Sorry so long. But I've had some power and time issues. Right now it is morning. I've been up since 4:45 alone in a bar-- a familiar pace and time for me. This bar stands 100 ft above the Nile. It has no doors or glass in the windows. Tarps were dropped in the windows when they closed last night to keep the bats from inadvertatly flying in and crashing. But although I can't see them I know the falls are below. I hear them. That is where some will bungee jump today and I will test the rapids.
All is not work here . I am excited.
PS: I've some more posts that I will enter later. Just wanted to get something down.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Tick-Tock
Things are winding down here. Last night we had a meeting of the remaining teachers (half departed last week) to discuss what we needed to get done before Friday, our last night here. Since the students are all in test mode, I have taken to the library trying to find ways to be of service. I have been to visit the hospital and both St Jude and Mother Teresa's orphanges.
Today I am going to visit Thomas's home, meet his wife and baby. After, a one and a half hour boda ride (I am not looking forward to this, twice my twenty minute rides have resulted in a color in my urine that resembles dark tea) out to some villages for food and traditional dancing. Yesterday, at school, we had water buffalo--delicious. Today there is the promise of antelope; I am hoping for kob I've heard it's great.
Tomorrow I am to go to Adonga Edward's place. He and Okama hav told me they want to take me out to "a place" (always said with a wink and a laugh) where we can listen to music. I imagine just like going out with friends at home, drinking will be involved(not by me). During one of our earlier indoctrination sessions we were asked to write down different likes and dislikes in an attempt to get to know each other better. One of the topics was "favorite drink." My response: Coffee. Theirs: Ugandan Waragi--a local gin made from casava. Being attentive and a good guest, both have since received bottles of their favorite.
Monday, I continue grading exams. Tuesday, if lucky, it's the mentor program another trip to villages, this time to see families of abductees suffering from PTSD. Wednesday, we are having a workshop where I will try to outline a writer's workshop I brought but never got to implement.
I admit to having one foot emotionally out the door. I am working to stay present. However, I will not be surprised if upon my return I find I have one foot still in Uganda for some time.
Today I am going to visit Thomas's home, meet his wife and baby. After, a one and a half hour boda ride (I am not looking forward to this, twice my twenty minute rides have resulted in a color in my urine that resembles dark tea) out to some villages for food and traditional dancing. Yesterday, at school, we had water buffalo--delicious. Today there is the promise of antelope; I am hoping for kob I've heard it's great.
Tomorrow I am to go to Adonga Edward's place. He and Okama hav told me they want to take me out to "a place" (always said with a wink and a laugh) where we can listen to music. I imagine just like going out with friends at home, drinking will be involved(not by me). During one of our earlier indoctrination sessions we were asked to write down different likes and dislikes in an attempt to get to know each other better. One of the topics was "favorite drink." My response: Coffee. Theirs: Ugandan Waragi--a local gin made from casava. Being attentive and a good guest, both have since received bottles of their favorite.
Monday, I continue grading exams. Tuesday, if lucky, it's the mentor program another trip to villages, this time to see families of abductees suffering from PTSD. Wednesday, we are having a workshop where I will try to outline a writer's workshop I brought but never got to implement.
I admit to having one foot emotionally out the door. I am working to stay present. However, I will not be surprised if upon my return I find I have one foot still in Uganda for some time.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A visit
My co-teacher, Edward, asked me to join him for a visit today to St Mary's Lacor Hospital where his sister-in-law had just given birth to a baby boy via C-section. I reluctantly agreed, because, unbeknownst to Edward, this is the place where baby Samuel was taken, the place about which I had heard horrific things.
What I found was a good place, a place where babies and the elderly were treated with kindness and care. We visited his sister-in-law, saw the baby--they called it "Muzunga", said it looked like me. Then he took me on a tour to the malaria and pnuemonia wards crowded with babies; to the cancer wards; HIV. Everywhere we went we met someone else he knew, always taking the time to exchange pleasantries. This is customary with the Acholi. They are a large, extended family. It is hell on timetables but with it comes a sense of peace, of comfort.
I gave the new mother a gift for her baby, "My son" we joked, and left the hospital thinking that the horror stories I had heard from my friends who had delivered Samuel's lifeless body were probably fueled as much by grief and frustration as any misdeeds on the behalf of the hospital.
