When I got home, everything was really familiar, but not normal. I would make a phone call to say, AT&T and try to greet everyone that answered realizing later that I should just get to the point. Sounds silly, but I came home pretty socially awkward. It's amazing how many social ettiquettes there are in every new place you go.

Well, I recovered quick and now life feels pretty normal. Since home, I've taken the GRE, applied to UW-Milwaukee and enrolled in 2 Anatomy and Physiology classes and a statistics class for the summer, organized a sublet in Milwaukee and ran errands. Lots of errands. I'm applying to a master's program to become a Nurse Midwife. Not sure if I'll get in, but I'm hopeful.

Tomorrow I leave for Costa Rica to accompany my mom down to her hand clinic Nicaragua trip. I won't actually attend the hand clinic, but I'll do a couple days of traveling with her from Costa Rica to Nicaragua. We're planning on stopping at 2 cities on the way and then I'll fly home and she'll hold her clinic in a few hospitals in Managua. Quick trip, but it'll be fun for the last week before school.

I've been really lucky since I've been home; I've been able to see a lot of my family and friends. They've been so supportive and I've loved hearing about everything that's happened since I left. Hope all is well in everyone else's lives. Can't wait to see and hear from everyone.

So I’ve been dreaming about coming home every since I got on the plane to come here. I got here and loved my life, but couldn’t help but miss my family and friends. I’ve spent just over 2 years here and loved many (not all) moments here. Uganda is a wonderful and beautiful place with incredible people. It’s a very different culture from my own…hard to get ‘used’ to, but different all the same (not better, not worse).

I’ll be home early (according to my peace corps agreement) for Jessin’s wedding! I can’t wait. All I could think about for the last couple months was getting home. I even made a paper chain (like young children do counting down the days to Christmas) to the date I get home. All I could think about was the excitement to see America, eat Chipolte burritos and anything cold (icecream, especially).

Then I got my plane ticket itinerary. Now I’m all sentimental. It’s not like leaving college or high school. Colleagues have email addresses and consistent phone numbers. They have parent’s home postal addresses. Here…phone numbers, for who can afford phones, change every 6 months for some reason and a whole school can’t even seem to afford a post office box. Teachers get transferred. People move. Once I leave this place, my Ugandan life is over with the exception of the other peace corps people in my group. That’s a weird feeling. I have about 10 days left and how am I supposed to say goodbye to everyone that’s been in my life for the past 2 years. I’m excited to come home, but I can never have this back.

I’ll just name a few things I love about this place.

1. My house: It’s a love-hate relationship. I get tired of birds during the day and bats (pooping everywhere and scaring me), spiders (making webs to run into) and cockroaches during the night. But I love sitting out on my porch staring into the school garden of matokkee (plantain) trees. Cooking on my sigiri (charcoal stove). Sitting on my stool. Sleeping in my bed under my mosquito net (creating a barrier between me and the night time critters). Silence (with the exception of the crickets living in my door frame).

2. My pit latrine: I know I’ve given it a hard time in the past, but when feeling sick and other people are around, being as far from the house as possible is a blessing.

3. My boyfriend: Ahh, I love him. He’s probably what got me through this, but I’m taking him home with me.

4. The people: No one can dispute the fact that Ugandans are accommodating and helpful whenever you need someone. I’ve never known a Ugandan to turn any request for help down, even in Kampala (where I often need someone to walk me to the taxi park despite how many times I’ve been there).

5. The culture: African time is quite the opposite of American time. Well, not just quite…exactly the opposite. That never got easier. But they have a culture that they are very proud of that and many parts of it took me a long time to understand but the longer I spend here, the more appreciation I have for it. The ‘time’ one is really really hard though.

I complain about ‘time,’ but I must point out that all the things I hate are also somehow loved and many of the things I love are also somehow hated.

This experience is one I could never regret or forget. I love the time I’ve spent here, but I’ve realized that I’ve learned as much as I can in my two years. I’ve loved the people and the culture as much as I could. It will be missed and I’m sure I will come home as a socially abnormal human being since I’ve become used to social and culture norms here. I’m sure there is even a difference in my language. They (as in peace corps) say that going home is the hardest part of the whole cultural transition. It’s an odd concept to get used to…we can adapt to an entirely new culture easier than adapting back to our own. I’m nervous.

Well, I fly home April 9th so I guess I’ll be home next Friday. I’m excited, but it freaks me out.

Part 4

While our coelho was being butchered and prepared we sipped on our fresh mango juice and tried to explain a little about ourselves. We found an atlas on their shelf and showed her where we each lived and worked in Uganda and also where we came from in the States. Then we flipped to a map of Portugal. One of them was from outside of Porto in the north and the other was from the capital, Lisbon. The driver and the one currently tending to us was named Mila, while the other, the butcher and cook, was named Conceicao. They each worked for a Portuguese Catholic missionary movement called “Missionario Boa Nova”, or, the “Missionaries of the Good News”. Mila had been in Mozambique for 10 years and had also previously served for several years in Brazil. Conceicao had been in Mozambique for 4 years and was soon to be returning to Portugal.

With the basic information taken care of and our reserve of Portuguese pretty well exhausted the inevitable awkward silence settled in. We quietly poured more juice, sipped on it slowly, glanced back and forth and casually smiled at each other, and intermittently let out a sigh of vague satisfaction. After a few minutes of this Mila got up and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a video camera in one hand and big smile on her face. She slowly untangled the cords and plugged the camera into the TV. With a remote in one hand she quickly scanned through some images of herself and Conceicao and what appeared to be another younger missionary what had been there some time ago. As the images crossed the screen she continued to talk and very likely tried explaining what we were seeing, apparently either oblivious to us not understanding her or simply indifferent. Finally she slowed the images down to real time and her face lit up as she watched the screen, letting out an occasional giggle. As the images on the TV first slowed my mind must still have been lingering in the travel fog of that day and of the preceding week. I couldn’t quite put together what I was looking at. It didn’t help that the video was a little disorienting with the camera pointed at the floor and no recognizable points of reference on the screen. What appeared to be two creatures were darting in and out of the frame, grappling with each other from time to time, forming an amorphous mass of hair when they collided. Mila was absolutely no help. She just stood a few feet from the TV, silently watching the action with a remote in one hand. I tried squinting and cocking my head and leaning forward. Was that a… cat? Really? Yes. Fair enough. Lots of people have videos of their cats. But what was that other animal? Was it… a monkey? It was. It was a monkey. In one instant of recognition of what we were looking at our evening and indeed our entire afternoon-long interaction with our new friends of the Missionario Boa Nova had descended into the absurd and the surreal. For 20 minutes that evening Amy and I sat silent and motionless in a room in the middle of northern Mozambique and watched a home video of a cat and a monkey wrestling. Life is wonderful.

We were eventually shaken out of our wrestling-cat-and-monkey-induced stupor when Conceicao came in from the back with dinner ready. One look at the serving plate was all it took to at long last translate “coelho”. Rabbit. Coelho means rabbit. Paulo Rabbit. Brer Coelho and the Tar Baby. Of course. This was infinitely better and more reassuring–though probably less interesting–than eating a bat or hyrax. And, more importantly, it was delicious. I had never eaten rabbit before—tender and kind of rubbery, just as you’d expect. We also had some apples, fresh salad and homemade bread. It was amazing to have a homemade meal for the first time in a long while. We were offered to watch more videos with Mila after dinner. I suspected it’d be more mesmerizing exotic-animal-on-domestic-animal wrestling but it turned out they had a fairly extensive collection of Portuguese-dubbed Disney cartoons. Instead, we declined and decided to go to sleep. In a way I think we both wanted to stay up to see what else might possibly happen with these Portuguese Mary Poppins’, full of mischief and surprises. But we also wanted to preserve our already immaculately weird and wonderful day. We were also completely exhausted.

The next morning as soon as we emerged from our room we were ushered to the kitchen table for breakfast. This time there was nothing mysterious about our meal – fresh bread again and delicious instant cappuccino. Afterwards we were eagerly given a tour of their house and compound. At the opposite end of the hallway with our bedroom Mila very proudly showed us their private chapel. Then, without any hesitation, she took us out the back door and into the previously and inexplicably off-limits backyard. She walked us around to see a separate kitchen, an outdoor brick oven for making bread, a garage-closet filled with batteries spitting out cords and plugs and wires leading to a series of solar panels on their roof, and, lastly, a collection of about 30 cages full of soft, sleeping, and red-eyed (and delicious) rabbits. The rest of the yard was like the secret garden, filled with untended plants and flowers and vines overtaking the house and outer walls. Our tour of the rear was admittedly anti-climactic and bewildering considering the efforts Mila and Conceicao had taken the night before to dissuade us from getting back there. Who truly knows the backyard secrets and habits of Portuguese church ladies? Certainly neither of us is any wiser after our stay.

