The rice-sack showing the blood absorbed into the sand.

People begin to walk up and congratulate you. Hand you money. Someone wraps a blanket around your shoulders and gives you a place to sit.

Gifts are given.

Congratulations all around.

A man arrives with soda for the youngest boys...

...and locally brewed alcohol for the older boys.

Young boys and girls look on in wonder. One day, the boys will be standing where you are now.

The surgeon returns with an egg for each boy. He smears egg yoke on the exposed skin.

More congratulations. (Notice the touching of the left hand to the right forearm, a sign of respect).

And that about sums it up.

All in all, we danced for about 2 hours before we witnessed the climax of the two days. We were pushed straight to the front where the action was, and we were told to take pictures and video so we could show our friends and family... like I said, the Bagisu are EXTREMELY proud of this event.

Afterwards, I asked for a drink the celebratory locally brewed alcohol!... it was awful. But my whoops of excitement after imbibing set the crowd off in stitches of cheers and laughter.

While talking to a village local chairperson, the inevitable question arose: "So are you circumcised," he said to me.

The moment of truth... was I man enough to confess that I am not actually a man in his eyes?

Hell no!

"Of course I am!" I replied.

Phew! Dodged that angry mob!

Quakin'

2011-03-17T02:12:00.000-07:00

I awoke two mornings ago to a rumbling. I was buried in sleep, so when I sat up and looked around, the muffled sound coming through my ear-plugs and the strange motion of the bed confused me. Was I dreaming? Was I just experiencing that buzzing sensation that usually accompanies too few hours of rest?

As the fog cleared, I realized that my bed WAS in fact shaking. So, in my blurry state, I thought of the only possible cause:

Shit-me. There is a VERY large, very ANGRY animal under my bed going bat-shit crazy on something…

After 7 or so seconds, everything stopped. Peace returned. I was fully with it by this point. So I began rocking myself violently forward and backward trying to get my bed to shake… you know… to see if I could do what the animal had done.

“Come… on… you… stupid… bed… SHAKE!”

Nothing.

Jesus, man! No Godzilla-cockroach could have done that! No rat either! A grizzly bear, maybe.

(But that was as improbable as the cockroach-rat theory… because grizzly bears do not live in Uganda.)

So I went out on a limb, referenced a bit of 8^th grade earth science and some more advanced geological theories I’d recently read at the suggestion of Michelle, and stuck it all together with crazy glue…

EARTHQUAKE!! The spirit of California! Here in Uganda as an alarm clock!

“UHHP ‘N ATTEM’ BOY! SUNZ AWMOST UHHP!” (The spirit has a Franklin County, Virginia accent).

Crazy as it sounds… it put my grizzly theory to shame.

Wicked!

I quickly shot off a text to my safety and security officer with Peace Corps (he had already heard the news). I sent another text to Devon #2 to make sure the whole Rwenzori range had not collapsed onto its side thus flattening her and her college (Nope. Still two Devon’s hanging out in Uganda… not that I’m sad or anything. But it would have made for a great story… *sigh*)

Checking the Daily Monitor yesterday, it looks like the epicenter was north of me by a few hundred kilometers in the Rift Valley near Lake Albert. It seems the spirit of Cali, lacking energy after a long trip, only had it in him (her? it?) to rock a 5.0 on the Richter scale.

No need to worry. I am alive, well and only slightly shaken (sorry… I had to.), but that is better than stirred, right Grandpa? (“Boooooo!” *dodges rotten tomato*)

Mainly I am just impressed with the natural power of the earth.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

Death Tax

2011-03-10T01:05:00.000-08:00

Walking to school yesterday, I heard a distant wailing. I walked onward.

Passing the hospital, I turned to my right and saw a small crowd of villagers gathered around a small building at its southwest corner.

The morgue.

A death in our town.

The wailing is unsettling. It isn't blood curdling. It is chilling. It resonates deep within you and arouses the rarely thought about fact that we are mortal.

At school, the Director of Studies walked into the teachers lounge at lunch and wrote a short message on the board. One of the staff members aunts had passed on.

"Eh! You see that?" My counterpart Chris says to me. "They want to collect money from us..."

In times past, a death, like a wedding, would be cause for living family member to ask for small donations from the community to cover burial expenses and whatever else might involve in the official wrapping up of a family members life. A small basket would be passed around, and members would donate what they could.

But fraud arose. People announced deaths that did not actually occur. They collected money for burials that would not take place. And the public grew weary of making donations unless they new the person explicitly.

"... but they will take money from our accounts whether we want to give it or not," Chris continues.

Puzzled, I ask, "They can do that?! Just take money? FORCE a donation?"

"Of course. They who pay can do whatever they want."

World AIDS Day: Arua, Uganda

2011-02-25T05:18:00.000-08:00

In December, the US Embassy put on multiple World AIDS Day events, and one of them was in Arua, a district in northeastern Uganda which borders the Democratic Republic of Congo and nearly borders Sudan.

It is UP there.

One of the embassy workers, a returned PCV herself, asked the Peace Corps for some volunteers for the day. And she got them... a lot of them. An opportunity to go into a formerly restricted zone (due to rebel activity from both the Lords Resistance Army and DRC/Sudan overflows) where PCVs are not placed, devoid of all but HEAT? Yes please. And, it turns out that the northeast is BEAUTIFUL! Very "Africa" as you would see it in a textbook (minus the wildebeests and zebras).

Depending on who you speak with, the event itself was a success or a failure. I think it teetered between either throughout the day. I made some tremendous emotional connections with a few of the event attendees, and after 8 months in the field, my eyes were further opened to the devastating poverty that 99+% of this country suffers with from day to day (Consider this: Borderline RIOTS over free t-shirts). Looking back, I'm remain proud to have been a part of the event.

Well, I've got a story for the event, but this post is for pictures. So I'll turn off the tap... but stay tuned.

Devon

The event started with a BIG parade around the town.

All in all, 11 PCVs turned up for the event. We all got to wear/keep those snazzy red shirts.

Ecstatic spectators. Is there anything funnier than a crowd of dancing white people?

The event grounds. This is a soccer pitch and the marching field for the police.

A woman, backed by a choir sings "Oh Uganda", the national anthem, to kick things off.

A crowd of children watching "AIDS Jeopardy", a game show where all the questions are related to AIDS and HIV. Three different groups of contestants play, (1.) Kids, (2.) Adults and (3.) Local leaders. It is horrific to see just how little the adult population INCLUDING the local leaders (theoretically the most educated in the region) knows about the subject. The kids ROCKED it though! The challenge is to get them to apply all those memorized facts now.

A neighboring district showed up to build one of their traditional instruments: the biggest xylophone on the planet earth! The cross pieces are wood blocks, and the long supports are banana stalks.

The finished product.

JAMMIN'! When they started, the crowd gathered around, and a huge conga (or should I say congO line) formed, and people danced and sang around the musicians. Talk about feeling the music. I felt possessed.

A woman wears a lanyard strung with ARV containers (Antiretrovirals - the medicine to combat HIV/AIDS) ammunition-style across her chest.

The group "Woman living with HIV/AIDS", the event's host (who has lived with HIV/AIDS for 11 years) and Peace Corp Uganda's Country Director.

After a full day's battle, I was finally able to pull through and give his deaf-boys group a bag full of t-shirts. He was gentle, patient, honest and so thoroughly grateful. It made my day. I love this kid.

HIV NEGATIVE!!! And SO PROUD!!!

This kid gave me a ration of shit at the end of the festival for not giving him a shirt. I recorded his spiel on my recorder... something about Obama and how the people of the US need to do what Ugandans want, and that means giving them free T-shirts. Hilarious at first and damn annoying when it didn't stop. The next day, as I had just boarded a bus for Gulu when there was a knock on the window, and guess who it was? Yep. This guy. Well, he was on much more pleasant to be around (no more mob-mentality), and in exchange for a song from his recorder, I took the shirt off my back and tossed it to him. It made his day, and it made my bus ride. We were even.

An outsiders view of my world:

2011-02-22T00:11:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the steps of a hotel near my house (I actually just moved to that hotel, but that is a different story), hanging out with some new friends from Germany who were 6 months into their From-Germany-to-Capetown-South-Africa-on-Dirt-Bikes trip, when a man road up on a LOADED touring cycle. Long story short, he needed a place to stay so I offered him the floor of my home. Before leaving the next morning, he gave me his card showing his website where he posts about various bike tours he has finished or is planning. This morning, I got around to checking the site, and I found his post about his stay at my place... I've pasted his entry below, as I think it gives a taste of what a true outsider to Uganda might feel visiting.

"At around 4pm I arrived in town after 80km of sweating my nuts off, I found a hotel where a couple of white people where drinking coffee, good start I thought!, So I ordered a beer and asked about a room, after a 15 minute wait i was informed that the hotel was full....strange. About this time 2 of the 3 people got on their motorbikes and headed off, so I asked the other guy if he had a tip for a hotel in town, the options where, cheap and nasty or a $50 hotel. Devon then offered some floor space at his house though warned me that it wasn't much.

If I'd walking into Devons house a year ago I would of walked straight back out, he's living as a local for the " peace corps" for 2 years here and his house is 2 small concrete rooms with noisy neighbours. But for 1 night this became my Oasis for rest and relaxation. After 5 dusty, thirsty days living on rice and self made bread, it was great to have some company, cold beer and some home cooking (he knows where to get the fresh vegi's from at the market). And best of all the " shower" , a 10 litre jerry can hanging on the wall is not what I'd usally call a shower, but I was so filthy, dusty and sweaty that it was probibly one of the best showers I've ever had:)

Thanks Devon for a great evening!!"

Maybe. Maybe not.

2011-02-15T22:26:00.000-08:00

Ugandan's drive on the left side of the road. Sinister. I walk on the right side, runner-style, so I can see the cars racing towards me, weaving, their imbalanced wheels threatening to to dislocate and shoot outward like a Looney-Toon Cartoon with every wobble.

In The States, I call my method "taking precautions." In Uganda, I call my method "Death Control."

But like it's antithesis, sometimes the condom breaks. And sometimes, it only almost breaks...

On my walk to school this morning, I was nearly flattened by a bus. In my minds eye, it wouldn't have been a steam-roller flattening as in "Who Killed Roger Rabbit?" No. More like a Devon-meets-bus. Devon flattens on bus' grill and sticks. Devon screams like the after-shave scene from "Home Alone" straight through town center as Ugandan's look on and announce to no one in particular, "It was god's will", heads nodding solemnly.

But I won't pin the almost-homicide on the bus driver. You see, a safari vehicle was passing through town at the sluggish pace of ~50 mph. And 50 in a residential portion of town is GETTHEFUCKOUTOFMYWAYASSHOLE-slow. Especially when the road is lined with kids heading to school, with wo/men heading to work and drunks of all ages heading to the bars.

Gotta show 'em: might makes right. Gotta show 'em: I've got a car, and you've only got legs.

GETOUTOFMYWAY.

And a bus is bigger than a safari vehicle, and...

Might makes right.

Might makes right.

Might makes right.

A mantra.

The bus swings wide, the turning radius of a freight train, and accelerates. The corner of the bus whips past me, 2 feet away. The gust of hot air pushes me sideways, off the road. My heart is pounding and my exclamation of "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!" is lost in the explosion of four or five pitches of the bus' bull horn and the diesel engine hidden beneath its tacky pink exterior.

The incident is over. I watch as the two vehicles battle for first position: the safari vehicle accelerates, the Kalita bus weaves to-and-fro.

A vision of me sprinting to the bus stop, pulling the driver from his seat and inciting the townspeople to drag him through the streets like Mussolini flashes briefly. The thought is replaced with the following:

When I leave Africa, I may decide never to return. But, by no choice of my own, I may never leave Africa.

I am shaken by the thought.

Meeting Gone Awry

2011-02-02T06:27:00.000-08:00

The beginning of the year meeting was scheduled for 10AM today. With classes scheduled for 11, I knew that there was no way we would make it on time... meetings last forever.

For. Ev. Errrrr.

Come 10:40, the attendance had reached critical mass, so just before starting, I quickly ran to my room to let my students know that I would be late to class (after all, if we can't finish a meeting in one hour, we surely can't finish one in 20 minutes).

The meeting starts. I drop the book I am reading (The Audacity of Hope).

The speeches are drawn out and follow protocol to a TEE.

(1.) Opening Prayer.

(2.) Statement from the Chairperson, the Madam Head Teacher

(3.) Statement from the Deputy Head Teacher

(4.) Statement from the Director of Studies.

