"Your love is longer than this road I travel..." and other Sunday musings.

Street (Now River) During a Rainstorm

This post can't be long -- I'm limited in my internet time today and supposed to be getting some hardcore research accomplished. I did want to check in with everyone though, and let you all know what I've been up to the last few days. 

Saturday night the rain came. I don't mean just a minor sprinkle, either. I mean, rain from the left, then rain from the right, then rain from straight above. We counted at least three different storms that came through with a ridiculous wind that is no good for the grass roof of a hut. The street beneath Acholi Ber was a river. Blake, Laura, and I took advantage of a break in the storm to walk Laura the quarter mile to RLP, and then Blake and I ran home to watch the next storm roll in. It was crazy. THIS is why they call it rainy season.

Sunday morning I got to attend Watoto Chuch with Lowna. It was "International Children's Day" so the children were leading worship. The entire congregation was dancing and singing (it was so LOUD) to David Crowder's "No One Like You." It was great fun. Then later, they sang a song I haven't heard since my time at Canyon Ridge Christian Church in Vegas:

"Your love is deeper than my view of faith

Higher than this earthly place

Longer than this road I travel

Wider than this gap you've filled..."

There was something about the "Longer than this road I travel" part that just put me over the edge. Leave it to me to be bawling in the middle of church. The pastor gave a sermon on taking care of little children (kind of apropos given what I'm here for). I've had an invitation to come to the church by the CTC to attend mass next Sunday, and then another invitation for the Sunday after to attend church out at Lukodi (they run a non-denominational service that now has over 200 attendees each week). My Sundays are going to be full from now on!

I got another good conversation with my Luo teacher, Monica, too. She told me that she is actually Langi, not Acholi, and that she and her family are from Apac, which is a little to the South and a little to the East of Gulu district. They came here to work. She explained that she likes her job, and is paid pretty well (60,000 shillings a month or about $30.00 USD) but that she's not sure she'll be able to afford her university fees this fall, since the fees come to about 1,000,000 shillings, or around $500.00 USD. We were supposed to go to her hut to meet her family yesterday, but her little sister (there are 12 siblings total) came down with malaria and so her mother had to take her to the hospital. I will meet her family next week, I think. 

As for my work, things are certainly picking up. In fact, I've got a full day of research ahead of me, which is why I'm at the CTC today. I needed to be locked in a room with internet and no distractions. I've got a number of small threads I'm trying to follow, along with some larger threads I'm following for a project this fall. I also need to be mindful of making solid connections with local institutions and people to get good letters of referral for grants. It's a lot to do in my four remaining weeks but I think I can accomplish most of it. I'm optimistic. 

I've been invited back to Lukodi (wonderful news!) and was even told that at some point I might stay the night at the village, which I will absolutely do if I get the chance to coordinate it. One step at a time. 

"If this project fails, I will fail." and other calls to help.

Yesterday I was granted the exceptional gift of time at Lukodi Village, which is the site of ChildVoice International's camp for female former abductees of the LRA and (more recently) other vulnerable women of the local communities in need of assistance, vocational training, and (in most cases) extensive post-trauma counseling. (see http://www.childvoiceintl.org/ ) The visit rocked my entire world off its axis. 

For the sake of privacy for the women/girls involved, I'm going to do my best to avoid specifics in this post. Names and personal details will mostly be left out. 

I started the day with a van ride to Lukodi. I sat beside a woman who was taking her baby to the clinic. The baby looked tired and somewhat sad. "She has malaria." the mother told me. And this baby was one of the lucky ones. Malaria, once diagnosed, is treated with a series of quinine drips and other such medications. It requires a number of doses and a lot of time (and in some cases, a lot of money). I've talked about malaria here before -- I still stand amazed that something so treatable is still standing as one of the top killers for people in this area. The baby looked over at me and I tried to talk to her. Then she got scared. And freaked out. 

"It's because you're a different color." the mother chuckled. I hadn't even thought of that. I imagine, if you'd never seen a white person, you might also be a little weirded out. 

When we finally got to Lukodi (15 km from town over a fabulously pot-hold filled road), I was offered African tea (soo tasty) while I discussed with some of the staff the runnings of the organization. Basically, the program is simple. Once the women are identified (through other NGOs and community organizations) they are brought in to the camp where they stay for 18 months (give or take). They receive counseling, attend church services, and receive vocational training in baking, tailoring, salon, and bead making. For their work they are paid a certain amount, of which they have to save 500 shillings a week. This isn't much, but it adds up. Twice a year, the women are permitted to pull from savings to pay for school fees for their children and other small things. The wage they're paid is a good wage for the area. Not too much (which would be unsustainable after the NGO left and the job ceased to exist) and not too little (which would do them no good). 

The compound used to be a school, which was abandoned after an LRA attack in 2004. In order to use it, the group paid for a new school to be built outside of the fence, and they were permitted the old school and all of its grounds. The building houses dormitories, classrooms, and nursery classes where chubby babies in various stages of dress were wandering around on unsteady feet. I waved through the window and they all waved back. 

I was permitted to sit in on a practice for a drama that the girls were constructing, in Luo, which was being overseen by Reverend Nelson, the Lutheran minister at Lukodi. When we walked up, he started the women singing:

This little light of mine, 

I'm gonna let it shine,

Everywhere we go,

I'm gonna let it shine.

Everything we do,

I'm gonna let it shine,

Let it shine.

Let it shine.

Let it shine.

It was a contagious moment where several got up to dance and the whole group was clapping. 

Rev. Nelson then addressed the women, "Hallelujah?" and they responded, "Amen." Then he and Kristin (one of the other staff members) introduced me in both Luo and English and there was a warm greeting from the women, who I think were just as interested in me as I was in them. 

Since I didn't understand much of the dialogue of the skit, I spent much of the time observing the women. Nearly all of them had a baby of some size attached to them and I couldn't help but notice that "Mama, I've had a long day and I'm hungry and need a nap" looks and sounds the same in any language. Just one more little thing that makes me feel connected to the world as a whole. 