Back in the house we collected our bags and started for the door when all four of us simultaneously scrambled for our cameras. We gathered around the “Missionario Boa Nova” sign in their sitting room and put our cameras on automatic, Amy and I looking like some sort of fairy tale American giants visiting the land of 5:8 scale Portuguese women. Conceicao gave out two last hugs for us and we finally hopped into the car with Mila who was taking us to the next junction and a few kilometers down the road where we’d be able to catch a bus to Nampula. It felt good at last to have some vague idea of what was happening.

As we approached the intersection to be dropped off steam started rising from out of the hood of the car. After stopping in the middle of the median in the intersection Mila popped the hood and we noticed the tube from the radiator had become disconnected. Not knowing anything about cars I naturally offered to help. Mila was completely serene, declined my offer and just shrugged and walked away. Not only does she pick up strangers on the side of the road, cook rabbit for them and show weird videos, Mila also had apparently attained some kind of otherworldly Zen tranquility in the face of uncooperative and faulty auto mechanics.

We walked away from the hissing Kia and were immediately swarmed by chapa drivers offering to take us to Nampula. Mila stood her ground, though, and refused to put us on a chapa; instead, she was set on getting us on a safer and more efficient bus. As we were walking away from the car a number of terse but still playful words were quickly exchanged between Mila and the flock of chapa drivers before things suddenly hushed and other bystanders started hooting and whistling and laughing. I don’t know what she said but the chapa drivers all smiled and walked away, not saying anything at all to us the rest of our time there, only periodically giving us a sideways look and a smirk. It was like we were on a middle school playground and Mila was the girl who just schooled all the trash-talking boys on the basketball court and the whole school was around to see it.

We all sat down on the curb waiting for the next bus to arrive, Mila rightfully staking us out as her own and not trusting us to be able to take care of ourselves. Amy and Mila sat close to one another, while I was off to one side. We had long ago worn out our efforts with speaking Portuguese but Mila paid no mind. For 10 minutes or more she continued chattering uninterrupted to Amy without any acknowledgement what she understood a single word. Amy dutifully continued to smile and nod her head during all of the pauses. Finally a bus arrived. Hugs and kisses went all around and in one last gesture of infinite and unexpected generosity Mila paid for both of our tickets. Amy and I were both too dazed to offer any resistance. Mila pushed us onto the bus and as we were climbing the steps and looked back we saw her swallowed up in the sea of Mozambicans jockeying for position to enter or leave the bus or hawking their fresh fruit or bread to its passengers.

THE END

Part 3

Now, at this point, after having been in Mozambique for a week or so, our understanding of Portuguese was limited to greetings, basic bargaining, directions, and standard Lonely Planet-provided phrases. Even with this impressive linguistic arsenal, we were pretty miserable. It seemed that up until that point we had been lucky to run into someone with a modest grasp of English (less modest, at least, than our facility with Portuguese) at just the right time; or, a mix of Amy’s Spanish and my Kiswahili got us by. Luckily, before we left Uganda some friends had given us an English-Portuguese dictionary (without, however, a corresponding Portuguese-English portion, which figures into our plot later on) to help us muddle through the language and the country.

So the initial 15 or 20 minutes in the car was spent just trying to make sense of what was going on, considering we had no idea where we were going or who we were with. Amy and I each took turns alternating between frantically flipping through our dictionary and politely smiling and nodding our heads at what we thought were the appropriate gaps in conversation or when one of the two women would look back at us and smile with eyebrows raised in what we assumed was a request for some kind of affirmation. We managed (I think) to introduce ourselves and mention that we were Americans and just traveling in Mozambique and could speak little-to-no Portuguese (as if that needed any further clarification). We also told them that we were trying to get to Nampula and subsequently asked where they were going. In response, we mostly got some giggling, finger wagging, shaking of heads, and what sounded like a lot of doubtful-sounding Portuguese exclamations. We didn’t need to dig through our dictionary to figure out that we probably weren’t going to Nampula that day. What we did gather during that car ride, however, was 1) they were Portuguese missionaries; 2) they were returning from a day trip to Pemba where they picked up some groceries and checked email; 3) they were, importantly, driving in the right direction; and, 4) they were very, very cute.

We struggled along these same occasionally-amusing, occasionally-frustrating and always-exhausting lines of communication for a lot longer than we expected. Neither of us knew what really was happening. From time to time we would look at each other in the back seat and silently mouth mutual misunderstanding and confusion. At best I think we both hoped to get dropped off at a reasonable guesthouse along the main road; at worst they’d drop us off somewhere and we’d just have to hitchhike the rest of the way. After an hour and a half or more we pulled off the main road in the town of Chiure and drove up to a large, western-style house. We both grabbed our bags and got out, thinking we’d made it to a guesthouse or hotel. Immediately after stepping out of the car the driver tsk-tsked us and motioned for us to put our bags back in the car. Meanwhile, a third lady comes out of the home and gives our two escorts hugs and kisses. Up until now, because of being in the car, neither of us had been able to properly size up our new friends. It wasn’t until this third, new friend unexpectedly hugged me that I first noticed how remarkably tiny each of these women was. I don’t think any of them were over five feet tall. They were so small! They were like animated versions of those oversized stuffed animals you can win at the state fair. And they smiled and talked constantly and they loved giving hugs. They were our very own life-sized Portuguese church lady care bears.

Following a brief conversation and subsequent farewell amongst the three of them, we four got back in the car and continued a few more kilometers down the main road, eventually crossing the river Rio Lurio. Soon afterwards, we again turned off and approached another western-style one-floored house situated next to a Catholic church. As one of them went to open the metal gate to the compound the other motioned for us to get our bags and get out. In typical fashion Amy and I looked at each other and shrugged and followed our instructions, happy to reach some kind of destination for the day.

After and hour and a half in the car Amy and I had attained a sort of calm amidst everything that was happening all around us. Despite not being able to communicate and not really knowing where we’d be that night we both gave up trying to control a situation that was obviously so uncontrollable and unpredictable. This sense of calm was very quickly dislodged once we arrived at the house as our two hosts suddenly descended into a flurry of activity. One drove the car to the back while the other escorted us inside. Soon we found ourselves alone in the main sitting room of the house uncomfortably doing nothing as one of the women prepared our bedroom. The other soon entered the house from the rear and immediately offered us some fresh mango juice before disappearing again without a word. No sooner after we were invited to put our bags inside our freshly arranged bedroom did she sneak out the back door of the house. Meanwhile, the other came back to tell us we could shower if we we’d like and informed us that her friend had gone out back to cook dinner. We politely asked what we were having, mostly just trying to make use of the few words we knew. Our hostess told us that we’d be eating “coelho” (pronounced KWAY-loh) and made an ominous cutting motion with her hand across her throat and pointed to the back of the house. We were instantly fascinated and also vaguely horrified. Apparently the other woman had gone out back to kill a “coelho”, our as-yet-undefined main dish. It didn’t help our morbid curiosity that we were subtly but still suspiciously being prevented from going into the back of the house where our “coelho” was being prepared. We asked what “coelho” was and our hostess put her fingers up to the sides of her head and started making indistinct squeaking noises. At least we knew for certain this time it wasn’t Portuguese. We guessed bat, mouse, squirrel, hyrax (it had been a long day up until then – somehow we lost the logical connection between the animal we were trying to guess and the fact that it was also our dinner. Of course our hosts wouldn’t feed us bat or squirrel or hyrax for dinner. Or would they?). I finally got nosy and started looking through their bookshelf to see if any help in our quest for “coelho” might be found (this whole time I kept thinking of Paulo Coelho, the author of The Alchemist). On the bookshelf I found a Portuguese-Italian dictionary, a Portuguese-French dictionary, a Portuguese-Kiswahili dictionary, and a Portuguese-Makua dictionary, but, naturally, no Portuguese-English dictionary. Curiosity still overwhelmed us but I think we started to worry a little. What the hell we were going to be eating for dinner?

[*This story is clearly much too long]

Part 2

As we sat on the shoulder of the asphalt, munching on our usual and surprisingly satisfying prisoner’s diet of bread and chlorine-neutralized water (supplemented that day by a few sticky sweet mangoes a fellow stranded and waiting traveler had given us), we alternated trying to flag down the occasional passing car or truck. The longer we waited the more we talked about heading backwards to Pemba in order to catch the usual early morning taxi to Nampula the next day. But nothing was going in the other direction, either, so it was looking more and more like we were stuck at the crossroads for the night. As a last resort we scouted out a nearby guesthouse but held off getting a room until we were absolutely sure we needed it.

