Over the Mountains of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow

And ride boldly I did. Around Ibanda hill and 2 hours later I was in the thick of "the bush" - not Eldorado, much to my dismay. I doubt many white people end up back here in these hills, so I was quite the anomaly. As I biked, enjoying the view of the mountains and passing natural springs and marshes, I began noticing splashes of blood on the ground, fairly evenly dispersed to imply dripping, and alarmingly fresh. I kept biking, the possibilities running through my mind- an injured child with a wounded foot, an animal that had been ensnared in barbed wire, or perhaps, my imagination brewing fears- a madman with a machete still dripping from his recent massacre.
As I crested the hill and sped down, I came upon the answer: none of the above. There, in front of me, was a man pushing a bicycle, with the head of a cow strapped to the back. And really- whadda Uganda do, but just bike on by.

Gettin' Durty

And I bought rubbers. Not those- I do have my Catholic girl reputation to uphold, afterall, and anyway, peace corps supplies the other kind in our med kit. It's good for demonstrations on safe sex, Mom. To the point, it's the rainy season, which I think should be changed to the Muddy Season. So now whenever, I head out the door, it's with two pairs of shoes- wearing my rubber golashes, and carrying the other. I'm like the Peace Corps version of Mr. Rogers.
The weeks are flying by, and work is picking up. I spend the week making home visits and Fridays at Ibanda Hospital working in the HIV clinic. I checked out the stats on the testing- and they test 600 people/month, and about 18% are HIV positive, which is much higher than the proclaimed national average of 6%. Regardless, we have a lot of drugs to dispense. I'm becoming familiar with the different antiretroviral treatments, and have even caught some errors in dosages.
On Thursdays I'm going to begin teaching Nutrition to the Nursing students at the college associated with the hospital- which I'm really looking forward to, but have been busy trying to create a curriculum and lesson plans, as they have given me all of 2 weeks to prepare.
And on Wednesdays, I head to the Baby's Orphanage to play with the 34 some children there. Mostly the toddlers, who like to be pushed on the swings. I have no idea what they request of me in their Runyankore-babble, seeing as how I can barely pick the language from a well educated, fully grown Ugandan. But I do know that hugs, swinging kids by their arms, and chasing them around is universal, so I stick to that. I usually come back exhausted and smelling like pee from the diaperless toddlers, but perhaps I'll introduce them as the alternative method of abstinence promotion, as they're probably a better form of birth control than the "rubbers".

I think I'm being bathed

This past weekend, another volunteer- Sarah- and I packed our culturally appropriate one piece swimsuits, loaded into a tiny white pickup truck of a traditional herbal healer/monk/father- take your pick, and headed to the hot springs for a daytrip. We bumbled along the pothole pocked road, squeezed together in the front seat, Sarah trying to avoid the stick shift jamming into her leg, and me bracing myself, arm out the window, to the roof of the truck. Glancing nervously at the forming thunderheads, I wondered why the monk kept saying we were lucky, "Rain is not coming today". We passed a "trading center" aka- tourist trap Ugandan style, a block long strip of one storied storefronts painted bright colors- turquoise, red, and yellow are the cheapest paints. A sign surprisingly pointed the direction towards the hot springs "Kitagata" and we turned just as I heard people yelling "Muzungu!" We swerved downward into a valley, the Rwenzories towering above, and turned again down a road. "You have finished?" the monk called out to a woman carrying a plastic bag and moving towards us. She nodded, then gestured at us, somewhat of a confused wave. The monk shifted into park, Sarah and I spilled out of the seat and looked around. Hit with intense humidity, Sarah's curly hair immediately became tight curls. I expected a thick scent of sulphur and bubbling water, but as we walked around the bend, we came upon a shallow stream gurgling over huge black boulders, and almost camouflaged, were a large group of mostly naked Ugandans, sitting about, somehow masked by the rising steam. We were curiously watched as the monk walked us around the area, to the source. A man came up through the steam, carrying a book. He spoke surprisingly decent English, and informed us of today's Hot Springs temperature at the source- 98 degrees. He then opened his book, removed a pen from his pocket, and handed me- the guestbook. We signed the guestbook, then set our things along the bank. The monk explained that he could not enter the waters, since he was religious. Learning not to question the monk's explanations, we removed our shirts, opting to keep our wraps on to cover our thighs, we walked towards the water, feeling all eyes on us. We were motioned to the end where the women bathed, and Sarah and I settled into the water, feeling all at once completely relaxed by the warm water and completely on edge due to the 30 some pairs of eyes staring at us. Neither of us spoke, just gave awkward smiles, when suddenly, a topless woman waded towards Sarah, and began pouring water over her. Sarah turned towards me, "I think I'm being bathed." Soon there were many shirtless women, their sagging breasts all around us, pouring the hot water over us, Sarah and I, suppressing giggles. Eventually, when they thought we were clean, I suppose, they stopped. Sarah and I waded out of the springs, and turned back to stare at the springs, perhaps we were both trying to make sure it was all real, and not just a melfloquine-induced dream. On our way back, the monk navigating back and forth over the road, he said again, "Yes, you are very lucky." I'll take his word.