After some time with Rev. Nelson, I was taken to the veranda of the school, where some of the women were sitting and making paper beads. I was offered the chance to learn how to make these beautiful beads, and so I sat with one of the women and she taught me. We discussed her family and some of her past, avoiding conversation that wasn't somewhat light hearted. In fact, were it not for the bullet wounds (long scarred over) on her legs, I could almost forget where I was and what she'd been through. Her smile and her sweet teaching style were contagious though. 

Basically, to make the beads, one starts with a long triangular strip of paper. These strips of paper are cut in a very exact way, so as to be the perfect size for the bead that a woman is trying to make. Taking one strip of paper and wrapping it around a needle, a bead maker begins to roll. Now, at Lukodi they try to quality control each of the beads so that the lines match up neatly. This takes time and a good deal of practice. Once the bead is done, glue is used to settle the edge, and then it is varnished, strung, and sold to make money for the organization's operating costs. 

I tried four different times. My work is below:

My Attempt at Acholi Bead Making

Of course, My beads are not only lopsided, but the lines are off. I had a whole other respect for the women who sat there for hours and hours each day making the beads. When I asked my teacher if she liked making beads she nodded.

"If this project fails, I will fail. And then I will have to go back to digging (farming). I do not like very much to dig." she said. 

I was given a wonderful lunch of rice and beans (which tasted like manna from Heaven after the long day of travel and learning I was going through) and afterwards had a long conversation with Reverend Nelson regarding his work with ChildVoice and also his work outside of ChildVoice. It seems that there's not much of a Lutheran presence in Uganda and Rev. Nelson is a church planter. He's in need of copies of the Bible in English and Luwengo as well as copies of the Lutheran Catechist and Lutheran Hymnal. He showed me his hut (on the compound) and from under his cot pulled a box that contained a single battered copy of a 1947 hymnal. This hymnal is being used to plant churches throughout Uganda. I was amazed. I took the Reverend's contact information and promised to see what I could do with my contacts in the ELCA. 

As luck would have it, Peter has to do a project next year as part of his MDiv that might be just exactly what the Rev. needs. At the very least, we think we can get him the copies of the books he's looking for, or some of them at least. 

"You have a great work ahead of you here. God has brought you to Uganda for a great work." He kept saying over and over again. 

Reverend Nelson and I (I'm on a step.)

It was getting late and I needed to get home, so Kristin called me a boda driver that she knows and trusts to get me back to town. The driver lacked a hand bar in the back which meant that I learned how to ride a boda without holding on to anything. Turns out -- not so difficult. Thankfully, the driver was a good guy who drove reasonably slow, and took the bumps/potholes without any interest in flying off of them. 

We had a conversation during our 15km trip about his village. He said that he had been in an IDP camp for many years, but had never seen the LRA personally. The camp, he said, was safer, but not as good as being at home and so when given the chance to return he had done so quickly. 

The miles of gorgeous Ugandan bush rolled past me, trees and tall grass and goats and chickens and people and huts. The sky was bluer than anything I've ever seen and on the whole it was a very pleasant ride. He dropped me off directly at my hotel (receiving a bit of a tip for that because a good boda is sometimes hard to find) and I kept his mobile number for future trips to the village. 

It took me the whole rest of the day to process what I'd seen, which is why I didn't post anything yesterday. The words of my bead teacher rang in my ears, "If this project fails, I will fail." and while I know I'm not directly connected to the NGO that she meant, I felt a personal call to accountability in her voice. We cannot fail...too much depends on the success of our ventures here. All of us. 

Let it shine, 

Let it shine,

Let it shine.

Goodbye Water and other Misadventures

My plan for today was to wash my laundry. It was the first day in several that I haven't had seven things to do and I thought it might be a good time to get some things clean. I managed to get through two loads (turning the water a murky gray color each time) but as I was rinsing out the second load the water stopped running. 


Gulu, it seems, is experiencing a water shortage. I'm not sure how much of this is connected to the Nile River Talks that are currently going on between DRC, Kenya, Egypt, and Uganda. Lately it has been quite the buzz in the papers that the deal is not very good for Uganda. I recall when we arrived in Kampala reading a political cartoon in the Daily Monitor that had a very dehydrated gazelle attempting to drink from the Nile. There were three large crocodiles in the river named DRC, Kenya, and Egypt. At the time I didn't realize what this meant, but now the situation has become quite real. 


There is a well nearby where the people are beginning to pump water from. The hotel employees have taken a large truck filled with the ubiquitous yellow water jugs to the pump and brought back well water, presumably to dump into the massive water tank that the hotel uses. I'm not sure how much of that will reach my room -- I may have to pump my own water just to be sure I can bathe at some point. What is an inconvenience for me, though, is a major problem and now a way of life for the Ugandan people. I have begun watching the Nile River Talks more closely. Their outcome will impact this entire country and all of the people in it. 


Being unable to accomplish my primary goal of the day, Laura and I decided to grab some lunch at the local Muno hangout, Larem. Now...I like Larem because the food is recognizable and safe to me. When I can't handle the culture shock any more (or can't handle one more heaping plate of tasteless Matoke) I like to sit at Larem and have a grilled cheese sandwich with avocado on the side. Of course, Larem is where all of the westerners hang out. 


Picture a sidewalk cafe with a few small tables inside and a few tables (with umbrellas) outside. Larem offers free internet with purchase, but my computer never picks up the router (not to mention the server is always down). Today, however, my computer picked up the router. I wanted to save the network in my computer so I asked the woman behind the counter what the passcode was. A young woman of maybe 21 turned around and snapped at me, "The server's down." as if that would change my need for the passcode. I thought maybe I'd overthought the tone of her voice, so I smiled at everyone and went back to the table to plug in the passcode and save the network.  Later, that same girl was accidentally sprayed with some steam from the cappuccino machine. The woman behind the counter apologized all over herself, but this girl snapped at her, "A little WARNING next time!" 


Now, maybe this isn't rudeness for the States, where everyone is in a hurry and in their own world, but I haven't heard anyone take that tone with another person since I left...and I was a little more than annoyed that this Muno girl was taking that tone HERE. 


