Happy Belated Thanksgiving! I’m so aware of the MANY blessings I have to be thankful this year, especially considering all the poverty and suffering I’ve seen here, but also the joy so many have by the grace of God despite their circumstances. I had a great Thanksgiving here. We had class in the morning, then played American football for a few hours – it was a ton of fun. I sacked the QB a couple times :). After that the vice-chancellor and his wife had all the students, American professors, and other Americans in Uganda over for a big Thanksgiving dinner – turkey, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and of course, matooke! There were tons of deserts; it was so good. We watched Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving and Christmas, which I don’t usually watch at Thanksgiving, but it was nice to do something that made me feel like I was home. It was really nice to celebrate Thanksgiving with all my friends here; I’ve gotten to be pretty close to a few of them. I did miss watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, but there’s always next year ;)
Two weekends ago we met with an organization that works to partner traditional healers and modern medical practitioners, since the vast majority of Africans see a traditional healer and will never see a modern doctor. The statistic was something like there is one traditional healer for every 140 people and one modern doctor for every 120,000 people here. The organization trains traditional healers specifically in knowing the symptoms of AIDS and helps them establish ties with modern doctors that they refer people to. We met with a traditional healer, who threw sea shells and interpreted them to tell the condition of one of the girls in our group. He didn’t report anything significant; it was an interesting experience.
We visited an orphanage for children whose parents have died of AIDS; many of the children are HIV positive. One family of 6 children was headed by the eldest, a 16 year old girl; they live at home and the orphanage helps provide food and support. All the children could do was speak of how good God is and how much they love the Lord. They sang praise songs in English and Luganda about God’s faithfulness, goodness, and provision. It was an incredibly humbling experience – they are so thankful for all God has given them and worshipped so joyfully. We played games with them for hours; it was a blast. I was reminded of Christ’s words: “Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of God.” Those words ring true to my experience; I felt so humbled and almost unfit to sing along with these children who have experienced so much more pain and suffering than I’ve ever known.
That same weekend we met with the Bishop of the Church of Uganda (the name for the Anglican/Episcopal church here) of the Luwero Diocese. He studied in Philadelphia and worked at a church in St. Davids – the town where my university is! It was crazy to find that connection. I’m sure most of you are aware of the current conflicts in the Episcopal church in America over homosexuality. As a result, some conservative Episcopal churches in the U.S. have broken from the American church and sought to be under the oversight of more conservative bishops in other countries. The bishop we met with oversees 8 churches in the U.S., and he talked about the pros and cons of this arrangement – that churches are able to be under leadership with whom they agree theologically, but that it is very difficult to provide sufficient oversight from half a world away. On Sunday we went to a Catholic church for worship, which certainly was quite the dynamic experience. The service was obviously liturgical and similar to Catholic services I’ve been to in the States, but at the conclusion of the service a group of about 25 young girls dressed in traditional outfits came out and danced to 6 songs!! And most memorable of all was the priest, who had recorded the music they danced to, which was something like Afro-pop, and sang along and danced! It was pretty amusing seeing a priest dancing and essentially rapping at the alter! Our group discussed how much our experience represented the effective contextualization of the Gospel – that the Gospel message had truly become theirs and been contextualized to the African context and culture. There’s a clinic at the church, and a group of women sang to us about AIDS, the symptoms, and how to prevent transmission. They sang a lot about the fact that AIDS is not a death sentence – there’s such a stigma here about AIDS, and many people don’t want to know their status even if they have all the symptoms. They sang in doo-op style, like a barbershop quartet. To us it sounded pretty cheesy, but it’s very culturally relevant – the culture is so oral and singing a very effective means of communication.