(5.) Review of Minutes from the last staff meeting sometime in November of last year ("Minutes" = Detailed report, i.e. EVERY SINGLE WORD AND HAPPENING OF THE MEETING, "Review" = Reading the "Minutes" word-for-bloody-word to a bored audience comprising 25 ecstatic.to.miss.class-teachers and one borderline suicidal Devon).

(6.) Remarks and "Way Forward"

(7.) Closing prayer

It is now approaching 12, and we are only half way through the meeting. This does not mean we are at #5. No. We are at #6, and everyone is adding their opinions to the mix... which is strange because there hasn't been a single damn thing said to rain these opinions onto. Nothing. People are literally spouting a whole lot of nothing about... nothing. Only those talking have any further interest. Everyone else is "LOST."

I too am lost. I pick up my book again and begin to read.

A few minutes go by, and in my peripheral hearing the words "Mr. Murphy" buzz.

Mr. Obama is talking about is road to the Senate. He's quite a writer.

It tries again. "Mr. Murphy, are you with us?"

The words break through, and "It" becomes "She": the new Madam Head Teacher of Kyenjojo S.S.

A bit shocked, I look up, realize what she is doing, and I take the truthful way out... and dive right in.

"No, I am not."

Giggles swell and are stifled from the crowd.

"Well, it is very rude of you to be reading while a meeting is in session."

Welp. Now you've gone and done it, lady. You've been here three days and you're all ready power-tripping on me over my desire to avoid listening to speeches that will literally de-brain me if they penetrate through the thick membrane that is my selective hearing, in front of a live audience, no less..

And, you're done.

"Well, I think it is very rude towards our students to be missing class because we could not show up to a meeting on time."

"Would you like to be somewhere else?" she poses.

"Yes. I would like to be teaching my class."

"You should ask to be excused then."

"Thats fine," I say standing up, book in hand. "May I be excused?"

"You are asking to be excused from a meeting. That is very rude."

"Yes, but I should be teaching my class. May I be excused?"

"You want to leave the meeting?"

"Yes. I want to go and teach my class. May I be excused?"

"Yes."

I walk out of the room in front of surprised, whispering faculty, faces plastered with varying degrees of awe, and head to my room to salvage what is left of my lesson.

The meeting continued straight into and through lunch...

...and early 1100 students were deprived of one-third of their studies today.

...but all the teachers got a coke or two, "so there's that!"

Thanks for reading.

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

Pictures from last year #1

2011-01-30T07:27:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I'm having trouble comprehending where the time went... I've been in Uganda for nearly a year. It seems a blur...

Here are some pictures that I meant to post, oh, 6 months ago? I think a few may have been included in my slideshow when I went back to the states... I've scoured my blog, and I can't seem to find them in another post. If this is the second time you're seeing them, no worries... I've got about a thousand more from my school vacation these last two months that are on their way.

Workers hand-digging a 1-foot wide, 3-foot deep trench extending from Fort Portal all the way to Kampala (Nearly 300km! DUG BY HAND!!). A fiber-optic cable will buried there providing 3G network (faster internet) to the rural areas out here.

The most beautiful resort I have seen in Uganda. This is located just outside Fort Portal. It sits on the ridge overlooking the Rwenzoris and two crater lakes on one side and the rolling hills and tea plantations in the direction of my home (60km away) in the other. The swimming pool costs $20 US every day, so I won't even venture a guess what the rooms run.

Kids having fun around my town.

I love their eyes.

My car taxi broke down on the way back from Kampala. We stopped in front of this family's home, and I carried on with them for nearly an hour before I was given a ride the rest of the way to Kyenjojo. I was originally pissed off about the breakdown, but after spending time with a family full of happy children, angelic in contrast to those living on my compound, I was actually in great spirits by the time I left.

A tree filled with weaver-bird nests. Loud little guys.

Sunset on the way home. Heading West on Fort Portal Highway.

This is Andrew. He helps me dig. He tells me why I suck at digging. And he is happy to continue to hang out with me even though I am likely the shittiest digger in the area. He's a very bright boy (despite his choice in friends) who wishes to be a soldier or a doctor.

Arwen: making me feel like a freak.

Hey! A monkey!

The group at a training just after I got back from the states. I was in a sad-state saying goodbye to Michelle, family and friends again, but I immediately went to KLA for this in-service training and was greeted with smiling faces and open arms. Gotta love Peace Corps friends.

Sunset from my back window.

A town traffic jam.

Charlene Brian and I.

Playing around on a hill outside Fort Portal.

Meet Ivan!

2011-01-11T04:21:00.000-08:00

Hey every one!

Am Muhumuja Ivan from Uganda. Am 17 years of age, born on 14th June, 1993, I live in one Ugandan district called Kyenjojo found in the western part. I stay with my grandmother at times when am not with my dad and mom, but all in all my family is based in kyenjojo. I have four sisters i.e. Irene, Lucky, Lonah and Bridget. Am the second and am the only boy. Our first born is Bridget. I and Irene, we share the same mum and dad but other’s we only share the dad. Our dad is called charlie and mum is called Agnes, my dad is a business man dealing in the selling of fruits, vegetables and others at the same time a manager of a small non government organisation dealing in giving out loans & other financie. He does all this from Kampala and its where my mu7m is. In the previous years she was working but now she is not due to some uncertainties.

In Uganda’s education we have seven years of primary, and six years of secondary where the four years are for Ordinary level (O’level) and two years for advanced level (“A” level). After those you join the University. Per now am on the last year of Advanced level (“A” level) which I will accomplish in 2011 around December. I accomplished y Ordinary level from Kasubi Parents S.S. in Kampala 1a, then I moved to Kyenjojo for my Advanced level, reasons being my dad wanted me to study from a nearby home disctrict school so as my relatives could visit me more often because he is so busy another reason could be because Kampala schools are more expensive yet he is paying for three of us. Education in Uganda is good although there are some hardships that we encounter. Like, our parents do not normally pay our fees in time and its not that we get all the school requirements in full from our parents, at times they fail to make them which affects our studies. The most big problem we students encounter is that after our Advanced level, parents usually fail to pay the university fees because its so high. I would lke to be an Engineer in the future and attain a masters in engineering. I was mostly inspired by my Uncle and other engineers that I see, also my master Devon. Am specialising in physics mathematics, economic and entrepeneurship. I hope to suceed because my teachers are good and caring especially master Devon.

My hobbies

- Hanging out with friends

- Listening to slow music

- watching football

- watching movies

- Reading books/novels

I always drream of visiting outside countries like America because I want to explore the world and learn more about other people. I hope to achieve this through learning so hard and getting friends from outside Uganda like you.

Generally life in Uganda is good because of the climate and peace, on the other hand bad because we lack some things like good medical care (in remote areas), good schools and other things. I would prefer to travel outside and explore not living in Uganda forever.

Hope to hear from everyone especially you! Am at Mivanutah@gmail.com

Ivan

**NOTE FROM DEVON** - Ivan was recognized as the number one student at Kyenjojo S.S. for the 2010 school year!!! RIGHT ON!!

Oh. I cannot let this go: He also, ahem, fell in love... with my sister Catherine after seeing a photo of her after my trip to the US. Since then, rarely a day goes by when I do not get a question such as, "So Master*, how is Catherine?" to which I reply, "Ivan, niingenda kukuteera!!!" (I'm going to BEAT you!!) He did finally wear me down, however, and I agreed to the marriage under the following conditions: (1.) He achieves a Masters in Engineering as well as an MBA (2.) He has at least 500 head of cattle at his estate. After sighing and moaning about the impossibility of these requirements he recovered slightly and asked, "What then Master?" To this I replied: "Well, then it is completely up to Her if she wants to marry you!"

*I just want to assure everyone that the way my kids refer to me (i.e. "Master") is not some component of a crazed power trip. It is, in fact, how students address their male teachers here in Uganda, at least in theory because we are "masters" of our subjects (PSHHH!). I've tried to break them of the habit, but, "EH!!! I have failed..."

Meet Mugisa!

2011-01-11T04:11:00.000-08:00

Mugisa Muntu

I was borne on 19th January 1992 in Kyenjojo. I live with my father and mother in Kyenjojo, in Uganda.

The subjects I offer are Physics, maths, economics and entrepreneurship education. I want to become an engineer in future and another option which I have is becoming an accountant.

I like music especially wrapp music, watching films, reading books, and watching football. I hate racism and I love discussing with friends.

I am doing well in my education but I have problems which I have to overcome and the major one is school fees cause I would have been in a better school than Kyenjojo S.S.

**NOTE FROM DEVON** - Mugisa was out of class on the day this assignment was discussed/assigned, and by pure bad luck also missed the day we took photos for posting (resulting in the pixel-sized pic). While everyone else was allowed one rough draft and one final draft, Mugisa had to write up a paragraph about himself on the spot, and I think he felt a bit rushed... hence the brevity. He is incredibly bright, and if I could predict his future solely by his handwriting I would shout with the the authority of THE Sorting Hat: "DOCTOR!!!"

Meet Leonard!

2011-01-10T08:18:00.000-08:00

Hey

Am Barinda Leonard -R- from Uganda, a student in form six sciences in A’level according to the education system of Uganda which comprises of primary and secondary sections where in the secondary section there is Ordinary level of four years and Advanced level of two years and I am in that final year dreaming about the college ahead of me.

I succeeded in accomplishing primary level with a first grade, and again persued a first grade division one from Ordinary level. I have faced a lot of challenges as me personally resulting from the financial breakdown of my family. I had hopes to again continue studying from Kampala in my A’level but I failed just because of the tuition problem and the standards of living as I had to create a room for my little brothers and sisters to also have some standard education which I respect and that is from the city of Kampala. I had to join Kyenjojo Secondary School where I had to struggle with at least two kilometres from school every evening as well as two km in the morning at about 6:00 am to reach in class before 7:00 am as just because I am the head prefect where I will have to first organize the prefectorial body will perform it’s task that day.

As me personally, my father is called Byamhanga Kamili and my Mom, Kabahuma Leonida Elin, I have 2 brothers and 2 sisters and the youngest being a girl. I love Uganda personally and that I had even to join a patriotic club at school that we even had a work camp to be told how it goes about as someone is a patriot.

I have some hobbies I hold love;

- Football
- Swimming
- Hanging out with friends
- Being at the beach
- Traveling and discovering new ideas

I love reading novels and knowing more about the planet. However with all these adventures activities I chose to struggle so hard to be a big scientist and mostly an engineer where I will need to set up big investments and new inventions just from my brain, what always inspire me most is the great scientists who made themselves names as like we keep on remembering them.

I also like learning alot about other languages for the reason being that I need to communicate to everyone if possible just because I feel always down when am out of the discussion of two or more people just because of the language.

Please I just feel I have a lot to share with everyone so just mail me and advise me or assist me in any way possible as per the direction of my dreams and careers.

I like everyone out there!!!!

My mail addresses are;
Barinda.leonard.raymond@gmail.com
bleonardraymond@yahoo.com

Leonard

Meet Moses!

2011-01-10T05:53:00.000-08:00

Hello every one!!

Am moses from uganda. I live in Kyenjojo. I school at Kyenjojo S.S, it is some kiomtetres away from home to school. I can give out a beat of explaination about our education process. here it goes: our education consists of 3 levels of education namely nersary, primary and secondary also consist of two levels that is o-level (ordinary level), A-level (Advanced level). So am in my last year of A-level. Ya!! Education goes on well and I love it so much even to other things I would wish to be an ingeneer, or a physitian and probably am setting my target to these two (ingeneer, physitian).

When I was young my dad used to narate me stories about great success jobs he could even inspire me especially when he could talk about ingeneering and physiology. So my minds turned up to focuss on these. In fact how I hope in minds is to be a great successful man in life.

So in my Education I fase the following challenges it is far from home to school and even I go walking some times I end up missing leasons because of coming late at school, school views like fees yes I pay but my Dad doesn’t meet them in required time so they some times am sent me from school as well as missing leasons.

My family consist of Dad, mum, I have two brothers and two cousin brothers, I also have three sisters.

Oh I fill unique because am in line with education I just find my self feeling in every level of education and hope is in me that though am in this struggle at one time I will fulfill my achievements and goals.

Though am at Kyenjojo, I don’t fill confutable cause the school does not meet all requirements of education & I could also wish to join good schools but school fees. In fact when I was in my last year of o-level I wished to joing a certain school known as Rubiri high school but the barrier was school fees.

