WAH, WAH!!!!

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.

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).

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.

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.