Another set of girls sat down outside of the shop by the open window. They were making fun of the way that one of their Ugandan contacts was speaking in a text message. This also bothered me. One of those girls has been in Larem before, always complaining about something. Last time I saw her she was brushing her skirt and complaining that the boda boda drivers (who make $.50 per ride) don't know how to drive without getting her skirt dirty. I wanted to ask her where exactly she thought she was...since she'd just walked in from a dirt road that had an open sewer ditch on it. Today, I just rolled my eyes. I was getting quite done. 


On the whole, I find that I have a distaste for where the westerners hang out because many of them come in groups, treat the staff poorly, act as though this country is doing a disservice to them and as though the whole point of Uganda's existence is for them to be able to travel to someplace foreign that seems more exciting than the typical European destinations of our parents day. It makes me want to personally revoke all of their visas and send them home. 


People who are here seriously, doing research or even on holiday, take the place seriously. They attempt to learn the language, they attempt to say hi when people pass them (a major custom on the streets of Gulu, not often participated in by wandering Munos), and they are polite. 


In other words, DON'T go to a foreign country and forget that you are a GUEST. 

One bad boda don't spoil the whole bunch...

The theme of today is "down-time." The week has already been quite long, and it's only Tuesday. Never let it be said that there is such a thing as a dull moment when travelling. 

Hanging out at Refugee Law Project Compound

This morning we ran into a man who is opening a micro-finance institution in Gulu and working with John Deere to bring in some big machinery to loan to the people so that they can make more effective use of their agricultural land. This is a positive step for this area and is the kind of thing that will do the most good for Uganda. Of course, he was an Alabama man (and a major 'Bama fan) and so we got into this great conversation about Gamecock football. We would travel all the way across the world just to end up talking Gamecock football. 

Other than that...

Yesterday, I finally got to take my first boda ride (and second. and third.). This is an adventure that should not be missed should one ever make it to Gulu-town (I wouldn't risk it in Kampala. The taxis are dangerous enough!). My first ride was only a block and a half to a meeting I needed to attend. I wasn't sure where I was going, so I had the driver drop me at the post office. It was close enough to Acholi Ber that I just went ahead and walked back to my room from there. At noon, however, we had arranged to travel by boda to the CTC to have lunch as a team. This is about 7 km outside of town, and would take about an hour to walk. 

My boda driver, Mande, is a good guy. I've had a number of conversations with him since arriving in Gulu last week. Of all the drivers at the stage on our corner, he seemed the most trustworthy. Rule number one for travelling abroad: follow your gut instinct. Mande had agreed to only charge me 1,500 shillings to get to CTC from Acholi Ber, which is incredibly reasonable (esp. since my trip to the post office had cost me 1000 shillings that morning). 

As I've explained in previous blogs, a boda is just a motorcycle or a dirtbike. This is one of the only ways to get around Gulu town if you're not footing it, since private hires and taxis are fairly rare sights. At noon, as promised, I met Mande at the stage. Laura and Blake found their drivers and I told Mande very seriously, "You drive carefully. I cannot pay you if I die." He laughed, "I know!" 

Now, being that one cannot be getting friendly with one's boda driver, the best way to hold on is to the back of the bike. This is good because bumps and ruts in the road seem like they'd throw the passenger off, and that would really suck. Road rash, even dirt road rash, is no fun. I jumped on, I held tight to the back, and for a moment I began to pray..."Dear God. Please don't let me die on a boda in Uganda." Mande seemed to notice my obvious distress and so didn't drive too fast, carefully taking bumps and ruts in the road. 

We practically flew out of town, our own little motorbike gang. Through a field, and past a community of houses with children walking home from school, laundry being hung to dry, games of checkers being played by old men, and angry games of cards being played by young ones. Mande and I had a talk about his life (he's lived in Gulu town his whole life, and has a wife and a one year old baby named Victor) and how long he's been riding his motorbike ("I'm good with this, but I'm still learning how to drive the motorcar. Can you drive a motorcar?"). 

Riding on a boda, it is sometimes difficult to not focus on the road in front of you. I find that doing so only stressed me out. Mande wasn't going to let me fall off the bike, and the bumps and ruts weren't nearly as nice to see as the goats, cows, children, men, and women of the communities we passed. It was a beautiful day for a ride, too. As we got off at the CTC, Mande asked me "What time will you be done?" "I don't know." I responded, "Do you have a mobile phone? I can call you if you want to come back for me." 

Unfortunately, no such luck. I gave him 2,000 shillings for his effort and bid him goodbye.

Mango Trees at CTC

We had a pleasant, but very serious, conversation with Ron and Denise that included a walk through the idyllic property of the Catechist Training Center. This place certainly has restorative powers, as both Denise and Ron looked better than I've seen them in ages. 

During lunch, I had the opportunity to taste a fresh mango. Fr. Felix informed us that if they are left on the tree until they are yellow, they'll be sweeter. This one was certainly sweet. Fr. Felix gave Apio (Denise's Acholi name, meaning "First Born Female Twin") a piece which she then shared with me and I shared with Blake and Laura. Ron noted that it was especially generous of Fr. Felix to do this since Denise -- as Fr. Felix's namesake -- still owed him a rooster. There was good humored laughter as Laura offered the rooster from the Refugee Law Project in trade. This would take care of Apio's debt and Laura's unwelcome 6:00 AM wake-up call all at once! No such trade was made, though, and all remains as it was.After eating more fresh food than anyone had a right to (quite possibly the best meal I've had since landing in country a week ago), the three of us who were staying in town (Laura, Blake, and Myself) bid our farewells and hit the road. 

Attempting to find a boda back to town is sometimes less costly, but usually more difficult. We headed towards a known boda stage and on the way were passed by several that in our own turns offered to pick us up. I told my boda driver I simply needed to get back to town (anywhere in town was not far from my hotel to walk). Laura told hers the same thing, so I had my boda driver follow hers. It was a good thing.