So in life I would like to fulfill the following goals! becoming a great physitian, study and master the world and its “contents” , flying to different parts of the world and study different cultures, learning different languages. Because softer I know English and my local language two languages are not enough for me in life.

In case you wish to E-mail me bmosesal@gmail.com is my E-mail adress people!! –

Moses

Meet Suzy!

2010-12-05T06:23:00.000-08:00

Whats up Everybody,

This is Suzy from Ugada. My full names are Susan Katusiime Adyeeri. Am a female aged 17 (seventeen) and the most important thing about me is that I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal lord ad savior. I love serving him with the whole of my life. A little information about me;

I was born in 1992 in Hoima district to the late Mr. Mugasa Silverest and Mrs. Beatrice Kabanyoro (Both RIP). My parents died when I was only 7 years old, and that made my childhood miserable. I am in form five physics, maths ad biology ad I want to become a doctor. I care/mind about the wellfare of people ad that’s why I want to become a doctor and treat my people around the world. I want all people to be biologically, spiritually, psycologically, financially, ad economically healed ad stable. And that’s why by crook ad hook I must study nomatter what the obstacles. I know being an orphan is not easy ad I sometimes find it difficult to concetrate on my studies but with God everything is possible.

My hobbies are; I love serving the lord, making new friends, travelling in different countries ad meeting new people. I also like listening to music ad watching inspirational movies so that I can learn more. Unfortunately, I have not had a chance of travelling out side Africa but I hope one day I will travel ever where I like. When am at school I read my books seriously ad when am home, I try to have a nap or siesta or read a novel. I stay with my maternal Aunt ad I do have siblings.

Am looking forward to having penpals from all over the world. My addresses are below.

Suzy.Katusiime@gmail.com
+2560700266058
+2560787863215

Suzy

Intro: Meet My Students!!

2010-12-03T04:38:00.000-08:00

I’ve been teaching for two terms now, and while I have done my fair share of singing the praises of (and bitching-and-moaning about) my students, I’ve not yet shown you all the faces of these 17-21 year old balls of love/frustration (save to those of you who saw my Africa slide show during my brief visit to the states, and then for only 5 or 10 seconds). In fact, I’ve been such a slack-ass about the blog and uploading photos, that I’ve failed to include pictures of my school and all that it comprises. Well: Shame… on… me. As they say here: slowly, slowly.

A few weeks ago, I began to consider the problem of the third goal of Peace Corps: Educating American’s about Ugandan’s. Now, Michelle remedied a bit of the challenge by connecting many of our friends and family with my kids and their shiny new GMAIL addresses - and I dare say that the grades in my classes have fallen steadily off a cliff ever since! - (I kid, I kid!). Actually, the whole email connection gig has been fantastic. Not only are my students increasing their typing speeds and knowledge of the computer and internet, but by connecting the them directly to American’s it has removed the middle-man (me) and allowed you and my students to develop a unique and otherwise impossible connection, a friendship.

Let me extend my sincerest thanks. You, by taking the time to write these boys and girls, have literally made them happier than I can say. To see them jump a bit when they see new messages in their inboxes, the exclamations of “Eh!” after reading something, learning something new, etc…

Congratulations! You are changing lives.

Moving on… a few weeks back, I proposed this to my students: “How would you like me to post a picture of you on the internet, on my website, so that the entire world can see you, learn about you, and contact you if they so desire.” The response was an overwhelming “YES!” So I asked them to begin thinking about a few things...

“Ask yourselves, ‘who am I? What makes *me* *ME*? Why am I special? What am I doing in this world? Where did I come from, and where am I going?’.”

Several days later, I snapped photos of Leonard, Ivan, Mugisa, Suzan and Ivan, and they gave me their short biographies. (Note: I am doing this project with my Physics class alone, as, well, liken me to a bad parent: I have my favorites.)

And what before my wondering eyes should appear?

Personal Ads. I felt like I was reading the lonely-people section on page 17 of some obscure free paper distributed in the dark downtown alleys of American cities.

You know exactly what I’m talking about: “SUM/F, DDF, HWP ISO VGL, ND, NK, NS PFF”
Read: “Single Ugandan Male/Female, drug and disease free, height and weight proportionate in search of very good looking, non-drinking, non-smoking, no kids person for friendship.”

“I’m sorry guys, but I cannot have you hitting on my family, friends and random internet house guests. I’ll make some suggestions. COME ON! I want you to get DEEP! Show these people who you really are! They want to meet you!”

With promises to revise, we parted ways until today, the last day of the third term.

The LAST DAY OF THE YEAR!!! TODAY!! HOLIDAYS!!!

Together, likely for the last time until January 31st when school reopens, I was presented with fresh copies of their biographies. As they are leaving to various parts of the country – deep village, Kampala, Fort Portal – these are the final drafts. Personal ads or not, my kids are getting published.

So here is the plan… the next series of blog posts will be titled “Meet (insert student name here)”. They should help you to get to know my kids a bit better. Honestly, its helped me to learn some personal facts that I was previously unaware of. Some of the writing is really touching. I hope you enjoy it.

My one rule: I am not editing ANY of the writing. It comes as is, straight from the page. I warned the kids about this in hopes that they would correct misspellings and use proper punctuation. Still, they are worried about what you may think of them. I’ve assured them that they are far more proficient at English than any of us are at Rutooro, Swahili or Luganda (which they are all fluent in), so they have no problems. Still, if you decide to contact them, please let them know that they are doing very well in their writing and to keep up the hard work… you know: Positive Reinforcement.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy meeting my students.

I love you all (but especially you Michelle!)

Devon.

Do you have a wife?

2010-11-22T05:14:00.000-08:00

As obvious foreigners to any area save the US embassy here in Uganda, PCVs are often the annoyed recipients of an endless barrage of shouts and stairs… from a distance. As we approach, the shouts give way to silence. And while the stares often remain, they quickly give way to something special as we engage our cheeks and shoot back with the only weapon our government has armed us with: a smile. As soon as we show that big toothy cheese, our bodies are seemingly illuminated with a bigger, brighter, more sincere smile than most are used to seeing. We are in-light-ened with joy.

With varying degrees of frequency, when we are not bustling off to our respective jobs, we are also given the opportunity to sit down, grab a soda, chomp on a banana and, well, kick back and shoot the shit.

The conversations, short or long, all seem to begin the same with the perfect stranger. How is the day? How is your family? You are from where? Do you enjoy Uganda? How long will you stay? What is your religion? Do you have a wife?

Similar questions mean similar answers:

“Kurungi.” (Good)
“Baliyo kurungi.” (They are there well, i.e. they are doing well back home)
“Ngonza Uganda muno. Uganda eina abaantu barungi!” (I love Uganda very much. Uganda has good people!)
“Ndi Catholic.” (Clearly, for all those who know me, a simplified answer to keep me out of a hotter seat)

Do you have a wife?

Simple enough answer, right? I have no wife, so the answer is clearly “no.” But this is usually where the Rutooro stops and the English begins, as this answer opens the flood gates… and I believe that I’ve discovered a chink in the chauvinist armor of this male dominated society; an opportunity to educate (maybe).

Facts: In Uganda…

…a man is allowed to cheat on his wife with other women. If a woman does this, it is grounds for divorce.

…a man is allowed to take multiple wives. A woman cannot.

…the population most responsible for the spread of HIV/AIDS is the middle-aged married communities on account of the social acceptance and therefore propensity of the couples to obtain side-dish(es), sexual partners on the side. This has become known as “the sexual network.”

“No, I do not have a wife, but I have a girlfriend.”

To this, the most common response is shock. “Eh! But she is so far away. You try a Ugandan woman.”

“Try” is often substituted with “taste” which invariably turns my stomach while my mind conjures the American twisted view of the Ugandan mindset: a Baskin-Robbins 31 flavors with a line of hungry men trailing out the front door, each with a tiny pink spoon in their hands eager for a sample, for a “taste.”

“No! No! I can never do that! I love her too much!” … to which the reply is a skeptical look followed by, “no, it is ok! She is so far away. You can find a woman here. How do you know that she will not find another there?”

And here, I hope, is my chance to give a glimpse of what the love and mutual respect of a relationship means where I come from. Without turning this into Nicholas Sparks essay, I’ll say that caring, friendship, respect and trust are all topics woven into my argument for maintaining a committed relationship with only one person.

Two weeks ago, I was waiting for the Kampala-to-Kyenjojo taxi to depart when a man sitting behind me brought up the subject of wives. Initially expressing the same surprise at my response to remaining faithful to one woman, this man took things to the next level… he began carefully explaining each of my points to the other men in the taxi in Luganda. Instead of shocked “Eh!”-s I watched as the men pursed their lips, raised an eyebrow and nodded their heads. It looked as if in this instance, I was rubber, they were glue and a few of my words may have stuck.

Exhausted from my time in KLA and on the verge of passing out, I lacked desire to push the conversation any further, so I concluded:

“It took me twenty-five years to find Michelle. I don’t want or need anyone else.”

A quick translation, smiles, and more head nodding.

Where am I going with all this? Hard to say… AH! Got it!

Jim Carrey as Bruce Almighty once said, “behind every great man is a woman rolling her eyes.” Now I refuse to suggest that I am anything but “pretty cool, somehow”, but I am saying that I’ve got a truly fantastic woman behind me. You all know her as Michelle. So do I, actually. (And she rolls her eyes… A LOT.)

So here’s to you, baby! *Tssssst* (I just popped the top on a warm Eagle beer). I could not do what I do, be what “I yam” and all that “I yam”, without you. Thank you for putting up with my wandering ways and general shenanigans. You are a pillar in my life, and by keeping me around, you allow me to lead by example here in Uganda.

Bleh! YUCK! SappppyGrossMUSH!! (Torri just Yacked)

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle)

Devon.

On stage fright (and getting over it)...

2010-11-12T02:13:00.000-08:00

My school has no bathroom for teachers. The bathrooms for the students are completely off limits, as their walls are so covered in poo they warrant a cleansing by the guy that does "Worlds Dirtiest Jobs."

"WHY!?!" you might ask "are the bathrooms covered in POO?!?!"

Well...

There is no toilet paper, THILLY! This leads children to either (a.) take expensive sheets of new paper out of their notebooks to crinkle up and use (b.) take sheets out of used books that are no longer needed or (c.) DING DING DING!! Wipe with their hands and clean those hands on the wall!

I shit you not.

HA! I kill myself...

Anywho, those few teachers who have indeed ventured into the students latrines have never been heard from again, so the rest of us stay away. Now, I don't know where the women of this school go (perhaps the McDonald's down the road), but the men have set up an ingenious 3-and-a-half-walled corrugated steel structure in which to urinate in. It is located just outside the windows of my Director of Studies and my Head Master and next to the ginormous soccer field (here, they call it a PITCH).

Oh, and the walls are about 4 feet high, so anyone taller than an oompa-loompa can... watch. So, when I had to go for the first weeks of my teaching, whenever I needed to *go*, I would walk a half mile to my home, *go*, and then return to school... cause, you know, talk about stage fright.

Inefficient.

So like a good PCV, I adjusted. Now, it no longer bothers me that while standing there I may make eye contact with a school administrator breaking from work to enjoy a slight breeze through his window. We just give each other a knowing nod. I no longer shrink when the primary school children 20 feet away and playing soccer with a ball made of plastic grocery bags stop, stare and shout "YESU!" ("Jesus!"). And when a heard of cattle approaches to gnarf down the succulent bunches of grass only feet from where I stand? I don't even bat an eyelash.

In fact, with all the attention I've been getting while urinating at my job... my bathroom at home is feeling pretty damn lonely as of late.

On stage while peeing... this is Uganda, baby.

Thanks for reading.

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

P.S. There are no McDonald's establishments in Uganda. Though, I hear Wal-Mart is coming... go figure.

Two weeks. Too long.

2010-11-03T07:31:00.000-07:00

Yo yo! What is the good word, fools?

I'm hanging out in the Peace Corps lounge here in Kampala, and this thought rocketed through my brain. So here I am.