This past weekend the 9 of us in the Ministry and Missions Emphasis traveled to Bwindi, which is in the Southwest corner of Uganda only 2 kilometers from the Congo border. The area is Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, a national park where the endangered mountain gorillas live and is a huge tourist attraction. (A permit to track the gorillas is $500!) We stayed at a camp in the forest. Our hut was pretty plain, but nice enough, and the food was great. We didn’t get to see gorillas, but we were told that the morning before we arrived they had been feeding right near our hut. We met with an American doctor who’s established a medical clinic among the Batwa people. The Batwa are pygmys, and the clinic has flourished and is now run by the Ugandans, including 2 Ugandan doctors, and does tons of great things in the community. On Saturday we accompanied the doctor on a medical clinic in one of the VERY remote villages high in the mountains – it took us about an hour to drive there from the clinic along REALLY bumpy, muddy roads on the face of the mountain. Our van got stuck in mud a couple feet deep twice; pushing it out was a fun experience. The medical clinic is one of the most memorable experiences of my time here in Uganda. We set up a tarp and two wooden benches on a flat area on the edge of a mountain in the village that overlooked the incredibly dense forest. Before beginning we greeted the people in the little of their native language that the doctor had taught us: Agandi! Indi Joelle, Ndeego America. (Greetings! I am Joelle, I come from America.) Then they played drums for us and danced their traditional dances. We joined in dancing, which gets incredibly exhausting after not very long – jumping up and down and kicking feet in imitation. Then all day the doctor, me, a doctor’s assistant, and one other USP student sat on one bench facing the many people that lined up (more like crammed in) to come see the doctor. The doctor kept me by his side all day and taught me to do tons. I listened to everyone’s lungs and heart with a stethoscope and learned enough of the language to ask what was wrong (of course I couldn’t understand their response so the doctor had to translate). I wrote all the medical records and the prescriptions as the doctor ordered, and by the afternoon I knew what the prescription should be for the sicknesses that were common in most people, so I was prescribing the medicine and just checking it with the doctor to be sure. We saw lots of little babies that had colds and a couple that were pretty malnourished and sick, who we brought back to the hospital with us. An old man was carried to us and set down next to us. He looked terrible – he was INCREDIBLY thin, his skin was loose off his body, and he couldn’t move himself. He was carried there by others and set down on a mat on the ground next to us. The doctor and I made our way over to the man. I listened to his lungs and heart, neither of which sounded very good at all. He was incredibly weak, and Dr. Scott checked him out while I set up a drip. The doctor had a really hard time getting a vein to insert the needle, but eventually found one. The doctor said the man likely had tuberculosis and maybe AIDS, and perhaps organ failure. He said he seemed likely to die, and when I asked whether bringing him to the hospital would just prolong his death, he posed the question of whether we have the right to make the decision of whether he should have the chance to live. TB can be treated and someone with HIV can live for years on anti-retrovirals, he told me. The man lay on the mat the rest of the day and looked a little better after getting some fluids into him. We brought him back to the hospital at the end of the day, and that’s the last I heard of him.
I preached in church in Bwindi, which was a really awesome experience. I began with the story of Horatio Spafford, the man who wrote the hymn “It is Well” following the death of his son and four daughters and the downfall of his real estate investments. I related that account to the story of Job and posed the question of whether we serve God for nothing in return and simply because He’s worthy or we only serve God for the blessings we will receive in return. Then I discussed that the Christian life is never guaranteed to be easy, in fact we are guaranteed suffering and persecution, but that by the strength of the Holy Spirit and the fellowship, encouragement, and bearing of one another’s burdens among our brothers and sisters in Christ we can persevere. I concluded by having our group sing “It is Well” in 3-part harmony. It was really touching, and I was told by many how well the message was received. Having to stop after every sentence or two for the translator to translate the message was a cool experience; it was difficult at first to not get distracted and lose my train of thought, but I got the hang of it pretty quickly. I also fell on the stage about 20 minutes before preaching! It was totally not my fault, and incredibly embarrassing! Dr. Scott asked all the mzungus in our group to come on the stage and introduce ourselves in Rukiga (the language spoken there), and since I was already seated on stage I stood up and he came over and grabbed my hand and pulled. I had no time to react, and as my foot hit part of the seat I knew instantly I was going down. I was laughing pretty hard by the time I hit the ground, and when all the mzungus broke out in laughter the about 300 people in the church knew it was ok to laugh. It was pretty funny, and also pretty embarrassing. I laughed along and brushed it off – what can you do?!?! Offering in church especially in rural areas here is always an interesting experience – people bring chickens, vegetables, fruit, matooke, sugar cane, and other things, since most people’s wealth here is in the form of what they grow. After the service everyone remained seated and the deacons auctioned off all that was brought, putting the proceeds in the offering basket! Someone in our group bid on a chicken and won, then held the chicken in her lap for the remainder of the auction. It was a pretty amusing sight. She gave the chicken to the man who had translated for me as a gift.
I have a new sister!! Her name is Grace, and she’s 12 and really cute. She’s serving as our housemaid, and Momma told me that she’s an orphan. I don’t know much else about her and haven’t bombarded her with enough English yet to know how good her English is yet, because I didn’t want to overwhelm her.