After a handful of fruitless attempts to flag down the occasional passing car or truck, a glimmer of hope came when a Kia SUV about the size of a mini-fridge puttered by us with what appeared to be two European women in the front seats. We each leapt up and began violently waving our arms about in our best attempts to get their attention. Sadly, consistent with our luck with transportation on the trip up until then, the little car kept going. We looked at each other in mutual alarm and disbelief and dejectedly sat back down by the roadside, completely beside ourselves that two fellow traveling foreigners would completely ignore us, literally on the side of a road to nowhere (It wasn’t until a bit later, after our frenzy of misguided self-pity subsided, that our thoughts turned more sensitive and curious, wondering what in the world these two little ladies were doing in northern Mozambique all by themselves. More on that later).

This reaction probably doesn’t seem entirely or even partially logical (and, frankly, it isn’t, really) and maybe it seems even wildly tactless and incoherent. Fair enough. But let me take a moment to try to explain—not to justify—our initial outrage at being ignored on the side of the road.

Being a foreigner or, more to the point, white, in Africa has many obvious and distinct benefits to go along with all of the negative attention and hassling we are consistently subject to. One, namely, for better or for worse, is the at-first-completely-disorienting-and-off-putting-but-later-completely-accepted-and-expected privilege of being forced to the front of lines and unwittingly taking precedence for service over others (that is, locals) who clearly had been there first and had been waiting longer. It’s something we haven’t ever gotten comfortable with and as it’s happening it’s something we’re often conscious of and even discussed amongst ourselves, but it’s also something we’ve come to more or less accept and even occasionally (rightly or wrongly; mostly the latter, I imagine) take advantage of for the sake of common sense convenience. It seems the longer we are here, the less we think about it and the more frequently we take advantage of these small favors. This means we can get a seat in the front of a minibus when there are already people sitting there. It means we can move to the front of the line at the well or borehole or tap to get water where there might be a dozen women and kids already lined up. This kind of stuff happens everywhere, every day. And to clarify further, we are generally offered these small social allowances by those same people we are displacing in line rather than outright requesting them for ourselves. It was this rather unsettling and conditioned privilege that caused us such alarm and dismay when these two ex-pat ladies passed by us when we clearly needed a ride (completely disregarding the fact that there were about 12 or 15 Mozambicans waiting with us who, with equal urgency and likely fewer resources, needed to get somewhere along the same road we were traveling). This is all very difficult to justify and explain, of course; especially to those who haven’t been here. These not-so-subtle and eventually conditioned privileges aren’t a set of circumstances or social hierarchies that are in any way fair—it’s just one of those strange and disconcerting facts of life here that you simultaneously get used to but remain conscious of and uncomfortable with.

Well, the looks of horror on our faces must have registered with the ladies in the passing Kia as a few minutes later they came down the other side of the road and waved us over to talk with them. It was immediately apparent that neither of them spoke a word of English. But through a brilliant combination of broken Spanish, wild hand gestures and some indiscriminate Portuguese numbers, Amy was able to elicit a vague nod and hand wave from the driver that we interpreted (not necessarily correctly) as an invitation to get in the car with them.

[*This story is clearly much too long]

Part 1

Sitting on the side of the main road somewhere between Pemba on the coast and Nampula further inland to the west, it had already been a long day. We had gotten up at something like 4a.m. that morning on the advice that we’d better be on the beach at sunrise in order to be assured of a spot on the first out-going dhow to get back to the mainland from eerie, lazy, lost, wonderful Ilha do Ibo. After nearly two years in Uganda neither of us had quite wised up to the fact that no one ever needs to be in a hurry in Africa. This notion is always in the back of our heads of course, and we typically even talk about not wasting our time by showing up ‘on-time’, but American stubbornness and ignorance always prevail and we dutifully show up punctually and find ourselves feeling like suckers waiting (for hours, usually) on everyone else. It certainly didn’t ease our minds that Ibo was literally off the coast of the middle of nowhere and we had a good stretch of land between us and our next destination, Nampula, an otherwise un-noteworthy transportation hub and largest town in northern Mozambique. A few days before, from Pemba, we nearly missed a 4a.m. mini-bus that we had arranged the previous night to swing by our guesthouse because it actually showed up early. It just goes to show that whenever you think you’ve got this placed figured out, something sensible happens.

So, to briefly recap our already-overlong day that eventually found ourselves semi-stranded on the side of the road, our morning consisted of the following:

1. Waking up at 4am on Ilha do Ibo after having spent the previous evening sitting in a turret of a the 18th century Fort of São João Batista sipping on cold Castle Milk Stouts, watching the sunset over the Indian Ocean and Mozambique coastline;

2. Sitting on the beach waiting for 2 hours for our dhow to load up and leave;

3. Riding for an hour and a half on an overcrowded dhow trying to not get smacked in the face by the flying fish hurtling past us and willing our way through the bottom-scraping, low-tide channel between Ibo and mainland Mozambique; and, finally,

4. Loading our bags onto the roof of a chapa (the main means of pubic transportation in Mozambique: basically a converted Ford F350 with a flimsy and dubiously welded metal frame draped over the back with unreasonably cramped and awkward wooden benches lining the sides of its bed); hopping into the back of it with about 30 other people, hundreds of pounds of rice and bananas and untold numbers of farm animals; trying for 5 hours not to rub our rear ends raw on the wooden planks by alternating using my coat as a seat cushion and turning around to dangle my knobby and bafflingly white legs out the side of the truck in order to be reassured of feeling in my toes, while doing my best not to hit any oncoming trucks, bicycles, pedestrians, trees, or bushes. Or monkeys.

Despite embarking on our vacation equipped with two Mozambique travel guides and talking to several friends who had visited before us, we somehow remained woefully unprepared for the transportation situation there. Uganda is a small, densely population country that seems to have transportation options available to nearly every part of the country at nearly every hour of the day. In contrast, Mozambique is a much larger country with a significantly smaller population and a more degraded network of roads (particularly in the north, where we were traveling). As a result, transportation there, in a way, is more systematic but initially it’s a totally bewildering experience—at least it was to us, who were so used to the relative luxury and convenience of travel in Uganda (Convenient? Transport in Uganda? Really? Really.). It turns out that ALL relatively long-distance transport in Mozambique leaves early, early in the morning. Like 3 or 4 a.m. early. And that’s it for the rest of the day. So, if you’re a couple of well-seasoned and ambitious travelers like (ahem) us, you get up at 4 a.m., hop on the bus, arrive at the first stop at 8 or 9, and then get stuck in same no-name transport hub because all the options to points further down the line already departed earlier that morning. Needless to say, this was frustrating for us. We were on a pretty tight itinerary (compulsively prepared on Microsoft Excel by Amy weeks or even months ahead of time, God bless her), trying to cover a handful of sights spread out over a big area in a matter of 10 days or so. It wasn’t until later on in the trip, until those few hours of hopelessly waiting on the side of the road between Pemba and Nampula, patiently allowing our butts to recover from our 5 hour chapa ride from the coast with our limbs intact and no dead or wounded bicyclists or monkeys in our wake, that we belatedly discovered the wonders of hitchhiking. And Portuguese Church Ladies.

The Dragonfly Story

My cousin, Jenny Olson, started a company recycling onesies in honor of her lost baby, Jack. It is to remember him forever. Here is the story,

“In the bottom on an old pond lived some grubs who could not understand why none of their group ever came back after crawling up the lily stems to the top of the water. They promised each other that the next one who was called to make the upward climb would return and tell what had happened to him. Soon one of them felt an urgent impulse to seek the surface; he rested himself on the top of a lily pad and went through a glorious transformation which made him a dragonfly with beautiful wings. In vain he tried to keep his promise. Flying back and forth over the pond, he peered down at his friends below. Then he realized that even if they could see him they would not recognize such a radiant creature as one of their number.

The fact that we cannot see our friends or communicate with them after the transformation which we call death is no proof that they cease to exist.”

By Walter Dudley Cavert

I gave four of these away to families who have babies and told them the story. Many, if not most, families lose a baby or young child to malaria, HIV/AIDS, etc. This served as a reminder that they aren’t gone completely.

