A new flight, a new morning, a new country.

A new language, new customs, new uncertainties.

Different food (again), different money (again), am I paying too much for this?

Thailand was never on the top of my lists of places to go. In fact I had little desire to visit SE Asia in general. But at 3:30am this morning I stepped off an airplane and into 80 degree heat. So how did I get here? The easy answer is that I got drunk with my friends in Kampala the day before we were going to buy our tickets home.

"Give me one good reason not to go to Thailand," they said.

"Um... well, I guess I'm going to Thailand."

And so again I transition from a previous culture that I am just getting used to. Turkey and Georgia were so different than Africa, and much colder. Let's see what Thailand is all about.

The other day I had the most pleasant experience: I took a flight.

When I showed up at the airport everything was orderly, and there wasn't even a queue. The flight had a departure time, so I knew when I should get to the airport, and the airline agent had all of my ticket information for me when I arrived. She even offered to take my bag all the way to Johannesburg for me!

On board I surprised to learn that my seat, 20B, was just that: my seat! The whole thing! I didn't even have to have a baby on my lap. I was offered coffee en route, and didn't have to dehydrate myself because there was a lavatory on board. Ahh such luxury. There was no music, let alone blasting music, and nobody was walking the aisle prosthylatising (ironically I wasn't preying the entire time that we didn't have a head-on with oncoming traffic).

Namibia and South Africa has been much like this: Not Africa. The first signs of Not Africa were spotted as I got into Lusaka about three weeks ago. Working traffic lights, malls, fast food chains, and not only lane markings on the road but people following agreed-upon traffic laws.

The difference only became more pronounced as we ventured further in to Not Africa. Windhoek was a modern small city with glass skyscrapers, parks and other public works, and signs marking the notable tourist attractions. It even had the B1: a four-lane divided highway.

And Cape Town was as if Disneyland opened a South Africa Land inside California Adventure.

But I'm glad I'm ending my 27-month stint in Johannesburg, a small pocket of Real Africa still exists here. I'm staying in an inner-suburb neighbourhood called Yeoville, a highly mixed bohemian/rastafarian/working class community where I've only seen five white people in the last three days, including myself. There are street vendors hawking pirated DVDs, blasting music from shops, and bars and restaurants where local people go.

Though I am looking forward to my flight today to Istanbul. It's so long, I might even get a free meal!

Phase One

Kampala to Dar es Salaam I hadn't been looking forward to the bus trip from Kampala to Dar es Salaam but since it was at the very beginning of trip I figured excitement alone would get me through, but nothing can quite prepare a person for a 30-hour African bus ride. We left on time at 1:00pm, quite unique for Uganda and considering the double-whammy of riding Kampala Coach, with an estimated arrival of 5:00pm the next day. Delays at the Kenya border held us longer than expected (though we were flagged through with our $20 Mzungu coupons for the transit visa) which set us back. After a short bathroom stop in Nairobi at 2am we headed south to Tanzania. A few Mzungu coupons ($100 for a multiple-entry one-year visa which is the only one available to Americans) and a polite immigration smile later we were in Tanzania. Exhausted, our spirits drained, and that excitement I counted on so much to get me through quickly diminishing, we spotted two giraffe on the roadside which reconfirmed where we were in the world. And though it was cloudy around Moshi, we were able to catch a few glimpses of the glaciers of Mt. Kilimanjaro glistening in the morning equatorial sun.Finally, after 30 hours on the road and about 1000km behind us, we reached the port city of Dar es Salaam, which means place of peace in Arabic. Up to then I had not traveled in predominately Muslim cultures. Uganda’s Muslim population is about 20% but it’s by no means a Muslim country. Coastal Tanzania, and Zanzibar in particular, has been heavily influenced by the Middle East and Islam for the past several hundred years. Rolling into our hotel (Simba Inn, $8.50 per person with breakfast) at 8pm the only thing we wanted was a cold beer and some food. The hotel: dry. The corner stores: dry. The deserted streets: didn’t want to venture into an unknown city at night. Two blocks from the hotel was an Indian-run street BBQ, Mamboz. Spiced meats, chili and garlic sauces were a treat to our depraved Ugandan taste buds, but again the restaurant: dry. But we made it safely to the first point on our trip, saw wildlife and the largest mountain in Africa, and the next day we were headed to the Spice Islands. Phase Two

Zanzibar Zanzibar has captivated my imagination for several years, mostly because it’s fun to say (and who doesn’t think two ‘z’s in a word is cool?), but also the unique history, white sand beaches, and general exotic allure of the place. Giddy isn’t a strong enough way to describe myself as I was on the ferry making the 90-minute crossing ($35 each way). A triangle-sailed wooden dhow gently passed through our wake and we were in Stone Town.Stone Town was the seat of the sultanate that ruled the archipelago and at a time also coastal Tanzania. The old town is a UNESCO world heritage site with twisting alleys and a maze of paths. It reminded me of Venice or the French Quarter, though the architecture was distinctly Middle Eastern.

Four types of people are on Zanzibar: the Muslims (97% are Muslim from quite liberal – one guy went and bought us beer – to very conservative with women completely covered), the Rastafarians, the tourists, and finally residents who aren’t any of the others. Fisherman Solomon was one of the latter. A ruddy sun-burnt Arab-African man in his early 40s in a varying degree of sobriety, Solomon always popped out of nowhere to help us out. He started walking with us as we stepped off the ferry as a self-appointed tour guide, showing us to several different guest houses until we found one with available beds. He rambled and muttered as he navigated us through the Stone Town labyrinth, explaining different activities he could arrange and telling off other touts who approached us.

The fish market in Stone Town is at a plaza on the water where fishermen set up stands each night and grill the day’s catch kebab-style. You can get fresh-squeezed cane or fruit juices (yup, finding a beer was a larger challenge than imagined), a spicy potato-falafel soup, and a Zanzibar pizza. We met up with Solomon again that night – he found us and was drunker than earlier in the day – and he explained everything and grilled it all up for us: tuna, kingfish, lobster masala, shrimp, coconut falafel.

The next morning it was beach time. We headed to the sleepy village of Bwejuu on a dalla-dalla, the local open-backed trucks (about one hour, 2500 TSh), and crashed at a Rastafarian beach bungalow called Mustapha’s Place ($30 per night for the room with breakfast, so $7.50 each). The beach was incredible. It’s been described as powdered sugar, but I’m going to go for powdered milk; it’s less appetizing perhaps but more accurate in the consistency of the sand and the way it turns to a fine mud (or thick cream) when it mixes with the incoming crystal turquoise water. The air was sultry, and the warm waters of the Indian Ocean offered no reprieve. It was like walking from a humid bathroom directly into a warm bath.

After three days in a warm, lazy paradise where the day’s typical dilemma was choosing between the fish curry or crab penne, we were ready to continue back to Stone Town and Dar es Salaam for the trip inland.

Phase Three

Dar es Salaam to Mbeya The day was against us from the beginning. The goal was simple: leave Stone Town at 7am and be at the train station in Dar for the 1:50pm departure; almost seven hours for a trip that should take no longer than three. But this is Africa.

We rolled out of bed at 6am, forwent breakfast, and lumbered with our backpacks to the ferry dock to catch our boat. It was a grey and drizzly morning which accurately reflected our moods. At the dock they wouldn’t let us board because our boat wasn’t loading, so we asked around and found out that our 7am boat was in fact leaving at 11:30. I assume we were duped into buying bad tickets, but had to get off the island so reluctantly forked over another $35 and bought tickets from a different company that had a 9:30 departure. The skies grew greyer and the drizzle turned to rain.

Normally the crossing to the mainland is 90 minutes, but because of the rain and rough waters it took about 120 minutes, we left a half-hour late, and a lot of people on the boat got sick. We finally reached Dar at noon, plenty of time for an 8km taxi ride to the train station. But because of the rains the main road had flooded, adding to the already backed up traffic from road construction. Our taxi driver knew a few shortcuts and put general road rules in the back seat and we made it to the station at one, my nerves on edge from lack of a contingency plan, and the rest of the gang tired and hungry.

The TAZARA Line (Tanzania Zambia Railroad) was built by the Chinese in the 1970s to link landlocked Zambia and interior Tanzania with the port at Dar es Salaam. I don’t think it has been updated since.

We met our friends and fellow ex-Peace Corps Volunteers Steve and Katherine at the station who had picked up the tickets (one worry off of my plate), and from there the skies cleared and the day became enjoyable again. Our six-bed-berth, second-class cabin (24,000 TSh per person to Mbeya) was large enough to accommodate all of us and our backpacks comfortably, and the saloon car was only a car away. Staff were friendly and helpful and the food was good and cheap (3500 TSh for meals, and 2000 TSh for cold beer), a few steps up from what I had prepared myself for. The train also goes through the Selous Game Reserve, one of the largest protected areas in Africa, and skirts two national parks. From the dinning car we spotted springbok, warthogs, monkeys, a herd of zebra, four giraffes, and a dead elephant (hit by the train?).

The TAZARA line is also known for its breakdowns. I asked a few friends who had lived in Tanzania about the train before we left Kampala and the general response was: “That’s the last option people use to get anywhere.” To me I just heard: “Adventure.” The train stopped 12 hours from Dar at 2am because of a derailment ahead. I had taken some Benadryl so I slept through most of it, but in the morning when we still weren’t moving I went out to explore. The third-class passengers were mostly on the station platform or milling around the train. Some people had set up coal stoves and were selling breakfast. Everyone was taking it in stride and I never heard anyone complain.

By noon we were finally on our way, weaving through valleys and finally onto a plateau that would take us straight into Mbeya, the regional hub of south-western Tanzania. 860km and 32 hours later (about 16 mph) we trundled into the station at midnight. Some missionaries also traveling on the train had called ahead and arranged for us to be picked up and taken to a church-run hostel. Without their help we would have been stranded with no idea where to go. Seeing a bunch of white people with luggage packed into the back of a pickup in the middle of Africa was quite the contrast to the ordinary scene! Phase Four

Mbeya and Lake Malawi Our destination was the small lake-side village of Chilumba in northern Malawi. Based on transport experiences in Uganda I was prepared for a long day of crowded buses, crying babies, and hectic taxi parks, but the transport went surprising smoothly. We left Mbeya without much difficulty at 10am on a coaster to the border (6500 TSh, two full hours). After exchanging the last of our colonial shillings for the bright new colonial kwacha we decided to hoof the one kilometer to the border post. A local Malawian teen, Joe, walked with us, keeping us company on the way. Starting with Joe on that one kilometer walk I started to sense an altogether different vibe from Malawi. Even the immigration officer was more jovial than the stern-faced down-to-business officers of Kenya and Tanzania. “Oh, welcome to Malawi,” he said as he asked about where we were from. We questioned him about local foods we needed to try. “You must have nsima, I love it very much.”

Indeed, the tourism slogan for Malawi is “The warm heart of Africa.”

The MV Ilala was built by a Scottish shipbuilder in the early 1970s and has been plying the waters of Lake Malawi, the second-longest lake in the world, since. It’s a combination freighter and passenger ship, with room for over 400 people on three decks. From the northern port of Chilumba it slowly steams its way southern end of the lake to Monkey Bay in three days, stopping at lake-side villages along the way. It is the only transport to the touristy Malawian island of Likoma, and even calls at a port in Mozambique. What better way to experience Malawi than a three-day cruise on a local boat?

Transportation in Africa is the same everywhere you go. The modes may be different, the buses called something different, but bus, train, or boat, boda-boda or piki-piki, matatu or matola, pick-up or baakie, they all share the same characteristics. They are usually overcrowded, but always have room for one more. Chickens or other livestock come along for the ride, and you can buy most goods through the window from vendors. The Ilala was no different. In fact, we considered starting a cock-fighting ring on the lower deck to pass the time.