In other news, we had a costume party a couple weeks ago with all the USP students and the African Honors College students. It was so much fun – we carved pumpkins and bobbed for apples and ate ice cream!! The girls in the Ministry and Missions group dressed up along the theme of the Magic School Bus; we each had a different character and one of the girls whose personality is quite similar to Miss Frizzle dressed up as her. We drew a huge yellow school bus on a big piece of paper and carried it to the party. It was a ton of fun. One of the missionary families had us over for homemade lasagna and a movie – boy was that a treat! We watched “The Mission,” an older movie which I would highly recommend. It was about the Jesuit mission to Brazil, the genuine conversion of many of the people there and the establishment of indigenous churches, and the subsequent murder of the native people by the Portuguese army when the Jesuits refused to withdraw their mission and it no longer aligned with Portugal’s interests. It was pretty thought-provoking. The group of us American students led community worship two weeks ago. The power went out for a few minutes in the middle of singing, so we chuckled a little and sang and played instruments later. Oh Africa! :)
This is our last week of classes, and I have 6 10-page papers to write within the next week and a half! Yuck. I’m looking forward to schoolwork being over and coming home, though I know I’ll be really sad to leave Uganda and the relationships I’ve developed here. I hope all is well at home! Thanks for your continued prayer, support, and encouragement. It’s so nice to see new family and friends that have found my blog!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Rural Homestay in Kapchorwa!!
My homestay in Kapchorwa was incredible!!! The town is in the mountains, and my family literally lived on the side of one. It was incredibly beautiful there – many waterfalls and lush green everywhere you looked. From high on the mountain you looked out for hundreds of miles on vast plains that extended for what seemed like forever. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I stayed with the Kapchemut family of the Sabiny tribe, Kapyis clan. Everyone here identifies themselves firstly by clan and tribe, and most people can’t comprehend that we don’t have either in the US. When I tell people, especially in rural areas, in shock they can’t imagine how we’re socially organized. I became a member of their clan and tribe, and they really considered me part of their family. Though I was only there for five days, I truly felt like I was a part of their family. I was given the Kupsabiny (pronounced Coop-sabb-een) name Cherotich, which means I arrived at the time the cattle come in (around 6 PM). They called me this during the time I was there. The family was Momma, Papa, five sons (though I only met the youngest two – Victor and Aggrey – because the others were away at boarding school, as are most Ugandan children if their parents are able to afford to send them), an orphaned niece named Immaculate who lived with them (which is EXTREMELY common here, as many children are orphaned due to AIDS especially), and a woman named Grace in her early 30s that had been raised by them, was considered a daughter, and came home for the time I was there. Momma and Papa are both primary school teachers and Grace had recently graduated from Makerere University (the largest university in Uganda, in the capital city of Kampala) with a degree in sociology and is now working for the Kapchorwa district government. The five boys and Immaculate are all in school, the oldest son in a clinical medicine program. Momma and Papa spoke of how difficult it was to pay school fees for all their children, but they had managed. They placed an incredibly high value on education and seemed very motivated and determined to create a better, more prosperous for their children than they had known. The children all seemed very intelligent and capable of great success, evidenced in the fact that the oldest is training to be a doctor and that they all get good grades in school. My family does not have a vehicle; no one in the area did with the exception of a few closer to the town. Papa walks over an hour each way to the school where he teaches. They also have no electricity or running water (if you’re wondering, many people closer to towns have electricity, but hardly any homes have running water. 80% of Ugandans live in rural areas, so that shows you how many don’t have electricity.) My family gets their water from a cave about half a mile up the mountain. Momma gets water from there twice a day. I helped her once. The walk is pretty steep, and I was pretty eager to put down the one jerry can I carried. I’ll never cease to be amazed at all that African women can carry on their heads. Momma carries a huge jerry can upright on her head down the mountain and carries one in her hand. I’ve seen many women with heavy things on their head, a baby tied around their back, and things in both hands. Crazy!
My family owned a few acres of land, and there were three separate homes (very common) – a square mud home with a tin sheet roof where I stayed, a mud building with 2 rooms, one a kitchen and another the youngest boys’ room, and a mud hut with a thatched roof where the sons sleep when they’ve become teenagers, as is customary. I had my own room with a bed and table. There were multiple really big spiders that blended into the mud walls of my room really well, and I occasionally shone my flashlight on them to be sure they were still on the wall and not in my bed! The family sits in the kitchen at night, and it gets soooo smoky. It didn’t bother any of them, but I couldn’t handle it for very long. (Janelle, Linds, and Cait: So I’ve definitely seen plenty of mud huts, and while I didn’t sleep in one, my family had one! And I slept in a mud house!) The pit latrine was a couple hundred feet walk from the buildings. Papa told me that their tradition is to give some of their land to their sons. My family has two cows, one of which was pregnant and due only a few days after I left! We also had a cat that slept on the chair in our living room – reminded me my kitties at home!! Two dogs served as security guards during the night hours, mostly as protection against the Karamajjong, a warrior tribe that conducts night raids and steals people’s cattle and sometimes kill people that get in their way. Their tribe lives off of the meat and blood of cows only, and are greatly hated and feared by many. My family told me they are very “backward,” meaning they’ve refused to “become civilized,” and they wear no clothes.