Work

The libraries are set up at two schools: Ssezibwa and Bishop Brown. The children absolutely love them. I’m usually in the computer room after school getting ready for computer class and whenever the bell sounds indicating the end of the day I’ll see maybe 50 children race by my door. The first time this happened I was so confused so I looked to see where they were going and it was straight to the library…there is only enough room for about 30 pupils so that’s how many we allow. The children were all racing to get in line. This happens everyday with a different class. 3rd grade is Mondays, 4th grade Tuesdays, 5th grade Wednesdays, etc.

We’ve had a few unforeseen problems – the termite hill at the Bishop Brown Library, which I think I’ve already posted pictures of. An iron door is being put in this week, hopefully. Also, the library at Ssezibwa is in bad condition. The shutters and door are broken along with the floor. We are raising money among the parents and I’ll probably add in the left over money I have from my SPA grant. Raising money is good because it gets everyone involved, but it is slow going. So I may borrow the money to the school so we can get everything accomplished before I go so I can be sure the library is settled and set up properly. Currently it is in the 2nd grade classroom, which works fine temporarily.

The computer class is also going well. Two laptops are at Kanjuki UMEA, about 5 kilometers north from the center school so teachers in that area can learn. One laptop is at Ssezibwa 3 kilometers southwest. Two computers and two laptops are still at Bishop Brown for the computer classes held here. I want to send a laptop to a school south east of Bishop Brown, but I’m waiting for a capable teacher to take over that area. Well, that’s a lie. There are plenty of capable teachers that have gone through the program from that area but very few schools have electricity that way so I’m waiting for a responsible teacher at a school with electricity.

Reproductive health is finished. I taught at 13 schools…about 2500 pupils. I only taught the girls, so personally, I can only claim teaching about half that number. The children have had some great questions and every session I leave happy. This program has been good for me because it yields immediate results.

Other than that…I’m coming home!!!! It hasn’t sunk in that I’m leaving this place. I can be really harsh on my feelings towards Kayunga, but every time I leave it for more than 3 days, I miss it. I’ve started telling people I’m leaving soon just so it doesn’t come up out of nowhere and I almost feel bad. Like I’m leaving them. Either way, I’m still excited to get home, take a shower, feel carpet, eat sandwiches, pee inside, cook a meal in less than an hour…put the leftovers in the fridge for later. But I will miss sitting on my porch in the silence only to be broken by the children who hang out with me everyday, having the luxury to do anything I want on any given day, heck, I’ll probably miss the food and the pit latrines too.

So going out in Kampala with friends from Peace Corps, I think we’ve all noticed that our social skills are lacking. We seem to be fine around each other and around Ugandans, but when it comes to other Americans…we’re just awkward. One girl who went back mentioned that our casual bathroom humor talk is not so funny in America. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but it’ll be interesting to see how I (or we all) cope with American life/culture.

I’m still waiting for those Egypt and Mozambique/Malawi stories, but I’ll post them as soon as they come from my parents and Joseph.

Sorry I don't have more time to post pictures.

Camel trekking to our snorkeling destination. Hurts your bum with all that bumping.

classic picture with sphnix and pyramid.

Crazy hair.

Mountain Dew came to Uganda.

My neighbor boy pretending to be me.

Hooter's shirt!

The unexpected termite hill that formed over school holiday. That was not fun breaking up, but we poured lots of 'whoknowswhat' chemicals down to kill them so they don't build again.

My end date hasn't been completely confirmed yet, but it will definitely be somewhere between April 10th and April 16th of this year.

My last few months will be spent in Kayunga for the last term. I'm setting up a library at a new school this term, and continuing the computer training.

As I've said over and again, I'm trying to make a final video so everyone can see where their donated books went. Hopefully I'll have it done by the end of March. Thanks for all your support and I'll try to get write more about the work I'm doing here soon. And posts on Egypt from my dad...mozambique and malawi from joseph.

a maribou stork. a pterodactyl-like bird found in kampala.

a baby that was born after I got to site and is now walking. here she is walking to my house on her own, but I'm not there.

Election day in kampala.

Joe at his sister's introduction ceremony. He's with his host sister and brother.

a woman helping me put on my gomez for the introduction ceremony.

joe and amy

Joe lined up with the other brothers of the family presenting himself to the groom's family.

Having tea in the morning entertained by a monkey.

a baby bat that was found in my house.

joe saying goodbye to the bat.

our rwenzori hike.

this is how children who are too small for a bike that is too big ride.

the stove I use to cook. it uses charcoal. and that's my teapot.

Annual goat race held in Kampala.

picture of kayunga.

picture of kayunga.

in kayunga. my favorite bar because the beer is almost always cold and cost $0.70 per 0.5 liter bottle.

cow intestines for sale everyday in my market.

the meat is hung from a hook in the sun all day for sale in the market.

the vegetable market in my town.

a truck load of matookke being brought in. the staple food in the central region of uganda.

Kampala.

Signs that are posted all over kampala.

Joseph getting a shave in his town. The electric shaver was hooked up to a car battery for power then a cow's tail was used to brush away any loose hairs.

a picture of my mosquito net for Briana since I couldn't explain it on the phone. I have to put this down every night before it gets dark or else I wake up itching.

a boy peeing in the taxi park. it is somehow appropriate to pee wherever.

the quality of taxis we ride in. a hole on in the floor. have to be careful to not let any of your stuff fall through.

how they transport meat. not up to american standards in sanitation.

a milk drinking contest between Joe and two other peace corps volunteers back in training. the milk is warm and it had to be put through a strainer before drinking. all three ended up puking.

I’ve been hanging out in Kayunga a lot these past few months trying to get all my projects established before the term lets out. The library at Bishop Brown is going well. Pupils fill it everyday and we’ve started checking out books. I was a little hesitant to check out books because there are so many pupils and no real way of identifying them, but it is going on well so far. The next step is to have a meeting with parents about allowing their children time to read. Children have so many chores at home that they don’t seem to even have 5 minutes to do their own thing. On Monday, November 24th Wasike (my counterpart) and I will talk to parents. We will try to encourage parents to get involved by helping their children read, but most parents don’t know English. Maybe this could be an opportunity for the parents to learn as well!!! Or at the least the parents will allow them time to read on their own.

The library doubles as a classroom for disabled children taught by a Japanese volunteer (similar to Peace Corps) and she is very involved in making decorations for each coming holiday. One day she ran up to me asking about Halloween and how to teach the children about that. Here class is anywhere from 2 to 5 pupils. She ended up hanging up bats, ghosts, witches, and pumpkins all colored by her pupils. After doing that, pupils who came into the library to read and do puzzles couldn’t stop asking me questions about Halloween. Try explaining the holiday to children and you’ll see how ridiculous it sounds. “Well, we put on clothes to pretend we are something else and go around to different houses to find treats. We cut out pumpkins and put candles inside. We walk around houses that have been made to be scary. We ride in carts pulled by tractors filled with hay drinking hot chocolate.” Their questions, “Do adults dress up too? Why do you waste a pumpkin that can be eaten? Why would you walk into a house that you know is scary? What is hay?” Anyway, now the library is decorated with a huge Christmas tree on the wall and they all know about Christmas.

The library at Bishop Brown has a good number of books, but they keep coming, so Ssezibwa is also getting a library. This is one of the projects I want to finish by the end of the month and hopefully the teachers will allow it to be open over term break since the pupils have two full months off of school.

The computer classes are still happening. The desktop computers at Bishop Brown had been down and those are now working and can be used by any teacher within the town council area. One laptop was placed at Ssezibwa so the teachers there and teachers of surrounding schools can be taught by teachers that have been previously taught. That school is to the south. On the 22nd of this month, I will bring two laptops to Kanjuki UMEA, a school to the north so teachers of surrounding schools to the north can also learn. A big problem with always having the classes at Bishop Brown was transport for teachers so now most teachers and within walking distance of a computer.

Penpal letters have come to a stand still. In the beginning, I was collecting all the letters and sending them home with family member who sent them to the school, but now they are responsible for sending their own letters. Teachers had told me the pupils would be able to afford the postage, but now other teachers are reporting to me that they cannot afford. It has been a bit of a frustrating battle, but hopefully we will find a solution to that problem soon.

The reproductive health program has stopped. We did it at 9 schools in the Kayunga area and also 1 school at Joseph’s site in the east. I enjoyed that program. It appeared to be very beneficial to the girl’s we taught and from what the male peace corps volunteers said, also the boy’s.

The last thing is literacy training for the teachers on how to use the story books in their classrooms. A friend, Brett, came to hold two different sessions. One was on ‘free reading,’ and the more recent one on ‘guided reading.’ Both went well, but it has been a struggle getting the teachers to actually use the books. Next term I will try to push them to use the books enough to see the benefits, but for now the pupils read in the library during their break time.