Which one of these things is not like the other?

My homestay family, perhaps 'say cheese' didn't translate. . .

There but for the grace of God go I.

No, the Pentecostal Christians have not gotten to me, although I think my coworkers are trying to 1-up the Muslims and pray 7 times a day – in the morning, before tea, after tea, before lunch, after lunch, at 3, after using the latrine, etc etc etc. . .I do enjoy working with them, but I miss the Catholic comforts- not knowing the books of the Bible, only singing if there’s a choir, only saying “God” and ‘Jesus” once or twice in a prayer instead of every other word. But they do good work here, in Jesus name.. jk jk.
SO, the title of this blog, although a religious message, is as well, a lyric in a Jenny Lewis song (Renaissance- that’s SYWLM for you) “Rise Up with Fists!!” and has been stuck in my head. For good reason, I believe.The majority of my work currently includes visiting some of our project children living with HIV and taking antiretroviral therapy. I hop on my mountain bike, with my helmet, of course, and follow my counterpart, who’s helmetless and sidesaddle on the back of a motorcycle and calling out encouragements to me, and we take off for various homes 3-5 km away. I bike along dirt roads past small stores, meat hanging, banana plantations, through coffee plants and up mountains where the road becomes a 6” wide dirt line.
Visiting these “homes” is always a shock. Each child in our project is an orphan- meaning they’ve lost 1 or both parents, often related to AIDS. The houses are made out of dirt, with hatched roofs, some fortunate enough to have steel sheets to keep out the rain, but lack any kind of structural support. We ask the children to get their medications, and then we count them. This happens every 2 weeks, and there are often discrepancies, meaning many of the children are not adhering to the medication, often because of the side effects or miscommunication of the medical staff, or mostly, uneducated caretakers. We counsel the child and caretakers on the correct dosage, and follow up with another visit in 2 weeks.
I both love and hate these visits. As I bike, I feel thrilled to be in Africa, to be a health volunteer, look at me: making home visits, speaking the local vernacular. But I hate them too. I sit in these homes and I look around the house and the conditions and I feel guilty. Guilty that this isn’t me suffering, that instead it’s this child who smiles shyly every time I look at them. We then pray with the child, and I find myself mumbling the responses to the prayers, but still thinking- there, but for the grace of God, go I.