I’ve never experienced hospitality as I have here in Uganda. My family was so excited to have me there, and I couldn’t even tell you how many visitors I had everyday! Everyone who lived near came to greet me, even if they spoke no English. They all bowed to me, as is proper in their culture (it was MUCH more traditional in Kapchorwa than here in the more urban areas). I felt so honored and welcome. At least 50 children that lived nearby came to see me, many everyday! Many children had rarely seen a mzungu and were so excited to see me and excitedly rubbed my skin and played with my hair to see what it felt like. One little girl who came to visit with me daily showed up one morning with yarn tied around her hair multiple times and some loose strands hanging down – her version of mzungu hair, as she told momma! It was sooo cute! The culture is more traditional, including with gender roles. Momma, Grace, and the niece Immaculate do all the cooking; it is customary that men never cook – to do so if disgraceful as it makes a wife seem that she is not doing her duties. In addition, only Papa and I (being the visitor) ate dinner at the table in the living room; Momma, Grace, and all the children ate outside in the kitchen. Papa is by no means unjust towards Momma, and it seemed that she truly served him in love, just as the things he did for her were done in love. Never have I eaten so much food. It’s not possible to just stop and say hi to someone, in fact that’s incredible culturally insensitive. Everyone you visit you must sit with and have at least tea and a snack, but very often “snack” is the size of a decent meal. I had to pace myself eating breakfast, which consisted of a chipote, five “ripes” (mini bananas), a boiled egg, 3 pieces of toast with Blue Band (the African equivalent of margarine, which I will certainly NOT miss), a couple handfuls of roasted G-nuts, and multiple cups of African tea (milk tea). To not finish a meal and eat a lot indicates that you’ve not accepted your host’s hospitality, so I spent the five days in a constant state of being overstuffed.
I spent a lot of time with the family that lived next door. They were somehow related to my family, but I’m not sure how (this happens pretty commonly here, and I can’t usually figure out just HOW people are related). Judith and her husband were pretty young – early 30s, and they had the three most adorable and good-natured children ever! She told me they woke up early every morning in anticipation of coming to see me. Martha is 5, Jonathon’s 3, and baby Martha is 2 months. Jonathon and I kicked a soccer ball around (football here) many times and had a blast. Judith told me that he almost died about a year ago – his entire body was swollen and when they took him to the clinic learned his kidneys weren’t functioning properly. He’s taking medicine and is doing much better. They are fortunate to have access to and to be able to afford medical care; the majority are not so fortunate. The two oldest played with their friends near my house all the time, dragging each other around in half a jerry can with a string attached (kind of like an improvised sled, but there was certainly no snow!). Speaking of snow, it got pretty cold in Kapchorwa since it’s up in the mountains, which was such a nice relief from the constant heat in Mukono. At night I slept in a sweatshirt with a blanket over me! Judith had me over to their mud hut my final night there and served goat meat, goat intestines (a delicacy, but certainly not my favorite – it’s like eating rubber, you never really stop chewing but just swallow), cabbage, and matooke of course. We sat and talked for awhile, and I really enjoyed being with her and her husband and kids. I gave the kids a yo-yo and paddle ball set I had brought from home, which really excited them. As I was saying goodbye and hugging everyone (and tearing up I might add), Judith grabbed me by the hand, looked straight into my eyes, and said, “I might not understand all about your life and the way you live, but one thing I do know. Hold onto Jesus no matter what, and never let go. He’s the only thing that really matters in this life.” Such simple yet profound words, spoken by a woman from a rural village in the mountains of Uganda whom I’d grown to deeply love. I left their home with tears in my eyes and wanting to stay longer with my newly-found family in Kapchorwa.
