Farewell Africa

So it's my last morning and I have bittersweet feelings about leaving. I'm definitely ready to get home but I will miss the kids a lot. I will miss this beautiful country that is called the Pearl of Africa for good reason. As I type this, the fog is burning off over Lake Victoria and I can more clearly see all the greenery of the trees, the vibrant colors of the flowers, and the blue waters of the lake. Yesterday we went to Bujugali falls and the view from the ridge line was breathtaking. We could see down into the river valley and across to the rolling hills for what seemed like miles. The boiling and tumbling waters of the falls made me think I was crazy for ever rafting down them. We waited for two companies to raft the falls. I got some great video footage of one raft going down--as a reminder of what my experience had been just a week before! It was the perfect Saturday trip overall and also a last trip for me since we went through some of the smaller villages on our way to the falls (still my favorite thing about Africa!) and had a pretty funny "only in Africa" experience. Six of us had taken a private hire van to the falls, about a 20 minute drive. We had this ride set up for us by our trusty private hire service man, Abdullah. He has several drivers that work for him. I talked to Abdullah in person to set up the ride and I was there when he was talking to the man on the phone. He told him to pick us up at 10:45 and that we would stay at the falls for an hour. It wouldn't be fair to say that I should have known something was a little off since he was 20 minutes late. That is Africa for you, although Abdullah and (most of) his drivers tend to be on time. And when he dropped us off and said, "Stay as long as you like" I should have reminded him, "Ok, we'll be down there for an hour." None of us had a cell phone or this man or Abdullah's number. But it didn't matter because he was going to wait for us. Or at least that's what we thought. We walked up to the top of the ridge to the parking lot just as fat drops of rain were starting to fall. Our driver was nowhere to be found. The six of us huddled under a tree and the parking lot "attendant" told us the driver had left and was coming back. We waited for 15 minutes under the tree as the skies opened up and finally another driver let us sit in his varn. We chatted with him and looked at pictures of his family. Another 20 minutes passed. We had now been at Bujugali for almost an hour and fourty minutes. As the rain let up, we decided to walk up to the main gate to see if our driver was there. What we didn't consider was that the fine African red-dirt road had turned to mud in the rainstorm and soon our shoes were caked with so much mud we were sliding all over and mud was flying with each step. One of the poor new girls had worn flip flops and her feet, both top and bottom, were completely covered with red mud. She was freaking out about getting worms. We had all taken a worms pill and assured her that she could still take one even if it was a few days after her arrival in Africa. We stopped at a grassy section to try and get some of the mud off and got surrounded by little village kids who offered to help us get it off. They ran and got sticks and held some of our shoes, scraping it off. We thanked them and continued on, walking through the grass until we got to the main gate where there were a few huts with shops in them and a restaurant. A matatu, one of the city busses, pulled up. The driver would take us back to Jinja for 2,000 shillings each (that's about $1.30)--a much better deal than the 40,000 shillings we would have paid our MIA driver. The ride back, albeit on wet and muddy roads, was much better than on the way there since the wet roads caused us to go more slowly. We made it back to town safely. The rest of the afternoon was spent getting some ice cream, souvenir shopping, and spending some time with the kids. Earlier in the morning the kids had flocked to the two new girls and I have to admit I got a little jealous and sad. But in the evening I was surrounded by all my favorite kids and everything was alright again. I tried to soak it all and take advantage of every last smile and hug. Throughout this trip there have been times when it has been a challenge to be patient with strong-willed four year olds, or Steven, the one autistic boy here, but in those moments I kept reminding myself that I was here to serve them. When they would look up at me and smile or when I would be helping them get dressed or dried off after a bath, that verse in Matthew would pop into my head, "what you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." This trip was underwhelming and overwhelming all at the same time. I think the real effects of it will hit me after I leave--it doesn't seem to be the life-changing trip that I had hoped it would be at the moment, but I would be fooling myself to say it hasn't had an impact on my life. And I know today that when I get in that car with Abdullah after saying goodbye to my friends and the kids that I will be sad to leave. So, thanks, Africa, for the memories, for good people, and for teaching me that I can travel somewhere so exotic all by myself. It's on to new adventures now...