On another note, today Weasel was arrested. He had gone back to an aunt's house and the police, waiting for him, entered to find him with a 'panga' (machete) at her throat. He is to be tried for attempted murder, burglary, and depending on what the teacher whose helmet was stolen does, possibly robbery. He is just 18.
What I found was a good place, a place where babies and the elderly were treated with kindness and care. We visited his sister-in-law, saw the baby--they called it "Muzunga", said it looked like me. Then he took me on a tour to the malaria and pnuemonia wards crowded with babies; to the cancer wards; HIV. Everywhere we went we met someone else he knew, always taking the time to exchange pleasantries. This is customary with the Acholi. They are a large, extended family. It is hell on timetables but with it comes a sense of peace, of comfort.
I gave the new mother a gift for her baby, "My son" we joked, and left the hospital thinking that the horror stories I had heard from my friends who had delivered Samuel's lifeless body were probably fueled as much by grief and frustration as any misdeeds on the behalf of the hospital.
On another note, today Weasel was arrested. He had gone back to an aunt's house and the police, waiting for him, entered to find him with a 'panga' (machete) at her throat. He is to be tried for attempted murder, burglary, and depending on what the teacher whose helmet was stolen does, possibly robbery. He is just 18.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Weasel
Yesterday, I went to school. No classes, but I proctored an exam. In the middle of the exam the head teacher came in with slips, receipts for all students whose dues had been paid in full. After passing them out, on this the last day of English for the year, those without receipts were told to "Get out. Don't come back." My unspoken thoughts were that the students should be allowed to complete the test and, if they still didnt pay, their grades could be withheld. However, should they come up with the money, their year wouldn't have been wasted. This was not to be, and 20 of my students--out of 91-- rose and left the class.
The exam ended and I gathered with the other teachers in their lounge where I heard what happened in one of the other classes. In that class--also one of mine--a boy named Weasel, a name given to him while an abductee soldier in the bush, was found to be among the non-payees. Asked to leave, he was adamant in his refusal. This disrespect so outraged the male teacher monitoring the class that he came to the defense of our female head teacher and began to beat the boy as he sat, defiantly refusing to give up his seat. Eventually, he rose, struck his attacker, and ran from the room, the teacher in pursuit.
But Weasel was too quick and disappeared around the corner. The teacher was forced to return to the lounge to vent his anger and frustration. Then one of the female teachers entered. She announced that Weasel had returned, he had gone to where the teacher kept his boda and had stolen his helmet. The teacher's lounge emptied and there was Weasel, at the borehole, pumping furiously, filling the teacher's helmet with water, and drinking from it. The compound was filled with shouting students astonished at the display, happy to be witness to it.
The teacher ran at Weasel, shouting. Weasel, crazy yes, but no fool, put the teacher's helmet on his head and stood ready to fight, throwing kicks that would make Chuck Norris proud. But the teacher was too big, too strong, and Weasel was forced to run off into the bush, helmet still on his head. The teacher, knowing that Weasel was now in his element, did not follow.
We went back into the lounge only to hear an eruption from the students in the coumpound. We walked out and there, off in the distance, atop a hill, stood Weasel, the helmet, his trophy, atop a long pole. He marched back and forth, the helmet going up and down. I knew that this would not go well for him. Hoping that a return of the helmet would ease things and remembering that I had a decent relationship wiht him, that maybe he would not perceive me as a threat, I asked the Head Boy if I could go out and get the helmet back. He said, "That one is crazy. If you go out there he will cut you." He added that he would send two fellow students and they would return with the helmet. Five minutes later they were back helmet in hand.
That was it, until the four, khaki-clad policemen arrived with their rifles and walked into the bush in search of Weasel. As of this typing he reamains at large. I hope he is safe and that there are many chicken coops for him to raid in his future.
The exam ended and I gathered with the other teachers in their lounge where I heard what happened in one of the other classes. In that class--also one of mine--a boy named Weasel, a name given to him while an abductee soldier in the bush, was found to be among the non-payees. Asked to leave, he was adamant in his refusal. This disrespect so outraged the male teacher monitoring the class that he came to the defense of our female head teacher and began to beat the boy as he sat, defiantly refusing to give up his seat. Eventually, he rose, struck his attacker, and ran from the room, the teacher in pursuit.
