Two things occur to me as I write this blog: 1) It is Tuesday. I'm not sure how that happened. and 2) I haven't blogged since Friday. For those of you who are used to hearing from me more frequently, I'd like to apologize for the lack of contact but the power was universally out on Saturday, which meant no local internet (::shrug:: this is Gulu.). Then, on Sunday morning I packed up and drove out to Lukodi (the Child Voice International village) where I spent the night. I finally made it back to the hotel last night and I was so exhausted that I didn't even stay up to watch the disappointing Italy vs Paraguay draw. All of this being the case, I've got quite a lot to catch everyone up on so I hope you're up for reading a slightly longer entry.
Friday afternoon Blake and I decided to try out the Chinese restaurant on the other end of town for lunch. We got there at 11:40. At some time after noon the rain started. And continued. And continued. We were stranded at the restaurant until close to 3:00 PM, because it is just unadvisable to go traipsing around in equatorial rain if one has the choice not to. We were considering what to do if the rain continued all the way up to the beginning of the first game of the night (Megan: "Should we run?" Blake: "Well...they have a tv here." Megan: "Will we be stuck here after dark?" Blake: "Good point. Let's give it until five. Then we run.") luckily, the rain cleared up and we walked back through the muddy streets towards the hotel. On the way we stopped at Nido's, which is run by a very nice Pakistani man. We had a very interesting conversation about his family who lives in Kansas City and how he wouldn't leave Uganda unless it was to go home.
"Where you are from, is very difficult. Here, I am free. It is not very developed. You and I are from developed countries. Here is not very developed, but I am used to it and it is not as hard as it is in your country to survive." He said with a smile as he handed me my change.
Blake and I ran off to catch the game (a very disappointing draw). In the hotel lobby of Acholi Ber we were surrounded by the owner (Mark) and about a dozen of his friends, all pulling for South Africa. I was pulling for Mexico, and I'm a really loud spectator, but then so was everyone else. It was an electric night, even if the results were a somewhat disappointing draw.
Saturday, as I mentioned, the power was out all over. Luckily, Acholi Ber has a generator, so our World Cup excitement was not interrupted. We staked out a table right near the television and I came downstairs in my USA t-shirt. Claire (from England) and her friend James (Uganda) drove down to root for England. Denise and Hannah came out from CTC (Denise would like me to correct my previous blog. She rooted for the USA). Our new friends Maryt (from the Netherlands) and Chris (from Canada) joined us as well along with about a dozen of Mark (the owner)'s friends. It was a well attended, highly contested, extremely exciting game. I felt really bad for goalkeeper Green (England) because the next morning the papers were saying things like "From the Hands of Clod" and other such things. I think that the draw was the best thing for our group -- everyone went home satisfied that they'd seen a good game and that their team had made an admirable effort.
I'm going to split this blog into two pieces then, and call this part one. My time at Lukodi really deserves its own space.
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