I have lots of pictures, but like always I have to wait until I get to internet that is fast enough to upload.

I wanted to post a bunch of pictures but I only had time to post 4...they take so long to upload, so hopefully I will find more time to post.

Brett, Katherine and I in african clothing

At Lake Bunyoni while my father was visiting trying to shoot a pygmy's bow and arrow...without luck.

Dressed in a hot pink gomez at an introduction passing the microphone.

Wait, just kidding...they want me to give a speech so the mic was given back to me.

During the term break (August 16th – September 15th) we got the library all set up. I received a grant to build bookshelves and so it began. With the help of many other peace corps volunteers and Kumiko (a Japanese volunteer stationed at Bishop Brown – my school) we got the books from Kampala back to Kayunga, bookshelves built, room set up, etc. Organizing the books is more tedious work than I could have ever imagined, but all the books were put onto an excel spreadsheet that was printed out alphabetically by title, then by author, then by category. We separated the books into 8 categories: Easy, Intermediate, Difficult, Science, Science Oversized, Oversized, Chapter Books and Guided Reading Books. After labeling all the books, we shelved them in alphabetic order based on category, then title. I’ve registered over 900 books sent from home! I can’t believe how much support I’ve gotten.

The first week of school not many pupils show up because the pupils are required to clean the school compound (slashing the grass and such). Honestly, I wouldn’t come either…hard labor is not my idea of fun. The second week I held library orientation for each class down to P4 since P1 and P2 only learn Luganda in class and P3 is still too young to read in English. Orientation was interesting. I stood at the front talking to the pupils about how to read a book and how to care for a book, etc and they just continued to ask ‘When can we come? When is it open? What time? What day?’ I could see the excitement in all of their faces so at the end I answered all the questions and then said ‘Raise your hand if you like to read.’ Every hand goes up. Then, ‘Why do you like to read?’ All the hands go down. Upon coaxing answers out of them I received things like ‘You can gain knowledge.’ ‘You can practice your english.’ Then one boy stood up and said ‘I like to read because reading is beautiful.’ I thought it was sweet.

The library opened yesterday (October 1st) and it was a little chaotic. I had originally wanted no more than 25 pupils in the classroom but when it came down to it, I couldn’t refuse children at the door. Although I do refuse the little ones, but they always find ways to sneak in. Putting the books back has been a real hassle so we are trying to come up with a new strategy for that. Also, one kid pulled out a puzzle so I started showing her how to do it and kids crowded around to see and now puzzles are the new favorite. Children bolt out of their classrooms as soon as the bell rings for breaktime, lunchtime and after school so they can arrive at the library first to ensure getting a puzzle for themselves. There are about 15 puzzles so pieces have already gone missing and have been put back in the wrong bag. Overall they are pretty careful with the stuff and I’m hopeful that it will last.

I make all the pupils sign in when they enter the library and it gets crowded by the book so I know many don’t do it, but the first day over 100 pupils had signed in. They are allowed to come at break time (10:30-11am), then again at lunch time (1-2pm) and last after school (3:30-5pm). Eventually I hope to help children reading, but as of the second day it is open, things are too chaotic to do anything but monitor and help with puzzles.

Another volunteer, Brett, came to Bishop Brown to hold a workshop on free reading during class. So just allowing the pupils to choose a book and sit around the compound to read. Tomorrow (October 3rd), she’s coming to do a workshop on guided reading with the class. I have received 2 sets of books that are uniform (60 of each set). One is an intermediate book, maybe for P4 and the other is a small chapter book for P6. If the teachers don’t understand exactly how to use them, I may start teaching an English class twice a week.

Other work…the reproductive health classes ended last term and we may start those up again. The computer class continues to go on. I used grant money to repair both of Bishop Brown’s computers and buy new monitors for them. Also, I have received a total of 5 laptops. The 3 working ones have been put to use. One is at Ssezibwa, a school where my first computer students are from; they are teaching others from the school. The other two have been used at Bishop Brown and I have been teaching on them since the Bishop Brown computers were broken for a long time. The two that aren’t working I will take to Kampala next week for repairs.

I think that is all to report for work!

WARNING: I am posting pictures of this event at the bottom of the entry. Some are graphic so if you don't want to see them, don't scroll down. I don't want to offend anyone by posting these so be aware.

I arrive to Mbale Sunday night because we think we have an early morning Monday. Turns out the event we want to attend, 40 minutes away in Busheeka, doesn’t start until 4 pm. So we mosey around town and leave around 2. The drive up has green rolling hills on every side – it’s a view that’s hard to find outside a state/national park.

As we’re driving up we hear the sound of drums, then see the parade of people walking past us towards a river. The ceremonies have started.

Mbale is on the eastern part of Uganda and the tribe found there is called the Bugisu. Tribal customs require that every male get circumcised between the ages of 15 and 25. This circumcision ceremony happens for one month every two years so the opening ceremony was held in Mbale and then from that day on for a month numerous boys are circumcised every day. The trick to seeing one (which isn’t difficult) is to know which village is holding them on which day. Through other peace corps volunteers we heard there was one happening in Busheeka, hence our trip to that village.

We aren’t really sure where to go since there are three distinct sets of people drumming and parading. The guy sitting next to us in the taxi is a talker and ends up being our guide to the ceremony being held closest to our stop. He guides us up this muddy hill (it rains every day in these hills) where with my traction-amazing chacos I make it up with ease. Rishi, on the other hand, is wearing loafers with no traction on and is traveling slow, slipping along the way. Zac is wearing tire sandals and looks like a lost cause, but he is moving slower and steadier than Rishi. We make it up the hill with no real falls.

Right when we arrived, people swarmed us asking if we were here to see the circumcision ceremony and that we have to make a donation to the participants if we want to watch. We had known this previously so we say it’s fine and will make our donation after. They are a bit concerned about me because women aren’t permitted to watch but as always the exception is made because I’m white (I’m not trying to be racist, but we do get a lot of special treatment because of the color of our skin). There is one man in particular that comes up to talk to us with a big stick and he says he is in charge of beating the participants if they get scared. I simply request the he doesn’t beat me if I get scared and he agrees.

Here’s where I start getting scared. Men are walking back from the river where they took each participant (there are three on this day) to get smothered in mud. Everyone is banging drums and making as much noise as they can. Some men are wearing metal on their knees so when they stomp all the metal clinks together for noise. When they get close they start stomping in the mud, so much that I end up with mud on my camera and clothes.

They are so excited for us to get pictures and see this ceremony as a foreigner that they continually try to put me closest to the man getting cut. This is in no way enjoyable. They put me so close for the first one that I thought they were expecting me to do the cutting. I get out my camera because they insist that I take pictures and the first guy walks up. The two men who are in charge of circumcising this guy pulls out his penis and starts peeling it down just like you would a carrot. The knives look dull and I get nauseous. The skin goes from black to white and bloody. I start shaking, not only because it looks so painful, but it looks as though it is hap-hazardly done. The cutters are not even close to what anyone would consider a medical professional. And I had known previously that it is not uncommon for mistakes to occur…cutting too deep, hitting the urethra and then the man has to keep a tube in for the rest of his life.

One done and I am ready to go. But the people are so excited to have me see the next one that they pull me back into the crowd and put me in the same position. This time instead of focusing on the cutting, I look at the boy’s face. He looks so drugged that he doesn’t even seem to know what is happening to him. His face is covered in mud and he is gripping a wood plank placed across his shoulders. The families or the father rather, will give the boys a ‘special plant’ and A LOT of local brew so that the pain is lessened. If the boy cries out, he shames the family so the father of the boy will take extra precautions against that happening. At this point, I cannot take my eyes off this boy’s face because if I look down, I know I will puke and possibly pass out. It ends and I have taken pictures, I’m not sure what of because I didn’t want to look, but I point and shoot hoping for the best.

Two done and I am refusing to see the third. As they drag me in, I am pulling myself away saying ‘please no more.’ The crowd is obviously stronger than me and not all that concerned about what I want. I watched the third one and meant to get a video, but I was in such a state of shock by that time that there was no use in trying. I want to point out that most Bugisu on the way to the ceremony were yelling ‘Prevent AIDS, get circumcised.’ It has been proven that circumcised men are less likely to contract STD’s and HIV, but many boys contract HIV during their circumcision ceremony because the same knife is used for all boys without being cleaned so blood transfers from one boy to the next. This is probably the biggest problem with the circumcision ceremonies, more so than cutting too deep.

Immediately after this one ended, we left. We got out of there as quick as possible, but considering the hill we had to climb up and now have to climb down, we could only move so fast. Rishi fell and I heard from about 15 laughing Ugandans before I saw his entire side covered in mud. After walking on the road for a long time, we got a taxi back to Mbale and I went to bed still shaking from what I saw.