But Weasel was too quick and disappeared around the corner. The teacher was forced to return to the lounge to vent his anger and frustration. Then one of the female teachers entered. She announced that Weasel had returned, he had gone to where the teacher kept his boda and had stolen his helmet. The teacher's lounge emptied and there was Weasel, at the borehole, pumping furiously, filling the teacher's helmet with water, and drinking from it. The compound was filled with shouting students astonished at the display, happy to be witness to it.
The teacher ran at Weasel, shouting. Weasel, crazy yes, but no fool, put the teacher's helmet on his head and stood ready to fight, throwing kicks that would make Chuck Norris proud. But the teacher was too big, too strong, and Weasel was forced to run off into the bush, helmet still on his head. The teacher, knowing that Weasel was now in his element, did not follow.
We went back into the lounge only to hear an eruption from the students in the coumpound. We walked out and there, off in the distance, atop a hill, stood Weasel, the helmet, his trophy, atop a long pole. He marched back and forth, the helmet going up and down. I knew that this would not go well for him. Hoping that a return of the helmet would ease things and remembering that I had a decent relationship wiht him, that maybe he would not perceive me as a threat, I asked the Head Boy if I could go out and get the helmet back. He said, "That one is crazy. If you go out there he will cut you." He added that he would send two fellow students and they would return with the helmet. Five minutes later they were back helmet in hand.
That was it, until the four, khaki-clad policemen arrived with their rifles and walked into the bush in search of Weasel. As of this typing he reamains at large. I hope he is safe and that there are many chicken coops for him to raid in his future.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Teaching Blues
I wish it was "teaching the blues" but it's not; I just received some disheartening news. Followers of this blog know that my stint here was set from the beginning: 6 weeks. The first week was indoctrination, the second was observation of my co-teacher, week three I got my feet wet, and last week I feel like I hit my stride.
So, last Friday I find out that they will be conducting the national exams throughout Gulu starting Wednesday next. I also learn that Monday and Tuesday of next week will basically be the students studying on their own. So, I had one week of teaching left.
Today I went to school and found that the Ministry of Education decided to up the exams to tomorrow. I am, for all intents and purposes, done as a teacher here.
I blew out of school and now sit in Cafe Larem overdosing on caffeine. I am trying to figure out what next. One possible task is to get involved in the mentoring program where I would go out to the IDP (Indigenous Displaced People) camps or villages and meet with the family of some of the former abductees, young men and women who still suffer from a multitude of post traumatic syndrome symptoms. Part of the problem is convincing parents that their kids still have a chance, that their poor performance in school is a product of their history not a demonstration of an inherent lack of ability. There are orphanages aplenty here, so....
I am also kicking around the idea of a roadtrip to Sudan or Congo but I am pretty sure I haven't the stomache to run the risk of not getting back in time for my plane home. I do not want this to deterioate into just a vacation.
So, last Friday I find out that they will be conducting the national exams throughout Gulu starting Wednesday next. I also learn that Monday and Tuesday of next week will basically be the students studying on their own. So, I had one week of teaching left.
Today I went to school and found that the Ministry of Education decided to up the exams to tomorrow. I am, for all intents and purposes, done as a teacher here.
I blew out of school and now sit in Cafe Larem overdosing on caffeine. I am trying to figure out what next. One possible task is to get involved in the mentoring program where I would go out to the IDP (Indigenous Displaced People) camps or villages and meet with the family of some of the former abductees, young men and women who still suffer from a multitude of post traumatic syndrome symptoms. Part of the problem is convincing parents that their kids still have a chance, that their poor performance in school is a product of their history not a demonstration of an inherent lack of ability. There are orphanages aplenty here, so....
I am also kicking around the idea of a roadtrip to Sudan or Congo but I am pretty sure I haven't the stomache to run the risk of not getting back in time for my plane home. I do not want this to deterioate into just a vacation.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Murchison Falls
Just a quick note from an exhausted man, to say, "Wow." Lion, and tigers, and bears, Oh my. This aint Kansas! We packed 14 people into 2 Land Rovers and headed out for a bumpy four hour drive to the Lake Albert arm of the Upper Nile (Blue or White? Help me all you 6th grade social studies kids) We caught the ferry across and got on a flatboat and took the 3.5 hour, 36 km (up and back) ride up the Nile to the falls. Along the way hippos, elephants, thousands of different types of antelope, warthogs, beautiful birds, giraffes, etc. Great.