Something I wanted to do in coming to Uganda was kill a chicken, and I had the chance on my rural homestay! We came home from church on Sunday and I saw the hired hand holding a chicken in his hands. The family ushered me to a grassy area, where they laid the chicken on the ground and directed me to hold its neck. The chicken was struggling and trying to get loose as I plucked some of the feathers from its neck as directed. They handed me a dull knife, and told me to kill it. This was no big deal to them, but I was freaking out, which greatly amused the entire family who stood around watching. I raised the knife to the neck of the chicken (which was still struggling in my grip) and ran it across the neck, quickly realizing how hard I would have to slice to cut through the neck with the dull blade. I pressed harder and made a small cut, and the chicken struggled a lot. At that point I lost it. I screamed and let go of the chicken’s neck. The hired hand finished the job, and I watched the chicken squirm and suffer for about ten seconds. It was pretty gross, but I’m glad I had the experience while here. Killing it was only the beginning, though. From there we put the chicken in a basin and poured hot water on it to make the feathers come off easier. I helped remove all the feathers and the feet. Then Grace gutted the chicken. In their culture, the guest is honored by eating the gizzard. I’m not entirely sure what the gizzard does, but I saw the hundreds of small rocks it contained when Grace removed it from the chicken. I’m proud to say that when the chicken was cooked and served I ate the entire gizzard. It was like eating a big piece of softened rubber. Yummy! :) Oh, and the dog ate the fried chicken head, beak and all…yum! The dogs and cats normally eat matooke, rice, and whatever else the family gives them. Hehe.
Most people in Kapchorwa, including my family, grow coffee as their cash crop. They grow Arabica coffee, which grows on trees and look like red berries. One day I got to pick coffee with them! I saw a chameleon in one of the trees I picked from, which was so cool. I got some pretty good pictures. The next day we shelled the coffee, roasted it, and ground it – an incredibly intense and lengthy process! I ground the coffee with a big mortar and pestol, which took FOREVER! They gave me a huge container of coffee, which I hope will still be good by the time I get home so we can have it for Christmas!!
When I got to church on Sunday, I was directed to a chair to sit, kind of like being put on display, happened somewhat often in Kapchorwa. Within seconds a mob of children was surrounding me. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, because they were just about on top of me rubbing my skin, playing with my hair, and asking over and over again “How are you?” (the one phrase in English every child knows, even if they know nothing else). I later learned most of the group of children around me were orphans who lived at a development center run by the church and that they were sponsored by Compassion International. In church the pastor announced that ten of the children were losing their funding. If you don’t know much about Compassion, check it out – it’s a really great organization that gives people in the West a practical way to help poor children around the world. Church on Sunday was five hours long!! I thought I might die – sitting on backless wood benches for that long is by no means comfortable!! One of the Compassion girls who really latched onto me sat in front of me and checked that I was doing everything in the service properly. At one point while the minister was praying, she saw that I had my eyes open and tapped me on the arm and said “Now you close your eyes and pray.” So cute. A guest speaker spoke on forgiving people for past wrongdoings, and multiple times she repeated the necessity of forgiving the Karamajjong for stealing cattle – that goes to show you how real their raids are!
On Tuesday I visited the school where Momma teaches – Kapteret Primary School. It was about a half hour walk down the mountain; the school consisted of about 10 one-level, very bare buildings with benches, desks, and chalkboards, and not much else. Over 700 children attend Primary 1 through Primary 7, and there are 14 teachers. At the first spotting of me walking near the building, the children were all clamoring to catch a glimpse of the mzungu through the window. I visited most of the classes and took pictures, as I was requested by the teachers. My entire time in Kapchorwa I was asked to take many pictures of some of the funniest poses – women cutting matooke, a man holding a tomato – cameras are obviously pretty rare. I sat in the headmaster’s office for a couple hours, where all the teachers came to greet me and the children were scolded for peeking in through the window. I sat for two hours with the headmaster and two male teachers, who asked me the most ridiculous questions! During my time in Kapchorwa I was asked a million absurd questions, which showed me that they really have very little idea what life in the USA is like. I was asked “Have you been to the moon?” “Are the streets made of glass?” “Do have dust?” “When you turn 13, are you made to take an oath and swear to never tell lies and defend America?” “When you get married isn’t it true that you sign a contract specifying how long your marriage will last?” …There were many more; the questions were somewhat amusing, but got pretty annoying after awhile, since people would sit for hours on end asking them. Also, everyone was amazed that a mzungu knew how to do any work – when I passed by people carrying a jerry can or while grinding coffee everyone laughed and asked how I knew to do work. They really think that machines do everything for us. A crowd of about 30 kids followed me home.
I was sad to leave my family in Kapchorwa, and they were very sad to see me go. They begged our program director to let me stay a few more days. It’s customary for them to send visitors away with a chicken, but I explained to them that it wouldn’t last the couple days more we’d be traveling before coming back to Mukono. I was offered three chickens and a huge bundle of matooke, but convinced them a huge bag of passion fruit (the greatest stuff in the world) and a container of freshly-ground coffee was more than enough.