There is another tribe that does female circumcision, also in the east, but I don’t think I’d be able to stomach another one. And, from what I understand, the female circumcision is done purely to make sex painful for a woman therefor discouraging her from cheating on her husband with other men. Both the female and male circumcisions are mandatory within the tribe.

There are many things that happen daily that go unmentioned, but today I feel like writing so I’ll tell you about my day.

Main Characters:

BLAZE VALENTINE – A 3 year old boy who acquired his name from being born on Valentine’s Day. Many children are scared of white people, but this particular teacher’s boy who sees me everyday was scared of me for an entire year, only recently getting over it and now thinks we’re best friends…we’re not. He cries a lot and always pees his pants. This would be okay and not a deal breaker for our friendship except that he tends to pee his pants on my mat or my wooden chair. Not cool.

JOAQUIN – Nickname Joa. A 3 year old boy who appears to be Blaze’s boss (and also mine). This boy is in his own little world and anyone who has met him will agree. He comes to my house everyday, maybe 3 times a day to play. He cries a lot, but is still my best friend. Although communication is a problem we still listen to each other. We can sit and have full conversations (him in Luganda and me in English) and only understand little bits of what each other is saying but still talk.

DUCKLING – A newborn black and yellow fluff of adorableness.

Story:

I’m walking home from the market one day and I see Blaze and Joa playing. As I walk closer they point at something, so excited to shoe me their new toy they can hardly contain themselves. I see this tiny, fluff ball. It’s a baby duckling with its yellow and black baby fluff. Oh, it’s so cute trying to waddle away from the boys.

Blaze gets to excited he wants to catch it. He’s three and therefore hasn’t quite mastered the stop element to running. Before we know it he has run over the duckling – its head getting the brunt of the weight. When he realizes what he’s done he starts screaming and runs away.

When I get a closer look I see that the duckling isn’t quite dead but has suffered a massive blow to the head taking all feathers off. I can’t kill it – I feel awful that it’s hurt and even worse that I can’t finish it. Euthanasia is out of the realm of things I can do. I walk away leaving Joa, the tough one of our trio. I am not just leaving Joa though, I am hoping that Blaze’s screams will initiate an adult response.

Next thing I know I’m sitting on my back porch reading, trying to forget about the duckling scene. Joa comes back holding this dead duckling by the wing. He walks in my yard and goes to set it down turning around just before he does to see my reaction.

As I see this I stand up and say ‘Nedda!’ (NO!) and point further away. He thinks this is really funny because he walks about 4 steps and does it again. All the while, he is laughing. Finally he reaches a reasonable distance away and waits for my nod to chuck the baby duckling as far as a 3 year old can throw.

After this is finished they both come to my house to do a victory dance.

Speaking of unmentioned stories…Joseph just wrote a text “coming down from where we stayed this morning we passed a checkpoint where the guard had an AK47 strapped over his shoulder and an Applebees Polo-style shirt on.” We are used to the guards with the AK47s, but it is always a treat to see their ‘professional’ clothing. Any shirt with a collar is professional.

A little bit on transport in Uganda...

The taxis don't leave until they are full. And full to our standards is a bit different than full to Ugandan standards. For instance, leaving the taxi park in Kampala where rules are regulated, the taxi looks like this:

The pink man is the driver. The purple is the conductor (the one who collects money), the blue are the passengers, the red dots are babies scattered amongst the taxi, in the back there is a chicken in olive green and 2 goats in brown. I haven't included the luggage each person brings...really awkwardly shaped plastic items that don't fit anywhere except on your lap. But adding this would make the picture all muddled.

Now, when leaving Kampala and the taxi is filled to this capacity there is not much point in thinking about strategy on where to sit unless you are really tall and then the back is not the seat of choice. BUT the problem is is that the taxi never stays this way. Although the rule says a 14 passenger maximum is allowed, that is slightly changed outside of Kampala to a 14 passenger minimum. Here is a pretty common scene for a taxi after leaving the city:

Additions to this from the last are the lime green extra passengers picked up on the outskirts of kampala, the red circles are small children. This is still considerably comfortable if you have planned it out well. By planning I mean...Get the front seat and if that doesn't work, you assess the situation:

1. The size and shape of the other passengers and which rows are they sitting in - women have some big booties and there for big hips that can be painful if put between 2 large women.

2. How many children are in each woman's possession - ineveitably almost every women in the taxi will have children along for the ride, but sometimes they can be hiding and you sit down...next thing you know they are sitting on your lap the whole ride. Or babies who cry a lot, never fun to be stuck there. And taxi rides are a great time to breast feed so if you are uncomfortable with topless women around it's best not to take public transport.

3. Which jump seats are broken - this can be rough if caught in a bad seat. The seats at times won't hold themselves up or won't have a back to them so you have to them.

4. Look for the ones who like to talk - no matter how good the conversation starts, it almost always turns into a conversation of trying to convert you to another religion or trying to get a sponsor from America or whatever country you tell them you're from.

5. How many sacks of whatever are under which seat - it is already a pretty cramped space so you must look on the floor to see how much stuff is there. Foot freedom is key.

6. Whose next to the window - Ugandan women tend to refuse to open the window creating a hot box for the rest of the passengers, whereas men always open the window to allow body odor out, fresh air in.

There are many more, but the rest are mostly individual preferences. I think I got all the main ones that most everyone looks at.

Also, we are still on pretty main roads with this taxi. The deep village taxis there is no strategy except hold your breath and dive in. This one time I was coming from the village and to keep me in the taxi the conductor had to on my back while closing the door like you do when your suitcase is to full...sit on it while zipping it closed. I'll try to find (or take) some pictures of taxis so there is a real life picture for you and not my paint version.

My natural sense of direction is not something I generally brag about and Poland definitely should not brag about their general knowledge of the English language (or at least willingness to use it) or their friendliness.

I am considerably open to asking for directions every 5 minutes to be confident in the way I am going, but these Polish were sending me in circles so I tried to just figure it out on my own. I wanted to walk to the beach, one said to follow the river, another said that that isn't possible. I walked around the town about 4 times. Fine, whatever I will just start walking north, I eventually I have to hit the Baltic Sea...can't miss it, right?! I passed a lot of industrial looking ports and a lot of creepy neighborhoods...by this time I am watching the road signs and following the tram tracks. I have walked about 5 km not knowing if I am walking in the right direction. At 6.5 km, I was so frustrated from not knowing where I am going that I decided to get on the tram and go back to where I started to try again. I think I walked in so many circles that my 6.5 km by road signs is not accurate or at least I like to tell myself that.

Now I am back in Gdansk and so I go to the train station...again with the unfriendly Polish...so I am back to trying to figure this out on my own. Although directions aren't my stong point, I can usually figure out machines...there was a machine to buy your ticket to Sopot (the beach). Fine, I'll go to the touristy, resorty town where people speak English. Bought the ticket in less than 2 minutes and in less than 30 minutes I was in Sopot. Done and done. I feel accomplished for getting there, but not satisfied because I wanted to get there by foot.

The beach is beautiful and there is a 512 m long wooden pier (the longest wooden pier in Europe). I think you were supposed to pay to walk along it, but I just gave the "I'm confused and you're not speaking English look" and they eventually let me go because they didn't want to have to deal with my incompetence any longer. Love how that works. I hung out on the beach for a while, walked along the pier and the famous street of (I don't remember what it is called), but apparently paparazzi and famous polish people are commonly seen here. I wouldn't know the faces so I didn't see anyone famous.

Oh and the night before, one of the street performers was this man who sang opera in the highest pitch voice I have ever heard...

The whole time in Europe...Erica and I never really knew what would come next. I can honestly say that throughout my entire trip, I never knew which town/city/even country I'd be in the next day. We left the place we were staying in Istanbul with our bags all packed...in my mind we were on our way to take an overnight train to Bulgaria...boy was I mistaken. Turns out we spent another night in Istanbul and flew to Prague the next day. Prague was never on our agenda...similar things happened throughout the trip so we had to lug our bags around at unnecessary times like here when we were in Ceske Krumlov, we were thinking Vienna to Budapest...nah, back to Prague we went. Here is a picture of Erica in Ceske Krumlov in the rainy weather with her bag that is almost bigger than her.

The whole time in Europe...there were statues everywhere. America really dropped the bomb on that one...the statues bring history, artisticness to the country. Some of them were really funny and brightened your day. Here are two that we saw.

