More Pictures? Already?! YES!!

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!

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?"

“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?!?!

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

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'

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

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."