And then there are the people that make the experience unique and personal. Tall and lanky Maria, the twenty-something that runs the dinning hall with a touch of sass that garners respect. Francis, our one-eyed bartender who never forgot how much he owed you if he couldn’t make change. Or Justice, the ticketing manager in Chilumba who didn’t skip a beat when Cooper, the snack-shop operator, brought us a cold beer as we talked about cabin particulars: “For me I drink Coke.” No ambiguity there.

The boat didn’t show up until 1am (the scheduled said 5pm – another one of those African transport constants). It was a warm night so we crashed on the beach with the other locals waiting for the boat, the talkative Herold assuring us he’d keep us safe from the drunk and rowdy teenagers goofing off nearby.

As the Ilala is small, there are only about eight cabins, and once we were on board we learned they were all booked. The alternative was to rent foam mattresses and sleep outside on the upper deck, not an unpleasant experience on a warm tropical night.

Three days after we left the northern end of the second longest lake in the world at the dawdling pace of 7 knots, we reached the southern port of Chipoka. Twelve hours behind schedule, but well rested from this great African experience.

After two years my final month is quickly running down. I have 22 days left in Uganda and with Peace Corps (my last day being September 22). After such a long application process, the planning and anxiety, and dealing with a roller coaster of emotions over two years, the reality that it will all be over in three weeks hasn't hit yet. The moment I fear most will probably be a week or two after I return home, and I say, "Well this was fun, I'm ready to go back now."

What will I miss most?

I am going to miss moments like right now. It was a beautiful day and a glorious sunset, with the giant yellow ball melting behind the mountains and taking the colors of the day with it. Twilight emerges, as does a sliver of the moon. I wear shorts because it's still eighty degrees, and sit outside to enjoy the sweet air.

I return back to my village after being gone for several days, and am greeted by some store-owner friends by a friendly wave, and a "You are lost!"

And last week was the perfect summary: after building a mud cookstove at my counterpart's house, we were treated to a delicious home-cooked lunch by his family (potatoes, rice, beans, and veggie sauce), before spending the rest of the afternoon on the river by my house with a few beers.

So, what's next?

First I'll be traveling for 3 months (through southern Africa, then to Turkey and Georgia, and finally southeast Asia - if you have any recommendations, or free places for me to stay, let me know!). Get through the holidays and submit applications for grad school (for a masters of Public Policy/Administration), then ease back into life. I'm looking forward to using my free time to network with some organizations in the Portland area, take a class or two at community college, and also get a part-time job. Again, if anyone wants to hire me, I'll happily send you my resume.

The last three weeks I've spent with the newest group of volunteers, who arrived in country on August 4. This is the group replacing me and my group, and I've had the opportunity to be a live-in trainer at their pre-service training. It has been fun to see how high-energy and high-maintenance they are, and to be around their optimism. Their questions are pertinent to them but have become benign to me as I realize just how accustomed to life here I have become. It makes me realize just how far I've come since the day I landed two years ago.

One of my favourite authors I discovered since I've been here is Don DeLillo. He writes a lot about American pop-culture, society, and suburbia, not necessarily critically but in an ironic and humorous way, and I get a kick out of it. I just finished his novel "Underworld" about the Cold War, and the following passage captures his writing style and unique take on American culture:

Rick was still in the breezeway, running a shammy over the chrome-work. This was something, basically, he could do forever. He could look at himself in a strip of chrome, warp-eyed and hydrocephalic, and reel some of the power of the automobile, the horsepower, the decibel rumble of dual exhausts, the pedal tension of Ford-O-Matic drive. The sneaky thing about his car was that, yes, you drove it sensibly to the dentist and occasionally carpooled with the Andersons and took Eric to the science fair, but beneath the routine family applications was the crouched power of the machine, top down, eating up the landscape.

One of Erica's favorite words in the language was breezeway. It spoke of ease and breeze and being contemporary and having something others did not. Another word she liked was cripser. The Kelvinator had a nice crisper and she like to tell the men that such-and-such was in the cripser. Not the refrigerator, the crisper. The carrots are in the crisper, Rick. There were people out there on the Old Farm Road, where the front porches sag badly and the grass goes unmowed and the Duck River Baptists worship in a squat building that sits in the weeds on the way to the dump, who don't know what a crisper was, who had ice boxes instead of refrigerators, or who had refrigerators that lacked crispers, or who had crispers in their refrigerators but didn't know what they were for or what they were called, who put tubs of butter in the crisper instead of lettuce, or eggs instead of carrots.

He came in from the breezeway.

"The carrots are in the crisper, Rick."

He liked to nibble on a raw carrot after he'd waxed and buffed the car.

He stood looking at the strontium white loaf that sat on a bed of lettuce inside a cake pan in the middle of the table.

"Wuff is it?"

"It's my Jell-O chicken mousse."

"Hey great," he said.

Sometimes she called it her Jell-O chicken mousse and sometimes she called it her chicken mousse Jell-O. This was one of a thousand convenient things about Jell-O. The word went anywhere, front or back or in the middle. It was a push-button word, the way so many things were push-button now, the way the whole world opened behind a button that you pushed.

(From "Underworld," by Don DeLillo, pages 516-517)

I am told that the better you get to know me, the more exact you know where I'm from. With strangers it's simply Portland, whereas my good friends eventually learn that I'm really from Battle Ground (not even Oregon).

I'm going home in about three months and starting to think about what life back home will be like. It will take a lot of energy to reintegrate into my former cow town, and after two weeks there I'll be ready to get moving on to someplace more interesting and exciting.

But then I realized it won't be that much different from Kampala. The Safeway, Albertsons, and Fred Meyer rival the shopping experiences at Shoprite, Nakumatt, and Uchumi. Both cities have a bowling alley, and although Battle Ground's Indian population is nonexistent, we have a delicious family-owned Chinese restaurant much like the one Nakasero.

Shopping for clothes and random accouterments will be easier than in Kampala's chaotic Owino Market, as the Goodwill opened shop in Battle Ground about five years ago. There isn't a place to pick up the latest bootleg DVDs (but I hear everyone is online now with smartphones and fibreoptics so that shouldn't be a problem). And the latest Hollywood blockbusters are offered at the Battle Ground Cinemas, although I'll miss the graininess and poor audio quality of the films at the Garden City theater.

Perhaps I'll feel right at home back in good 'ol Battle Ground after all. Though I don't think the police will like me driving on the left-hand side of the road (or, more accurately, weaving in and out of traffic). They'll have to get used to that one.

Happy 4th of July.

One of our main responsibilities by the time we leave is to put together a Description of Service (DOS), an overview of everything we have done in the last two years fit onto about one page. This is also the only documentation that you get from Peace Corps that proves that you were a volunteer, and it's your only official record of your work. For the rest of your life. So it's kind of a big thing.

I've been hard at work on my DOS but writing about what I've done is difficult for two reasons: First, I'm tempted to use jargon and buzz-words, so I'll write something like, "Sensitized youths and vulnerable children on children's rights issues," when I really just yelled at a few straggling kids to get to school. Second, after I completed my first draft it really didn't look like I did a whole lot. Maybe it's perspective.

Also, most of what happens here is impossible to sum up in one sentence and falls outside of typical "work." For example, I can say that I trained 25 farmers in food security, or that I organized a workshop to train 25 farmers on improved agriculture (without specifics those statement could mean anything), but I can't say that I yelled at some kids to go to class. One of those happens once or twice, the other happens nearly every day. Which has more impact?

Here are some excerpts from one draft of my DOS:

- Read 54 novels of varying length, both fiction and non-fiction.

- Studied for 3 months for the GRE, learning over 100 new vocabulary words.

- Improved haggling skills, obtaining a price reduction of an average of 50% for all transactions.

- Suffered through less than 8 bouts of gastro-intestinal issues obtained from poorly prepared food and contaminated drinking water, among others.

- Managed to not get malaria.

- Maintained a relatively healthy diet and mastered cooking 3-pot meals on 1 burner.

The other draft looks more like this:

Project Development and Organizational Support Advised 4 organizations on program design and management for small enterprise projects.Developed a comprehensive coffee cooperative plan which included over 1,000 farmers in 35 farmer groups and increased farmer incomes by 200%, and established a village microfinance scheme.Networked with 3 international organizations resulting in strong partnerships and access to over $150,000 of capital in the form of loans and grants.Increased farmer profits of pineapple by 500% by introducing a value-addition scheme. Educational Support and Training Facilitation Developed a comprehensive curriculum for teaching business and entrepreneurship at a rural vocational school and taught 24 students in business and entrepreneurship through formal classroom teaching, assignments, and field work.Mentored staff, teachers, and community members in bookkeeping and recordkeeping skills.Conducted 3 trainings on building fuel-efficient stoves with community partners.Trained 25 villagers in improved organic agriculture techniques, including composting and crop rotation, resulting in a 250% increase of bean yields over traditional methods. Community Health Led 3 trainings on constructing and using improved fuel-efficient cook stoves.Linked 12 communities with the local NGO HeWaSa (Health through Water and Sanitation) and lobbied local government to upgrade, fix, and improve water sources in 12 villages.Trained 25 farmers and 65 youths in 3 communities in nutrition and food security. Specialized Training Life Skills training – Peace Corps Uganda (one week).Program Design, Management, and Monitoring and Evaluation training – Peace Corps Uganda (4 days).Sales and Marketing Workshop – USAID Uganda, Sustainable Tourism in the Albertine Rift (2 days). Leadership in Peace Corps Uganda Chairman of the Volunteer Advisory Committee (18 months).Led pre-service training activities with new volunteers.Obtained a Peace Corps grant worth $5800 to facilitate a three-day farmer’s workshop.Participated in redeveloping the Economic Development program, including identifying and establishing new goals, objectives, and indicators for the program.Helped organize Peace Corps Uganda’s 50th Anniversary Service Day celebration and managed 120 people engaged in 7 activities during the event.

Our Close of Service (COS) conference just wrapping up. A two-day affair at a rather swanky (in Ugandan terms) hotel on Lake Victoria, we covered the logistics of leaving as well as important stuff like resumes, interviews, and what to do for the rest of your life. It was also a good time of reflection of our past two years of service. My training class began with 41 people, and 31 have made it to the conference - pretty good. Also, I know my last date as a Peace Corps volunteer: SEPTEMBER 22.

To be honest, now that I have the date the shock of leaving has begun to set in. It took a year from when I submitted my application to when I left for training. There was so much hype before going, and preparations and trainings once I got here. Twenty-four months felt like it would never end. With the days slowly ticking by, the months flying by, before I know it, it is already June (Christmas feels like last week). And now it's over.

What does a post-Peace Corps life mean? I'm scared to go home and find out. I'm afraid that once I go home I'll never go abroad again. I'm worried that I'll get stuck in some menial job again to pay my bills and before I know it I'll be fat and old. I have nothing to do from when I get home until I leave for grad school (applications are pending!) - about 10 months. If anyone wants to hire me, please give me a call! I'm a great babysitter, and I know how to keep chickens.

Friendships and Relationships- I have met some of the best people in Uganda. As volunteers we are taken out of our comfortable known world and flug halfway across the globe and put with a group of complete strangers. It is these strangers, 150 in Uganda, with which you make your friends and support structure. Volunteers come from all walks of life with diverse histories, interests, and goals. Since I am forced to hang out with these other volunteer we develop friendships and bonds that, if we had remained in America, probably would never have happened.

These people are amazing. It opened my eyes to everyone out there. They have been remarkable, challenging me to improve myself and my capabilities. I thank my fellow volunteers for the amazing experience I have had; it would be incomplete without them.

And here's to the next 15 weeks. I have a lot of work to wrap up but still many goals I want to accomplish and friends to make. Mom and Dad, it's been a long time away, but I'll be home before you know it.