The whole time in Europe...people's unwillingness to speak English. We had been told and kind of already knew that everyone learns English in school so everyone knows at least a little bit. Some people seemed so disgusted that we didn't speak their language or any other European language that they just flat out refused to speak English. It seems fair that they would be annoyed that we come to their country and then expect them to speak the language of our country, but if you are going to be working in a touristy town or in public transportation, come on...english is the language of travel. Here is picture of Erica trying to forcefully break that language barrier with the train attendent.

The whole time in Europe...pigeons were in every major city. Here is Erica playing with them.

This one time in Europe...I rode the trams and buses basically for free since no one is around to check if you have a ticket or not. Every once in a while Erica and I would pick up a ticket just because they were around $1 each and the fine was 500-1000 Euros (so the book claimed). NOT worth it. While we were in Budapest on our way back to our hostel from the Hungarian baths, we took the underground metro and decided to bypass the buying a ticket stage. Our stop was Deak Ferenc Ter. Let me quote my travel book here, "...while it may seem easy just to jump on for the ride without paying, be careful...inspectors in red armbands prowl the Deak Ferenc Ter metro stop in particular, and are especially likely to stop tourists." Are we stupid, or what? Yes, the inspectors in red armbands were there. So we dodged them in a very strategic manner. Woah, close. Little did I know this is a multi-tram stop so there were more. My heart starts racing again and Erica is saying 'Well, if we get a ticket, we just don't pay it and leave the country...' What am I supposed to say to that? We head back down stairs since the inspectors won't check tickets on the way down or so we hope (my heart is beating so hard I think I'm going to have a heart attack). We get to the same metro we were at before and ride it to the next stop hoping and praying that there won't be inspectors at this one. Sometimes they wait at the top of the escalator so my heart is thumping all the way up...yaya we get outside with no ticket. I survive with no heart attack!

This one time in Europe...I had the map. Now, to anyone who knows me semi-well, you'd know this means getting lost, walking in circles, etc. That is exactly what we do. At times we walk so far before Erica looks at the map that we have to ask for directions. Here is a picture of erica attempting to break the language barrier and ask for directions from a cab driver in the middle of Pest...

This one time in Europe...I bathed. So my general body hygiene upkeep has been at an all time high the whole time I've been here. Amazingly enough I can't rub dirt off me. This never happens. So towards the beginning of our trip Erica (she is not one to brag about personal hygiene either) says, "Should we shower today?" and my immediate response was, "Didn't we just do that yesterday?" As if even the thought of showering two days in a row is unheard of. She agreed and we didn't shower.

This one time in Europe...I sat down to have a meal with Erica on the Bosphorus river on a rooftop restaurant. We were having a lovely conversation when a man sat down at our table and started bragging about how much money he had. Of course, I am gullable and believe any story told to me, so he is going on and on about all his wonderful, expensive travels and I am inthralled. Next thing I know, he turns out to be a little cookoo. Fine. He gets up and another guy sits down claiming to be the owner of the restaurant. His friend/employee sits down and starts hitting on Erica. This guy was creepy, both were. But the guy (the one who claims to own the restaurant) asks me if Erica is wild and I sarcastically go along with it. Then he asks if she is permiscuious (sp?) and I immediately shut him down and am disgusted. CREEPY TURKISH MEN. They were everywhere. Erica immediately turns down their offer to go out on their yacht for the night...we pay for our dinner and get the hell out of there.

This one time in Europe...I forgot to pack my swimsuit. A turkish bath was on my agenda but I always assumed no one wore clothes. This does occasionally happened and it happened with Erica and I. Talk about awkward...I just kept my eyes close until the end. This is what the room looks like before the naked massage:

And this is sort of how it is when you are getting massaged. Of course these are not photos of me, but ones that I found off the internet...not only did I not have clothes on, but also no camera.

This one time in Europe...Erica and I wanted to explore the circular thing at the Hungarian bath. So we make our way over to it, little did we know there was such a strong current. How those children got in and out of that thing is beyond me since Erica couldn't get in, I had to pull her has she rammed her body into the wall then we both couldn't get out...

I was recently told that some of my entries aren't all that optimistic about living in Uganda. So I want to clarify that I do get frustrated at times, but for the most part I love living in Uganda. I have realized that more after going on vacation; I have been in Europe going on 3 weeks and I am very ready to go 'home.'

There are times when I get homesick for America when I am in Uganda, but I never thought that I would be aching to get back to my home in Kayunga. I miss the people and their flexibility with time. I miss their constant willingness to help. I miss the people's constant urge to be your friend (Ugandans and tourists alike). I miss my friends and most of all, Joseph. I hadn't realized how much of a life I have formed for myself there. A routine, I enjoy waking up in my little 2 room, concrete house every morning, sitting on the porch listening the the pupils come to school. I hate to admit it, but going to bed without a mosquito net even feels odd, not cooking on a charcoal stove...the list goes on about the things I have grown so accostomed to. By no means am I saying that I want to move back there and stay there. I will go back for my 10 months and then move on. Of course I will miss it, especially if I already miss it after 3 weeks, but I will move on and remember the good things.

I think this goes for everyone...when you have something it is so easy to focus and complain about the things that frustrate you because those things stand out, but until you are away from your 'normal' life long enough you don't realize all the good things. To say that I was getting frustrated is an understatement, I needed a break. Now I have had my break and I am ready to go back, work on my library and my computer class. Possibly continue the reproductive health classes and start teaching english class at my center school. A little change is good for everyone.

This is where a sad story comes. Erica has a job interview and so she wanted to fly out early. We had agreed that we were ready to go back, but I didn't know for sure if I could change my flight. Arriving to the airport, the KLM attendent was sure to let me know it would not be possible to make any changes in my flight, even for a small fee. Unfortunately Erica had already made the changes to her flight, paying money to change it. So Erica and I parted ways on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning I headed to the Baltic Coast. That is where I am now...in a town called Gdansk. Today I spent the day walking around listening to more street performances and tomorrow I will walk the 10 km to Sopot to sit on the beach for the day.

I guess I didn't say much about Warsaw...we walked around Tuesday night after the disappointing airport visit...but I was a little bitter about being left alone for 5 days that I wasn't really paying attention to where we were going...although we did see a lot of the city and it was way nicer than we anticipated. Here is a picture of people ballroom dancing or something in one of the squares. Notice how the houses in the background don't look real...they were. It is a playful big town.

And now, like I said, I am in Gdansk. Here was my dinner:

A pirate ship or something in the Motlawa river on the way to the Baltic Sea:

The rain gutters or whatever they are called, there were a billion of them all along this street:

And last for today, one of the street performances...break dancers:

Poland is a country full of festivities and excitement, but along with all the fun we had here there was also the visit to Auschwitz and the reminder of what an awful world we live in.

First, let's talk about the food. Not sure if this picture sums it up for you:

We shared that plate and usually I can finish anything (well ever since i stopped being so picky about food) and I ended up spitting some meat out in my napkin. Both of us got sick the next morning. So we decided to take a short break from Polish food. We spent most of that night watching street performances. Oh yea, we are in Krakow now. The street performances ranged from marionets performing Michael Jackson to fire throwers to huge stage concerts, all happening in Old Town Square (Rynek Glowny), the largest market square in Europe (fun fact).

The next morning we left for Auschwitz. I don't think there is anyway I can explain it in words and I don't think Auschwitz itself needs explaining, we all know. All I can say is that I was on the verge of tears the entire day.

We spent the rest of the day exploring the city a little more, seeing the sights.

The next day was the salt mines! Erica didn't find these as worth while as I did, but we both still enjoyed it. We went 135 m below the ground to see sculptures and carvings that were created by miners and artists. The tour took us through underground lakes, sculptures, altars, chandaliers made with pure salt rock and religious relics all carved from salt. And it is claimed that the air is theraputic down there, cures asthma and stuff. It was impressive, but I didn't take any pictures, I was getting tired of my camera by this point. Maybe I will get some pictures from Erica?!

Eger and the Valley of the Beautiful Women. I will leave this one for Erica to write because it was our favorite place...and the most romantic place. We really bonded here over wine.

Prague was cool, but there wasn't quite as much to see as there was in Budapest. And I think the bad weather in Prague put a damper on my opinion of the city. The weather in Budapest was beautiful. We got in pretty late the first night so our only goal was to find a hostel and get some dinner. After wandering around for what felt like forever, we found a really cute hostel and we ended up with our own room. Dinner was interesting. We decided to save some money and get food at the grocery store...so we made sandwiches, ate yogurt and drank wine out of our yogurt containers. Seems logical.