Fun with Bobby, Chickenpox on the loose, and wrapping it up

When Emily left I inherited her favorite kid, Bobby. He is truly a little light around here with his big brown eyes and huge smile. He is one of the three toddlers who is HIV-positive but you would never know. Baby Katie, one of the others with HIV, seems like she is always sick, taking rasping breaths and having a constant nose drip or crusted snot under her nose. Speaking of being sick--we've had quite a go of it here at Amani, both kids and volunteers. When I arrived all the toddlers and babies had a cold and some had some stomach issues as well. Andrea, the main nurse here, came in dejectedly one day earlier this week, sat down with a sigh, and said, "I need to take some kids to the doctor...I just don't know what this is and I'm at my wits ends. All the kids are sick and all the volunteers are sick." And that was before the chickenpox outbreak that (visibly) began yesterday. Maria, the older woman adopting, was all set to leave on Sunday and then Savannah got chickenpox and couldn't be cleared to fly. It wouldn't have mattered even if she had because now Weiss has it and he would have never been cleared so close to flight time. It's quite the adventure! Christy and I were going to take some kids on an outing today to Bujugali Falls, but we're not allowed to take anyone out now, lest we expose some village kids somewhere.

Yesterday was my last shift at Amani and it was a great day overall. We went in to town to the agriculture trade show. It was an interesting experience to see everything although rather underwhelming overall. The crafts weren't that great and there were mostly stands about growing things more efficiently in Africa, using solar power, etc. It was uplifting to see so much hope about the future though. In fact, the main tag line of the show was something along the lines of, "Increasing agricultural production as the stimulus for economic growth in Africa." There was a microcredit booth there, and the World Food Programme had a tent advertising that they are the largest buyer of food in Uganda and that they offer the Food for Education program to encourage Ugandans to keep their children in school. This type of program has been successful in southeast Asia. We were literally the only mzungus around for most of the fair, but it wasn't crowded and I never felt unsafe.

I spent my last shift like I always do, pushing kids on the swing, pulling them in the wagons, sitting on the hill. Yesterday was probably the hottest day we've had since I've been here, but by 5:30 it was beautiful and even got to be quite cool. As we walked into the toddler house for dinner, Francis asked me if I would take him to town tomorrow and I said no and explained why. He looked and me and said, "Then I don't love you anymore" with a coy smile. One of the mama's said, "Francis! That is your friend" and then she turned to me and told me that he calls me "mama." That didn't last long though--he gave me one the biggest hugs ever when I finished reading the story. (It was actually more like a headlock since he's in the middle bunk and was at eye level with me).

A large group of us headed over to the Gately, one of the nicer hotels in Jinja that just happens to be right across the street from us. They have a good restaurant there and we had all been anticipating a good dinner for several days. It didn't dissapoint. We sat on the candle-lit patio, with the geckos climbing all over the walls and the lit fountain running out in the yard. It seemed to me what the true mzungu experience of Africa is when we go on extravagant safaris and stay at hotels that, while (sometimes) cheap by our standards, are full of luxuries. It was nice to take in for a night but I think I would still prefer walking around a village to get to know Africa. So as my time comes to and end, I'm thankful for all the fun times with the kids and the things I got to see and do. I'm looking forward to coming home now!

Thoughts of home and a slice of Jinja

My first week here flew by and now during my second week I'm experiencing that flux in emotions in which I'm glad to still be here but anticipating getting home. This is heightened by the fact that two of my friends and roommates have left this week. Emily left last night and the guest house seemed quiet without her. There are only three of us left now in the house. And even though Anne and I are the only ones in the big room, with two other empty bunkbeds, we still remain on the same bunk, she's on the bottom, I'm on the top bed. I guess I could have moved, but it seemed like a waste to put on new sheets on another bed when I'm leaving in four days, and there are two new girls coming tomorrow so I figured I would give them a choice in beds.

In addition to volunteers leaving, several kids have left as their adoptions have been finalized. One of my favorite kids (and probably the cutest kid ever!), Nathaniel, left with his adoptive mother. We weren't even aware that it was taking place and then one day this week he was just gone. It's been neat to see two other adoptive families hang out around Amani. The adoption process is long and all about uncertainty and waiting. Mark is here from Utah and has been here for several weeks. He travels back and forth to Kampala to the embassy with an older mother and her college-aged son from California who are adopting two children, Weiss, a toddler, and Savannah, a baby girl. Certain family members often have to return to the states or can't be here through the whole process. Mark's wife is coming in this weekend, while the older woman's husband had to leave the weekend I got in. Unfortunately, the promise of adoption creates a strange dynamic for the older children being adopted. Weiss can get a little bratty after being out with his new mom and returning to all his friends at Amani. But he will panic if his mom leaves him here, afraid that it might not be true and she is leaving for good. Similarly, there are three girls who have been adopted by some of the women who work here and they run around with a sense of entitlement, knowing they have loving families, while still being fully integrated into the life of the home with all the other orphans. I suppose they are too young to understand or behave any differently but their behavior and attitudes really rub me the wrong way some times.