After leaving Kapchorwa we drove through Soroti, where much of the flooding a couple months ago was the heaviest. Many bridges were still closed, and grazing land was so flooded it looked like a pond. We saw multiple helicopters fly overhead to do food drops, since people’s farms (their main food supply) have been flooded and relief agencies can’t access areas to get to them. Health officials are predicting outbreaks of diseases like cholera and typhoid as the waters recede. We visited an IDP camp (Internally Displaced Persons), where people go if they are not able to stay at their home due to conflict or natural disaster. IDP camps have received worldwide attention, as they tend to have poor food and water supplies, massive overcrowding, and prostitution and sex crimes are rampant as people are desperate for money. We met with a group of Peace Promoters who have been trained by Mennonite Central Committee in conflict resolution techniques that they’re putting to use in their communities. After that we headed to Sipi Falls, right next to Kapchorwa, for two days of relaxation, debrief, and hot showers! We had a worship service on the top of a mountain – so beautiful, but I was definitely winded by the time I reached the top!
I was so excited to come back home to my family in Mukono after being away for ten days. I felt missed, especially by Enoch. The day I got back he hung out in my room with me for awhile, smiling and laughing. At one point I headed towards the back door to go out to the pit latrine, and he ran to me, screamed, wrapped his arms around my legs, and looked up with a sad pussy face. I guess he thought I was leaving again, and he did not approve. This week is really busy with classes and tons of papers and schoolwork. I woke up missing home more than I ever have this morning, but getting on campus and reading e-mails and blog comments from people at home and talking to my family on the phone really lifted me up and made me feel a lot better. Thank you so much! I’ll be home in six weeks from today! It seems crazy that I’ve been here for a little more than ten weeks – in some ways I feel like time’s flown by and in other ways I feel like I’ve been here forever.
My family owned a few acres of land, and there were three separate homes (very common) – a square mud home with a tin sheet roof where I stayed, a mud building with 2 rooms, one a kitchen and another the youngest boys’ room, and a mud hut with a thatched roof where the sons sleep when they’ve become teenagers, as is customary. I had my own room with a bed and table. There were multiple really big spiders that blended into the mud walls of my room really well, and I occasionally shone my flashlight on them to be sure they were still on the wall and not in my bed! The family sits in the kitchen at night, and it gets soooo smoky. It didn’t bother any of them, but I couldn’t handle it for very long. (Janelle, Linds, and Cait: So I’ve definitely seen plenty of mud huts, and while I didn’t sleep in one, my family had one! And I slept in a mud house!) The pit latrine was a couple hundred feet walk from the buildings. Papa told me that their tradition is to give some of their land to their sons. My family has two cows, one of which was pregnant and due only a few days after I left! We also had a cat that slept on the chair in our living room – reminded me my kitties at home!! Two dogs served as security guards during the night hours, mostly as protection against the Karamajjong, a warrior tribe that conducts night raids and steals people’s cattle and sometimes kill people that get in their way. Their tribe lives off of the meat and blood of cows only, and are greatly hated and feared by many. My family told me they are very “backward,” meaning they’ve refused to “become civilized,” and they wear no clothes.
I’ve never experienced hospitality as I have here in Uganda. My family was so excited to have me there, and I couldn’t even tell you how many visitors I had everyday! Everyone who lived near came to greet me, even if they spoke no English. They all bowed to me, as is proper in their culture (it was MUCH more traditional in Kapchorwa than here in the more urban areas). I felt so honored and welcome. At least 50 children that lived nearby came to see me, many everyday! Many children had rarely seen a mzungu and were so excited to see me and excitedly rubbed my skin and played with my hair to see what it felt like. One little girl who came to visit with me daily showed up one morning with yarn tied around her hair multiple times and some loose strands hanging down – her version of mzungu hair, as she told momma! It was sooo cute! The culture is more traditional, including with gender roles. Momma, Grace, and the niece Immaculate do all the cooking; it is customary that men never cook – to do so if disgraceful as it makes a wife seem that she is not doing her duties. In addition, only Papa and I (being the visitor) ate dinner at the table in the living room; Momma, Grace, and all the children ate outside in the kitchen. Papa is by no means unjust towards Momma, and it seemed that she truly served him in love, just as the things he did for her were done in love. Never have I eaten so much food. It’s not possible to just stop and say hi to someone, in fact that’s incredible culturally insensitive. Everyone you visit you must sit with and have at least tea and a snack, but very often “snack” is the size of a decent meal. I had to pace myself eating breakfast, which consisted of a chipote, five “ripes” (mini bananas), a boiled egg, 3 pieces of toast with Blue Band (the African equivalent of margarine, which I will certainly NOT miss), a couple handfuls of roasted G-nuts, and multiple cups of African tea (milk tea). To not finish a meal and eat a lot indicates that you’ve not accepted your host’s hospitality, so I spent the five days in a constant state of being overstuffed.
