Meet Suzy!

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!!

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?

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)...

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.

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.

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

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