My boda driver seemed happy to catch a fare back to town, but Laura's just didn't give me a good feeling. I wasn't sure why, but I kept on my guard. We traveled quickly back through familiar territory, past the community, past the field, back into town, and then...it seemed...we were going somewhere I didn't recognize anymore. I wanted to tell my boda driver to stop, but Laura's driver was still going. "Maybe we're going the back way into RLP?" I thought. 

When finally we came to a stop, we were a ways out of town going the opposite direction by a strange compound I didn't recognize. "This is not where I said I needed to stop." I told my driver, frustrated. He wanted to charge me more for taking me past town, and I wasn't having it. 

"Why are we here?" I kept demanding. "How do we get back to town?" The drivers just laughed. 

I refused to get back on the boda to have them take us back -- I didn't trust Laura's driver as far as I could throw him and I had a feeling that my driver would follow hers in whatever he did. "We'll walk. Whatever." I growled, trying to look much more intimidating than my 5'1'' would permit. All I knew was that if this guy was thinking of anything inappropriate, he wasn't going to have an easy time getting me to cooperate. 

I angrily paid the fee for our journey, and we headed off in the direction we had come. Thanks to Laura's awesome sense of direction, and my ability to remain calm we were able to keep it together until we made it back to town. Thankfully, we were travelling in broad daylight and so there were many people around and we were relatively safe to get back to town. Trying to correct this error at night would've been needlessly dangerous for us. Rule number two: Never drive with someone you don't know at night. 

Later that afternoon, after walking for what felt like days, we ran into Laura's boda driver at his stage. "How did you get back from Karatas?" he asked, surprised that we were back so soon. 

We explained our plight with the bad boda boys and he made the universal "That's not good." noise that sounds like a somewhat high pitched sigh. "Why didn't you call me?" he asked. Laura got his mobile number. In the future, we'll just put a call into him and boda back together. Leaving town, I'll always arrange for Mande -- who I have a rapport with.  

In the end, two of three boda trips weren't that bad, and normally one wouldn't run into this many difficulties with a boda. I still completely recommend the experience. 

Also, for the record, we enjoyed  some local food the other night. I've had a request or two to discuss what I'm eating while I'm here. Now...for the most part, I'm eating at Muno (white person) hangouts with particularly western faire. However, some nights, we get adventurous and attempt to find some local grub. This night we sat down at a local place with "goat. beef. (some type of greens)." on the menu. 

"I'm not going to be able to eat goat." I nervously laughed. "I can't get over the cute ones by the road..."

The waitress put this to an end, though. "That is over." she said to everything but the goat meat. So..of course, I ended up with no choice but goat meat for dinner. I didn't make it through much of it, though I did try it, and ended up giving my meat to Laura and taking her cassava with salt. For the record, cassava is actually pretty tasty stuff. 

Goat, Cassava, and Rice...ie, dinner.

In the end, I realized that outside of chicken and very occasional beef, I'm not a meat eater at home. I prefer pastas, rice, and beans, usually. This may explain my disinterest in attempting to munch on meat as a general rule since arriving. 

Speaking of eating, I'm quite hungry and headed to find lunch. Apwoyo! 

"I seek to Cure What's Deep Inside" -or- The Waiting Game

In case you hadn't noticed by now, today's blog posts were brought to you by Toto (the band). I've had "Africa" stuck in my head all day. 

...The wild dogs cry out in the night

As they grow restless longing for some solitary company.

I know that I must do what's right,

Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti.

 I seek to cure what's deep inside,

Frightened of this thing that I've become.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you

There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.

I've blessed the rains down in Africa

It's gonna take some time to do the things we never have...

Rain Outside the Refugee Law Project Building (Within the Compound)

The name of the game today has been "flexibility". Or, as Laura would say, "Whatever you planned for Africa, expect that it won't happen and something else will."

This morning we woke up to a beautiful fog cover that promised rain. The land doesn't need it -- they've been super-saturated with water as late, and it's beginning to threaten local crops -- but I certainly appreciated the ability to wander without the constant companionship of sunshine and fairly oppressive heat. We had big plans to get laundry done and then take bodas to the CTC to meet with Ron and Fr. Joseph over lunch. 

Today is Sunday, which meant that all of the people were dressed in their Sunday finest (very colorful/beautiful dresses) and headed to church. A man stopped and asked why we had not gone and I said we were going next week. "No." he responded, "We pray to God here everyday." A group of young girls in Sunday dresses came up to Laura and I and shook our hands while they curtsied. It was the cutest thing. 

We sat for juice in the lobby of my hotel, where we ran into Lowna (Denise's friend who helped us secure our lodging for this trip). We had a good conversation about South Africa (where she's from) and how she got into work with her organization. I don't know a lot about it, other than they provide rehabilitation to form female abductees of the LRA. It's a good organization, and as I learn more I hope to tell you more. Support for groups like this is important, even if you're just aware that they exist. For me, it would be especially good to be able to get involved with them, as the women they're assisting are the very women I'm researching. They've changed their policy regarding students recently though and getting approval may be difficult. Like everything else, this will take some time and all I can do is hope that we can work out an arrangement of some kind. If not, I will have to switch to plan B. Not sure what that is yet. I'll let you know when I get there. We thanked Lowna (who has definitely bent over backwards to assist us) and moved on.

At this point, I also think it is important to acknowledge Denise (my dear friend/ one of my travelling companions/one of Ron's former students/ a researcher who will soon be headed to England to do her Masters!) . She was instrumental in preparing us for this trip and in getting us in touch with Lana as well as securing the Refugee Law Project compound for Laura. Not to mention that it's just more fun to travel with Denise in general. Check out her blog here: http://denisedunovantuganda.blogspot.com/

Doing Laundry

The fog burned off pretty quickly, leaving me cussing the rising heat. While we had some time to kill (we weren't due at the CTC until 12:30), I decided to do a load of laundry. I made the choice to do socks, underwear, and a few shirts. The same basin that I wash in was filled with warm water and some Nomi soap, and after a hard scrub I let them soak for an hour. After a rinse in the sink I had to get creative in the ways that I hung them to dry. Socks and underwear ended up hanging from the towel rack and shirts hanging from a mishung coat hanger above one of the beds. Hopefully my things dry soon -- I've got another load of pants to do yet and need the space to hang them.