RIP, Ekilame

Encounters with animals were on my list of fears for living in Uganda. However, my main interactions with other species have been rather nonthreatening, despite my reactions. For instance, returning to homestay from my first visit to site, I had not been in my room in nearly a week and when I entered the room, I found a dead mouse on the floor and its mate, quite alive, nestled under the pillow of my bed. I now have the habit of of bracing myself and checking under my pillow every night.
Since being at site, I’ve had the occasional ant bite and just a small field mouse that takes a nightly lap around my room- under the crack of my door, past a desk, my twin bed with a mosquito net, behind the bookshelf, then back out the door. However, there are little gecko lizards everywhere. I’m actually fortunate that these are my main animal infestation as they only cause a startle of unexpected movement, at times lose their footing and drop from the ceiling, and scutter away, usually leaving a turd or two behind. I especially realized how fortunate I was after visiting another volunteer who seemingly has 40 pound rats that conduct a nocturnal WWF match in her ceiling.
My lizards like to hang out on my windowsill, my desk, walls, and specifically my pit latrine. My pit latrine is about 30 feet from my house and as accustomed as I’ve become to squatting over a hole (although the female anatomy makes multi-tasking difficult) I still can’t get used to other inhabitants in there while I’m trying to take care of business. So I usually attempt to chase the lizards up the wall or out the door before I’m willing to drop trou. Everyday, it has been a showdown with me and a specific lizard that has no tail, I’ve come to nickname Ekilema (ech-ee-lay-mah)- which means an animal without an appendage. Ekilema scatters around my latrine while I make threatening advances, attempting to chase it out.
Today was no different- there sat the lizard in front of the hole, and there stood I with a full bladder. I took a step into the 5ft x 5ft room with the center hole and Ekilema took a step towards me, blocking my destination. I clapped- the creature blinked. I stomped, the lizard spun in a circle. I stomped again, the lizard stuck its tongue out at me. Frustrated, and with a full bladder, I banged the door. Ekilema spun again, then in one fatal mistake- perhaps related to the missing tale, ran straight at the hole, landing with a thud 20 feet down to the bottom of my latrine. RIP, Ekilame- Rest In Piss.

It’s Aight, I’m at site

So there I was…. Actually, here I am. Finally at my site and becoming acquainted with the town and my organization. I live on the grounds of where I work and my office has a view of the town and the mountain is across the way. On my way to work, I pass a barbed wire fence where our 20 cows, 12 goats, and 8 sheep greet me- I have yet to learn their names, but apparently, the cows are “exotic”. Meaning, they look like dairy cows, as the local cows have enormous horns protruding from either side of their head, that I feel they should have warned us about in our security training. I greet the workers in their local language, which still astounds them on Day 5, and they have yet to realize that I can’t comprehend past the simple greetings, but a simple “mmmmm” seems to do the trick and I’m on my way.
I ride my mountain bike (which was trekked here on the top of the Ugandan equivalent of a 12 passenger van along with 6 other volunteers times 2 years of living supplies and 5 other bikes) to the local health center and all around town. We are expected to wear our helmets at all times, and there’s no way around this rule, considering my introduction to the community was the following: “This is Diana. She is from America. She is a volunteer. Please do not call her “muzungu” Call her Diana. When she is riding around on her bicycle she will be wearing a what? A helmet” The word “what’ seems to take the place here of a conversational pause that I am now used to, but at first caught me off guard, thinking I needed to fill in the blanks. The best use of this I’ve heard yet is ‘Don’t talk to strange what? Strangers”
Today I finally had a day off and was able to do about 3 weeks worth of laundry, which was quite amusing to the local children who endlessly gather in my yard. Maybe I should stop giving them little bananas. In fact, as I type this, I am currently watched by 4 children all standing around me. I bet they say hi.
I live directly across the road from another volunteer, which is very convenient, because my stove is not working properly, ie- it emits large uncontrollable flames that spread across the table. I’m now without hair on my right arm, so I suppose the children will stop petting that arm- they are fascinated with my arm hair- just wait until my dad visits!

For My Rocksnob Rockstars

Ok, enough of the imo pics, here it is, the playlist- solely based upon song titles to encompass my PC experience thus far- for my music oriented chums-
You Don’t Miss the Water- The Byrds
Gone Wanderin’- Jackie Greene
Same in Any Language- I Nine
Alcohol and Pills- Todd Snider
I Love the Unknown- Clem Snide
Poor Places- WIlco
We’re All In this Together- Old Crow Medecine Show
41 Dollars and Change- Gillian Welch
Don’t Panic- Coldplay
Everything Will Be Alright- Joshua Radin
For the Price of a Cup of Tea- Belle and Sebastion
Light Enough to Travel- The Be Good Tanyas
Let’s Get Out of this Country- Camera Obscura
The World Has Turned and Left Me Here- Weezer
You can’t always get what you want- The Rolling Stones
Falling Through Your Clothes- The New Pornographers
These Boots Were Made for Walkin’- Nancy Sinatra
Rise Up with Fists!!- Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins
Learning How to Live- Lucinda Williams
Buckets of Rain- Neko Case
The Naming of Things- Andrew Bird
This Woman’s Work- Kate Bush
The Laws Have Changed- The New Pornographers
Things that Scare Me- Neko Case
Splendid Isolation- Pete Yorn
What’s So Funny ‘bout Peace, Love, and Understanding- Elvis Costello
Thrice All American- Neko Case
With a Little Help From My Friends- The Beatles
I Dream a Highway- Gillian Welch
Stumbling Through the Dark- The Jayhawks

Auntie- You speaking Luginglish.