Amakuru (the news):

I've been in Kampala going on two weeks now. I left two fridays back to, as I posted briefly about on my facebook status, to race down the Nile with fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. The race was put on by a rafting company with the goal of raising money to save Rhino's somewhere in Uganda. The boats were a million shillings (500 US) a piece to race in, but ours was covered by a generous donor, so all in all we paid about 25k shillings (+more for the beers) for two sick-ridiculous races. Long story short: There were 8 heats of 3 boats a piece that raced eachother. The best of each went to the finals. We conquered our competition and advanced. The course was a flat-water section of the nile starting somehwere around the Jinja dam and ending near Bujigali Falls. At the start, you paddle as hard as you can with your 5 team members until you feel like crying. Then you paddle some more. And then you switch seats with the person next to you to use the other arm. You paddle until you want to vomit. And then you cry. And then you switch again. 24 minutes after the start you pull in to the bank to the cheers of masses.

One might ask, "Why submit yourself to such pains?" The answer is clear... Things are cooler when you are doing them on the nile... even painful things.

Anywho, we won the first race. We sat around for about 5 hours, eating, sleeping, reading, playing cards, and then the second race came. Back to the dam.

There were supposed to be 9 boats racing, but a team had dropped out... and then picked up at the last minute. The result: Only 8 boats showed up to the start. The logical thing to do, to keep things fair, was so say "Welp, you should not have quit in the first place, you drunk bastards", but alas, logic is spread thinly over these here parts. So the guide and 6 boaters were spread out beautifully-unequally among other boats giving some 9 rowers, others 8, leaving only a few the fair-square 7 (six on the team plus guide). We lined up on the edge with the boats. Listened for the "GO!" and began rowing.

Trouble struck immediately. In the furious paddling, we began a desperate game of bumper-boats as people gunned for the fast water at the center of the river. As 5 boats headed out into the front, one boat stayed behind and our boat got slammed 4 or so times until we were facing the dam (i.e. South, up river). Screaming-pissed, we backpaddle and turn and begin a desperate race to catch up.

Why is it that my short stories are always long?

Over the course of the next 24 minutes, we corrected our direction, we passed two boats and we gained on the 3rd place boat such that it was nearly a photo-finish. We were the only boat to pass boats, and we closed a gap of at least 50 meters between us and the top three boats.

Coming into the finish, we were screaming, our muscles were failing and we were on the edge of projectile vomiting all the emptiness in our stomachs. We pulled in fourth. But here is the kicker! Only the 3rd place boat and our boat in the top 4 had the required number of boaters (first place had 9, second place had 8). So technically, we came in 2nd. And I know for a fact that the third placers had some fresh rowers on board... punks.

We allowed ourselves 1 hour of pure rage to course through our lines, and then we shrugged it and drank ourselves into hilarity. Nothing like an Eagle and a chapatt+nutella+banana rolex on the edge of the nile.

What else is there...

Oh yes. Life skills, the point of traveling into Kampala. At 6 months, PCVs are required to take a Life Skills training in which we learn to conduct skills sessions to teach students about everything we learned in our early high school health classes. The sessions were "somehow" (Ugandan for, "slightly") alright. It was more a training for counterparts than us I think. Still, it was mainly PCV administered, so that made it bearable.

Speaking of counterparts, I invited my young friend Moses to come to the event. He did a great job of staying engaged, and he really impressed the other volunteers, especially when they heard that he was only S3. We couldn't believe how well he handled himself while public speaking in front of such a large crowd.

As always, it was great to see friends, and our evenings consisted of hanging out by the bar with cold-ones.

Last Saturday, we played the US embassy soccer team and tied 3-3. We will play again, and we WILL win. I've missed soccer terribly. Following the game, we were invited to the house of one of the players for a BBQ where, get this, I ate a T-BONE STEAK! Too tasty.

After the embassy party, we had our own volunteer Halloween Party on the roof top of our hotel. I hope beyond hope that this becomes a tradition. It turned into a surreal dance party with some stellar costumes, and the pong table really got people fired up.

I meant to leave home on Monday, but I was asked to stay in KLA for the week to help with the planning of Pre-Service Training for new recruits to Peace Corps Uganda's Education program next February. Me and 3 other volunteers will spend 4 days (we're done with two) planning every minute of service for the new kids coming in referencing ours and previous trainings. So far we are ditching most of the sitting around in a classroom listening type of instruction, and in its place we are giving the new volunteers practical instruction (they will learn by doing, i.e. they will be TEACHING actual classes at near by schools) no less than 3 days a week. I'm stoked... the staff has been completely receptive to our ideas, and we are literally re-writing the book on training.

In other news, I had a small, self induced pain in the tooth that required attention. Turns out, my dad was right when he said you could brush your teeth too much. Combining a harder tooth brush and a few too many strokes, I wore a slight groove on the front of a tooth and had to have it patched up. She found two other cavities in the mean time and patched those too. To do this, she numbed my mouth with a needle and drungs, and I looked very much like a stroke victim for about 3 hours. Horrible. And, go figure, now that my problems have been patched, my mouth is more sensitive to food (read: it hurts all the time when I eat), than it EVER was before I went to get the problem fixed. DAMN! DAMN DAMN! More on this as pain arrises.

Oh, I started grinding my teeth. Stress and strange dreams are mixing in bad ways it seems. I will now be THAT guy who sleeps with a mouth guard.

I saw the movie The Social Network last night... all I can say is "BOO." Why is it that creativity, hard work and intelligence are not enough to engage people? Why does great success have to be supported by BS scenes of drugs, sex and backstabbing? The Social Network did nothing but make an intelligent, hardworking geek look like a genius, back-stabbing, thieving asshole.

Where has all the creativity gone?

Furthermore, I'm convinced that young kids watch shows like this and think, "I'm not genius... I'll never get 1600 (or is it 2400 now?) on my SATs, and I don't know how to HACK... I can't compare to this guy!"

KIDS!!! YOU CAN!!! OPEN A C++ book and GET GOING! THINK THINK THINK! Synthesize syhthesize synthesize! You can do anything you want!

Why can't we glorify the power of steady hard work by an intelligent person that leads to mild or even great successes? Because in todays world, real life is boring. Sad really.

Alright, enough of me. It seems we are all hungry for Ugandan Chinese food. YEAH!

Thanks for reading.

I love you all (But especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

Cannibals? Cannibals.

2010-10-20T04:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday.

I'm working in the computer lab when, for the thirtieth time that day (no exaggeration), kids begin jangling the lock on the door.

Rattle.
(a few seconds)
RATTLE.
(a few more seconds)
RATTLE-F'ING-RATTLE!!!

I storm from my seat. I'm trying to lesson plan and put together notes for my kids.

I'm going to beat someone.

"WHAT?!"
"Sir, we want to come in."
"YES! I know that! Because you were breaking down my door announcing your intent!"
"What sir?"

And then I notice it. In one of the boys' left ears, a huge flowered earing, pink, yellow and zirconium rhinestones shimmering in the sun.

"Why are you wearing an earing?" (normally, I don't give a damn about dress-code infractions as long as kids are learning... but I'm annoyed.)

"Sir, there are cannibals in my village. When I wear this, it keeps them from eating me."

I've got NOTHING. NOTHING to reply to this.

My American reaction? BS.

My PCV-Uganda reaction? Superstitious, yes. But potentially not far off mark.

I think back to a recent email exchange from a few members of my group.

And I quote...

"When you went to the sandwich analogy my thoughts immediately turned to some sort of cannibalism. But cannibalism is ridiculous! This is a modern society. There hasn't been any cases of cannibalism that I know of in my village since earlier this week when they found a man filleted next to the ashes of a cooking fire." Credit: Smiles

Cannibals? CANNIBALS?!

Cannibals.

Gnarly with a capital G.

Snapping out of it, I return to the student.

"I must ask: are there cannibals at this school?"
"No sir."
"Then get the flower out of your ear."
"Yes sir... can we come in sir?"
"Come in."

I return to my work and think of the excuse I'll need to explain the fact that I've had a 12 gauge hole through my tongue for the last 10-going-on-11 years. First thought: "Serial Killer Clowns".

Suggestions are welcome.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (But especially you, Michelle!),

Devon

Scampering Protein Pills

2010-09-24T23:07:00.000-07:00

A recent email to my group:

“Today, I awoke as on any other morning. I went into my living
room/kitchen/hammock-clothesline/tool-shed/pantry/library and grabbed the remaining two pieces of bread from the bag that I had slung from my clothes line to avoid the intrusion of those bastard, nearly microscopic brown ants that invade all bread (and everything else) no matter how well hung (he, he, he... well hung)...

Much to my dismay, and as I have just suggested, no level of protection save encasing said bread in epoxy resin between meals can save the food from these little guys. My bread was swarming. What to do...

Now, I admit it. I have been in this situation two times before.

On the first, the half loaf of bread was so well saturated with ants that I threw it out.

On the second, it was late at night and I did not notice the ants until I was sitting down to eat my sandwich, when... hey, what the hell is that?... why is my skin crawling...

oh dear god, I am covered in ants...

covered...

in...

ANTS!!

So, as much out of spite ("you to NOT swarm MY sandwich covered in REAL peanut butter from the US, bitches!") as frantic hunger (the pantry portion of my living room/etc... was bare), I grabbed my nalgene, said "aw, fuggit" and ate the damn sandwich; ants'n'all.

[Once finished, I felt satisfied and slightly like the Giant in Jack and the Beanstalk.]

Where was I?... oh yes, this morning.

Ants. Two pieces of bread. Hungry. Irritable. Uh, ohhh.

I pop a frying pan on the stove (my toaster), crank the heat, and throw two pieces of bread on. I feel, only slightly bad about the ants who begin their frantic movements... which soon stop.

The bread browns. I remove it. I cover it in Heather's sim-sim, sugar it, and enjoy a long chapter of "The Naked and the Dead" toast and tea before going to school.

Long story short: I've come to view bugs in my food as nothing more than a protein supplement; cheaper and more prevalent than Whey.”

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (But especially you, Michelle!)

Devon

Magezi Matooro

2010-09-13T11:53:00.000-07:00

My how time flies. While I have done a decent job keeping up with my journal, I realize that I have been terrible about posting on the blog keeping you all up to day with my life here in Uganda. I’ve promised to remedy that in the past and failed… “something’s gotta give, something’s gotta give something’s gotta give!”

I’m feeling musical.

What is the root cause of my long absences from blogspot? In a previous post I chalked it up to complacency. The things about Uganda that first blew my mind are becoming daily occurrences, and I’m just not as inclined to write about them. Aware of this, however, I began to view my world with more scrutiny, and sure enough, amazing stories began to show themselves again… so why, why, WHY am I not posting? I think David “The MaChine” Chi (a legendary fellow PCV) put it best recently in an email to me…

“Don’t be too much of a perfectionist!” he wrote.

There it is. perfectionism. Like syphilis, it fries the brain, makes us feverish and carries a stigma that keeps the infected walking around with zipped lips, discussing their infliction only with other like-minded OCD’ers.

My brother Dan’s mother once told me something along the lines of, “you need to get over yourself” regarding my stage fright. My writing in this blog is a similar hurdle that I need to get over… the writing doesn’t have to be publishable! It needs only to be readable and informative. Hmm… perhaps this post is better suited for a journal?

Have we been here before?

So where am I? What am I doing? Well, I am back in Kyenjojo (at the moment, I am actually in Fort Portal about to meet up with TheOtherDevon and her father who is visiting from the states, taking advantage of the QUICK QUICK internet). School started two weeks ago, and I missed the first week due to the Uganda All Volunteer Conference held just outside Kampala. The conference was a blast, but also exhausting. The heavy drinking, lack of sleep, over-eating and lack of exercise took a club to my immune system and I came down with a nasty sickness on the day the conferences ended. Still, I learned a SHIT-TON… nearly every session conducted in the conference was put on by a volunteer, so the information we received was APPLICABLE, WELL VERSED and CONCISE! If only every training were as good! The few days we had together also served as a meet-and-greet for the 100+ volunteers of Uganda to meet the Newbies (that’s US) and on one occasion even meet the newest group of Peace Corps Trainees for lunch. Good times.

On the Saturday of conference closing, a large group of us went to a soccer game at the National Football Stadium outside Kampala. After passing through the main gates with our 10,000 shilling tickets (less than $5 US), we were carried in a flood of people, eventually choosing a section at random to sit. We showed our tickets and were allowed into a nearly empty section… turns out, with our courteous greeting of the guards in the local language, we were allowed into the VIP section located nearly at the 50 yard line. Shortly through the game, we friend from one section over spotted us, jumped the fence and pointed out that President Museveni was sitting in their section. We sat ON the wall next to the track and watched for 90 minutes as Uganda trounced Angola 3-0, nibbling on munchies and sipping on beer… real class acts, all of us.