Needless to say, I have a lot of free time on my hands. When I joined Peace Corps I had a rough goal of reading 100 books over two years - that's about a book a week. I'm in my 19th month here and last week finished book number 50, so I don't think I'll make the 100 mark. Without further blabbering, here is the list with my completely objective rating system (5 is the highest):

1. Swahili for the Broken Hearted, P. Moore 3 p. 341 2. Demian H. Hesse 3 p. 116 3. The Poe Shadow M. Pearle 1 p. 400 4. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius D. Eggers 4 p. 485 5. Jitterbug Perfume T. Robbins 5 p. 342 6. The Big Sleep R. Chandler 4 p. 139 7. The Rum Diary H. S. Thompson 3 p. 204 8. It S. King 3 ½ p. 1066 9. The Devil in the White City E. Larson 3 ½ p. 390 10. Guns, Germs, and Steel J. Diamond 4 p. 440 11. Motorcycle Diaries C. Guevara 2 ½ p. 165 12. Shadow of Kilimanjaro R. Ridgeway 2 p. 263 13. A Brave New World A. Huxley 4 p. 227 14. A Confederacy of Dunces J. K. Toole 4 p. 394 15. The Shock Doctrine N. Klein 3 ½ p. 589 16. State of Fear M. Crichton 3 p. 714 17. The Lost Continent B. Bryson 3 ½ p. 299 18. White Man’s Burden W. Easterly 3 ½ p. 382 19. Duma Key S. King 3 ½ p. 687 20. Life Expectancy D. Koonz 2 ½ p. 531 21. Three Cups of Tea G. Mortensen 3 ½ p. 331 22. The Men Who Stare at Goats J. Ronson 2 ½ p. 273 23. The Sicilian M. Puzo 2 ½ p. 408 24. Dead Aid D. Moyo 3 ½ p. 154 25. Perfume P. Susskind 3 ½ p. 263 26. White Noise D. DeLillo 4 p. 310 27. The Mission Song J. LeCarre 3 p. 390 28. King Leopold’s Ghost A. Hochschild 4 p. 318 29. The Trouble with Africa R. Calderisi 3 ½ p. 256 30. Catcher in the Rye J. D. Salinger 4 p. 214 31. I’m A Stranger Here Myself B. Bryson 3 p. 288 32. A Thousands Hills S. Kinzer 2 ½ p. 338 33. Democracy Kills H. Dempsey 2 ½ p. 356 34. Connected N. Christakis, et al. 3 p. 305 35. Outliers M. Gladwell 2 ½ p. 285 36. Middlesex J. Eugenides 2 ½ p. 523 37. The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind W. Kamkwamba 2 p. 273 38. The Zanzibar Chest A. Hartley 3 ½ p. 446 39. 1984 G. Orwell 4 p. 310 40. The Colorado Kid S. King 1 ½ p. 184 41. Pirate Latitudes M. Crichton 3 p. 387 42. Sex Lives of Cannibals J. M. Troost 3 p. 272 43. Cosmopolis D. DeLillo 2 ½ p. 207 44. Skinny Legs and All T. Robbins 4 p. 422 45. The Holcroft Covenant R. Ludlum 2 p. 492 46. The Lady in the Lake R. Chandler 3 p. 212 47. The End of Mr. Y S. Thomas 4 p. 502 48. Banished Children of Eve P. Quinn 3 ½ p. 598 49. A Good Man in Africa W. Boyd 4 p. 312 50. From Those Wonderful Folks who Brought you Pearl Harbor, J. D. Femina 2 p. 270

Dear Cabbage,

At first I didn't really like you (I'm more of a romaine or red-leaf kind of guy), but I'm glad we've been able to get to know each other over the past year. It's been fun spending my evenings with you, enjoying the occasional taco-night, or the throwback fried-veggies with Royco and rice.

I look forward to the time we have remaining, though the five months will go quickly. I will never forget you.

Forever yours,

Matt

October 15, 2009

It was 8:30 at night when I first arrived at my site. There wasn't an electric light in over 10 miles in any direction, and I was exhausted after my first 8-hour African bus trip. When I got off the bus I was met by a group of teenagers whose faces I could hardly see from the small torch on my cell phone. They picked my suitcases, giggling, and started walking away from the road, presumably toward my house. I was soon met by some other people who eagerly introduced themselves and shook my hand. I was so turned around their names were forgotten as soon as they were spoken. We went through a field and a short distance beyond I was met by some more people hanging around an old concrete house. The teens giggled and talked amongst themselves in a language I couldn't begin to comprehend.

Welcome home. Two candles lit inside greeted me by casting eerie shadows on the poorly pained walls. The ceiling looked as if it had burn marks across it, the depths of the discoloration accentuated in the candlelight. Soon people began to leave, giving me time to settle in. My counterpart brought me a kerosene stove and a pot so I could boil water, gave me some chapati and a liter of coca-cola.

When everyone finally left, I sat on the concrete floor, alone, uncomfortable in my new surroundings. I ate the chapati, drank the coke, and tried to sleep on a half-made bed with an eye open for cockroaches and mice. Unable to get the kerosene stove to boil anything, I lived on 4 chapati and a second liter of coke for the next three days.

March 24, 2011

Peace Corps came at 10am to load my things and move me to my new site. (It's incredible how much crap you accumulate after a year!) By 10:30 we were finished and ready to go, but when it came time to hand over the keys, a fist fight broke out between my counterpart and my neighbor. Soon the students from the vocational school were there, and word spread through the coconut telegraph so fast that before long villagers from the nearby trading center started filtering in to watch and partake in the chaos. My program manager told me to get the keys, which I did, then we left the brawl behind. A village problem now, not in my control and not my worry, but it was pathetic to watch the people I've lived and worked with for the past year and a half become so petty and greedy and unable to work out their festering issues.

Later that afternoon I rolled into Kazingo, my new village at the base of the Rwenzori Mountains. Now a professional at Peace Corps living, my bed was made and stove hooked up in less than an hour. After Peace Corps left I made mashed potatoes with beef jerky (thanks mom), my stand-in for steak. I met some villagers and settled in for my last six months in Uganda.

Thank you, Voice of America and BBC World Service, for keeping me abreast on how quickly the world out there is going to hell. I'm all about democracy and freedom, but as seen in Uganda's elections democracy doesn't just happen overnight. Quick change of government can bad (Robespierre comes to mind and he died over 200 years ago).

Now that Libya has descended into civil war, we can more clearly see the power and influence Libya and Qaddafi had on African politics and economics. In the case of Uganda alone, he built the main mosque in Kampala (the road surrounding it aptly named Qaddafi Road). He paid for my king's palace in Fort Portal, as well as the building of the mosque in that city, too. Libya owns a majority share of Uganda Telecom, as well as one of our banks, not to mention supplies a lot of our oil (we even have the oil company OiLibya).

Which brings me to the point of all this: gas prices are going through the roof! Again! A liter of petrol is now 3400 shillings, about $1.44, or $5.60 per gallon. And that's when there is petrol. One station in Fort Portal had gasoline yesterday in a town of six stations and the lines stopped traffic on the main road. The police were called out to keep order. Prices have gone up for goods already, as well as transportation when cars have gas to go anywhere.

It is interesting to see the reverberations of a geopolitical event 1600 kilometers (erm, 1000 miles) away. It will be more interesting to see the effects six months or a year from now. Uganda's 7% inflation rate just might be going up. But then again, I'm a poli-sci nerd.

My friend Will and I just finished a three-day map project where we painted a giant map on the wall of his site, St. Mary's Seminary in Fort Portal. There were some minor mishaps, notably Uganda was somehow absorbed by Sudan (we later worked that out), Namibia and Botswana were the same country until a UN delegate painted a border, Djibouti was left out completely, the Central African Republic was painted light blue so it looks like a giant inland sea, and a few former Soviet republics became Soviet republics once more.

Other than that it was a great three days that generated a lot of interest in geography. One of the main comments was that Uganda was so small compared to the rest of the world.

Twice a month at a hospital in Ibanda, The AIDS Support Organization (TASO), a government agency, does health check-ups, counseling, and anti-retro viral support for HIV positive people in the area. When people know their HIV status they can get the services they need to treat the virus and can lead normal, healthy and productive lives. A lot of people don't come until they show signs of sickness, and by that time it's a much more difficult thing to manage.

My friend Jill and I went to the TASO outreach last week. There were well over 500 people there, waiting hours to see doctors, and they usually bring kids (especially HIV positive kids for their check-ups, too). Jill usually goes in the mornings for a few hours and brings paper and crayons to play with the kids.

Now, my local language isn't the greatest, and these kids didn't speak English, so communicating was on a humorously low level, limited to pictograms, funny faces, and noises. One girl who was about five took particular interest in me, staying next to me the entire time, helping me draw, and imitating my English (I finally got her say the color indigo).

The next day I was leaving Ibanda to head to Fort Portal for the weekend (a taxi ride of about 3 hours), waiting at the stage for a car to come, my thoughts devolving into creme brule and popcorn. I was jarred awake when this kid came up to me and gave me a hug, a giant smile on her face. I remembered it was the little girl from the previous day.

Unfortunately she didn't remember indigo, but she did make me smile.

The national elections in Uganda are on Friday. The president, who took power after a civil war in 1986, has stood twice previously in elections and even changed the constitution so he could run for another term. Positions in every level of government, from MP to governors to village chairmen, are up for election so it's a pretty big event here. Except for some heated rhetoric and isolated violence, it has largely been peaceful.

During the two weeks surrounding the election Peace Corps has us on lockdown, i.e. house arrest. Luckily I got permission to stay with my friend Jill in Ibanda, about 50km south of my site. Jill has electricity, a water tap about 20 feet from the front door, her organization has internet I can use for free, and she's pretty much awesome to top it all off. Like many things that happen here, utter boredom was the cause for organizing and celebrating "Dia del Pollo en Sangria." Our friend Charlene also joined for the festivities:

With a packet of McCormick's Garlic Lime Chicken Fajita mix (thank you Mom!) we decided to make fajitas. What better way to celebrate a Mexican day in Africa? Unfortunately not all of the ingredients were included in the package, so we had to go shopping. (And the suggested prep time of 5 minutes was way off.)

We headed to the market in Ibanda town to get the veggies for the fajitas. Considering we live in a tropical climate, tropical sangria was definitely called for - mangoes, pineapple, oranges, and apples.

Some prices of common foods:

5 tomatoes - 20 cents

A bunch of onions - 45 cents

1 large pineapple - 45 cents

3 Bell peppers - 45 cents

The local liquor store carries just about everything that's available in Uganda. One 5-liter box of dry red wine (South Africa) put us back 65,000 Shillings - $30.

Also notice the sachets in the bottom left. It's a shot of booze for about 5-10 cents and is the preferred alcohol among the village drunks and motorcycle drivers.

Charlene and I are enjoying our tropical sangria....

Also not included in the package of chicken fajita mix was the chicken. I offered to run out to the Safeway to get a pack of Foster Farms but quickly remembered that we were in Uganda. Alas!

Luckily Jill's organization was raising chickens so there was a fresh supply of cage-free, free-range, organic and all natural chicken right outside. Now only to pick the best one.

It also meant we had to slaughter and clean it. After some intense debate and introspection, Jill stepped up to the plate. As of yet I still haven't killed anything, I've only been an accomplice for a turkey and now a chicken. (I'm just happy we didn't decide to go with beef fajitas...)

Yes, I wore gloves. Jill cleaned and gutted the chicken, I carved it up. I think there's something to say for caged chicken that are fed hormones and growth enhancers - our chicken was about a year old and had hardly any meat on it.

The chicken slaughtered and cleaned, the veggies cut and prepped, the sangria bucket slowly being drained, we fried it all up and enjoyed a delicious taste of home. As for the five-minutes of prep time suggested by the packaging, it took us the better part of a great day.

Happy Dia del Pollo!

Many months ago I was sitting in my little village hovel, bored as usual. I had just made fried rice and used some Cajun seasonings my brother sent me for my birthday. With nothing to do I decided to write a letter to the Cajun seasoning company, letting them know how much I enjoy their product, especially way out in the bush where the usual seasonings are either salt or no salt.

Yesterday in my mailbox was a package from the Cajun seasonings company, with a hand-written note, and a few samples of their wonderful product.