I've been at my site visiting for the past few days, and it is just gorgeous here in the West. I can't wait to permanently begin working! I never thought I'd admit that.... But I guess after an entire summer off, it was bound to happen sooner or later. The town I am in is a good size town, and i am a hit success just by greeting in the local language. I literally made someone fall down and begin laughing. There is another volunteer right across the road from me who has been a great resource. I will be working as a Community Health Volunteer here at Compassion Development Center, but during these few days at orientation, I've been assisting the director with letters that are written by the children to their sponsors. I've collected a few phrases:

- Thank you so much for the shit and prayer of pants you sent. I look smart.
- My g-nuts look good.
- Here, we are wet always.
- Back to me, my lives are good. Especially my he-goat.
- May God give to you all that you deduce from life.
- It is Alex trying to attract your attention.

My English is slowly degrading, as my Runyankore picks up, and I mix it all in with Luganda. On top of that, you have to slow down your English and annonciate your Ts, so you end up speaking, as my host brother calls it- Lunginglish. Next step is to play scrabble in Lunginglish.

Get Thee to a Nunnery!

I seem to find friends in the right places- especially when you look to religious life for companionship. I befriended a nun here who speaks the language I'm learning so I could have a chance to practice the language a bit more. I also found out my placement is in Western Uganda, and my nun friend gave me the contact information of yet more nuns in the west. The nuns run the Health center across from the Catholic Church, so I also finagled my way into giving a nutrition presentation to the maternity ward. Some of the other volunteers and I worked on some posters to use, and with the help of a translator, I was able to convey a balanced diet for pregnant and lactating mothers, perhaps it's the beginning of WIC- Uganda. . ..
I was also able to visit Fr. Mike in Kampala- a dear friend from home who teaches at the seminary here in Kampala. It was so great to see him, like a hug from home, AND he gave us Snickers! American candy is like gold here among the trainees, we barter for it, it even brings tears to the eyes of some of the less fortunate giardia stricken trainees.

I Dream a Highway

Traveling in Uganda is somewhat of an oxymoron. There are buses, taxis, and cars all with a suggested capacity that is widely ignored. For our journey from Luweero to the capital of Kampala- 14 of us took a taxi minivan and swerved our way south. There are lines on the road- again a mere suggestion of traffic rules. However, you more than likely look up just in time to see a large bus in your lane swerving on two wheels back to the other side of the road as a motorcycle flies by the opposite side of your vehicle. If you’re lucky, the taxi slows down for the potholes that make Nebraska roads look smooth as silk. The “bus park” is organized chaos. The bus is one that greyhound might have produced in 1965, but tends to fly at about 90 miles/hour. I found it best to pretend it was a train ride. What did make our journey fun was being able to travel with the other volunteers in our group- it made the time fly almost as fast as the overcrowded bus.

Peace was chased by a chicken

Animals are everywhere in Uganda- goats in front of the bar claiming and protecting mounds of dirt, chickens run freely, little boys chase cows for fun, the government gave out piglets for new births. People cultivate animals on the small plots of land at their homes (incidentally, a little FYI courtesy of my pal Lisandro- people have not cultivated a new animal in the past 2,000 years). Because of this prevalence of animals here, the children also assume that I too own animals in the states and are often surprised when I tell them I don’t have cows- although being from Nebraska and living in California- this question seems to be a prevalent one in my life.

At the school in the west, I was assigned the task of editing letters the children wrote to sponsors in America. (Think, Dear Ndugu). Most of the letters mentioned the activities and many happenings of their family’s goat- whether it was missing, had a kid, had eaten their homework, etc. It was quite nice to be able to correct someone else’s grammar for a bit instead of everyone correcting mine.