After making the slow trip north along the edge of the river, coming within feet of these animals, we turned for home. I went up on the roof and enjoyed the breeze and setting sun, flat on my back. We got back to an open camp--no fence no guns--and were warned to keep all foodstuffs in our vehicles: Windows up. The warthogs with their fierce tusks roaming the camp and the babboons that jumped INTO cars that failed to heed the warning had us in full compliance.
Next day, 6:00 AM we go on camera safari, sitting atop the cars in search of Lion. We saw an incredible array of animals, some track, but the king, Like Elvis, had left the building.
I've got a ton of pictures but I am lame about this stuff (sort of like packing) when I get someone in my group to help me maybe I can go back and post post, ("Post post?" that can't be right) Anyway, just wanted to get something out there. Hope you are well.
After making the slow trip north along the edge of the river, coming within feet of these animals, we turned for home. I went up on the roof and enjoyed the breeze and setting sun, flat on my back. We got back to an open camp--no fence no guns--and were warned to keep all foodstuffs in our vehicles: Windows up. The warthogs with their fierce tusks roaming the camp and the babboons that jumped INTO cars that failed to heed the warning had us in full compliance.
Next day, 6:00 AM we go on camera safari, sitting atop the cars in search of Lion. We saw an incredible array of animals, some track, but the king, Like Elvis, had left the building.
I've got a ton of pictures but I am lame about this stuff (sort of like packing) when I get someone in my group to help me maybe I can go back and post post, ("Post post?" that can't be right) Anyway, just wanted to get something out there. Hope you are well.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
My Wife
In most respects I think of myself as capable. However, when it comes to shopping and packing, slap a diaper on me. Here in Uganda, with the other teachers, I am the man to see. Need aspirin, Alleve? See Tim. Antihistmines, antidiarheals anti constipation? Tim's got you covered coming and going. Bandaids, skin cream, sunblock, baby wipes, sizzors, Qtips? I am your one stop place for shopping. Of course, I'd probably have arrived with one pair of skivvies and a pair of mismatched socks if it wasn't for my wife, Cathy Gallagher.
What she has provided for me goes far beyond mere creature comforts. She placed herself in the uncomfortable postion of caring for the house, our house, by herself during the Summer--a time when teachers have off and, traditionally, catch up on their honey-do lists. Not this Summer. Not for me anyway. I am here in Uganda having an adventure, expanding my horizons and, to some, playing the role of hero. Back home Cathy hears what a great thing I am doing. But without her, I am not here.
Today is my birthday. I am 57. This morning I woke at 5:00, got my coffee, and sat out in the backyard of our compound waiting for the sun to rise. In my hand was the birthday card Cathy packed for me, hidden in my luggage, wrapped in plastic to keep it dry. It is one of 7 she packed. One for the first day of each new week, one for my birthday, and one for July 30th--our fifth wedding anniversarry. Each one is the highlight of my week. For a moment every week I am alone with something that started with her, alone, inside her head. Make no mistake, every time I see something that takes my breath, my hand instinctively goes out for hers. She is the first thing I think of every morning, my last vision every night.
I have learned a lot here. But nothing is more clear to me than the fact that as great as this is, I'll never do anything like it again...unless she is with me.
What she has provided for me goes far beyond mere creature comforts. She placed herself in the uncomfortable postion of caring for the house, our house, by herself during the Summer--a time when teachers have off and, traditionally, catch up on their honey-do lists. Not this Summer. Not for me anyway. I am here in Uganda having an adventure, expanding my horizons and, to some, playing the role of hero. Back home Cathy hears what a great thing I am doing. But without her, I am not here.
Today is my birthday. I am 57. This morning I woke at 5:00, got my coffee, and sat out in the backyard of our compound waiting for the sun to rise. In my hand was the birthday card Cathy packed for me, hidden in my luggage, wrapped in plastic to keep it dry. It is one of 7 she packed. One for the first day of each new week, one for my birthday, and one for July 30th--our fifth wedding anniversarry. Each one is the highlight of my week. For a moment every week I am alone with something that started with her, alone, inside her head. Make no mistake, every time I see something that takes my breath, my hand instinctively goes out for hers. She is the first thing I think of every morning, my last vision every night.
I have learned a lot here. But nothing is more clear to me than the fact that as great as this is, I'll never do anything like it again...unless she is with me.
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