I stuck around in Kampala until Tuesday of last week, as the sickness that ravaged me on Sunday warranted generous donations of, ahem, samples to the PC medical offices. The results for all tests came back negative which made me sad (I was still feeling pretty ill in the middle and wanted to treat it with something), but it also meant that I didn’t have to drop a nuclear bomb on my bodies bacteria population (does anyone else think treating EVERY bacteria, amoeba, etc… ailment with CIPRO (sp) is a bad idea, or is just me?...) and I was given the green light to go home.

As usual, I was greeted with my communities open arms once arriving in Kyenjojo. However, upon seeing my teachers at school the next day I got the strange feeling that I had made a doody on the floor of the staff room. Now, if I had to guess, I’d say that the reason for the barely concealed glares and rustling discussion at my entering the school premises lies heavily on the fact that I have, with the exception of 5 or so days, been missing from the school since right around the middle of July. I could hear the thoughts: “Now just where in the hell as THIS guy been?” “So, he thinks he can just come and go as he pleases?” “This volunteer is a joke… he isn’t taking his job seriously.” “BURN HIM AT THE STAKE!”

Ok, so it probably wasn’t that bad. Let’s face it, exaggeration is fun(ny). Nonetheless, I am of the current mindset that some damage control is in order. Yeah, I traveled to the US. And then, by a stroke of terrible luck, Language training, Technical training and then All Volunteer Conference fell nearly back to back through a period of three weeks. I have not been around nearly as much as I should have been, and I need to start spending more time at school… so: I have decided to ask for a key to the computer lab so that I may set up an office there. I see it like this: if I am always there, students can be in there at all times during the day, it gives me an opportunity to teach, work on the computers, be at school and get work done away from the blaring TV in the staff lounge. It’s win-win. I’ll let you know how this goes.

In other news, it turns out my school is something of a demonstration school. Along with the MANY computers it currently has, we just got… wait for it… INTERNET! Two days ago, a man from MTN came and set up an antenna. Coupling it with our big switch, I’ll be able to hook multiple computers up to share in the bandwidth. Kids are FINALLY going to get a chance to see what GOOGLE and WIKIPEDIA are all about. I think I will begin teaching the teachers first, as I want them to begin using the computer lab as not only a place to do their research for lesson plans, but as a resource for their students to look up information for reports. I figure, introduce Google Chrome and Google Search, set them up with a Gmail account, show them Wikipedia and one of the better news agencies, and they are well on their way to being internet pros. Now, I need to figure out how to limit time spent on the net AND what websites are visited. Ideas? Let me know: Deevo@vt.edu. Also, if you have topics that you think should be taught in my computer class, feel free to submit them too.

At my actual house, things are carrying on as usual. Despite my DISGUSTING stove top (I do very little in the way of cleaning it… none actually), the bugs have been pretty minimal. I awoke the other night to a moth the size of a bat flying around the room, and I had to use some spray on it so I could get back to sleep. Walking around in a daze I happened to pause a bit and be looking at the middle of a floor when what I can only assume is a mouse made a b-line for the door. I haven’t seen any rodents since.

The kids are still noisy… terribly-depressingly-madness inducing noisy. I tell myself constantly that I want to move, but a piece of me wants to ride it out. “They’ll get older and the crying will lessen.” This is a fallacy; I just hate the idea of moving. Who does?

So site is good. I will focus on getting back on the good graces of my fellow teachers over the next weeks. I am also very hopeful for my classes. I spent a full term on what I consider the fundamentals of mechanics and mathematics, and I believe they are ready for the next subjects. My students are finally discovering my notes… that if they READ them FIRST, they can learn on their own. A slow introduction to book learning, self learning, the BEST way to learn.

I’ll leave you with a short story from this week:

On Wednesday, I broke out my netbook for class so that the kids could see Riemann Sums (the fundamental concept behind integral calculus) using a Wolfram demonstration, a program useful in making the teaching/learning of math and sciences visual.

In seconds, 10 students are piled around the 6’’x9’’ computer, manipulating the functions on the screen observing the results. They are shifting positions, taking turns.

And up comes Moses… a smart, quiet but inquisitive boy who takes both my math and physics classes.

“Eh!” He says looking down at his finger after touching the mouse pad. Whenever he touches the mouse pad, the pointer doesn’t seem to want to move. Frustrated, he relinquishes his spot to another student.

I turn away from the group to write another example problem on the board. Minutes later, I turn back around and sit down. I am spaced out until one of the other students begins to chastise Moses who has regained position of the keyboard.

“You are dirtying it!” says Leonard as Suzie grabs a handkerchief and tries to wipe away the chalk smear on the pad. My computer, typically a shiny black, now has an almost completely white mouse pad, and the smears are creeping outwards.

Snapping out of it, I look over and I see that while four of Moses’ fingers are clean, one is pure white on the tip as if he dragged it through the chalk pile gathered beneath the chalk board.

“Moses, of all the fingers you have, why would you choose to use the dirty one on my computer?”

“Sir. It seems that my fingers are too rough to use the computer. I am trying to smooth them.”

Those gathered around the computer burst into hoots and shouts. I too have lost myself in a fit of laughter.

I have just witnessed “Magezi Matooro”… A Mutooro’s* Common sense.

*Mutooro (sing.) – a person from the kingdom of Tooro in the western region of Uganda.

Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon.

New Game: "Situational Definitions"

2010-08-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

1. Frustration – Re-grading 300 piss-poorly graded papers only to be told six hours later that the class results would not be counted in the term report-cards anyway.

2. Restraint - Sparing the messenger.

3. Hope - realizing that, report card or not, your students' final grades are on average 20 to 40 points higher than the other teachers of the same subject.

4. Peace Corps - See terms 1-3 above.

Phase III

2010-08-20T07:09:00.000-07:00

“Hello Jesus! How is heaven?” says one of my fellow PCV’s counterparts. The jesus references increase monthly, proportional to my ever lengthening expanse of manly locks. People like to touch me, you know, just in case. I just roll with it. After scolding a drunk the other night for harassing a friend of mine, I could see the confusion in his eyes along with the thought, welp, looks like I’m going to hell.

I stand before an expansive view of the outer reaches of Kampala. One floor beneath me, grass, gathering areas, a pool and even a gym. Uganda? Yes. Heaven? Eh.

Peace Corps volunteers have a three phase training program. Phase I, II and, yep, III. Phase I is Pre-Service Training. This was during the first 10 weeks of my stay here in Uganda. It consisted of language, cross cultural studies, technical training, hanging out with generally amazing host families and drinking beer. Phase II, TECHNICALLY, was a packet, nearly a 13 billion pages long, that had us doing weekly assignments consisting of picking the brain of every man, woman, and child in our town areas. As most of us were busy being teachers, community developers or health professionals… you know, PCVs… well…

We didn’t do it.

Which leads me to Tech In-Service Training. Phase III. The entire group of volunteers who arrived here in February has met up at a very nice hotel on the outskirts of Uganda’s Capitol city for a week of “pook”-inducing lectures by a rote-educated few dedicated to helping us achieve our goals (First lesson: “Goals are not measurable.” Anyone know if I graduated from Tech?? Guess we’ll never know…).

Did you catch that? The ENTIRE GROUP of volunteers who arrived here in February!!! After 6 months in country, we're all still together, breaking even more Peace Corps records. Many groups have early terminations the moment the plane touches foreign soil, more during pre-service training, and again more during the first three months at site where the shit hits the proverbial fan. We're beating the odds, and I'm convinced it is because of the family we've become.

Fast forward to the next day.

Training is over. We finished 5 minutes ago. The duct-tape bandage took 5 days to rip off. Elation fills us.

It certainly wasn’t all bad. We volunteers have been raising hell about the quality of the presentations we have had to sit through since the beginning of training. “MORE PCV PRESENTERS!!” we shout. Time. And time. And time again. And as usual, the PCV presenters took the show. We had an incredible lesson on easy local material-based practicals (read: Science Labs in the US), another on successful practices in Primary/Secondary education, Village Savings and Load Associations (VSLAs. LOOK THESE UP! This is to the developing world what Micro-Credit was before it became profit driven and no longer MICRO) and finally a session on Water/Sanitation here in Uganda. All was not lost.

What else is new? Oh! I GOT MY FIRST PACKAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Kel packed up Cliff Bars, Chocolate, Peanut Butter, Jacks (that game with the bouncy ball) a birthday card and some other great goodies (Bean soup? Ha, ha.) back in February hoping it would arrive sometime around my birthday, and it MADE IT THROUGH! Not only did it make it through, but rounding to the nearest half year, it made it to me ON MY BIRTHDAY! Needless to say, I am stoked. Thank you Kel! (And to all you crazy kids wanting to send some love, PO box 262, Fort Portal, Uganda is the newest place where I might receive it.)

My trip to the States went off without a hitch. In fact, by some strange alignment of the stars I was actually able to shock/surprise Michelle into screams, tears and laughter. A combination of tight lips on the part of my closest friends and family in the states (Dad, Rick, Eileen, Catherine, mom, D, Kel, Ficke, Steve, Tiff, Kahlil... thank you for the radio silence. You love me more than I originally thought! Rolls and all), luck (my dad nearly blew the finale on a boffed 3-way call to Becky and Michelle via skype), and a few white lies (“No Baby, it just can’t happen… the Peace Corps bans all travel to the US within the first 6 months of service fearing too many early terminations on account of culture shock.”). What a phenomenal trip.

To Dad and Rick, a special thank you to you both… Dad, for getting the ball rolling and to Rick for not letting it stop. Without you (you’s? USE-GUYS?) it never would have happened. I love you both.

No big events on the way traveling home. I fell asleep in Dulles and awoke somewhere over Iraq. "What up thugs," I said from 30k feet. Without a 22 layover in Dubai granting me explorer status around the city, I sat and hallucinated on exhaustion for 8 hours before loading my plane to Ethiopia which later continued on to Entebbe.

Upon arriving in Kyenjojo, I was informed that classes had been canceled by the “Misery of Education,” for the final week of term and tacked on to the beginning of the following term. Instead of grading their papers and having reports ready for students next term, my school shut down. The additional week next term will be spent frantically trying to complete the work that should have been done in the last. Job well done, fella’s.

Oh. I did travel to Lake Albert with my language group. After a brutal 3 hour drive during which the hills decreased in size, open space began to dominate and short mud huts with thatched roofs became the standard housing unit, we left the Uganda we had known for the last 6 months and arrived in the stereotypical Africa. Flat planes with Flat Dr. Seuss trees, a savannah feel to it all, Baboons running frantically from the advance of our taxi. I fully expected to see elephants and giraffes, but didn’t (but WILL see them in Murchison National Park when I visit soon). Once in the town of Butiaba, we walked around surprising locals with our language skills, snapping pictures here and there of swimming happy children, long lines of fishing canoes, nets, fish and even an ancient wrecked ship on the shore of the lake, just enjoying the few short hours we had before jumping back into the taxi home. All the while, the mountains of Democratic Republic of Congo loomed in a blanket of haze a few miles in the distance.

I apologize for the lack of smells and laughter in this email. Nothing out of the ordinary, even for Uganda, going on recently. I am off to play some water-polo (i.e. drown-the-PCV). Big things going on this weekend though.

Class 5 White Water Rafting at the origin of the Nile baby!! YEAH!

Pictures to come. SOON, SOON. Thanks for reading!

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon

Hot off the press! Riots at Kyenjojo, S.S.

2010-06-30T06:06:00.000-07:00

Gun shots ring out as I write this.

It appears that a student was expelled, and he did not take it well. He began fighting the teacher, other students joined in and within a few minutes police were called.

A riot ensued.

While things escalated, I tried to keep my students focused. Often, you can hear cheers and laughter from various classrooms around school. This was the first time I witnessed violence.

I am in class with the kids with the door locked. The rocks that begin raining down on the sheet-metal roofs mimic the AK-47 reports that have only just subsided. The sound of glass shattering fills the campus.

My students are livid.

"Why were the police called?!"

"Guns cannot solve these problems!"

I try to explain the situation... how the police felt they needed to exert their power by pulling the trigger; that in their mind, the fear caused by the discharge of the gun equated to control. After just a taste, they were hungry for more… RAT!...RATA-TAT!...RATA-TATA-TAT!!

"Did you see?!" one exclaims, "At first, they were shooting high into the air, but later they were aiming closer to the ground! They could have hit a student!"