One dark spot for us volunteers in our time here happened last night as two girls got mugged on their way home to their guest house. There are so many volunteers in the summer that the Amani guest house can't fit everyone. Six girls are staying at Calvary Chapel, just a 5 minute walk down the road and around the corner, and three other people are staying at the Fisheries, along with the adopting families. Most of us don't really even walk around alone during the day, and most of the girls had been smart about getting back to their guesthouses before dark or making sure that one of the male volunteers accompanied them home. But last night two girls were walking by themselves at 8 pm and reached the intersection where they were about to turn when they were approached by four men. Jordan was picked up and started kicking and screaming and Michelle was grabbed around the throat from behind, her glasses knocked off, and her backpack pulled off her. Jordan managed to escape the grasp of the men and ran ahead to Calvary to get help. We're so thankful that nothing else happened. They are ok but shaken up and Michelle lost a lot of money, her credit cards, and her camera. Jinja itself is a pretty safe town but you still have to be smart.

So on an entirely different note...it's pineapple season here in Jinja. Christy and I went to the town market last week which was such an experience--so many sounds, sights, and smells. I couldn't even take it all in because I was so concentrated on keeping a strong grip on my bag and looking at the ground trying not to trip over something. It was crowded between the make shift stalls and the paths were narrow. Most of the vendors sold food but there was also clothing and other goods for sale. We were on a mission to get a pineapple and some bananas. Christy knew a good man to buy the pineapples from so we made our way over to him and purchased two. The market is at the far end of Jinja so we each took a motorbike boda boda back. This time I didn't sit side saddle since I had on pants and I wanted to feel more secure after my terrifying bicycle boda experience. I had my groceries and pineapple in one hand and I held on to the back of the bike with the other. Even though I felt more balanced, the ride was equally as scary since we went so fast. I realized I had never been on a motorbike or motorcycle before so this was a whole new experience for me. I just kept praying that we wouldn't get hit by a car. Boda accidents are quite common. In fact, my rafting guide had a bandaged knee and elbow. When he first got in the boat I was little concerned by this (and in the end, a British guy in my boat and I nicknamed him, The Crip, since he almost hobbled about like a cripple). It turns out that he hadn't been involved in a bad rafting accident but rather had had a bad boda experience.

Jinja is also the sight of the one of the largest "fairs" in Uganda. Much like a county fair in the states, the trade show, as they call it here, has entertainment, food, and crafts. Apparently it's a really big deal. On Tuesday night a marching band walked through the streets to signify the beginning of the show and we heard that the presidents of Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya were all in attendance on the first day. Judith and Floris went to check it out yesterday and said that a larger group of people should probably go together as it was very loud and crowded and they were two of very few mzungus. In Jinja itself there are quite a few western tourists but this fair is at the edge of town in the fairgrounds. I think a group of eight of us are going to go tomorrow but we will have to see now that everyone is a little on edge after last night.

The kids are still great. I've started taking care of the girls after dinner. They go into their little room and strip off their clothes and basically run around naked, dancing, singing, and screaming until a mama comes to wash them. They have so much fun and look up at me with these big smiles--it's so funny. After they come out of the bathroom soaking wet I dry them off and help them get on their pjs. Then when everyone is settled I read them a story and give them a hug when I am done.

Francis' Prayer

Francis is called on to lead the prayer before snacktime. He sits at the little picnic table, his back to the plate of fruit that is today's snack. He begins the usual call and response prayer the toddlers always say: "Hands together." The other eighteen toddlers clap their hands together and repeat in a sing song fashion, "Hands together." "Eyes closed" "Eyes closed" "Thank you Jesus" "Thank you Jesus" "For this food" At this point the more shy toddlers may end the prayer right here or those who are called on more often may go through the ritual of blessing the mamas and uncles and aunties. But Francis decides he needs to cover all his bases and thank God for all the food they are eating today. As the masses respond with the song-like intonation in their phrase, Francis quickly lifts and turns his head and casts one beady eye at the fruit tray, almost like he is cheating at a game of Heads-Up 7-Up. As he surveys the fruit, he tries desparately to keep the other eye closed, as if opening both eyes during a prayer would be a sin. There is a split second delay between when the others finish saying, "for this food" and when Francis turns his head back, bowing it, and shutting both eyes. He continues, "Thank you for the watermelon." Now he has forgotten what else is on the tray so again he struggles to take a quick glance at the fruit tray while keeping one eye closed. "Thank you for the papaya." Feeling like he has sufficiently thanked Jesus for everything now, he relaxes and finishes his prayer. "In Jesus' name." "In Jesus' name" "Amen." "Amen!!!!" the masses shout loudly and enthusiastically accompanied by a few claps.