I spent a lot of time with the family that lived next door. They were somehow related to my family, but I’m not sure how (this happens pretty commonly here, and I can’t usually figure out just HOW people are related). Judith and her husband were pretty young – early 30s, and they had the three most adorable and good-natured children ever! She told me they woke up early every morning in anticipation of coming to see me. Martha is 5, Jonathon’s 3, and baby Martha is 2 months. Jonathon and I kicked a soccer ball around (football here) many times and had a blast. Judith told me that he almost died about a year ago – his entire body was swollen and when they took him to the clinic learned his kidneys weren’t functioning properly. He’s taking medicine and is doing much better. They are fortunate to have access to and to be able to afford medical care; the majority are not so fortunate. The two oldest played with their friends near my house all the time, dragging each other around in half a jerry can with a string attached (kind of like an improvised sled, but there was certainly no snow!). Speaking of snow, it got pretty cold in Kapchorwa since it’s up in the mountains, which was such a nice relief from the constant heat in Mukono. At night I slept in a sweatshirt with a blanket over me! Judith had me over to their mud hut my final night there and served goat meat, goat intestines (a delicacy, but certainly not my favorite – it’s like eating rubber, you never really stop chewing but just swallow), cabbage, and matooke of course. We sat and talked for awhile, and I really enjoyed being with her and her husband and kids. I gave the kids a yo-yo and paddle ball set I had brought from home, which really excited them. As I was saying goodbye and hugging everyone (and tearing up I might add), Judith grabbed me by the hand, looked straight into my eyes, and said, “I might not understand all about your life and the way you live, but one thing I do know. Hold onto Jesus no matter what, and never let go. He’s the only thing that really matters in this life.” Such simple yet profound words, spoken by a woman from a rural village in the mountains of Uganda whom I’d grown to deeply love. I left their home with tears in my eyes and wanting to stay longer with my newly-found family in Kapchorwa.
Something I wanted to do in coming to Uganda was kill a chicken, and I had the chance on my rural homestay! We came home from church on Sunday and I saw the hired hand holding a chicken in his hands. The family ushered me to a grassy area, where they laid the chicken on the ground and directed me to hold its neck. The chicken was struggling and trying to get loose as I plucked some of the feathers from its neck as directed. They handed me a dull knife, and told me to kill it. This was no big deal to them, but I was freaking out, which greatly amused the entire family who stood around watching. I raised the knife to the neck of the chicken (which was still struggling in my grip) and ran it across the neck, quickly realizing how hard I would have to slice to cut through the neck with the dull blade. I pressed harder and made a small cut, and the chicken struggled a lot. At that point I lost it. I screamed and let go of the chicken’s neck. The hired hand finished the job, and I watched the chicken squirm and suffer for about ten seconds. It was pretty gross, but I’m glad I had the experience while here. Killing it was only the beginning, though. From there we put the chicken in a basin and poured hot water on it to make the feathers come off easier. I helped remove all the feathers and the feet. Then Grace gutted the chicken. In their culture, the guest is honored by eating the gizzard. I’m not entirely sure what the gizzard does, but I saw the hundreds of small rocks it contained when Grace removed it from the chicken. I’m proud to say that when the chicken was cooked and served I ate the entire gizzard. It was like eating a big piece of softened rubber. Yummy! :) Oh, and the dog ate the fried chicken head, beak and all…yum! The dogs and cats normally eat matooke, rice, and whatever else the family gives them. Hehe.
Most people in Kapchorwa, including my family, grow coffee as their cash crop. They grow Arabica coffee, which grows on trees and look like red berries. One day I got to pick coffee with them! I saw a chameleon in one of the trees I picked from, which was so cool. I got some pretty good pictures. The next day we shelled the coffee, roasted it, and ground it – an incredibly intense and lengthy process! I ground the coffee with a big mortar and pestol, which took FOREVER! They gave me a huge container of coffee, which I hope will still be good by the time I get home so we can have it for Christmas!!