As for the chickens- I watched one eat a snake at my host family’s house- can you say “free range”? The school also had chickens as an income generating project, and one had chicks. I was asked if I wanted to hold one. Then a child, named Peace, was sent in to get a chick for me. Most of the children have an English name as well as an African name. Each child has a different African name other than their parent’s so it’s often difficult to distinguish family lines based on names. But back to Peace- the mother hen was not happy about that decision- thus my new catch phrase: Peace was chased by a chicken.

Turn off your headlamp, you look like a tourist.

I've spent the last weekend in the southwest of the country with another trainee and current volunteer. This was the first piece of many useful tidbits of advice I received. It was a great trip and morale booster to be able to visit a community and see how a volunteer manages it all. We started with a lovely moonlit picnic and finished up with some guitar entertainment, provided by our hosts. I was able to experience a heated bucket bath which felt like a 45 minute bubble bath- soooo nice! A few of us are meeting up in Mbarara for the night before heading on back to training. Visiting the region where I will likely be placed provided a light at the end of the long training tunnel- granted it was not a headlight.

Buckets and Bananas and Booda-Boodas, Oh My!

A bucket- who would know this would be the most useful tool to have here in Luweero, Uganda. A bucket for bathing twice a day, a bucket to do your laundry with, a bucket to carry water, and a bucket for your room-> you can draw your own conclusions on what that's for. I'm expected to strip down to the nude in a small cement room twice a day and pour freezing water over me- needless to say, getting out of bed is even harder than usual when you know this fate awaits you. But bathing is very important here expecially as dusty as your legs and feet become. My laundry is done in a series of four buckets then hung on the line to dry- or perhaps for a second rinse cycle, seeing how the weather has been as of late. Water is collected as rain water into a large basin and carried in buckets about a block away, which we collect every evening.
Bananas in every way shape and form are served here. Plantains mashed up is called Matoke which is served at almost every meal. Tiny bananas are at breakfast, bananas mashed and added to onion and tomato is yet another form. There is a variety of foods available- tomatoes, avocados, pineapples are in season now, papaya, rice, maize, beans are all part of a typical meal. My house has a chicken coop and a lovely rooster which sets its wake up call for 4 am. I can't wait until November when the mango trees ripen!
Bicylces and scooters are everywhere here- although most are called "booda booda"s which originated from "border-border" when they would use these as the primary transport between bordering villages. It's hard to remember that, being a previous British colony, the cars drive on the left side of the road. This has caused rampant confusion among the volunteers here, and a small "near death" experience when 5 of us were walking along the right American side, wrong here, and caused a major booda booda pile up. After many apologies in all the languages we're learning, we walked away luckily unscathed.
So as long as I get used to my bucket bath, bananas in every form, and on the lookout for booda boodas- I think I'll manage Uganda culture just fine.

It's Easier to Leave than to Be Left Behind

So this is it, mere hours towards departure and what a whirlwind it's been- but well worth the ride. My goals were to reclaim summer and work on a tan in hope of not standing out in Africa. Done and done- although I readily admit the latter was a vain attempt. Things that are running through my head currently include: will my Herbal Essence shampoo attract killer bees, why did I watch "The Last King of Scotland" the week before I left, is that green dress too low cut for Uganda, I wonder what happened to my orange Nalgene, why am I uploading The Office onto my iPod when I should be signing life insurance documents, should I bring Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows along and risk the immediate judgement, is my layover in Chicago long enough to grab a drink in Wrigleyville. These are the pressing issues I'm facing.

I've had some amazingly welcome distractions this past week, thanks to the 3 day wedding rituals- which I never knew included skinny dipping. Some Omaha brides are just so traditional. So here's a shout out to the pious friends and drunken companions that made the last few days before my departure a side splittin riot. Keep on truckin through the two year plan. See ya in a few.

Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti

I wonder how many Peace Corp Africa bloggers have at one time or another used lyrics from Toto's "Africa". . . I thought I'd just bite the bullet and start my first post using the most syllabically condensed line from the song and save everyone the suspense.

So without hesitation, I give you the long awaited blog for my Peace Corps experience. I hope it will serve as a glimpse into my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer, a method to stay in touch, a forum for witty banter, an exposure of my deepest thoughts and comparisons of culture, and a lasting impression into the vast unknown- "the web". Or, more realistically, a way for me to pass some time. Afterall, whadda uganda do?