For their time, energy, and good wishes, I'd like to give a shout out to Slap Ya Mama. Thank you for your response and thinking of us flavor-deprived volunteers overseas.

And for anyone who hasn't tried their products they are available here: http://www.slapyamama.com/

When I was a child I would sometimes dread gifts from relatives, especially the ones that didn't know you very well. Was it going to be new socks, or an ugly knit sweater I would never wear?

This Christmas was different. I actually wanted new socks, and thanks to Tyler and Hannah today, safely back in Uganda, I am wearing a new T-Shirt, new underwear, and new socks. I feel like a million bucks and couldn't have asked for anything better!

When my dad contacted me at the end of November and asked if I wanted to come home for Christmas as a surprise to my family, I told him that I needed a few days to think about it. Having the opportunity to go home was an unsuspected surprise, but I really had to think whether I was mentally ready to do it. In the end I reasoned it was too good of an opportunity to pass up: not only would I be able to spend Christmas with my family and see my 16-month-old nephew for the first time, but I would also be able to attend my good friends' wedding.

Keeping my homecomming a secret was difficult. I couldn't tell any friends or make any plans to see anyone in case the secret somehow slipped. But luckily it worked; my dad was also able to get my brother to take a week off work in LA so that we could spend some good family time together.

Surprising my mom was perhaps the best part. My dad and I arranged to have her friend take her out for coffee. Once there I walked over to her table and casually asked if I could sit down. She had a blank stare on her face for at least 10 seconds and I could see her brain going through the filing cabinet, processing who I was and if I was her son, what I was doing there. Finally it clicked and she started to cry, and didn't stop for a good three days.

The Family spent a traditional Christmas at home, then went to Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast for a few days. New Years was spent at our cabin on Mt. Hood with 6" of snow - so cold for a guy who hasn't lived in weather below 68 degress for the last 16 months!

After the family time I was off for the Northlands - first to visit some friends in Seattle (lunch with Anna and Leslie - Celine you were missed!, then hanging with Karli, Erica, and Brian) - then northwards to Bellingham for three days of wedding preperations and hanging out my awesome friends.

Being back in America was a lot different than I was expecting. I fell into my old routine easier than expected, but I was stressed out at the pace of life and more socially retarded than I usually am, especially in groups larger than two. I'm now more excited to come home after Peace Corps, but the experience has given me a greater understanding and appreciation of what I'm doing now in Africa. The next ten months are going to be more productive and focused, and I'm sure will be finished before I know it.

Thank you everybody for the great time back home. I missed you more than I thought. Unfortunately I didn't have time to see or talk with everyone, so I do apologize but I'm back for good in October and we will definately catch up then.

I’ve lived in Uganda since August 2009 – just over 16 months now. The more time I am away from the United States (and indeed, the more time I’m here), the more normal living here seems and the more at home I feel. The idiosyncrasies of daily life no longer throw me or surprise me, and for the most part I have adapted to this African way of life. When things go wrong, which they commonly do, there is a saying: This is Africa. I’m trying to spread a new one: This is my Normal.

Being stared at, sticking out like a sore thumb, and constantly being hassled by kids: this is my normal.Haggling to purchase just about anything, including posted beer prices: this is my normal.Constantly living in fear of being hit by one of the limitless motorcycles: this is my normal.Seeing sick people and malnourished kids, and parents generally not caring about their children’s safety (i.e. two-year-olds with razor blades): this is my normal.Dodging ditches and random holes in sidewalks at night because there are no streetlights: this is my normal.Having to ask “What food do you have,” even when handed a menu: this is my normal.Issuing commands to get anything (“You bring me coca-cola.”): this is my normal.Speaking the strange Ugandan dialect of English (“I am footing,” or “It is somehow near.”): welcome to my normal.Getting sick when you eat Western food and actually craving the local diet: this is my normal.Seeing goats run along the main highway as I write this and that not seeming unusual: this is my normal.Having only eight people in a Toyota Corolla and feeling like there’s room to spare: this is my normal. Christmas is in a few days, and as I hear news reports of record-snows in Europe, rain and cold in America, I can’t help but enjoy the 85-degree days here (it’s the beginning of dry season, so no rain either), and am happy to be where I am. That said, the holidays are always a difficult time to be away from friends and family, and this year will be my second in a row and no less difficult. I’ll be spending it with friends here in Uganda, most likely in the mountains on the Rwanda/Congo border, admittingly looking forward to next year when I’ll be reunited with my family and that dreary Pacific Northwest wet season. After all, listening to Bing Crosby sing White Christmas just isn’t the same in Africa. Maybe another to add to the list: Sunburns on Christmas Eve: this is my normal. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!

The social highlight in my area is the monthly market day in a village called Rukunyu, about 4km south of where I live. The event brings hoards of people from distances as far as 15km (when they walk), and even farther afield when they take a motorcycle or taxi.

You start to see people walking by as early as eight or nine in the morning, babies strapped to women's backs, men with walking sticks. In the afternoon they come back with their loot: sacks of potatoes on their heads or pulling a reluctant goat.

The market doesn't get going until one or two in the afternoon, when the soccer field is filled with mix of vendors and villagers. The village of Rukunyu itself is bustling, the small restaurants full of patrons and drunks spilling out into the street from the overcrowded bars.

One aisle in the market area is the vegetable bounty from the surrounding area, typically beans, onions, bananas, tomatoes, and cassava, all layed out in neat stacks and piles on blankets or brightly coloured fabric. I ran into the fee-collector for the market - to set up shop costs 50cents. One stack of tomatoes (about 5 or 6) costs a quarter.

A few cows and goats are tied up on the side of the field, watching the action from the periphery.

Beyond the food lays the expanse of clothes and fabric vendors, some vendors leaving their products in heaps on a tarp, others setting up wooden poles and hanging them. The nice stalls even have a tarp roof for shade.

All of the clothes are used and come from America, Europe, and Japan. The labels vary from the typical (Stafford and Van Heusen shirts are usually over-sized and are ill to fit, but sometimes you can get treasures from Ben Sherman, Tommy Bahama, and Lactose). Since a lot of the clothes have been discarded several times before coming to Africa, styles and time-periods vary. Button dress shirts go for about $2. Some even have price tags from their previous thrift store (Value Village - $4.99; Goodwill). What doesn't sell at these second-hand stores comes here: Third-Hand for the Third-World!

T-Shirts are fun, and cheaper - they typically go for 75cents, but there's room to negotiate. The most popular shirts are from charity events (I've seen Portland Race for the Cure), political campaigns (Vote Smith!), and community sports teams. The shirt I just bought is priceless: Fischer Family Reunion 1990, surrounded by the outline of Alabama.

Fabric dealers have walls of prints from Kenya, Tanzania, and Congo. The hardware guys are out, too, selling locks, bolts, rat traps, and local metalwares.

Anyone who's anyone comes to sell, buy, socialize, and just pass the time. It's the only event in the area and you're bound to see something, or someone, interesting.

Uganda has been in a "fuel crisis" for the last two or three weeks. The country uses 3 millions litres of petroleum per day, all of it imported from Kenya by truck on one two-lane road from Nairobi. The port in Mombassa, through which all of the oil for Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, and eastern Congo flows, had been shut down for repairs, and now the Kenyan government revoked the importing license for Kenya's main oil importer (the company has since paid its taxes and its license is being reinstated). The price of gas has increased 21% from about 2800 UGX to 3400 UGX per litre in the past two weeks.

Transportation prices have increased and, most importantly for a Peace Corps Volunteer, the local price of beer has also increased.

This demonstrates the volatility in prices here, and in most of the developing world. If one thing happens to the transportation network, the entire country is directly effected. One thing in the US that I didn't quite appreciate before was a constant supply of products and stable prices. I knew that a gallon of milk would cost me $3 at Safeway today, tomorrow, and next month. In Uganda, what's available now may not be available later tonight.

This concept directly plays into personal finances among local Ugandans and why there isn't a strong culture of savings here, and elsewhere in Africa, and impulse buying is so prevalent. For example, when I want to buy a beer, one of four situations can occur:

The store might be out of beer,The beer might not be cold (because of power outtages, etc.),The beer might cost more (because of transport increases and other reasons),The beer will be cold, cost the same, and be available.It's a 25% chance that tomorrow I'll pay the same price for the same product. So, as a good consumer who knows his products and has particular tastes, I'd bet in favour of my odds and get another cold one right now.

In previous entries I have attempted to convey the chaos, the struggles, and at times the seemingly insurmountable task of public transportation. Last week I rode the bus with my friend Hayley and we were talking about the arduous process involved in public transportation which inspired me dedicate an entire entry on the subject.

America: Land of the Free, Home of the concept of Personal Space and modern conveniences like toilets. At home the prospect of a 5-hour bus journey would usually be met with a groan at the inconvenience. You go to the bus station, sit on the bus, get off. In Uganda a 5-hour bus journey begins the day before.

A general lack of toilets anywhere mandates a limited liquid consumption on the day of travel. In 85-degree heat on a stuffy and overcrowded bus, you must be mindful of dehydration, which is why you begin to pre-hydrate the day before the journey. Two litres per day is normal, so the day before a trip it is best to drink at least 3 1/2 - and be sure to pee in the morning!

When you're with your friends drinking is always a popular activity, but be careful not to drink too much the night before - two beers should do it. Being hung-over on a bus trip is one of the most miserable experiences! And be mindful of when you go to sleep the night before, a trip on public transport requires you to be fully rested because it constantly tests your wits, sanity, and motivation.

What about food? You want to be well nourished, but because the buses usually leave at early hours it isn't always possible to eat a balanced meal. Again, planning ahead helps. A package of crackers or peanuts is always good, and half-way through you can usually count on some roasted bananas or cassava: not quite a breakfast of champions, but then again, who's keeping score? (I wouldn't advise going for the roasted goat, be mindful of those pesky parasites!)

In my personal opinion, the best thing the West ever invented was the concept of the single-file line. Sometimes in Africa is surprises you when you see it, but instead of an every-day occurrence it's more like seeing a polka-doted unicorn: get your camera ready! With all the pushing and standing your ground, you need to bring your A-Game.

Finally, what do you wear? By the end of the first hour you're guaranteed to be sweating so much your back sticks to the seat. In this situation it is best to wear travel clothes, usually the ones you came to town in - they're smelly and dirty, but when you have to finally throw them away you aren't at a loss.

If all goes well, and usually it does, you reach your destination dusty, dehydrated, and short of spirits. An immediate stop at the nearest bar helps rekindle at least one of those requirements, and you can almost certainly relieve any pressure that's been building up (although, as Mamma Kuhl complained, you may be thanking the Gods for the toilet, but you should have also prayed for a toilet seat!). And then, freshly watered, newly hydrated, you throw your stuff and yourself into a bush taxi and prepare for the two-hour onward journey, for you aren't there yet!

I have always enjoyed political history and learning about different political situations around the world and am continually amazed at the extent people will go to reach their selfish ends. It's usually out of fear or ignorance of other people, other cultures, other political beliefs, and more often than not to retain a non-legitimate hold on power.

The history of South Africa is marred by harsh inequality, a history that I knew little about. What I had learned about apartheid was by watching The Power of One in middle school, and that was that. My friend Derek, whose family is from South Africa, talked about the situation there off an on throughout college, but I never grasped the reality or the extent of what happened and what humans are capable of doing to eachother.

Last week I had the opportunity to visit the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, an amazing museum not to be missed for anyone traveling in the area. It told the story pretty much from the start: an influx of migrant workers in the 1880s, Afrikaners settling the area, and a native population who were viewed as a nuisance. Fast forward through independence in 1910 and the development of segregation, to full-blown racial apartheid by 1960 and a government run by a party whose official line was white supremacy.