Ron called and explained that they simply weren't ready for us at the CTC (Fr. Joseph is an incredibly busy man and the center is an incredibly busy place. I had half expected the change of plans). Rather than catching boda rides today we're going to head to the center tomorrow. Today, Ron would meet myself, Laura, and Blake in town at Larem (Acholi for Friend) Cafe for lunch. 

While we waited for Ron to make it into town, Laura and I sat back in the hotel lobby, which was mostly empty. One of the staff members of the hotel, Monica, sat with us for an hour and began to teach us useful Acholi Luo phrases. This all began because Ron had taught us how to say thank you (I can't spell it...Apwoyo?) and I would thank her every time she helped me. Last night she laughed and said, "I will have to teach you more in my language." Today she made good on her promise. I had four pages of notes by the time she was done filled with useful things to say including "Amito ciro ot lega (ah-me-toe cheer-o ought leg-a)" which means "I want to go to church" and "Changati tye Kwen (pronounced like it looks)" which means "Where is your bathroom?". 

Monica is going to be attending university starting in August so that she can become a teacher. She's already off to a great start. She promised that next Sunday she'll teach me more words and take me to visit her hot lum (hut with grass roof). This is exciting, just because it means that I've made a friend in the community. It pays to be kind to people, they'll be kind in return. 

Our team meeting confirmed somewhat what we had all become accustomed to: everything here takes time. Ron stressed patience, telling me that it might be wise to do some internet research and attempt to make contacts using my computer while I was waiting for things to come through with the contacts we're trying to establish here. He says that the first time is always the hardest for this stuff. 

The rain came mid-day and Ron and Denise took advantage of a break in the weather to boda back to CTC. Laura and I are supposed to be catching up on some research, which I will do as soon as I'm done here, and so we're enjoying the internet and some down time. 

Although, mostly I'm just trying to pull myself together. 

It's just difficult not to fall into the cycle of frustration that comes with feeling unproductive. My time here is so limited and my needs are so great that I occasionally worry that all of this effort will be for nothing and I'll leave here with a good experience but no hard data. Before I left the states it was impressed upon me by members of my department that time is of the essence...I'm starting this journey so late in comparison to everyone else and I have a lot to catch up for. I wish I had known about all of these things when I was younger, but my undergraduate institution didn't exactly push this stuff. I didn't know to look for it, so I didn't know it was there. 

I guess that my advice for any younger readers who have a passion for Africa is that they get on the ground as soon as possible. Even if its just a mission-trip, habitat for humanity trip, or international study experience, the time to be coming is during undergraduate (age 18-22). Don't wait for that first time and don't be afraid. Get your passport, get plugged into the international community early and then keep up those connections. Having to do all of this all at once is killing me, and putting a lot of undue stress on this trip. 

In the end, it's probably best that today has been kind of low-key. I've walked several miles a day for the past week and I've traveled from the States to Europe to Kampala to Gulu running on adrenaline nearly the entire time. That may be some amount of the down I'm in right now...just finally taking a breather. Even while doing exciting things in Uganda one sometimes just needs to recharge. 

My Acholi history teacher moved our meeting to 10 Am on Tuesday. So right now tomorrow will hold a trip to the Catechist Training Center and Tuesday has an interview. What comes after that? Who knows. If there's one thing my time here has already taught me, it's that NOTHING is predictable about research in Uganda. 

Just keep smiling!

"I bless the rains down in Africa, its gonna take some time to do the things we never have..."

Not much to write today and a low battery to boot. Last night Ron finally made it up to Gulu (yay!). Today we're headed to the Catechist Training Center by boda-boda to meet with Father Joe and enjoy lunch. I'll have more to say about this tomorrow. I'm going to be attending church up there starting next week, probably, and that will also be something worth blogging.

Much love!

PS...It might rain today. It's been rather gross around here lately, so that would be a very good thing!

Sometimes You Just Get Lucky -or- Making Friends in Gulu

Denise and I Lunching Enjoying Some Much Needed Shade

Ico Maber! (How are you doing this morning?)

Yesterday was another big day. At around 10 o'clock in the morning Denise met Laura and I over at Acholi Ber (pronounced Acholi Bay), which is my hotel. When I checked in, all that had been available was a room with a double bed on the top floor. Generally, a single person sleeping in this room is charged about $5.00 USD more per night (10,000 shillings) than a single person in a single room. That's not a huge jump, but a bit out of my price range since I'm here on a grant and trying to keep costs low. I had agreed that I'd move to a single room when one became available. So, in the morning, we all met at the hotel and spoke to Mark at the front desk. He told me that if I liked the room he would let me stay there for the same price for the time being, and I would only have to move if they ended up needing the room for a double occupancy. For the time being, I maintain residence where I began.

Another day of walking, this time trying to get a feel for what Gulu has to offer. Being in the marketplace in Gulu is a little like being at a giant out-door swap meet. On every corner there are about ten boda boys who are hoping you'll use their bike to get around, but we tend to "foot it" (walk) everywhere. Our first stop was into a shop that sold various soap and other such items to buy some Nomi (laundry soap). This will come in handy when we have to wash our clothes in a few days. Then we wandered over to an Indian store where everything was more expensive, but the quantity of items available is greater. For example, we paid 1,800 shillings ($.90) for Nomi at the first store, but they were charging 3,500 shillings ($1.75) for an equivalent  item. We saw the Marie biscuits (shortbread crackers from Kenya) that I've become so fond of (they are so tasty!) but I decided against the purchase for the moment. Maybe next week. We ended up at a bakery up the road buying donut like sweetbread for breakfasts.

All the way through the streets we were passing people who were greeting us, some in English, and some in Acholi. Denise tried to teach us some helpful phrases for getting around "Ico Maber" was one. One man that we passed asked us where we were from and what we were doing. He said that he had been a history teacher for many years and that when he saw western students he "gets fascinated" by them. Sometimes he teaches international students about the history of Uganda. When he found out that I was a historian, he offered to sit down with me at some point soon to discuss the last fifty years of Ugandan history which he is "well acquainted with." I am excited to have finally begun to make contacts. We exchanged info and agreed to "link up" soon. I'll probably call him today and see what he's up to.