The next morning, we woke up and toured the city. We went up on castle hill, over to Margit Island, saw Parliment and to the big market. Back and forth between Buda and Pest, over the Danube and back.

Castle Hill was another castle but it was a very big one with museums on top. Not sure how much you want to hear about this castle, but it has been rebuilt three times over the past 800 years...damn WWII. Within this castle district is a big church (Matthias Church) and labyrinths that were created naturally by thermal springs. Here is a bird on a leash up on castle hill.

Next we passed parliment and continued on to the grand market. This market was filled with produce, meat products, dolies, souvenirs, everything. Here is a picture of what I bought, which I am sure will come as no surprise to anyone that knows me well.

So you can't go to Budapest and not go to Margit Island. It is in the middle of the Danube and you can get there from half way down one of the bridges...you walk onto the island and it doesn't even feel like you are in the city any longer. There are no private vehicles, just a few public buses that run people in and out of the island. It's adorable. There is this fountain that dances to music just like the one in Las Vegas at the bellagio, but on Margit Island there is chance that you will find a man in a speedo. We sat there watching this man for a little while, I thought he was going to go swimming in the fountain...turns out he was just sun bathing. I got a picture of him to share.

Last for the day, we walked up Citadella Hill. Here is Buda, where you can see the castle district:

And here is Pest with Parliment and we stayed on this side...and of course the Danube in the middle. Also, follow the danube up the river just past the second bridge and there is a foresty part...that is Margit Island.

And Erica made a new friend on our first day...

The following today, we headed a little bit outside the main city center to go caving. Now we have mentally prepared ourselves for some serious spelunking and I am all worried about only bringing my sandals...come to find out, the cave has been completely filled in with concrete steps and everything. Don't get me wrong, it was still cool to see, but a little disappointing that we didn't have to work for it. These caves are about 10 degrees Celcius and they were originally formed by the thermal springs that now source the baths in the city. So what is the next logical step for the day...go to the thermal baths!!! The bath that we went to happened to be located in city park right next to Hero's square so we saw it all. The bath we went to was called Szechenyi. It has floating chess boards in the outdoor pool and then inside are the hot baths. Here is a picture of one side of the outdoor pool from the top. PS I forgot to bring my swimsuit so I was the only one wearing a sports bra and underwear. Embarassing. Although not too embarassing to not go.

After leaving Hayley in Turkey, Erica and I flew to Prague. We had a hard time trying to find a way out of Istanbul because Bulgaria and Romania were taken off the agenda for travel so the easiest way out was to fly. Unfortunately, we came into bad weather...raining the entire time we were there.

Because Erica had already been to Prague and the rain in the city, we thought it best to take a day trip out and then tour a little bit when we got back. Off to Karlstejn we went. Karlstejn is a cute, little town with a castle on top of a long hill. During the climb, there are lots of touristy shops to buy random medieval souvenirs and gifts along with people creating jewelry from metal and horse and carriage. There was even a guy all decked out in medieval armor encouraging tourists to give him money to hold his falcon (yes, it was a real bird)...

Once we got to the top of the hill, the castle (built by Emperor Charles IV) was just as your could imagine. Gorgeous view from the top, but once you've seen one castle, you've seen them all. ALTHOUGH it is still exciting to see everyone and if you are in a town, you can hardly pass up going to see, at least I can't.

Here is Erica on the walk up the hill and the castle is up there just as you can see.

And a picture of part of the castle, Statni Hrad I think it was called.

We came back to Praha (Prague) as it's called. We did the touristy thing of walking around to see all the sights. I am sure any picture you find online of Prague will be better than the ones I took so I will just put one up of Erica and I on the Charles Bridge (or one of the bridges, there were millions of them).

The next day, again, we went on a day trip out of Prague to a town in South Bohemia called Cesky Krumlov. Again, the rain wouldn't leave us alone so although this town is known for it's outdoor activities, we did not get to partake in any of the kayaking, canoeing or hiking...sad. BUT we did get to see the grizzly bears!

They were used to protect the Zomek castle, home to Bohemian and Bavarian noble families and they are still there. They are down in a moat though with a bridge over the moat, so I think their protecting days are over. Besides the castle, the town was very quiant.

We headed back to Prague to get ready to head to BUDA BUDA BUDAPEST the next day!

Vacation time! On July 7th, I left Uganda for Turkey to meet up with Hayley and Erica. I am hoping that Hayley will write about Turkey, so I will leave it for now.

Hey hey! So it seems I have left my blog to my visitors, but now that my busy month of May visitors is over, I guess I should resume writing.

The month of May was visitor central. The month of June has been work, work, work. So let me tell you about it:

LITERACY:

“Free Reading” So far I have given 2 schools books to try using them in a ‘free reading’ method that a friend Brett came to teach to them. Even the simplest teaching techniques that we all grew up with can be difficult to master if it is your first time seeing it. So this session on free reading lasted a few hours…the concept ‘let the children read for fun.’ I am still waiting to see the teachers using the books, but they claim they have to stamp each one so the pupils don’t steal them.

“The Library” I am hoping to receive many more books through Briana’s fundraiser (they spent a lot of time last semester collecting books and fundraising for shipping costs, an unbelievable amount of books and money was collected!!!!) In August, I am expecting to have all the books brought from Kampala to Kayunga, shelves built and the process of setting up the library started. Using the library may not start until next term since I want to get all the books stamped and a system set up for ‘checking out’ books. As for sustainability of the project, (since I was a bit worried getting this set up just 2 terms before I leave) a JICA (Japanese Peace Corps) Volunteer moved into the other side of my house and is gung-ho about the library and will watch over it after I leave.

“Guided Reading” I recently received 2 boxes of books, each box containing the same book so there are multiply copies of the same book!!!! Because the teachers are not even familiar with free reading, I will take over a few english classes next term to be an example of how to teach guided reading. I am hoping that I will also be able to start book reports and maybe even book wars…we’ll see when the next term starts.

“Pen pal letters” Briana’s Spanish class not only did fundraisers for books, but also wanted to get the primary children involved so a woman named Abby suggested trying pen pal letters. We have sent them back and forth between Africa and America a few times and every time the pupils here are so happy they are almost in tears. While my father was here, we took a video of the handing back of the letters to the pupils and it was posted online at http://www.teachertube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=241bd62b01c442312eb5

Although we are still trying to perfect the letter sending back and forth process, it is still going on. In the last batch of letters I sent back with my brother, the children had been told their replies were coming and so they prepared some small gifts for their pen friends. Little dolls made out of banana fibers and things like that. Adorable!

COMPUTER TRAINING:

“Ssezibwa” Three teachers at Ssezibwa primary school have gone through the full computer training and taught the computer to other teachers for a full term so I thought the next step was for them to start a program at their own school. I loaned them one of the laptops my mom brought over and from what I hear the program is running well. I vowed not to bother them in the first few months they are doing their program just to see how it will run when I am not around at all. I am going to check on their program tomorrow…

“Bishop Brown” This is my center school. The program is still going on well although time is always an issue. I have again this term kicked out 3 teachers based on absenteeism. I may never understand why they don’t show up, teachers voluntarily sign up for this program and then don’t come?! Whatever. Recently though I have received 2 new laptops, one working and the other just needs a little lovin’ from Mr. Ryan Jones, my PCV computer-god friend. The new laptops multiply the number of teachers that can learn each term, which is always exciting.

Hopefully soon I will have this program running on it’s own…

REPRODUCTIVE HEALTH:

It has been an interesting and surprisingly satisfying program (exhausting though). The program ran just like you are probably imagining it…we had on average 100 girls in each session (we did this at 9 schools) and presented on very basic information, such as general anatomy, puberty, menstruation, pregnancy, hygiene, STD’s and HIV/AIDS. I can only speak for the girls side because we invited PCV guys to talk to the male pupils, but the girls don’t ever get a chance to get this knowledge or ask questions. So we provided all of the above and we got some pretty crazy questions.

Almost every class asked about ‘visiting the bush.’ It is this cultural practice of taking girls to the village to show them how to elongate their labias. Odd, I know, but they are told that they can never produce and men will never love them if they don’t do it.

Other questions were fun, but pretty general. By the end of the sessions, we were singing songs about changes that happen during puberty, such as breasts, hips, butt and hair, butt and hair to the head shoulders knees and toes theme. And we also made human female reproductive systems. All was very fun!

And now that work is going on well, it time for a VACATION!!!!! This will be my first time off the continent…and the destination is EASTERN EUROPE with Hayley and Erica. Not sure if you can feel my excitement, but I am stoked!

PS All pictures I have for this blog are not accessible right now so I will post them when I come back from Europe in 3 weeks!