The thing that keeps getting me, and that I enjoy learning about, is the extent the state went to keep power. Creating an apartheid state meant all of the official bureaucracy that went along with it, including an entire appeals court to appeal the racial designation you received (interestingly, no "white" person petitioned their designation be changed to "black"). In the 1970s citizens and students began protesting and the state cracked down, and by the time the 1980s came South Africa spent three entire years under martial law, literally keeping power by military force. The government even went to the extent to invade/influence politics in neighbouring Mozambique, Namibia (controlled by SA through a UN mandate), Zambia, and Angola, bombing and assassinating "state enemies."

We learn about similar events throughout history, from Stalinist Russia, Nazi Germany, and East Germany, to Chile and Argentina, Rwanda, and beyond. The United States is still getting over its history of segregation and Brown v. Board of Education was only 50 years ago. Studying history is to learn about the past so that we don't make the same mistakes in the future. It's funny though how history tends to repeat itself...

Before Uganda gained independence in 1962, the British had established large tea estates in Western Uganda to satisfy their tastes for the brewed leaves. Thousands of acres of farmland and forest were cultivated to grow tea, supported by cheap local labour, and supervised by colonial ex-patriots.

On Sunday I had the opportunity to visit an old colonial tea estate - the largest in Uganda at about 9000 acres and currently managed by TAMTECO (Toro and Mityana Tea Company Limited) - and the colonial clubhouse established by the ex-pats before Uganda gained independence.

The Kijura Club is about 30 kilometers north of Fort Portal near the village of Kijura, reached by an often-muddy dirt road that weaves its way along the Rwenzori foothills, through banana plantations and small villages. Although in disrepair and no longer a functioning exclusive club (though to join it will cost a whopping 60,000 USh - $30 per year), it is still a meeting place of the ex-pat community to drink, eat, and watch the great African pastime -- football.

The England-Germany game on Sunday was the perfect occasion for such a gathering, and the doors were opened by Norrie, a pleasant Scotsman with an amusing accent and a squinty face, who organized a pork BBQ with all the fixin's.

The clubhouse had seen better days, but the dilapidation certainly contributed to its charm. Outside were two tennis courts, the nets long missing and a ball rack rusted over, the concrete courts supporting more weeds and wildflowers than gameplay these days. An empty swimming pool and a long overgrown airstrip also served the patrons a generation ago.

Inside the parts of the ceiling had fallen away exposing the simple corrugated metal roof, but the lack of formal aesthetics all but made up for the nostalgia that seemed to plaster the walls and remaining decor. The bar had been redone since the 1950s (see original picture), adding 60s-esque stonework. But the original wicker flower-chairs survived the years, as sturdy as the day they were built. A cork dartboard finished off the bar.

In an adjoining room was table tennis, perhaps a recent addition, sharing the room with the old "library," containing volumes from London, their bindings deteriorated, their pages with the slight odour of mildew.

Finally, in the rear room, stood a giant Snooker table. A full-sized Snooker table measures 12x6 feet, and is a type of billiards. The story of this particular Snooker table is a story within itself, and without any actual information one is left to wonder about its past: First being manufactured in London probably sometime in the 1950s, then transported on ship through the Suez Canal on its way to Mombasa. From there it was most likely put on a freight train and shipped via the Uganda Railway to Kampala (made famous by the Man Eating Lions of Tsavo in Kenya).

Somehow the slate slabs, woodwork and felt then made the 300-kilometer trip to its current location. The balls are, in good colonial tradition, ivory. To complete the story, during Idi Amin's reign in the 1970s, the table had to be hidden from looting by Amin's troops.

With its decades of colonial and local history, the Kijura Club has recently found money to begin repairing the facility so that it can be enjoyed for many decades to come by the new colonialists, ex-pats, volunteers, and yes, even locals. As Norrie said, "Originally it was black people behind the counter serving the whites. Now I'm the one behind the counter serving the blacks!"

Businesses in Uganda haven't quite figured out competitiveness yet (most stores sell the same products at the same price and are located right next to each other), but it's refreshing to know that the spirit of entrepreneurship does indeed exist. Take for example the police check-points along my road:

The traffic police are quite corrupt, and stop taxis that are overfilled with passengers (my personal record was 9 adults and 4 children in a Toyota Corolla). According to law, only two people are allowed to be in the front seat, but typically taxis don't leave unless there are at least three - if not four - passengers up front with the driver. At the check-points (there is one between my site and Fort Portal, about 90 minutes away), instead of ticketing the driver, or revoking his license, the driver pays the "fee" of 2,000 Shillings ($1), and we continue on our way.

Now, an extra passenger gets the driver about 6,000 Shillings ($3), so there is an incentive to over-load the car because the driver still makes money in the deal.

Today was an interesting turn from normalcy in the traffic check-point story. As usual, our driver was warned of the up-coming traffic stop by passing cars. At a bend in the road about 300 meters before the check-point, the driver stops and two passengers in the front got out, leaving the driver and myself (four more remained in the back seat). The two men hopped on a waiting motorcycle, and took off down the road. We continued, got pulled over, talked to the police, didn't have to pay a fine, then continued about 300 meters to another bend in the road. Our two passengers were there waiting, got back in the car, and all eight of us took off again.

The price for the motorcycle was probably 500 Shillings, and the driver didn't have to pay the 2,000 Shilling fine. Everybody wins today, and corruption was stopped cold. Thank you, Uganda's finest!

It had been a rather quiet day, not too much going on and admittedly, I was bored. In the late afternoon two of the girls from my vocational school passed by my house (both of them called Akiiki - so goes it when there are twelve possible nicknames in a culture) and told me that all of the students were up playing football; come join.

Football - what a great game. It's so simple, the rules are easy and you can play just about anywhere. In American golf is the game of the elite and basketball the game of the lower classes. In the rest of the world, football is the game everyone plays, and indeed World Cup begins on Friday (the most watched sporting event in the world). Every village has a pitch, some with timbers demarcating the goals, others with rocks or jerri-cans. They're a type of village park and town commons (grazing the cattle here keeps the grass low, but makes navigating through the dung piles quite difficult).

The balls can be as cheap or expensive as your resources allow - black and white imports from Kenya or China, to plastic sacks bound together with banana fibre.

And here you don't "play football," instead you "kuzina omupira" - dance football.

A student from our vocational school out playing on our village pitch. The other students play behind.

Students from our vocational school, taking a break from the game.

There are a variety of things I never imagined myself saying twelve months ago, or absolutely abnormal situations where now I hardly thing anything is wrong. In a month my mom will be coming out to visit for three weeks, and I'm really excited to get a new person's perspective again on living in East Africa. Here are some examples:

- Seeing four - or the occasional five - people on a motorcycle;

- Needing 4WD in the downtown of a capital city, due to the car-swallowing pot holes;

- Charging your cell phone from a jerry-rigged car battery

- Five people per row on a bus - that's all?

- Ten grown people (I've seen 12) in a Toyota Corolla? I think we can fit another;

- Maneuvering through a herd of cows on the way to work

Last week was the second installment of my baking class with a local woman's group. The first week we made a basic yellow cake, and this last week we mixed it up a bit and added some bananas. I have to admit, it was pretty tasty, and the women seem to be having a blast, too. Since ovens are pretty rare, we have been baking on a charcoal stove dutch-oven style. It's taken some perfecting, but I think we're getting it down. Here are some pictures of the escapades:

Mixing the batter... it's actually quite easy because all I do watch them do the work, and comment occasionally on what to add or what to do next.

Trying the finished product - quite tasty!

And the woman rejoice!

For a quick overview of my "project," the woman's group wanted to learn how to make cakes so they can make them at home for celebrations, weddings, etc. Ugandan cakes are terrible, dry and stale, so making Western cakes is definitely a change from their normal tastes. There are 18 woman and two men. Included in my curriculum is pricing and costing each recipe we make, in an attempt to teach them how to break down a unit-cost of a product to determine how much it costs to produce, then to figure out how much they would have to sell it for.

Beyond this economic stuff, I think they are really enjoying just getting together, mixing stuff up, and eating cake at the end of the day! On Thursday we're trying out chocolate cake :)

My purpose in Uganda is to build the capacities of local communities by providing a holistic approach to economic empowerment using community linkages at the grassroots level.

That sounds pretty, but what am I doing exactly? Well, right now I'm planting a garden.

Buzzwords are a part of every industry, and the development industry is no exception. Appearing in mission statements, organizational goals and objectives, annual reports and funding proposals, the buzzword appears to give meaning or significant weight to an undefined concept. "Capacity building" sounds really neat, and reading over it I almost smile at the simplicity of the concept. Yes, of course, more capacity building is what the rural poor need to rise above their poverty! But ask somebody what exactly that entails, and they usually rephrase the buzzword with more ambiguity ("build their capacity to empower themselves and enable them to own their development"). For me personally, this is perhaps the most frustrating part of talking with people about what exactly is going on.

Alas, buzzwords will never go away, so perhaps we should embrace them and march forward in our quest for poverty reduction and livelihood improvement through community empowerment.

The old proverb goes, "Give a man a fish and he eats for a meal. Teach a man how to fish and he eats for a lifetime." (Was it Aesop who wrote it?)

I come across that saying (or was it Confucius?) frequently, and admittedly it is somewhat annoying and oversimplifies a complicated situation:

First, it assumes that the man wants to learn. In populations around the world, and especially in situations of poverty, there is always an element of apathy. In America you can find people who take advantage of welfare and do nothing to improve their lives. In Uganda, there are people drunk at 9am every morning. They will not take the initiative to change their lives no matter how much is done to try. That said, there usually is also a group of people in an underprivileged class with the ability and will to change. Finding these people are key. But teaching them to fish is only step one. You must also provide them with a loan to buy a fishing pole or net. You need to teach them how to be fiscally responsible with their new-found wealth. Above all, you have to make sure fishing is the most economically-viable way for them to produce. Maybe growing a staple like potatoes or millet takes too much time, and even if you teach them and support them in fishing, they will go back to farming because it provides more food with less time/effort.

Second, it does not take into account any moral responsibility. If you can teach a person to fish, and he does, there will also be one person who is apathetic and uninterested in working toward his progress. Do we then have a moral responsibility or obligation to continue giving them fish so they don't starve? What does that do to any jealousies or relationships within the small village social circle?

Third, it assumes a person has a direction and positive outlook on their life, which I think is typically a Western view of life. In the developing world life expectancy is so varied. From my limited experience people do not have the same views of life as we do in the West. Death is just as integral part of daily life as living. In the past three months a local Anglican bishop and a Catholic priest have died in car accidents. In my village there is probably one burial a week. Malaria is the number-one killer, and AIDS prevalence remains high. Not to mention malnutrition significantly reduces a child's development to become a healthy, strong adult better able to fight the diseases they encounter every day. I don't think most people plan for the future because they could die in six months, or five years. Instead they live more on a day-to-day basis. Thus, teaching a man to sell his fish, or value-add to his fish (by frying it and serving it with french fries!), and save for the future, just may not be realistic. He may be better satisfied by immediately spending money from his daily catch on booze, or a new shirt, and not save it for the future. Instant gratification is one thing, but gratification before you die is another. That said, insuring your children are healthy and educated is above-all the most important thing they can do.

So, maybe we can change the proverb (was it an old Jewish saying?):

Give a man a fish and he won't starve. Teach a man how to fish, provide him support in his new enterprise (including capital, business education, and information on savings and investing), and you give him the tools to change his life, if he wants.

In Spanish it is called "Mañana Mañana." In English it's the adage "Why do today what you can do tomorrow?" In Africa you frequently hear about "African Time," or "I'm not on time, I'm in time."

During pre-service training we were continually warned about the frustration that can occur with African time and some ways to cope, including bringing a book and your patience. I have been working here for over three months now, and I've learned that when someone says there's a meeting at 10am, it won't actually start until noon. I know this; I plan for this. Yet, it still drives me absolutely nuts.

To provide an example, yesterday was just a typical day. I planned to do three things: 1) Attend a youth meeting regarding a farm project, 11am; 2) Find bananas, cut them, and put them in my solar dryer; 3) Bake some bread (needing to get some flour first). Three simple tasks, and there should be time enough to do them all.

Planning ahead was my first mistake.