Ironic that I have been teaching my students about projectiles. Rocks and bullets, baby! I take the opportunity to discuss the real world example we were witnessing. We briefly cover what a bullet fired into the sky does to the unlucky person it hits while descending. What goes up must come down… in this case deadly fast.

I decide to make a dash between buildings to be closer to the teachers. I would be lying if the image of me being torn apart by an angry throng of students didn't cross my mind.

I'm sitting in the teachers’ lounge. My ears are ringing; more rocks on the roof. I had alerted Mary, my boss, about the riot, and she made contact with the Peace Corps Security Director. She calls me back to say that he has contacted the police... the same individuals that blew things out of proportion to begin with.

Shots ring out again; this time in the distance but still not far enough for comfort. For the teachers, this is the juiciest event to hit Kyenjojo, possibly ever. Exasperated, they keep telling the story.

"There was a boy, and the teacher said, 'YOU GET OUT!', but the boy refused! He said to the teacher, 'I won't leave until you give me my money!' "

“These students! They come from families where no morals are taught!”

No. I think. These students are pissed off! They are sick of the beatings, the horrendous food and shitty teachers and administrators. Prison riots start for the same reason.

An hour has now passed since everything began. Crowds, gathered outside the school’s gates, can be heard. My security director calls to let me know that things have calmed down. Thank you Fred, I think, standing at ground zero. He assures me that there are plain clothes police officers being deployed in the town, and they will arrest anyone who harasses me. Plain clothes, eh? What about the huge guns they are toting?

And school for the remainder of the week? “CANCELED until further notice.”

I’m just fine. I'm headed home. I've felt surprisingly calm through the event; just mildly sick. Hunger mixed with the beginnings of PTSD, I'm guessing.

I kid, I kid!

Mi Casa es Su Casa

2010-06-19T08:41:00.000-07:00

Dearest Family, Friends and Michelle,

Don't let the date of the post fool you. I uploaded these photos two weeks ago while in Fort Portal visiting friends (the internet is USA-fast).

I think a few of you have received general descriptions of the area in which I live, Kyenjojo. I may have even told you a bit about my house itself. Certainly, I have mentioned the screaming, spoiled rotten beasts that my neighbor calls "children." HA! Children. More like. Poo/Pee covered Minions sent by the dark lord himself to wreck havoc upon myself. Apparently, I really screwed someone important over in a previous life.

Before the pictures, let me say, things are going quite well. Since my last post about my slacker kids, I've changed a few things in the classroom. (1.) Late arrivals are required to spend 3 minutes for every minute they arrive late to class. (2.) Ready? Set! DAILY QUIZZES! Since putting these two policies into action, smirking late arrivals to my class have dropped to, get this, ZERO!! And as for the quizzes, they are keeping the kids on their toes. The girl I spoke of in my last class is making marked improvements, and I feel like I have really cemented some key concepts that are fundamental to the progression of the class into more advanced material. So I am feeling good. Still, I feel a bit lost as to how fast I should proceed. I guess I'll let the quizzes dictate... when the average on the new stuff is, what do you think, 40? 50? 60? I can more forward.

Let me say, I'm seeing quizzes from a COMPLETELY new angle. As a student, I despised them! They were nothing but life-drains that threw me into crazed, forget-the-world study sessions with my trusted group member "type-A OCD" looking over my shoulder. Now, however, I see them as incredible tools to see the inner-workings of my students minds, and they allow me to address flaws that I literally, even with great effort could not make up.

What else has been going on around me and in my head? A few bullet points:

*More and more people know my Empaako (Amooti), and greet me in Rutooro instead of the high-pitched and nazely "Mujungu Voice" (Think: BOSTON with a speech impediment) as I walk through town. I take this as a great personal success, one that I take great pride in. It feels like my community has more than recognized my desire to find my place in their ranks; they have accepted me.

*A man that I work with has really revealed himself as a slime-ball. Last weekend, he approached me and says, "I am very strapped for cash. I was wondering if you would let me tell the administration that we are going on a trip for school? We don't actually have to go. I just need them to give money." I looked at him with a borderline incredulous look: REALLY?!?!?! and said, "Well, and please, I don't want to offend you or make you angry, but... to me that sounds a lot like stealing... and I'd rather avoid that if you don't mind." He didn't mind in the least, and we shook hands and parted. And now, I have to go to the administration and assure them that I will always ask for permission for teachers to accompany me on any trip just to be sure no one is trying that exploit.

*A few of my PCV friends were kicking an email back and fourth about who was eating more banana's/pineapples's, etc... per day. I didn't contribute. But I when mentioned my main protein staple last weekend, jaws dropped. Is 6 eggs a day really that ridiculous?

*OH! I played in a staff versus students soccer game last weekend! What a blast! The staff have some purple and gold uniforms, and I was tossed one a few minutes before the game... I was late, and I had to sprint home to get shoes and change. When I returned, suited up, 1200 kids were packed around the soccer pitch, and at my arrival cheers broke out among everyone I ran by. I stuck out my tongue, Jordan style, and threw a goofy face their way that amplified things. As I made my way around the field, I was greeted with louder cheers and high fives from my fellow teachers. I do believe I was beaming. The game, well, it was a shit-show that ended in a tie. I stubbed a toe and now lack a toenail, but for those few minutes before and after the game: a nail was a small price to pay.

*When I was in a market in Kampala a few weeks back, a man kept badgering me to give him money. He kept poking at my pocket where the outline of my wallet was apparently enticing him into being a jackass. He finally stopped, and a few minutes later I was explaining how rude it was to the woman sitting near by when I said, how would you feel if I walked up to you and said, "Mpa siringi bitaano (give to me 500 shillings)!!" To this she did not reply. She just reached into her pocket, pulled out a 500 piece and put it into my outstretched hand.

I can't really think of any more right now. I'm a bit tired and hazy. So, with this, I leave you with some pictures!

My town from a nearby hill top. I realized that aside from my trips to the market on Mondays, the occasional viewing of a world cup match at the hotel or randomly passing through on the way back from a village walk, I avoid the main town area. I had originally been pretty upset about the UN-rural'ness of my placement. Then I found out that, well, if you cock your head and look at it just right, it does sorta resemble the middle of nowhere! So, with effort, I'm recognizing the best of both worlds.

I edited this picture and threw a nice red circle around my compound (dead center in the picture). This is probably so against security policy... then again, if if you walked up to just about anyone in town and asked where I lived, they could probably give you directions to my doorstep.

The front of the apartments that I live in. I am the farthest doorway to the left. The girl standing in the middle is, dare I say it, yes, an imbecile. One of her favorite activities is to take a jerry can, put it under the rain-water tank, turn on the tap and walk away for half an hour. When she returns, she giggles as she realizes her error. And 60 or so liters of wasted water is sucked up thirstily by earth and sky.

The rain tank. The women on the property can burn through 3000 liters in about 2 weeks even when there is no rain and they should be cutting down on the usage. Complete disregard for conservation. I probably use between 60 and 80 liters a week total for drink, food prep and bathing.

Home.

My storage closet. I put dirty dishes in here, and I store boxes and lumber for my various projects around the house. Ngonza kubaija! (I like to do carpentry)

My kitchen. I brought a backpacking stove to Uganda. I didn't have a CLUE that I would be cooking on a fully controllable gas range. Very nice.

My tool corner. I've been picking up pieces here and there. I bought a drill bit this Saturday, the final piece needed to finish my counter project. I've grown tired of cutting veggies on the floor, so I rigged up a counter space that serves as a dish/vegetable washing area. The tools paid for themselves in the money I saved by not hiring a carpenter.

Drying lines for then it rains. I'm too cheap to buy a couch, so - HAMMOCK!

The right side of my room. That's right. I have a killer laser printer in Uganda. It saved me several hours a week and lets me print out notes, example problems and lesson plans. It is probably the best investment I have made here yet. Judge away!

My disgusting bathroom. There is no excuse for this. I cleaned last weekend, so it is looking a lot better.

My pop-up closet and book-covered desk.

The bed protected from flying malaria darts.

Looking out of my room towards the kitchen/living room.

A bit-o-love from the states. I've received two cards since being here: A post card from kelly and a birthday card from my grandpa, but I hear I have a package and a few letters waiting for me at the PC headquarters! You can send me letters/packages to Devon Murphy, PO Box 262, Fort Portal, Uganda. Wrap everything in pictures of Jesus, and it might get through.

The screaming hallway. Kids, maids, parents. They scream here whenever they can... just to let me know that I am not alone in this world.

The backside of my apartment... and hey! There he is... the Devil himself, just seconds before bursting out into outrageous, ear drum shattering shrieks.

The daily wash. A small church was recently put up behind the tree in the background. In a recent fund-raising attempt, I was kept awake for 4 nights by blaring music that was played from dusk until dawn, 3 songs on repeat... Uganda is a noisy place.

You can see the rectangle of my garden. I dug it all out, but the rainy season was over, so I let it mulch a bit and grow over. I'll turn it and plant in time for the next season that comes through.

The hill from which I took the pictures of my house and town shown earlier.

Him.

A "Devon" figurine a fellow PCV carved and gave me on my 27th birthday.

A goat. I have a strange fascination with goats. I really enjoy their faces.

A boy tending to his flock.

SHARP.

Fly - free bird.

Beautiful.

Before I close, I'll let you with short dialogue I had with a lady on the street. Full grown lady. Not girl. Most of you have probably already seen this on Facebook, but I wanted to include it for anyone that may have missed it. Another priceless moment.

Lady on the street: "Are you Jesus' brother?"

Me: "No."

Lady: "Are you sure? Because you look like him."

Me: "Yes. I am sure."

Lady: "Because Jesus was a teacher. And I hear you are a teacher."

Me: "Yes. I am a teacher. But I am not related to Jesus."

Lady: " Well, I don't know how you can be so sure."

Me: "Just ask my friends. They'll tell you the truth."

I hope you enjoyed the stories, thoughts and pictures. Take care, and I will post again soon.

I love you all. (But especially you Michelle!)

Devon

My constant battle

2010-06-17T12:16:00.000-07:00

Well, the results are in: Half the students in my S5 math class do not know how to graph the equation y(x) = “constant” (i.e. y(x) = 4, y(x) = 8, y(x) = 12). Thirteen took the test on Monday, and six got a big-fat-zero on that particular problem. Damn.

But, in their defense, it is a strange equation. I mean, y(x) = 4? “y” is apparently a function of “x”, but where the hell is the “x”. I can hear their thought process: “Well, when y(x) = x+1, and Mr. Murphy asks for y(1), I just replace the x’s in the equation with 1… so y(1) = (1) + 1… but he gave me y(x) = 4… THERE ARE NO x’s TO REPLACE!! I HATE MR. MURPHY!!”

Here’s the rub (for you geeks that care but don’t already know)… the graph of y(x) = “constant” is nothing but a flat straight line that crosses the y-axis at a height of whatever constant value has been defined (if y = 4, it crosses the y-axis at 4). The slope of this flat line, m, is equal to zero. Therefore, given the equation of a line, y(x) = mx + q (where q is the y-intercept), the equation of my line, using the aforementioned y-intercept of 4, becomes: y(x) = 0*x + 4… which reduces to y(x) = 4, or generally as y(x) = “constant”.

The test… I was damn proud of it… to avoid the mastermind cheating that these kids are capable of, I assembled three different tests, sat them three to a table, and watched in amazement as a few still took long rest breaks by staring at their neighbors paper (or in one case one boy whispered the answer to a brutally hard multiplication problem, 8*7, to his buddy… “56” I hear as I approach, and “56” is quickly written…). I broke every problem down into pieces (a), (b), (c), etc… so instead of overwhelming them with one big question, they worked through each piece in a logical order. Furthermore, I had given a test review covering examples of every single problem in detail that I would cover (this was in addition to a set of notes with three more examples of every type of problem I would offer). Geez. Listen to me bitch and moan.

Test average: 42%

WTF.

So I did what any teacher does when the average isn’t what was expected: I played with the numbers to see what was dragging it down.

Just as I thought… it was all those failing students.

While grading the tests, I realized that I was dealing with two groups of students; the kids who try, and the kids who don’t. Those who try, about half the class, attempt the homework, they come to recitation two times a week, and they ask questions. The kids who don’t try, well, they do the opposite.

The proof is in the numbers: The kids that failed (which by Ugandan Ministry of Education standards means they scored lower than a 35%, did so gloriously. Their scores are as follows: (0%, 2.1%, 4.2%, 12.5%, 21%, 24%). These kids don’t know a math function from a school function, and they had never “Excused My Dear Aunt Sally” even when asked “Please” (is this reference lost on anyone?... it represents the “Order of Operations”). In short, they lack even the fundamental concepts necessary to enter a math class where Calculus is being taught, and worse, they haven’t tried to correct these shortcomings in ANY way even though I have been extending them a hand for weeks now.