I just smile and giggle as I pass out the fruit thinking of Francis peering over his shoulder.

Three Snapshots of Ugandan Life

One.
When a group of us walked into Ozzies, an Australian-owned restaurant that Amani volunteers regularly frequent, I immediately noticed a group of four woman sitting a table. Three of the women were mzungus (white people) and one was a Ugandan woman. We sat at the table across from them and I caught snippets of their conversation as we waited for our food. What I heard really fascinated me because what I heard was a microcredit plan being formulated in action. Microcredit is one of the most promising ways of aiding the poor in third world countries. The basic premise is that people living in poverty (and usually women specifically) are given small loans between the equivalent of $30 and $50 dollars. These people then invest the money into buying something that will let them make a livelihood and a profit, for example a loom they could weave items on to sell at the market. The profits they receive pay back the loan incrementally and also sustain the person and their family. I had actually seen a sign for the FINCA office in Uganda the day I arrived. FINCA is one of the larger microcredit organizations (and on a random side note, Natalie Portman is their major celebrity spokeswoman).

The Ugandan woman was named Sarah and she owned a tailor shop that specifically benefitted widows. The plan was to give Sarah ten sewing machines and various other sewing materials (thread, scissors, etc.). The white women involved Sarah in the process of how her business would work--they asked her how she would set up a cooperative. Who would be in charge? For how long? What would the logistics be? They often paused to not overwhelm her and referred to meeting later in the week to solidify some of the plans. The conversation ended with the promise to wire Sarah $50 US dollars per month for several months. As they stood up to leave I asked one of the white women if the group worked for FINCA and she said no but that this project with Sarah was one of the first of their organization's push towards a microcredit scheme and that they would like to partner with FINCA in the future.

Two.
On Saturday night as we rode the matatu home from rafting we rounded a bend in the road and suddenly had the the most specatular view of Lake Victoria. All along the surface yellow lights danced and twinkled like lightning bugs on a warm summer night. I asked the Ugandan raft guide sitting next to me what the lights were. He told me that the lights on are fishing boats and that they attract the fish on the lake to the surface where the fishermen then scoop them up in their nets. Uganda is known for its abudance of tilapia and the national fishery is just a block from Amani. Today Christy and I are going to walk down to the lake and check out on the fishing villages.

Three.
Yesterday we went to church at Calvary Chapel. It was a really neat experience to worship with people from another culture. There was a six-man band that played several songs, half in Ugandan and half in English, on their guitars, keyboards, and multiple drums. I was energized and moved by the songs in Ugandan that I couldn't understand and by the way the Ugandans in the sanctuary swayed and experienced them. The pastor gave a sermon on sin and redemption, of changing your life and walking with the Lord. The sermon itself was only a half hour long but ended up being an hour since a translator translated everything into Ugandan. 'people entered the service at many different points and just squished in to a row. One man came in, obviously after his shift had ended, in a Securex uniform and sat next to a young girl. She immediately shared her Bible with him and pointed to the passage we were on. It was good to see the faith of the people. Many people from the congregation came up and shook our hands afterwards. Everyone is so friendly here. On our way home, as we were walking down a path near some poorer families' ramshackle homes, a boy of about ten or eleven ran over to me and said, "Hello Mzungu" and grabbed my hand and held it for a moment in what I can guess was only a moment of inspiration to experience the novelty of touching a white person. He ran off as quickly as he had come. It made me smile.