This is how the day unfolded:

1) My bike being broken, I waked the 4km (2.5mi) to the Parish where I was to meet some youth for a meeting. I got there at 11am, knowing well that it wouldn't start on time. I talked to some of the teachers and the priests, had lunch, and then finally we started the meeting at noon - early! Granted, only 8 people showed up. An hour later the meeting was over. The Parish is in the larger trading centre, so I planned to find bananas (this is a Banana Republic, it shouldn't be difficult), and flour, and head home.

2) 1:00 pm: Upon the insistence of Father Silver, the parish priest, I couldn't walk back because we have been having a heat-wave and it was too hot; he would drive me into the trading centre, then home. But first he had matters to attend to.

2:00pm: Still waiting, I passed the time under a tree talking with some teachers. Remembering I wanted to buy a desk, one of the teachers walked me over to a local carpenter to discuss business (a carpenter in Kamwenge wanted 60,000 UGX, the local guy wanted 25,000 UGX for the same thing). I only had 12,000 UGX to buy bananas and flour, and the carpenter wanted 10,000 UGX in advance to pay for some materials, so I was left with only 2,000.

3:00pm: The parish priest informs me that he needs to take some corn (about 450KG of it) to the mill near where I stay. But he needs to recruit some boys to help load/unload it.

4:00pm: Finally becoming annoyed, hungry, and dehydrated, I found the priest and he was finally ready to go.

4:15pm: In the trading centre there were no bananas. No Bananas!! And I didn't have enough money to buy flour.

4:30pm: Reach the mill. Unload the corn, talk to the millers a bit, wait.

4:50pm: Finally reach home. If I had found bananas, it would have been too late to put them out to dry. If I had bought flour, I could start baking, but alas I didn't. I would just have to wait until tomorrow and try again. I was most annoyed at the fact that I lost a day to dry fruit, and I lost a day to improve my baking (both projects are on rather strict deadlines).

What's the moral of the story? In Uganda planning ahead is vital. This week my trading centre only had onions - I had no fresh food and lived on oatmeal and noodles. To get fresh food one must travel about 4km to a market, which are only held on certain days, and I have no working bike currently. If you plan ahead by one week, you can manage. If you don't, you're stuck living on oatmeal.

Just posting a random elephant shot

(FYI, another volunteer's photo, but I saw it, I swear!)

To get to my site, from Fort Portal you basically hang a left on the road to Kamwenge. This road, a wondrous 70-odd-kilometer murrum journey, takes you through stunning tea estates and notably Kibale Forest National Park, which is renown for its chimpanzees and other primates. This footage was taken from the car on an average day passing through the forest. There were about three times as many baboons as you see in the footage, and usually they just hang out and play on the road. The kids even sell lemonaid on particularly hot days.

Continuing south on the road another 70 or so kilometers of wondrous murrum you will eventually reach Ibanda, a regional centre in the Southern Hemisphere.

Last weekend I crossed over to the Other Side. There was an event in honouring a priest's 25 years of priesthood in Ibanda, and the priests I have been working with invited me to come along. I also got to hang out with Jill for the weekend, another volunteer in Ibanda. Now, Ibanda is in the Southern Hemisphere, and it was my second time to the Other Side. If you have never been, I'm sure you have many questions about what it's like down there, so I've put together a Q and A of sorts about the upside-down hemisphere.

Q: Hemispheres? I thought the world was flat!

A: Not since the UN Security Council passed the resolution that eliminated planar living.

Q: How do you keep from falling off the earth?

A: As you know, the farther you travel toward the South Pole, the more upside down you are, and the higher your risk of falling off the planet. At the equator this isn't so much of a problem, but when you go further south people have to wear a special shoe with glue on them. Similarly 3M has developed a resin for the lakes and rivers so they don't drop into space. Interestingly, people wear more hats there.

Q: What's the driving like?

A: Driving is very similar to the Northern Hemisphere, but as long as you're heading south everything slopes downhill so theoretically you can get to Antarctica in neutral.

Q: Is it true that water spins the other way down drains?

A: This is a trick question - there are no holes in which water can drain. People in the Southern Hemisphere use pit latrines and don't have piped water, so it's impossible to know if this myth is actually true.

First off, Happy Christmas! I am spending the holidays in Hoima, a regional centre near Lake Albert (and the epicentre for the oil discoveries), with my host family from Wakiso. They are from here, so the day has been filled with meeting relatives in this huge family (I think there are 20 grandchildren...?). The patriarch is a retired Anglican bishop, my host-dad's dad. Aside from the nearly 4-hour church service, we have basically been eating all day (and praying, singing carols, reciting Bible verses, and then eating more). It's much more family-oriented than in America, and no presents were exchanged. Everyone has been very welcoming and friendly and have made me feel a part of the family. There is also no shortage of children to chase around. That said, I've been very homesick the last few days thinking mainly of what everyone at home is doing. I miss my friends and my family, and knowing that the first time I see my nephew he'll be walking/talking puts the whole "two-year commitment" into perspective. This is Christmas 1. One down, one to go.

I'm staying in the hotel the family operates and am very much enjoying the hot water, toilet, and queen bed. There's also a pool. All said it's been a nice vacation. I leave Sunday or Monday to head back to my site where I'm still busy with my pineapple project. It's strange how much I've learned about pineapple... I talked to one of the family members at dinner tonight who wants to put in pineapple for about 20 minutes.

Here's my Christmas photo:

Internet connectivity has lately been a main source of my consternation.

Yes, you cannot rely too much on internet here, but even in the larger metropoli

of Kamwenge and Fort Portal (both boasting paved or graveled roads, running water, and

electricity), the internet has of late been as spotty as a Dalmatian. I

finally found out the reason: they are updating the lines into Fort Portal,

updating to broadband. At least it's for a positive reason, though the

chain gang has been hand-digging the ditch through town for the past two

weeks, and since this is Uganda, there is no guarantee of when a connection

will be permanently restored. Until then, I will continue to chase this

powerful and elusive Internet, hoping to find it during a flicker of its

short life.

Last week I met a priest at our local parish who had asked to meet me

because he had learned though his sources that I knew German. Every

subsequent day last week was spent at the parish (they cook good food!)

where I tutored Father Silver and, to a lesser extent, Father John, in

German. Father Silver is trying to "priest abroad" next summer in Germany and needs help practicing, and since he said the parish is now my home-away

-from-village-home, I am obliging. It's nice to spend time with people much

like myself - bored, lots of free time, sexually frustrated. Although, at dinner

one night they asked me to say grace. My religious background is admittedly

small, my recent religious occurrences being spontaneous prayers to any -

ALL - Gods while riding in the local taxis.

We stood around the table behind our chairs, the food steaming in front of

us. "Mathayo, would you like to say prayers tonight?" My immediate come-

back was: "You're a priest, you get paid to pray, you do it," but instead I

hesitantly said okay. I wish there were a video camera because in my mind's

eye it was like something out of an awkward Christopher Guest movie: "Thank

you very much for the wonderful food in front of us, and thank you for

inviting me to enjoy it with you. I appreciate your kindness and hospitality."

No Gods, no heavenly fathers, no in Jesus' names. Luckily my audience

wasn't too critical.

Both Fathers and I spent one day last week traveling toward Kasese (about a 2 hour ride) to celebrate a group of pre-nuns becoming current-nuns. Aside from being the only white guy there (I'm used to it), I was almost the only one without either a white collar or a white dress/hat combo. It was like a graduation ceremony, long and boring, and there wasn't enough room in the church so I ended up just sitting in the car reading. After, in good Ugandan tradition, there was a buffet of local food, and instead of eating with the commoners, I was ushered by some head-nun into the religious dinning section to consume my blessed matooke and cassava with the area's most pious. By the time I got my food the only place to sit was next to this guy whose robes were black (instead of white), and who wore a red yamica. I sat down and introduced myself. "I'm the Bishop," was his reply. Aim high, Matt, aim high. At least now I can say that I've had lunch with a Bishop, though curiously the entire time I was more focused on not spilling food on his robes, as is my usual propensity when I eat, instead of our conversation. I couldn't imagine hand-washing those!

Father Silver and I are working on starting a youth garden at the parish,

teaching youths nutrition, farming, and cooking healthier food. I'm quickly becoming a farmer, and I foresee more awkward situations for my agnostic self in the coming future.

Our solar drying project is quickly coming to fruition (pardon the intended

pun). We are giving a project proposal to our local Member of Parliament

tomorrow, and a co-worker, Sam, and I are busy this week working in the

field visiting pineapple farms. It provides a good opportunity to meet more of the locals and I find I am most happy here when I'm working directly with The People. Though, the distances we have to bike are a bit of a hassle (yesterday was about 40km - 25mi). The only saving grace is the beautiful countryside. We are hoping to begin full-scale solar drying pineapple in January/February, the height of both the dry and pineapple seasons.

Looking at the calendar ahead:

Mid-January I have a week of further language training with my language

group. The week after is an in-service training outside of Kampala, at a

nice hotel with a pool and luke-warm showers. I'm excited. There is also

an R-Kelly concert in Kampala and Evander Holifield is fighting at Mandela

Stadium.

Development - the act or process of developing; growth; progress.

That is a pretty ambiguous definition of development, or perhaps you need to further define it according to what precisely you are doing, and what your goals are. Many buzz-words get tossed around in development work (my favourite being "capacity building"), including the word "development" itself. A lot of money is pumped into this country by governments around the world for the sake of development (in 2008 30% of Uganda's GDP was foreign aid, tough down from 50% in 2005), but what I think we aren't talking enough about is an end-goal: development to what? I get comments in the village apologizing about the poor quality of roads and citing the fact they aren't developed. I tell them it's okay, it's a gravel road, don't apologize for it. Are we trying to develop so that everyone has two cars and a lawn mower? I hope not. I don't want Uganda, and other developing countries, to be like the West. I don't want them to lose their culture and way of life (indeed, if every Ugandan drove a car I'd be running for my life).

Good education, responsible citizenry, and entrepreneurship are some of the key things I'm trying to focus on for "development" because they are seriously lacking here. The education in primary schools is so rigorous, they're learning math and sciences in 4th grade we don't learn until high school. They are excellent at spouting out facts, but ask them a question that applies the information and they're stumped. Improved education, focusing on independent thinking, is greatly needed.

My friend Dave and I have been talking about development, and he proposed three key things needed: 1) Transportation, 2) Communication, and 3) Access to Money. Let's briefly look at each as they apply here in Uganda (briefly because I can talk a lot about them, and I think my internet time is running low):

Transportation

Most of the major roads in Uganda are murram/gravel. The rural villages are only reached by washed-out dirt roads and cow paths, full of ruts, puddles, mud, etc. The way to increase efficiency, commerce, and education is by better maintaining major and minor roads.

Communication

Cell phones have been a blessing. Telecommunications otherwise would not exist. Everyone has a cell phone, and prices are getting cheaper as competition increases. In addition to being able to speak with family and friends, farmers can now access market information, and news can travel quickly (remember the riots in September?).

Access to Money

Big banks only exist in the big cities - if the rural situation is going to improve, the villagers need capital. This has been answered by village savings and loan schemes, and SACCOs (Savings and Credit Cooperative Organizations), both informal local ways to save and access money.

Development here is obviously happening, and I think focusing on some of these issues and, dare I say, capacity building, is what we're focusing on and what we should continue to pursue. The locals may envision a Western house and a car, but we need to be focusing on developing their potential as people do be able to achieve for themselves, which is a completely different blog topic that I will probably discuss later.

Some photos for those who like to see me out being productive:

I have been at my site for nearly three weeks now, and to say "hit the ground running" is an understatement. I work with an organization that helps network, train, and develop about 60 small village groups. The groups are mostly farmer groups wanting training on basic farming techniques, composting, animal husbandry, etc. It helps that Uganda is naturally a virtual organically certified country, based primarily on the high quality of soil and growing conditions, and the fact that farmers cannot afford pesticides, herbicides, and fertilizers, even if they were available. I have been learning as much as I can about farming (pineapple, cassava, soy beans, normal beans, banana, chickens, goats, and pigs. I truely believe that when I return to America, I would be able to be a successful small farmer. (And Bruce/Nancy - and ideas with pineapple or bananas would be helpful!)