Back to it… When I removed those ghastly numbers from the pool, my average sky-rocketed to a, sad-by-American-standards but 1.2 points shy of a D2 distinction (that is, the second highest grade achievable in Uganda!), 68.8%.

So there it is: When I do my job and the students do theirs, the class average approaches an American “C”. That, I can deal with.

I had my second math class of the week today, and I had one of those “teacher moments”, one that makes you feel proud for what you are doing. You see some light at the end of the tunnel and that you are making a difference… I called the student that had scored a 2.1% to the board and asked her to find g(f(x)) when f(x) = 4 and g(x) = 2x + 2.

Before touching the chalk to the board, she turns around and says to me, “Master, I have failed you.”

“No. That’s not going to work this time. Write g(x).”

g(x)

“Ok, now write g(1).”

g(1)

“Remember, when I say g(1), it means you replace all the x’s in g(x) with a 1.”

g(1) = 2(1) + 2 = 4

“Now, write g(2).”

g(2) = 2(2) + 2 = 4

“Now write g(f(x)).”

To this she replies, “Master, I have failed.”

“No, you’re doing fine. Give me g(4).” I am trying to convey that regardless of what I put in to the parentheses next to g() I put THAT wherever there was an x. I’ve tried with problems, notes, speaking, everything I can think of, and I’m not getting anywhere. She needs to keep doing the problem until she sees the pattern.

We go through this with more numbers until finally, I say, “now write g(f)."

Reluctantly, she writes: g(f) = 2(f) + 2. And then quickly erases her work. With some goading, I get her to put it back on the board.

“Good! Now, write for me g(f(x)).”

The class and I sit there in silence. She traces over the 10 or so problems she has worked so far. Finally, she slowly writes:

g(f(x)) = 2(f(x)) + 2 = 2(4) + 2 = 10

I begin to clap for her. The class joins in. She goes to sit, her face an open book: I CAN LEARN THIS!

The period passes, and towards the end we find ourselves working through another problem missed with high frequency. h(x) = -x^2 + 10x. It is a simple enough parabolic curve, but if you don’t know your order of operations (you have to square whatever you put into x FIRST and THEN multiply by -1), you get extremely high numbers when you try to plot. I ask the class for a volunteer to plot the equation of the range [0, 5]. No one volunteers.

Just as I am about to call a random person, she raises her hand. 2.1% is, for the first time, asking to go to that board and try something that has stumped the entire class. I am thrilled.

“Of course! Come on up!”

She comes up, draws the table, and without hesitation cranks out every single answer in flawless form.

I begin to clap for her… the class joins in. I’m wearing a shit-eating grin as I return to the board. I say all that comes to mind, “that was brilliant work. This is my proudest moment as a teacher here in Uganda.”

There is work to be done, a lot of it. For the few that did poorly on the first test and decide they need help, seek it, and start trying, I think there is hope. For the few that think that the knowledge will come just by watching me write problems on the board, there will be trouble. And for those that have been working hard both in class and out, I see them blowing away the Ugandan standard. My goal for them is to pass the national tests next year with score that even an American student’s parents would be proud to display on the fridge.

Thanks for reading.

I love you all (but especially you, Michelle!)

Devon

P.S. If you want to give my test a go, download it here: http://filebox.vt.edu/users/demurphy/Work/Test%201%20Functions,%20Secants,%20Derivitives%2014-6-2010.pdf

500 Words or Less

2010-06-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Family, Friends and Michelle,

Webaleyo! ("Welcome back!"... to this you answer "Ndugireyo!" ["I am back from there!"])

At the beginning of May, I was asked to write a column for the Peace Corps Uganda Newsletter. "Me Time" is a section where volunteers share stories and photographs from the field, so the content was up to me. The only stipulation was that the piece had to come in at 500 words or less. Well, I wrote it up, obsessed over the grammar for a week and finally submitted what I felt was that elusive perfect essay (Kel knows what I am talking about). A couple weeks later, I received the PDF newsletter in the email and excitedly I scrolled to my page... and there it was.

"Me Time" By: Devon Patrick Murphy, CHED

My O.C.D. sirens started to blare. CHED?? (Community Health and Economic Development) I'm education, bitches!

Hwhatever! I got over it.

I figured you all ("y'all!" Oh, it feels so good to say that!) would like to read it.

So, without further ado...

"Me Time"

By: Devon Patrick Murphy, **EDUCATION**

"I’m a big guy: six-foot-three and 200 lbs on the average day. I’ve got big bones and a big head (though I’m told it’s proportional). In Uganda, kids under age five will observe me from a distance and sprint away at my approach. I’ve been harassed by only the drunkest of adults, and I’ve been called both intense and intimidating amongst other things. All of this has given rise to a certain confidence, a confidence which accounts for my confusion at this moment… because I’m being jumped.

I’d just made my way back into Kyenjojo, after one of my long meandering walks through the villages, my mouth dry and stomach screaming for dinner. The sun was quickly setting, and I was in one of those I will give anything to avoid cooking tonight-moods. So I stopped at my favorite chapatti stand…

“They are over,” says the man as I approach.

Dejected but not down for the count, I ask, “you are making more?”

“Yes. You sit.” He indicates the opposite side of the stand. Success!

My eyes catch the sky; it is a forest fire. Horizontal slashes of blazing red and orange are descending upon the Rwenzoris. The alien cloud in the center of it all, thick with rain and muddy yellow, provides a dimming lantern glow around us. Awed, I move to sit. My guard is down for the attack.

She is three - four tops - and no taller than my waste. Pretty all in pink, her sweater is stretched and worn backwards, and her dress stops just above her tiny bare feet. She has fully wrapped herself in my arms before I am seated.

Shocked I say, “Hi!You’renotshyatALL!” which comes out sounding like one word.

I try a bit of Rutooro. Giggling, she buries her face in the soft crook of my arm. The laughter that breaks out among the three of us is spontaneous and fills me. I have forgotten my thirst. My hunger is gone. I want nothing more in this moment.

The sky cools as the sun drops further into the Congo. Blues, silvers and grays appear. My new friend and I play a game of, What have you got in this hand?… ok, what have you got in THIS hand?... I could swear you had SOMETHING in at least ONE of your hands!! She returns her face into my arm and hums happily. My dinner sizzles a few feet away…

As dictated by relativity, it is the quintessential moments that pass the fastest, and this was no exception. By the time I was handed my bag of delicious oily goodness, Akiiki had been called back to her grandmother’s shop and the sky had succumbed to the steady advance of night.

Walking home, I contrasted my infinite morning of missing my life of three months ago with what I had just experienced. It’s harder to let loneliness get the best of you when moments like these are just around the corner. True story."

Thanks for reading!

I love you all! (But especially you Michelle!)

Devon

Pictures. Really!

2010-06-06T01:32:00.000-07:00

Well Hello!

Back so soon? Yes. Yes you are. Why? For starters, I told you to come here on my Facebook page... And second, you love me. But why the second post so soon (after all, it took me a month to get around to posting this last update)? Well, (a.) I am in Kampala, and the internet is BLAZING fast here, so it is the perfect time to get the pictures up. And (b.) I was reading another PCVs blog, and I was inspired. I feel like I've let a few people down by not including more pics and more updates about my weekly activities. Granted, interesting things don't happen every day. But what I am realizing is that *WHAT* I consider interesting is changing. As I stated in the last post, the *newness* is wearing off, and that is disturbing. I don't want to become complacent. I want to remain the excited puppy, ripping around, checking things out, peeing on new trees. So, less journal, more blog. Cool? Cool.

PICTURES!!! Hope you like 'em.

Bikes aren't just for riding in Uganda. You see guys pushing around thousands of pounds of metal sheeting, hundreds of chickens, 10 jerry cans of water... or in this case a bunch of furniture.

Yes, there are bugs more terrifying than spiders...These are called Scrickets (spider + cricket... credit: Lizzie).

At a school in Gayaza. That's a whole lot of eyes on the muzungu. The girl in the middle of it all is haunting...

This is Nakasero Market in Kampala. The market actually extends back under some roofing to the left of this parking lot, and it is probably the best most beautiful farmers market I have ever been to. I just fully explored it all yesterday, and you can buy EVERYTHING there. Everyone kept offering to sell me Vanilla, which left me stumped until my friend Renee pointed out that vanilla was the priciest item sold at there. Wiley farmers.

Our language group developed a good method of dealing with the One-Too-Many Devon's. This was a sign up for MOCK LPI's (Language Proficiency Interviews) which we all failed even though we all walked out with shit-eating grins feeling confident. Turns out not a single PCT passed a mock. Their failing us was their way of MOTIVATING. Fantastic. At the actual LPIs our group DESTROYED the test with two of us (including yours truly) passing a level higher than the necessary Intermediate-Low. We were the only language group with a 100% passing rate.

During the construction of a Rocket Stove at Joe's house we had to mix saw-dust into clay to make it a better insulator. A dance party ensued. I love this picture.

PCTs after a mud wrestling match.

The finished rocket stove. I hear they are about 60+% more efficient than normal stoves, and, when made properly you can boil two pots of water with the same raging flame.

Fun with leaves.

Ugandan Lightening. Colorful.

Sunrise. Breathtaking.

A few of us walked by these kids on our way to dinner. I hear "tssssssssssss... tssssssss... tsss!" Stopping, I looked over and sure enough, they were spray-painting "God is Gud" on the wall. They began to dance and celebrate as we looked on in wonder.

Seeing this, I was taken back to a moment when Fey kept trying to buy two Carlos Rossi bottles of wine instead of one Concha y Torro bottle (because it was a better deal: 2 for $8 or 1 for $8). Well, Fey, in Uganda, you're better off drinking plastic-bag gin than pay 27 dollars for the wine.

Our trainers after white elephant. Shirley (in charge of the entire PCT program) laughed for 2 hours after the event. She couldn't get over the whole "stealing" from others part of the gifting process.

My language group and I singing "The 10 Weeks of Homestay" (to the tune of 12 days of Christmas) at the homestay thank you. The final lines, translated from the Rutooro we had to sing it in are as follows:

By the very end of homestay, I had received
Two thumbs up for style,
A fair price for pineapple,
Mud-covered legs,
Eighty power outages,
Flu and rabies shots,
Frightening mefloquine dreams,
Tons of dirty laundry,
Broken mountain bike,
"How are you, muzungu?!"
And matooke, matooke, MATOOOOOKKEEEEE.

Discussing cross-culture at the thank-you. This is us pretending to ride in a taxi. (In reality, there would have been a few more people stacked on).

Me with my little brother. This is one of my favorite pictures of PC yet.

MK the harpest. Girl has skills. But I think Sniper could take her.

Traditional dancing straight out of the north. In this picture, Cowboy Dave and his sister.

More dancing.

Me with my family (sans sisters) and Shirley and Jolie.

Me with my friend Rebecca. She sells construction supplies at the bottom of Kisimbiri, and became one of my favorite people in the Wakiso area.

My sister, Esther, decided that she was going with me to Kyenjojo on my last day home.

The enemy. From what I hear, PCVs have more trouble with these little bastards than any other pest.

The girls at the ambassadors house before swearing in.

The fella's.

The ambassador.

Me and Charlene representing VA!! She lives about 8 miles from my dad's house in Roanoke. When I left Roanoke for staging, she was in line just in front of me. Nervous and a bit sad, buzzing with nerves, it was her face and the word, "Devon?!" that made PC real... here in Uganda, she is basically my sister. Oddly, we have about 8 or 10 mutual friends back in Roanoke. This world is eerily small.

'MERICA!

YEAH PEACE CORPS!! I am perfectly blocked (all but my right hand) by Grace (tall girl, second from left). This was during the final swear in when we took "the oath":

"I, Devon Murphy, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”

Just dropped off by this taxi as it heads on to Fort Portal with Devon and Chris. Bye bye training. Hello real world Uganda. The 4 hour trip from Kampala took about 8 hours because the people driving forgot their bosses daughter in Kampala (the point of driving down there in the first place), so to keep from losing the money they had charged us (the gas was actually free, paid for by the school), we had to wait in a town an hour out of Kampala until the girls bus arrived. And then we almost left two more people behind. Cluster.