Rafting the Nile

I spent my Saturday rafting the White Nile with Courtney, Christy, Tiffany, and Kevin, four other Amani volunteers. It was insane! The volume of the river is tremendous (Paddle Georgia people--it was more water than we could have ever hoped for!) and the rapids are huge. We could choose to go "wild" or "mild" on the river (although really, I don't think it was possible to go mild) and while half of my boat wanted a more moderate ride, the other half wanted "wild." So, to start off and give us a little taste of what "wild" would be, our guide made us swim the first small rapid after doing some safety training. Then, on our first class III our guide intentionally flipped us. Ridiculous! I've never fallen out or flipped while rafting before but luckily I've heard a lot of stories about it from an experienced raft guide (thanks Jeff!), so I just tried to remember to stay calm. The first few seconds underwater felt like an eternity while I waited for my lifejacket to find it's way, along with my body, up to the surface. Gulping for sweet air in the midst of swallowing half the Nile, I finally made it through the tumbling waves. Our second flip came at the top of our second Class V. Our guide had prepped us before for what to do at each point in the rapid in case we flipped. Well, we were quite the spectacle and I think only one of the two of the total of nine boats that flipped. I can't tell you the horrible feeling you get in your stomach when the boat keels dangerously over and falls out from under you. We flipped at the top of this rapid where our instructions were to not hold on to the boat, just swim through. I managed to hold on to my paddle but when I surfaced at the end, my helmet was gone and my pants were nearly around my knees. Tiffany had also lost her helmet and we swam near each other to the rescue kayak (each raft had two rescue kayaks). She held on to the front and I held on to the back. In a mess of disorientation, we were pulled up on the trip leader's boat while the rest of our the people from our boat were dragged out of the water like drowned rats into various other boats. A guy from our boat seriously banged up his knee and went in the safety boat the rest of the time. From that point on, I had had enough flipping. The rest of the day proved to be just as much of an adrenaline rush and luckily we stayed in our boat. If you want to watch a random youtube video of some of the highlights, follow the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LsJBI7jfxY

Finishing 18 miles downriver in a very rural part of Uganda and seeing the villages there rivaled the ride itself for my favorite part of the day. It's easy to forget that I'm in Africa when I spend too much time on the grounds of the orphange. It's cushy--more so than I was expecting, or even what I would have liked (although I'm not complaining for the little luxuries we have, like internet for example!). There are still very African things that happen to us--the power goes out and we run on a generator, or if the generator blows, we have complete power loss and use our headlamps. The water goes out daily so you have to check for a strong flow of water before you get in the shower and get all soapy. This also means we can't flush the toilet sometimes, or use water to cook. Jinja itself is a large town with many banks, supermarkets, restaurants and shops. So finally getting to see a bona fide African village tonight gave me a little thrill. There was so much to take in it was sensory overload and I know I'm not going to do justice to all the things I saw. First of all, the roads were unpaved and had deep grooves in the mud. Riding the matatu (bus) along those ruts gave me the feeling that I had never left the raft as the bus would careen to the side (and frankly, I was done with that feeling!). As we drove we passed mud huts with corrugated iron roofs or some huts with thatched roofs, all complete with a little farm plot. Occasionally there were small buildings made with brick. Usually a gaggle or children would rush out to wave to us from each little household. We passed women tending fires and cooking, men walking along the road, goats and cows eating grass in the little fields. Little by little the huts became closer in proximity and gave way to more of the crude brick buildings as we came into the one small main street of a tiny town. I couldn't distinguish what building was what since most of them weren't painted adn looked the same, but there was a building housing the local cell phone company store. Crazy how technology has infiltrated even the more remote places of the world. This town led into a larger small town where a gigantic outdoor market was occuring. Everyone in the town and their brother was out on the streets, perusing the wares of the vendors. There was so much clothing--both traditional African designs and also a lot of western styles--jeans, t-shirts donning European football stars, brightly colored blouses. We had to slow down to almost a crawl to make it through the packed streets. This was the Africa I had come to see! I tried to savor it and take it all in. I'm trying to get out into Jinja as much as I can now to experience daily life and see people going about their lives in order to get more of that authentic African experience.

God is so good..

Yesterday was my first shift back with the kids after taking the day before off to rest and recuperate. When I walked in I realized why I had been so sick--half the toddlers had runny noses and were coughing and the nurse told me later that those who were sick were also most likely fighting the flu. I'm glad I was able to fight it off. After snack time and getting dressed, Peter, a Ugandan volunteer, put on a CD. He told the kids to sing along. When the chorus began all the kids started singing, "God is so good, God is so good, God is so good to me." Seeing those dozen adorable toddlers sing those words brought tears to my eyes and touched a part of my soul I hadn't realized had been needing to be moved like that. The rest of the day the littlest things made me tear up--holding a brooding George, one of my favorite kids, for most of the afternoon and thinking about where he will go after Amani, or watching Francis run by with a huge smile on his face saying, "Auntie, watch me!" They all already have a special place in my heart.