My first three weeks have gone something like this:

Meet with a village group (at least one/day) in the field. The furthest group was about 16 miles, reached by bicycle on dirt roads, paths, and through marshes. When the sun is out it practically burns your exposed skin, and seeing as it is rainy season, a torrential downpour can blow in within a few minutes, making the road/path/swamp that much more inaccessable.

The group meetings generally last about 2 hours. The chairman of the group tells about the group, sometimes they sing or welcome you with a dance. Then you're in the hot seat - you have to explain who you are, what you are going to do, and how you're going to do it. I usually go over some basic principals: 1) I don't bring money and can't get you money. 2) I will help research and network for information to improve your projects. 3) I will only help you on projects you are interested in doing. I try to challenge their thinking and brainstorm with them, but inevitablly they always come back to "We need money to do that." Well, how are you going to make that money?

I think the most frustrating thing so far has been dealing with the (poor) level of education. Students here are taught to read and write - not how to critically think. That has been a big wall so far that I'm trying to work around.

And work continues: I am working on a business plan for a solar drying operation, jam and syrup project, and learning how to keep bees and process honey. In two weeks the Uganda State Minister for Children and Youth Affairs will be visiting, and we are hard at work planning for the visit and developing demonstrations in solar drying and chicken husbandry. Hard at work because mainly I don't have a solar dryer built yet, but need a finished food product in two weeks!

My thoughts are a bit scattered today, the board of my organization is having a meeting with me and I'm multitasking... I couldn't get the camera to work on this computer, but I promise to post a few photos next time!

Today is our free day in Kampala, and probably the last time I'll be able to communicate to the world until I find settle in to my new site, find a place with internet, and have time to travel the 40km to get there from home.

I found a great internet cafe called Panorama Coffee Shop, located on the 9th floor in Kampala's largest skyscraper (the building has a staggering 14 floors). As promised with its name, it has a nice panorama of the city and free wireless! Now if I only had a hot shower and a clean shave, I'd basically be a millionaire.

I realize I haven't espoused too much on my host family. Tonight is my last night at home, and they're starting to miss me. My mom asked me what I wanted for dinner (pork and chips!) and they cooked especially for me. (It's strange how I'm starting to develop comfort foods here.) They are also insisting I come back for Christmas, and I told them I would at least stop by and say hi.

"Peace Corps is a two-year camping trip during Lent."

-MJ, our 70-year-old volunteer who already served in Malawi.

Training is quickly winding down. Last week we had the trainee talent show where volunteers performed juggling acts, a ballet routine, break dancing, and I did a short stand-up bit (what do you call a deer with no eyes? No-eyed deer). On Thursday we have our Language Proficiency Interview, which I am by no means ready for. And next Tuesday we move out of our homestays for Kampala and then to our sites.

...Which brings me to my next point -- Our sites.

Site announcements were held today, with the Assistant Peace Corps Director (APCD) announcing one-by-one where everyone in our group of 42 was going. So, where will I be spending the next two years of my life? In Kamwenge district, in the mid-west of Uganda, near Queen Elizabeth National Park. The details are a bit general, but basically I think I'll be working with a local organization that works with local groups to develop projects and programs that promote health, education, and income. They also have a radio broadcast, which I think I'll be participating in! (Since college I have wanted to try my hand in radio but never took the initiative to try it out.)

For my living situation, my two sheets of information say "No Electricity," and "Well/Spring Water." I am "5+ km to the nearest town," and will have "No Internet Access." Living in rural Africa - Am I crazy? No, after all, this is what I signed up for!

My APCD was enthusiastic about my organization and the people I will be working with. She met with them on two drop-in occasions, each for about 4 hours. The only draw back so far is that she mentioned the latrine was "getting full..." But, she reassured, Peace Corps would come dig me a new one if I needed.

Phew.

So, next week it is off to Kampala, then swearing in on Thursday!

This photo is me during my stand-up routine at the talent show. If you look closely, Zach in the red shirt is almost laughing.

This week my language group went to Masindi district in the Mid-West. The goal was to experience the general routine and living conditions of current volunteers, and to immerse ourselves in our language (mine is called Runyoro-Rutoro, a Bantu language related to Swahili). The bus ride from Kampala to Masindi took around 3 hours, and while there were no chickens on the bus, we did make a stop about half-way in on the side of the road for a pee-break (which is why, ahem, women here wear skirts). The bus did play a NAZI concentration camp movie from the 60s with Alan Arkin, though it was dubbed into Luganda by one guy saying everyone's lines while the background noise is muted, a very common practice with movies here. And yes, it was bootleg.

My group of 4 stayed with 2 volunteers currently serving in the area. We had 2-hour language lessons in the morning, then managed to do several local activities, like meeting the LC1 (equivelant of the mayor), touring a nun-run health clinic (90% of their patients come in with malaria, and it costs about $1.25 - $10 to treat each case), toured a girls school, and met with the leader of a local microfinance NGO.

We also had to go to the market each day to both practice our language, and buy food for dinner. Dave is an excellent cook, so we made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, chili and corn bread, roasted peanuts, and sauteed green beans. Food was one of the highlights!

Also, on Friday morning, Will and I woke up at 5:30 and made our way up a hill. It took an hour, and considering that 6-foot tall elephant grass and biting ants were the worst encounters, it was well worth the adventure. (Oh, I also learned that some of Will's people back in the states have found this and have been reading this, so hello to you!).

Many people mentioned that they enjoy seeing photos... of me... in Africa. So, here is a brief "Day in the Life of Matt the PCT" of my life generally for the past four weeks:

Each morning, I wake up at 6:30, eat a breakfast usually of either white or pink porridge, bread, and instant coffee, then bike the 4 kilometers from my house to our training site. Most of this ride is downhill. Here is me on my Peace Corps standard issue Dunlop 12 speed, sporting a sleek opelescent helemet.

Language is from 8am - 12noon. My class has four members: me, Lauren, Dave, and Will. Here, our instructor is instructing us in our language hut: After language we have tea for a well-deserved half-hour. Afterwards we have a tech session. On this particular day we were learning how to garden and compost. I can be seen dutifuly taking notes on proper dung rotation:

I even try my hand at digging our community garden: Training is exhausting, and sometimes it's difficult to keep up with all the gossip. So, afterwards we usually get together to decompress and find out details of peoples' lives: We also play with the local kids, like this day when we got together with a current PCV and played soccer games. I played with the 3-year-olds because it best fit my age-group. Here, Sandi and Nicol stand in while I take a picture of the fun:

Finally, after a long day's work, I get to come home to my host family, usually watch a really bad Brazilian soap dubbed into English, eat my dinner, then crawl under my mosquito net and lay down to a long sleep full of mefloquin-induced dreams:

I'm in Kampala today with a group of other PCTs and we found a nice internet cafe with seemingly fast internet - so I can finally put up a few pictures!

Just a glimpse of village life on my short walk to the internet cafe this morning:

On the one-lane dusty dirt road, I had to move way over to the left-hand side to allow a small herd of cattle (with giant horns) pass. I said hello to the cattle driver.

A storm was kicking up, blowing dust everywhere, conjuring images of a dust storm blowing through an old town in the wild west. There are storm gutters on each side of the road going through town, about 3 feet deep and 2.5 feet wide. Wooden planks and small logs strewn over the ravine make the crossing hastle-free. But in town, just 20 or 30 feet from the main intersection, someone was burning their garbage in the ditch, sending grey smoke through town. Also, a few grazing goats slid down into the ditch and got stuck at another spot.

This morning was my first attempt at doing the laundry in the developing world. It wasn't too bad, but I feel like a smuck when I have to tell them we usually use machines to do it. "A machine for everything" was the reponse. Then I put some clothes up on a line to dry, and the grandmother came out and told me I was doing it wrong (well, I only understood what she was saying when she took my clothes down and hung them up differently). Inside-out to dry... I'll remember that for next time. I think I will save some money and hire someone to do my laundry when I get to my site - it's a lot of effort! And I haven't even ironed them yet (everything has to be ironed - when air-drying they can get a parasite so you have to iron to kill it).

Yesterday we finished our first full week of training at a training centre in the Wakiso district outside of Kampala. A lot has happened in the past week, so I'll try to summarize chronologically.

First, on Monday, we departed our initial training site in Leweeza and came to the training site here (which will be our permanant home for the next few months). We met up with our host families and were taken to our new homes! My familiy is generally bit wealthier (the father has a doctorate in fisheries, and the monther has an agricultural business in Kampala). By "wealthier," I mean that we usually have electricity, and we have running water. Still, there is no shower, and it's a continual effort to master the bucket bath. I haven't tried my hand at cooking on a propane stove yet, and my mother said that she will teach me how to do laundry this weekend (yet, in a bucket, after boiling the water).

Class itself has centered on language learning (roughly 2-4 hours/day, and I'm in the Runyoro/Runtoro group, which is in Mid-Western Uganda near Lake Albert on the Congo border, which means that is where I'll be going!). We also got some shots (Hep, Yellow Fever, Rabies), learned about diarrhea and other illnesses and how not to get them, did some team building work, and are learning about the Ugandan government, health, and education systems.

I was called today by PC Headquarters and they want to change my assignment because apparantly they were having difficulties finding water & sanitation placements. So, now I'm an economic development volunteer, and next week we begin business classes which will be interesting because the only business class I took was personal finance... and got a C.

The internet is sparce in this village, and slow is an understatement. It literally took 4 minutes to load the main GMail page, so if I don't get a personal email out to you, please don't hold that against me. I'll try stop in one or two times a week to give periodic updates, and some insight on training and culture.

I am finally in Philly, after leaving Portland early yesterday morning and arriving around 9pm in the city of brotherly love. I met up with some early-arrivals yesterday at the hotel bar (where else?!), then explored a bit of the city with them again this morning. Philly is pretty nice - the old town at least. I saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, and got my share of Americana before heading off for two years.

PCT, or Pre-Service Training was today. After check-in we did several hours of group exorcises, including introductions, and other fun activities. We went over a lot of the general Peace Corps policies, history, and basically why we're here.

After those fun and games most of us went out for dinner and drinks (including some karaoke) nearby. The Last Supper was a wonderfully delicious hamburger with bacon, swiss, BBQ sauce, and even Ranch. I would never eat this normally, but it may be the last decent burger I have in two years... better make it worth while!

But now it's bedtime. We leave at about 9:30 tomorrow morning for New York, then our flight takes off at 5:50 to Brussels. We arrive around 7:30am, and leave again at 10:30 for Entebbe. :) I've got some sleeping pills for the 18-hour trip!

I'll write again when we arrive. Take care.

We just received our staging information for orientation prior to our departure to Uganda. We will be staying at a hotel in downtown Philadelphia on Tuesday, August 4th (although I get to arrive a night early because I'm cool like that).

Monday August 3, 2009

American Airlines Flight Number: 1598

Depart: PORTLAND, OR 8:45 Am August 3, 2009

Arrive: DALLAS/F.WORTH,TX 2:25 Pm August 3, 2009

American Airlines Flight Number: 1086

Depart: DALLAS/F.WORTH,TX 4:10 Pm August 3, 2009

Arrive: PHILADELPHIA,PA 8:53 Pm August 3, 2009

Our training schedule (Aug 4):

1:30pm Registration

3-7pm Training (anxieties and aspirations, managing risk, policies, reflection on our commitment for service, travel logistics)

Then, on August 5th we load up at 9am and head to New York where we'll be flying out of JFK to Entebbe (by way of Brussels and Kigali first).