At one of the stores, Laura bought a stringed instrument for her brother that kind of looks like a harp-guitar. It became an immediate conversation starter as we wandered past some boda boys and one of them said, "I'd like to try that one." At first we weren't sure what he meant, until we turned around and realized he was talking about the instrument.

Boda Driver Explaining the Dun to Laura

"You know what this is?" he asked. "In our language, this is a Dun. You know how to play?"

"No." Laura said, surrendering the instrument to our new friends and watching him strum its strings.

"I can play it, but this one is not ready yet." he said.

We thanked them and walked on. We ran into more teens on every corner we stopped at. Then, as we crossed the street headed for the RLP to drop Laura's things off we encountered another group of boda drivers who were curious about the instrument. This time, one of them began to tune it as he showed us how to play. Apparently, the index finger pulls a string up as the thumb pushes a string down. It makes the most beautiful music, but it isn't as easy as it looks!

Continuing down the road we met a woman in a beautiful dress who asked us a question we didn't understand. Then she took the Dun and began to strum it at she hummed a tune and danced a little. "OH! Maracas!" I said. "She wants to know where our maracas are!"

The woman smiled and nodded. "Is like this, Amen?"

"Amen!" I said in return, and on we went.

"I'm going to bring this thing with me EVERYWHERE." Laura said. It definitely made it easy to make friends.

After dropping Laura's things we decided to lunch at a cafe up the road. It had a number of comfortable patio chairs and a wonderful shaded area, which was welcome after several hours of footing it in the hot sun. We had coke, water, and chipotis (like thick crepes) for 3000 shillings ($1.50 USD) each while enjoying a nice conversation and some shade. There was an Armenian man sitting in the area behind us who had a delicious looking pizza that all three of us were eyeing jealously.

"It's very good!" he said, when he noticed us, "But there are better places to get pizza around here." We chatted pizza with him for a moment and then continued our chat about NGOs, Ugandan politics, and some lizards that had been fighting near us. It wasn't until we were leaving that we saw the man pull around in a United Nations SUV. "Would you like a ride?" he asked.

We told him we were only going a little ways up the road, but he insisted it was on his way, so we hopped in. As he drove, we traded basic info --how long we'd all been in country, what we were doing, etc. We weren't sure if he said he was the program director for the Acholi region or if he said he was in charge of children's affairs, but either way, he was a good man to run into. I gave him my business card (with my African number scrawled across the back) and he said that he'd be in touch on Monday regarding "main actors". He also planned to get back to Laura with some information on the cleansing ceremony that she is researching. It could be a good thing. Either way, it doesn't hurt to be friendly with the other people working in the region.

The rest of the night occurred much like the day before -- dinner at the cafe near my hotel and then in by dark. We're on strict orders to only travel between sun up and sun down, which we have no problem complying with since by sundown we're pretty much wiped anyway, after long days of meeting people and walking.

Last night I also experienced my first shower in Gulu, which I had promised to blog about. This is what it looks like:

Shower in My Room at Acholi Ber

There is no hole in the floor for water, so one must balance inside the tub on the floor. This also means that showers are limited to the amount of water that this tub can hold. It takes about two minutes for the warm water to find my pipe, and after it does the water is scalding hot. All of this is a huge luxury here, since just outside the people of the compound next door are dragging water in yellow jugs from the well. The shower experience isn't so bad -- and I actually do feel clean (although not for long) when I'm done. 

We thought it might rain last night, but no such luck. It did cool off quite a bit towards the evening, which is good. My sun allergy finally found me (despite triple slathering SPF 50 all over myself) and I was a bit ill yesterday. I need to watch it. I do no good to my research if I have to spend my day in the hotel. I just wish that the rainy part of rainy season would get here soon.

I'm doing really well all-in-all, though--very much appreciate the prayers, happy thoughts, and good comments! Sorry these are so long -- there's just so much to say! Anyway, off to get in contact with my Acholi teacher. Until next time!

"Mzungu! You Want Buy?" -or- Bussing to Gulu

Baboon on the road to Gulu

Good morning all, and welcome to Gulu, Uganda. Yesterday's post bus ride was an all day adventure in and of itself. We had to be up very early to make it to the post office on time. The bus was practically empty, maybe a dozen people or so. Denise says this is unusual--that normally the bus is incredibly full. A bit of dramamine, a quick swig of water, and we were off. 

Before we could be on the open road we had to pass through the rest of Kampala district that we hadn't seen yet. Suddenly we went from being in the city, where there were buildings and facilities everywhere, to being in slum districts. There were children carrying water in yellow water jugs on their heads from the wells, and the houses became these little shanties that housed many people with poor facilities. One thing didn't change though. In the middle of these slums you would find monumental buildings that would have huge signs "The Lord's Church" and such. I was disgusted. I know that those buildings were built with mission funds to Africa, but perhaps instead of building these mega-churches, maybe the international Christian community could be assisting the people of these neighborhoods. Don't get me wrong, I like a church as much as the next person -- but few things seemed more out of place than a mega-church in a slum district.

The bus then barreled out onto the main road. Occasionally, we'd pick up speed and be going between 60 and 70 mph, at least. But most of the time we were slowing down for mail drops or for bumps. See, in Uganda, when they're fixing a road, they create these massive speed bumps out of dirt. In some places we'd go over 25 of these speed bumps at a time, which gets to be quite the up-down-up-down experience. 

We stopped about half way to use bathrooms. Laura and I jumped from the bus and headed down the hill, assuming we'd have to go in the bush. Turned out that they had stands "women only" and "men only" where one could go in. I walked into the stall and was greeted with my first hole-in-the-ground bathroom experience. I know, you're all jealous. Heading back to the bus, we were stopped on the hill by a young man who was trying to charge us 100 shillings (about 5 cents) each for passage back to the bus. Unfortunately, we didn't have it on us, but thankfully he let us pass anyway. As we headed up the hill we were also surrounded by street vendors, "Mzungu! You want water!" "Mzungu! You want animal!" "Mzungu! You want chipote!" We made our way through this crowd, to the bus. 