The fact that I posted this just goes to show you that at the age of 27, I have acquired the maturity level of a 7 year old. Or a terrible 2.

(Peanut Butter. Duh.)

Beautiful rolling tea fields around Kyenjojo. You haven't seen green until you've seen tea and mango leaves.

Learning to weave baskets!

Sunset over the Rwenzoris. Gorgeous.

Passion Fruit Flower? Or Tree Jelly Fish?

YEAH FLOWERS!!

Afternoon sun from my quiet spot.

Went to the Minister of Finance's Daughter's "Introduction". Big money. Big fun (not really). Too much time spent there. It was almost a 12 hour day. Thank god I had the Power of One to read. In this scene, there had been about 30 minutes in which different groups of woman came out dancing. In each group, the groom was supposed to determine if his wife was in it (it was playful). In the final group, he went through, scrutinizing each girl, and finally he stopped in front of his bride, tapped her, and they embraced for the first time in the ceremony. It was touching. The cool thing about these ceremonies is that the groom does not speak the entire time. Instead, his family sits on one side, and he has his best friend (chosen for his speaking abilities presumably) deal with the brides father (who in this case was one of the top lawyers in Uganda... I did NOT envy him for his job). Over the course of the day, the grooms family pays the bride price, converses with the other family, eats, dances, etc... it was worth seeing.

THIS is Peace Corps. Same pic. Flip it. Desaturate it. Sew them together. Bright, warm. Black/white Drab. It's the "ups" and it's the "downs." And when you put it all together, it's a beautiful view... sunrise on the horizon. The beginning of a truly unique day.

I'm sitting now in a surprisingly nice hotel (and cheap!) in KLA. A few more of "my kind" walked up to say hi, so I'm headed with them to grab a beer, shoot the shit, and then, I've got to get on the bus and head home. Class tomorrow. MATH!

I love you all (Especially you, Michelle!)

Devon

Pictures... FINALLY!! #2

2010-06-02T00:16:00.000-07:00

Good Morrrrrrrrrrrrrrning Vietnam!!

Huh? Vietnam? What a weirdo.

So, I realize I am a complete D.B. for not posting as often as I had said I was. Something about having internet at your fingertips makes it less novel. My tiny little USB-modem lets me sign onto the net daily (if I so desire) and do all my really important Development Work... checking facebook, gmail, and the current deals on steapandcheap.com (that's right folks. Even running away to Uganda won't protect you from wanting to know what the most current "bottomless sack deal" is. Treat that website like heroin. To avoid addiction, avoid any and all contact from the start). In all seriousness, it has been a great addition to my lesson planning, but I abuse my privileges thoroughly.

To be quite honest, I have two posts completed. One has been done for a week and consists mostly of the pictures you will see below. The other is a piece I wrote recently, am really proud of, but don't want to release to the public... yet (I have my reasons). Give it another week, and I should be able to put it up.

Ok, so what has been happening. Last time I posted, I was somewhere between the first and second week of being a Peace Corps Volunteer. As of late, however, the newness has worn off, and the work has begun. THANK (INSERT NAME OF HIGHER POWER HERE IN ALL CAPS), as I was beginning to get bored, episodes of SCRUBS were taking over my life and with that I was feeling a bit numb.

Don't get me wrong. The first month was good in that I was able to move my things into the house, get organized, get my kitchen set up (no more starving for me!), and roam the community meeting people. I began developing a daily routine. I had my up days. I had my down days. I wrote about it a bit in my journal. The entry is as follows:

“As you might expect, my “me time” activities span the productivity spectrum. There are times when I am the stereotypical newbie-PCV, fresh into the honeymooner period; I am running around chatting with everyone and exploring the community (basically an informal version of PACA’ing my face off). And then loneliness strikes; I am rendered useless, convinced that if it wasn’t for my eyes holding them up, the walls of my house would fall in on me. Below are a few of activities I have found myself immersed in on any given day.

Play the guitar. I am finding Africa to be the perfect place to sit down and force-feed myself music theory, memorize the fret-board and mix it all up with some traditional village song. I’ll be a Ugandan Joe Pass in no time.

Kill bugs. My weapon, depending on their size: the palm of my hand, a hammer or “The New Project Design and Management Training Manual” (FINALLY USEFUL!!).

Clean bugs off the floor… usually a week after their demise. What can I say? I’m a gross boy.

Explore! I don’t have a bike, so I’ve taken to slipping on the Chaco’s, filling a nalgene with guarded-water and heading into the hills. These hikes get me far away from the aggressive Boda shouts of “Mujungu!” or “Mpa ssente!” (which are notably on the decline) and into the deep village where they are replaced with the ohmygod!I’vejustseenanalbinoMutooro-“BYE MUJUNGU!” exclamations of young children. These hikes allow me to take note of the communities’ less visible natural resources, meet new people (which often means putting out rumor-mill hotspots: “No, I am not here to buy your land!”), and mapping out foot paths that will later become some killer single-track when I do get the mountain bike.

Play with my hoe (dig in my garden). This is an absolute HIT among my neighbors and one of the better bonding experiences with my community thus far. Best compliment (or sly insult?) I’ve received in Uganda: “You’ve become a farmer.”

Literally, staring at the wall. This is usually in the morning, just before getting up. The roosters have been doodle-doing for at least an hour, and I am in a half-dazed state comfortably situated between MR (Mefloquine Reality) and , well, MR (My Reality)… the difference often negligible.

Work out. Whether hiking to the top of the nearest hill in search of a view, trail running pretending that I am running from cannibals, or lifting using my homemade TRX system, I’ve found that remaining physically fit is a pillar of my mental health... duh. Unfortunately, in Kahlil, Steve, Josh and Jacob's eyes, I'll always be a fatass. Bastards.”

Since writing this, I have reintroduced jogging to my routine a few times a week, and I am tossing around the idea of doing a half-marathon in Kampala sometime in November. That is a BIG maybe.

So what has happened recently?

For one, SCHOOL STARTED!! Last Monday I was given my classes and got right into work. I teach S5 (equivalent to U.S. High School Senior / First year of community college) Physics and Mathematics, and I also give S1 (equivalent to 8th grade / 9th grade in America) computers. I am EXTREMELY lucky. S5 and S6 levels are at the A-level, meaning that you have to take a test after S-4 to get into them. This means that the number of students in their ranks drops significantly. Instead of 60-120 kids in a classroom, an A-level teacher will have 30 or less. As sciences are despised by students in Uganda, the numbers in those classes plummet. Physics or Mathematics tacked onto a class acts as a beautiful filter, and those who brave their waters are typically the sharpest kids in the school (there are exceptions). Long story short, my physics class has 5 students. My math class has 15’ish. And of course, my computer class has around 70.

So which are my favorite classes? You tell me:

I conduct my S5 lectures as if it were a college class. I take a few pages of notes and examples. I go to class, lecture, get animated, throw things, do experiments, joke with the students, create an active environment, etc… after class, I give one of the kids my notes which are then passed around to be copied over the next week. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I have it set up so that I have 1-1.5 hours in the computer lab with the two classes (recitation) where I have loaded electronic copies of physics and math texts for the students to read. On those days, they read ANYTHING they want, write problems down, and we work them together on the blackboard.

It is not all glorious. I am realizing quickly that there are a shit-ton of gaps to fill in these subjects. I'm currently discussing derivatives and their application to motion in a straight line, and I'm seeing students stuggling with plotting y = constant and y = mx + b. This makes me cry a little inside, but I am getting over it.

I conduct my S1 lectures like a Ugandan: overworked, underpaid, and loaded with three times as many students PER CLASS as s/he should be. I show up. I write the facts that the students need to memorize on the board. I discuss the facts with the students. They smile and nod as though they understand. I ask them “are we together.” They respond collectively with “YES.” When I ask individual students, however, they respond with the Ugandan beat-around-the-bush response for “no.”

Me: “Are you with me?”

Student: “Somehow.”

When all the facts have been presented. I leave the class, and I return a few hours later to a different classroom and begin the same exact period over again. It. Is. Terrible. Having only been in class for a week (but having compared notes with many other volunteers), I believe the minds of current secondary school PCVs are being wasted in these lower level secondary classes. A projector and a timed power-point presentation would be a better investment for schools teaching a curriculum geared only to a test.

I am conflicted. On one hand, I am a PCV, fresh from America, who wants to make classes fun, interesting, worthwhile, and I want to help my students with critical thinking (precious and rare here). However, the system in Uganda is not set up for “thinking.” It is set up for “regurgitating.” Kids memorize a fact, you ask them about that fact and they VOMIT it all over your face as if they were Webster himself with the flu. Ask that student what that fact MEANS or to apply it and, well, let’s just say you’d have more luck extracting the answer to your question from a vacuum tube. This extends ruthlessly into the sciences explaining why kids here hate them…

YOU CANNOT MEMORIZE PHYSICS. YOU CANNOT MEMORIZE MATHEMATICS.

Prime example. My S5’s yesterday were in the computer lab reading about math problems. There was an example about adding fractions that went like this: A/B + C/D = (AD + BC)/BD. The three boys looked at me and said, “Master, is there an easier way for me to remember this?” I told them, “yes, there is. Ask yourself WHY it is that way, figure out that WHY, and with that knowledge you can solve any fraction problem you come across without the formula.” We then proceeded to discuss like-denominators and common factors. This just goes to show that A-level students are programmed to memorize instead of understand… how could they not be? They are the survivors of 11 SWALLOW!-and-PUKE! Years of “education.”

Back to it. I am conflicted. One piece wants to do things like I would do it in America. The other realizes that I simply can’t. Or can I?

This is where I feel incredibly lucky. At the S1 level, I am working with 70+ students/class who barely understand English. I am teaching computers from a textbook (and Wikipedia). These kids will not touch a computer until they are in their late second or even third year of school. What can I do? Not a whole hell of a lot. I give them the material, they memorize.

But at the A-levels?! THERE IS A CHANCE!! These kids WANT lectures, they want EXAMPLES, and they want EXPERIMENTS and real world application. For the first time in their schooling, they want to know WHY they are learning certain subjects. And I am thrilled to show them. As I said earlier, I am trying to make the class as interactive as possible, and my favorite question in the WORLD out of them is, “But master, Why?” (though I am still getting used to the whole "Master" thing. I mean, I know I'm awesome, but in America, it was an unspoken truth. [Methinks my grandfather just had a stroke]). The more and more I hear, “WHY?” the more I feel like we are getting somewhere. And a few of them have really caught on that the key to math and physics is repetition: Problems, PROBlems, PROBLEMS! Which is what the recitation is for.

Wow. I have written a lot. I guess this is what you get. One long-ass post once in a while or shorter, more often posting.

So that is my life right now. We are in our second week of classes, and already the nervousness of being in front of the kids has gone. Instead, I feel excited while up there, and the classes (besides S1) are fun. Planning for the classes sucks, but teaching a well thought out lesson makes it all worthwhile.

Oh, since being here, I’ve been asked by men and women at the market to teach them English. To this I have replied that I cannot do individual tutoring to all of Kyenjojo but that I would be happy to teach a group (I say this using broken rutooro and miming). Last week, after being approached yet again, I decided to look into starting a club or seeing if I couldn’t incorporate the English department at my school. I thought it would be a good opportunity to connect students at Kyenjojo SS with the community, and a great way to keep the program sustainable when I leave. So I spoke to the head of the English department about it. As she sounded very interested, I got a translator at the market and explained the initial plans: If a group of 10-15 people can be formed and they can agree on a time to meet, and I will provide a classroom and lessons. My administration agreed to the initial plans yesterday and have granted me classroom time on the weekends for the class. THE BALL IS ROLLING!! More as it progresses, later.

I am beginning to feel like I am not just IN Uganda.

I am WORKING in Uganda, FOR Uganda.

I love and miss you all (especially you Michelle!),

Devon

P.S. I just reread the post, and I just want to add that for the most part, I love my students. There is a bitter tone about my recent writing, but this isn’t focused on the kids. The kids are victims of, as I put it earlier, a broken system. I have my theories on the politics behind the broken system, but as a PCV, I am forbidden to express these in public forums. If you are interested, individual emails to demurphy@vt.edu can be answered in a few short sentences. Again. I love my kids. But I definitely have some rage directed towards the machine we are working in here.

P.P.S. And now? PICTURES!! Nope. Wait. I deleted the stupid things while copying between the word document and the blog page. DAMN. Forgive me. I'll post them soon. Sorry about the deceptive post title: I had to do something to get you to read it :)