05 AUG 09 - WEDNESDAY

AIR AMERICAN AIRLINES FLT:172

LV NEW YORK JFK 550P EQP: BOEING 757

07HR 45MIN

06 AUG 09 - THURSDAY

AR BRUSSELS 735A NON-STOP

AIR BRUSSELS AIRLINES FLT:465

LV BRUSSELS 1040A EQP: AIRBUS A330-300

10HR 00MIN

AR ENTEBBE 940P 1-STOP

VIA KIGALI

I need to start a list of things I am thinking about bringing with me, and I realized what better place to compile a list than right here? Input is greatly appreciated!

(Yellow indicates things I need to buy. Blue indicates things I am unsure of taking. Black indicates things I already have.)

Electronics

HP Mini Laptop

Canon DSLR camera and lenses

Canon PowerShot small camera

2 or 3 ScanDisk cards for the cameras

DVDs (Simpsons, Arrested Development, etc)

6-cell battery for laptop ($120)

Solar charger (Solio?) ($100)

Shortwave radio - solar/wind-up

Rechargable solar batteries/charger

New MP3 player

Flashlight (wind-up?)

Headlamp

Flash Drive (at least 2 GB)

Clothing

2 pairs of slacks/khakis

3 pairs of shorts

2 pairs of jeans

1 swimsuit

2 long-sleeved button shirts

3 short-sleeved button shirts

3 polos

Several T-shirts

3 pairs of bamboo dark socks

20 pairs cotton underwear

1 tie

1 pair of flip-flops

1 pair of Tevas

1 pair of tennis shoes/hiking shoes

Travel alarm clock

Outlet converter

Lightweight rain jacket

Sweatshirt

Sundries

3 toothbrushes (teethbrushes?)

2 sticks of deodorant (unscented)

2 giant things of floss

Toothpaste

Mach 3 razor, with two packs of refills (24 total?)

2 cans shaving cream

Tweezers

Nail clippers

Hair buzzer

Face wash

3 things of Burts Bees with SPF

Sun Screen

Miscellaneous

Leatherman

1 roll of duct tape

Large backpack (main travel pack, to check)

Small rolling suitcase (secondary travel pack, to check)

Camera bag (carry-on)

Laptop bag (carry-on)

Crystal Lite packets

Instant potatoes, gravy, seasonings

Garic powder

Unbreakable French press

Book light

Notecards

Pens (set of several colors)

Photo album

Journals and notebooks

Nalgene

Money belt

Can opener

Veggie peeler

...wow this was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be! I will be updating the list as things are added/removed.

Greetings from rainy Washington, DC!

The locals say the first day you feel the humidity, it's the beginning of the End. Last Sunday was an exceptionally beautiful day, but also the first day that we actually felt the sultry air. Today it rains, and it is still a bit humid, which admittedly puts an enjoyable spin on the whole rain thing.

To bring things up to speed, our 2-week road trip to the East went better than expected. It was long enough to feel like a true adventure (no breakdowns, and luckily we missed all of the bad weather the entire way), though short enough to feel like we weren't vagabonds. I'm still working on some photos of the sojourn, but highlights included crazy times in Vegas (I won $15 on my first roll at the penny slots!), nearly falling off the Grand Canyon, adopting a slight Southern drawl, and having an 80-year-old Cajun man whose technically spoke English as his second language motor us around a swamp pointing out all of the gators.

And finally, we arrive in Alexandria, Virginia. Tired, broke, and disoriented we only had two days to get our barrings and prepare ourselves for the first day of work.

Work, or Observations After Two Weeks of Working in a Congressional Office

On the road trip I received a call from Rep. Brian Baird's office offering me a $2000 stipend. Sen. Maria Cantwell's office couldn't offer me anything, so I decided to intern with Baird (he represents Southwest Washington). The office is old and small (JFK laid the cornerstone to the building in 1961), but at least we have modern computers that don't require hampster wheels to operate. There are six people in my room (mostly policy advisors and letter writers), two people in the front (scheduler and receptionist), two in the back room (cheif of staff and legislative director), and finally the Congressman's office. If you've seen Charlie Wilson's War, it's a similar lay-out and size.

My boss is very nice and so far pleasant to work with. He took us on a tour up the dome of the capitol building and is very candid with a nerdy sense of humour. The staff at the office have been very nice, and most hail from Washington so no, I will not be developing a Virginian accent.

As for the job itself, my main task is to answer phones and log in constituent mail. I get a lot of cranky old people calling in, and a lot of reactionary-Fox News types, which at least gives me a lot of good content to laugh at during the day. One caller today was literally suggesting that we keep tabs on pregnent immigrant women, so that they can be deported before they give birth (with the hope that the child would not be an American citizen). Yes, these are the people I have to deal with!

I also run random errands, delivering bills to the Cloak Room in the Capitol (bills go in the "hoppa" to be read on the House floor), and getting supplies (ooooh). Here's a photo of me at the top of the rotunda on Friday (3/27/09): http://tinypic.com/view.php?pic=15mh9vl&s=5

Highlight of the month of March? I rode the elevator with Geraldo. Yes, his hair is as poofy as it looks (Pert Plus?)

Washington, DC, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Public Transit

My typical commute takes about an hour. Each way. The DC metro is amazing - it's modern, safe, fast, and I haven't seen any graffitti anywhere. I've gotten my metro ride down to about 30-40 minutes each way, but I also ride a shuttle to my apartment so the extra 15-20 minutes of my commute is waiting for that thing. My first impressions of DC were very positive. It was clean, had grand boulevards with massive edifices on each block. There are too many statues to count, and plenty of squares, plazas, and parks. I still think I'm in Europe.

http://tinypic.com/view.php?pic=bhkcia&s=5

We have gone out a couple of times at night to explore the hot spots. Here are the general observations thusfar:

No one is very attractive.Everyone is short (is it the water?)Drinks are generally expensive.There aren't any cool neighborhoods or concentrated night spots, like Fremont or Capital Hill.We will continue to endeavour out into the nightlife world, and explore the surroundings, and report back. We haven't had a free weekend yet, and museums close at 5:30, so the goal in the next few weeks is to at least get into one or two Smithsonians.

That's all I am able to write now, I'll update a bit more frequently now that we're finally starting to feel settled and at home.

Miss you all!

The medical process has been progressing slowly, but at least the end is in sight. I had my physical last week, which included drawing 6 vials of blood, and had everything from A-Zed tested (I'm happy to say I'm very healthy - not even elevated cholesterol!). I got boosters for polio and MMR on Monday and my arm is finally feeling normal. I went to the optomotrist, got new specs, and have one final medical appointment in two weeks. After that, I can send everything in.

That's been all so far... my birthday was yesterday and I have a lot planned for this weekend - it's only Thursday morning and I'm already checked out of work.

As a backup plan in case Peace Corps falls through, or I end up deciding not to go, I'm also applying to a few grad schools. I'm looking into Masters programs in Public Policy and International Development and have a few schools picked out - University of Maryland College Park, American University, and maybe NYU. The GRE is in Decemeber so I've been trying to brush up on my math skills for that (or lack thereof).

I'll update again when I send my medical evaluation to DC!

This once-a-month posting thing seems to be working out, and is pretty accurate to the speed things are progressing. I spoke with Erin, my recruiter, last Monday (September 8). She successfully nominated me for a water & sanitation project in Africa, leaving in August 2009.

A few things:

My very first feeling was that of disappointment. Water and sanitation was one of the least-favourite options. Basically, I don't want to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere digging latrines for two years. Second, I can't wait until August 2009 - that's too far away. I am ready to leave now, or at least in February/March. Being at my job for another year will drive me crazy, so something there at least needs to change.

But in the days following I began to think more about what was involved and my reasons for applying to the Peace Corps:

1) I want to gain experience in the "real" Africa and third world, experiences that will help me in my future education and career.

2) I want to live abroad and learn a new language.

3) I want to help those less fortunate, and hopefully create something sustainable so that when I leave, my project/device/knowledge will stay and continue to be used.

Digging pit toilets and irrigation ditches does not sound glorious. However, it does accomplish all of my goals. It gets me closer to where I want to be with grad school admission, and also gets my foot in the door with the government (for two years of service, I get one year of federal government seniority and am eligible to apply to government jobs not open to the public).

It is not Wednesday the 17th, and I have decided to continue with my application. At this point that involves getting medical tests and physicals. I haven't received my medical paperwork yet, so until that arrives I can't schedule any appointment. The Peace Corps does reimburse up to a certain amount, though, so that's a benefit. Or I can go to the VA for free :-)

While the decision of continuing with my application has been made, that leaves the "August 2009" departure date to loom. I am going to study for/take the GRE. I am going to keep an eye on volunteer opportunities, or maybe a part-time internship. I'll also visit the job boards every day. I may apply for grad school this year, but I'm still debating that one.

To update everyone on what has been going on since the last post, I went in for my formal interview on August 7th with my recruiter. It took about 70 minutes and we discussed everything from basics like hesitations, to hypothetical cultural questions. They mainly wanted to see how I would adapt and fit in, cope with being away for two years, and that I wouldn't embaress the Peace Corps by getting wildly drunk or something.

Afterwards, my recruiter forwarded me several skills forms, targeting a few different project areas including agriculture and forestry, secondary English teaching, community development, NGO development, health, HIV/AIDS, and water and sanitation. I filled these out, basically expanding on what I had already told them on my original application. These were used to guide the phone interview, which happened today (August 22nd).

The phone interview went well, and was about 40 minutes. We talked about the different project areas (above), which ones I was interestd in, and which ones I wasn't. I also talked about my hesitations on some regarding skill level involved, but definitely not motivation. My least favourites were water and sanitiation, and agriculture and forestry. The others I'm pretty stoked about! But after the interview came the news of difficulty: due to the weak dollar and funding cuts, the Peace Corps will not be able to offer the same number of positions as in years past. Thus, the ones they do offer will be more competitive. My recruiter reassured me, however, that I am qualified and suitable for Peace Corps service, and that she doesn't have concerns for me finding a placement.

So, what happens next?

In the coming weeks the programs will open more positions on a rolling basis (several each week, and a big chunk in mid-September). Currently there are two HIV/AIDS programs that I am an "almost-match" for, both leaving for Africa in February. My recruiter will nominate me for these, sending my application to a placement officer in DC who know more of the specifics involved. If I'm qualified I get dibs on the placement. If I'm not, I'll either be denied, or told to get the necessary experience before I depart (in which case I get dibs, contingent on this experience). I should know by next Friday-ish on the results, and will get back with my recruiter to discuss the next steps if I am rejected from these spots.

So that's that. It has suddenly become very real - hearing her say departing for Africa in February -- That's six months away!! Holy crap! It is nice, though, to put my life here in Seattle on a timeframe. I'll be a lot more motivated to go do things, hang out with people, etc., and I am really confident that the next few months will be some of my best here with my friends.

To the couple of friends I have already spoken there was no surprise when I first brought up my interest in joining the Peace Corps. Kristi actually responded with, "Cool, don't forget to write." I wasn't sure entirely what response I was looking for, and I only really wanted to begin a conversation with those who know me best about applying, so I guess that step has been a success. Even my parents, children of the flower power generation who have since grown up to be respectable and responsible adults in small town America, were instantly supportive of the idea (this after voicing disapproval of an as-of-yet untaken Central American Odyssey through Honduras, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica).

My reasons for applying are simple, and I believe universal amongst my age-group:

1. I want to travel for an extended period of time (Peace Corps pays for everything)

2. Learning a new language would be fun

3. If it were feasible to volunteer and help people my entire life, I probably would. Peace Corps makes that a reality for two years, which is pretty good.

4. Scholarships/fellowships for grad school, some up to 1/2 off tuition. We also get access to an alumni network, and have the opportunity to make numerous contacts abroad for future career goals.

5. I'm sick of working for the man.

Welcome to my blog. I hope for my blog to be not a stereotype of the standard "I'm going away to live my dream and change the world" idealism that I had in college, but rather a more realistic view of what's going on, and what it's like (including eating bugs, not having TP, and contracting some exotic disease). That all begins with the application, which I hope to have finished by Friday.