I have gotten very tired of being called Mzungu. Probably because to me it is the same as equating me with my wallet. When they call me that, they mean they want me to buy something, and sometimes they assume that I don't know any better than to pay what they demand. The other thing is that I really didn't notice any difference between myself and the people around me until we got on the bus for Gulu...and I began to receive strange looks. And then I realized we were the only three white people on the bus. And I began to realize that I stuck out like a sore thumb...worse--I don't know Luo, so when I got to Gulu I was forced to use English. It  makes it impossible to blend in. 

At one of the stops, a woman with a baby got on the bus. As she made her way to the back, the driver and the conductor began to discuss her. The conductor said that she was taking her baby to the Catholic hospital in Gulu because it was very sick with malaria. The driver asked if the baby was still alive. The conductor said it was. I found out that malaria is considered to be one of the leading causes of Uganda's poverty rate with 1.2 billion shillings (about $600,000 USD) per year being spent on treatment of the disease. This is equivalent to what Uganda spends each year on its education budget. 

Further down the road there were more stops, and at each one there were people trying to sell us peanuts, chipotes (pronounced chip-ought-eeez), meat on sticks, water, live chickens, and dead fish. There were children at each of these stops with the bloated bellies of hunger, and most of the girls of ages nine and up were carrying babies strapped to their backs in slings. We also saw baboons (like the one in the picture above) as they hang out by the waterfalls that we passed (which I unsuccessfully attempted to photograph). 

There were three overturned tractor-trailers on our journey (not at once). The roads are very narrow, and to pass, the driver has to drive into oncoming traffic or onto the steep shoulder. Sometimes, drivers who aren't careful flip their vehicles this way, causing traffic snarls. About 30 miles from Gulu we swerved to miss an oncoming bus and suddenly our bus began to make this awful high pitched whining noise. The driver had to

 stop and mess with the engine for a bit, and then we were on our way again. All of these things added up to us being about an hour late in arriving in Gulu. We had been on the bus about 6 hours total.

Once we did arrive, we had to walk about a half mile over a muddy, mucky road to get to my hotel. My bag was rather heavy, and this slowed us down considerably, but I know now to pack lighter. The hotel I'm staying at is the Acholi Ber (pronounced Bay). The rooms are incredibly nice, although there is no elevator, so for the first night I had to climb five flights of stairs to get to my bed. I had a gorgeous balcony overlooking Gulu's market as well as a community of huts and a field where the children play football (soccer). 

Community of traditional huts in Gulu

My hotel costs about 25000 shillings a night, which is $12.50 USD. It seems like a bargain for me, but that rate equals about one week's pay for the average person in Gulu. This is why the room seems five-star in comparison to the surrounding area. I almost feel guilty staying there, but I know that it is good for the community to have a hotel that thrives on western money. It is also extremely safe and comes with my own toilet and hot running water in the bathroom. (I'll have to discuss the showers in a later blog). 

I'm right around the corner from the Refugee Law Project, which is where Laura is staying, and so I get to come by their compound to borrow internet in the mornings sometimes. There is no internet at Acholi Ber, so I may not be as consistent as I've been to this point, but I'll try. The RLP is a compound among compounds. Behind a brick wall with barbed wire and a huge gate with a guard, there is a manicured lawn with chickens, and a beautiful little house that has a large common area and several smaller rooms that are protected behind locked doors. 

Well, the day needs to start, so I need to end this blog post. I'll try to get back on in the next day or so and keep everyone posted. Best!

Gulu or Bust!

Good morning all!!

I'm writing this with what internet connection I have left (we were down all of yesterday after the power outage. I got a lot of Sudoku puzzles done in the absence of blogging...) but I wanted to give a real quick update.

We are taking the Postal Bus to Gulu today. This is five hours over bumpy roads (hello Dramamine!) and then to my new digs at Acholi Bay. I'll try to post when I get there.

Until then!

Don't Mess with the Man in the Beret --or-- How I Almost Got Arrested on my 2nd Day in Kampala

My room at La Fontaine. The mosquito net gets untied and pulled over the bed at night.

Hello all! 

I'm currently sitting on the veranda at La Fontaine with Laura (another of my team members) and our housemate Casey (who is working on her dissertation with the Refugee Law Project in Kampala) soaking up the afternoon. We had another extremely busy day of walking and exploration and our legs are now jello beneath us. The chairs on the veranda were most welcome upon our return. 

This morning began with the rooster crow at about 6:30 AM. The hustle and bustle of Kampala in the morning quickly followed our feathered alarm clock. Outside, a woman swept the street with brush brooms as the boda-bodas (motorcyle taxis, so named because young men on bicycles used to take travelers on their bikes from border check point to border check point for a nominal fee) went speeding by. I opened my eyes and pushed away the mosquito net to get ready for the day. The first night I was here, the mosquito net ended up tangled around my body by the time I woke up. Thankfully, between my boyfriend's helpful trans-Atlantic advice by phone and the guidance of another of our housemates (Dave, who is working with one of the land-rights NGOs in Kampala) I figured out that tucking the net under the mattress alleviates this problem. 

Yesterday, Ron and Denise came to pick Laura and I up from La Fontaine (they're staying at the Makere university), since we had no idea what we were doing. Today, Laura and I had cell phones and maps as well as a quickly gained knowledge of the basic surrounding area, so we decided that rather than having Ron and Denise pick us up, we'd just meet them at Java (an ex-pat favorite with really tasty pancakes and INCREDIBLE fruit juice). Walking up the streets of Kampala is a quick lesson in social skills. Even someone like me, who has no idea how to talk to people, can find themselves quickly immersed in conversation and morning greetings. The boda-boda drivers offer, we say "no thank you" (it just isn't safe to take a boda-boda in busy Kampala traffic), the private hires (personal taxi--akin to American taxi) offer, and we say "no thank you" (entirely too expensive for everyday travel), and find our way to the taxi station. 