When I got to church on Sunday, I was directed to a chair to sit, kind of like being put on display, happened somewhat often in Kapchorwa. Within seconds a mob of children was surrounding me. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, because they were just about on top of me rubbing my skin, playing with my hair, and asking over and over again “How are you?” (the one phrase in English every child knows, even if they know nothing else). I later learned most of the group of children around me were orphans who lived at a development center run by the church and that they were sponsored by Compassion International. In church the pastor announced that ten of the children were losing their funding. If you don’t know much about Compassion, check it out – it’s a really great organization that gives people in the West a practical way to help poor children around the world. Church on Sunday was five hours long!! I thought I might die – sitting on backless wood benches for that long is by no means comfortable!! One of the Compassion girls who really latched onto me sat in front of me and checked that I was doing everything in the service properly. At one point while the minister was praying, she saw that I had my eyes open and tapped me on the arm and said “Now you close your eyes and pray.” So cute. A guest speaker spoke on forgiving people for past wrongdoings, and multiple times she repeated the necessity of forgiving the Karamajjong for stealing cattle – that goes to show you how real their raids are!
On Tuesday I visited the school where Momma teaches – Kapteret Primary School. It was about a half hour walk down the mountain; the school consisted of about 10 one-level, very bare buildings with benches, desks, and chalkboards, and not much else. Over 700 children attend Primary 1 through Primary 7, and there are 14 teachers. At the first spotting of me walking near the building, the children were all clamoring to catch a glimpse of the mzungu through the window. I visited most of the classes and took pictures, as I was requested by the teachers. My entire time in Kapchorwa I was asked to take many pictures of some of the funniest poses – women cutting matooke, a man holding a tomato – cameras are obviously pretty rare. I sat in the headmaster’s office for a couple hours, where all the teachers came to greet me and the children were scolded for peeking in through the window. I sat for two hours with the headmaster and two male teachers, who asked me the most ridiculous questions! During my time in Kapchorwa I was asked a million absurd questions, which showed me that they really have very little idea what life in the USA is like. I was asked “Have you been to the moon?” “Are the streets made of glass?” “Do have dust?” “When you turn 13, are you made to take an oath and swear to never tell lies and defend America?” “When you get married isn’t it true that you sign a contract specifying how long your marriage will last?” …There were many more; the questions were somewhat amusing, but got pretty annoying after awhile, since people would sit for hours on end asking them. Also, everyone was amazed that a mzungu knew how to do any work – when I passed by people carrying a jerry can or while grinding coffee everyone laughed and asked how I knew to do work. They really think that machines do everything for us. A crowd of about 30 kids followed me home.
I was sad to leave my family in Kapchorwa, and they were very sad to see me go. They begged our program director to let me stay a few more days. It’s customary for them to send visitors away with a chicken, but I explained to them that it wouldn’t last the couple days more we’d be traveling before coming back to Mukono. I was offered three chickens and a huge bundle of matooke, but convinced them a huge bag of passion fruit (the greatest stuff in the world) and a container of freshly-ground coffee was more than enough.
After leaving Kapchorwa we drove through Soroti, where much of the flooding a couple months ago was the heaviest. Many bridges were still closed, and grazing land was so flooded it looked like a pond. We saw multiple helicopters fly overhead to do food drops, since people’s farms (their main food supply) have been flooded and relief agencies can’t access areas to get to them. Health officials are predicting outbreaks of diseases like cholera and typhoid as the waters recede. We visited an IDP camp (Internally Displaced Persons), where people go if they are not able to stay at their home due to conflict or natural disaster. IDP camps have received worldwide attention, as they tend to have poor food and water supplies, massive overcrowding, and prostitution and sex crimes are rampant as people are desperate for money. We met with a group of Peace Promoters who have been trained by Mennonite Central Committee in conflict resolution techniques that they’re putting to use in their communities. After that we headed to Sipi Falls, right next to Kapchorwa, for two days of relaxation, debrief, and hot showers! We had a worship service on the top of a mountain – so beautiful, but I was definitely winded by the time I reached the top!
I was so excited to come back home to my family in Mukono after being away for ten days. I felt missed, especially by Enoch. The day I got back he hung out in my room with me for awhile, smiling and laughing. At one point I headed towards the back door to go out to the pit latrine, and he ran to me, screamed, wrapped his arms around my legs, and looked up with a sad pussy face. I guess he thought I was leaving again, and he did not approve. This week is really busy with classes and tons of papers and schoolwork. I woke up missing home more than I ever have this morning, but getting on campus and reading e-mails and blog comments from people at home and talking to my family on the phone really lifted me up and made me feel a lot better. Thank you so much! I’ll be home in six weeks from today! It seems crazy that I’ve been here for a little more than ten weeks – in some ways I feel like time’s flown by and in other ways I feel like I’ve been here forever.
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