The Kampala taxi is actually a fifteen passenger bus. The driver stops and the conductor (who sits by the door) motions you into the vehicle. Etiquette requires that the seats from front to back must fill up before the pull down side seats can be used (a faux pas is to take a pull down seat before the back bench is full. We did that today. Woops.). The price for the ride to just about anywhere is 500 shillings during the off-peak time and 700 shillings during peak time. This is really a good deal -- as 500 shillings is about $.25 USD. A private hire can run 5-10,000 shillings (about $2.50-$5.00 USD). I'm not sure yet what a boda costs. 

We made it to Java and after crossing the street (a situation that resembles the higher levels of Frogger) we joined Ron and Denise for breakfast. My total meal cost (three large pancakes and a large glass of fresh juice) came to 12,000 shillings ($6.00 USD). This is much more than we anticipate spending for food the rest of the time we're here...but ex-pat places tend to be pretty expensive. The place was attached to a petrol station, so the entire experience felt very Western. 

Ron said his goodbyes (he was meeting someone for lunch), so Denise, Laura, and I started walking towards the city center. We needed to buy converter plugs, exchange money (found a place that gave us 2160 shillings to the dollar. This is the best rate we've found yet!), and put minutes on our phones. After our errands were done, we dropped Denise off at the Statistics Bureau (she had some research she was picking up for a friend of hers) and began to wander towards the Parliament building. I wanted very much to get pictures of the place --it's a beautiful building! 

Once in a while we'd run into young men sitting on the streets with palsied hands and shrunken legs. Denise is pretty sure that these guys had been infected with polio at some point. We try to keep some hundred shilling coins handy to give them as we go by. As we were walking, we also ran into a vendor who was selling hand-made greeting cards. His name was Andrew, we found out, and he was from Rwanda. I desperately wanted to ask him if he was Hutu or Tutsi, but I've found out that this is not the kind of question for random street corner conversation. It's hard sometimes not to stick out as a very obviously American (ie, not very knowledgeable) woman.

The air in Kampala is very bad. I'm extremely glad that we're going up to Gulu the day after tomorrow, where the air is cleaner and easier to breathe. Walking through the streets of the capitol city means inhaling junk of all kinds. Laura's allergies have been going crazy, and my asthma has been completely unimpressed with the walking. 

Several miles of random streets and boda offers later, Laura and I managed to find the National Theatre, which has a massive craft market with forty stalls. The vendors sell an amazing variety of hand carved items, hand made baskets, and clothes that they make by hand (as well as some that they bring in--like the t-shirt below). 

. 

Craft Stall at National Theatre (Market)

The T-Shirt says "Mzungu" ("Foreigner")

After an hour of haggling at the National Theatre, Laura and I found our way to Parliament. We were just about to take out our cameras and take a picture when a man who had crossed the street with us said quietly, "You will be arrested."

The cameras went back into our bags, "Why?" We asked.

"Because the guards here, if you take pictures of the building, and they think you are taking pictures of them, they can come over and you will have to give up your camera. Maybe even go to jail." He said, as he kept walking.

We thanked him for this useful piece of advice...remembering, for the fiftieth time today, that we're not exactly in Kansas anymore. You can blame the guys in the berets with the AK-47s for the lack of pictures of the beautiful Parliament building.

As we made our way back towards home, it began to rain (it is rainy season after all). It had been so muggy, though, that the rain actually felt really good. It was just about ten minutes of a light sprinkle, and we wandered up the streets with our umbrellas out enjoying the sound, smell and feel. Finally, we caught a private hire home (we were entirely too exhausted to attempt to locate a taxi station) and after stopping into the corner market for some bread, cheese, and water for dinner, we headed home. We had been walking for about six hours.

Jacob, the man who runs La Fontaine, introduced us then to Casey, who is our newest house mate. Now that we've all gotten our internet fix for the day we're going to take her to the corner market for some basic essentials (its her first day in country) and then head back to have some dinner, read a little bit, and go to bed.

We're headed to Gulu day-after-tomorrow by postal bus (run by the postal service). Ron has to stay in Kampala because our other group members were delayed due to airport shutdowns, but Denise is going to get us settled into our new location. I will try to get into contact again at that point.

Until then!

Morning in Kampala

Good morning all --

I'm sitting on the veranda of the La Fontaine restaurant/lodging area and enjoying the view of Kampala in the morning. I don't have much battery left (almost none) and I need to buy a converter yet, so my days of long winded blog entries are yet to come. Still -- I wanted everyone who was following to know that we made it safe to Entebbe, survived the crazy traffic between Entebbe and Kampala, and have made it through our first day in the city alive and well.

I have to keep reminding myself that Kampala (in the south) does not look impacted by war because it has been nearly twenty years since the war was in the south. The only remnants of the conflict in this hustle and bustle is the occasional street beggar who, lacking legs, occupies the corner with a hand out for shillings. In fact, were it not for the guards at certain places (the mall, the Parliament building) with AK-47s on their hips, I'd say that this place could be any place in the world.

Anyway, battery is definitely dying and I want to get this posted before it goes. Talk to you all tonight, perhaps, after I've found a converter and plugged this poor thing in!

Good Morning from Amsterdam!

                                                                  Schiphol Airport Kiosk

Good morning all from the land of tulips and wooden shoes (Amsterdam, Netherlands)! I'm here, I'm safe, and I'm on a limited battery supply. I haven't yet figured out how to go about making an international call....and wasn't expecting this website to come up in Dutch (THAT was fun) so I probably won't be emailing many of you personally or calling anyone until I get to Entebbe.

For the record: international flights rock. Two meals -- full meals -- and a chance to watch a bunch of movies or play video games for free. Granted...I slept nearly the entire flight, but that's not the point. It was there if I wanted it. We flew in over fields and fields of yellow tulips. It was both incredible and somehow totally normal...It was like flying in over somewhere in the midwest.

I've got two hours to find my team and my gate before we take another 7 hour journey across sea and sand to get to our final resting point. Until then, bye for now!

Up in the Air -or- International Travel For Newbies

I'm writing today from the Detroit International Airport, where I have about three hours before my flight to Amsterdam boards. This morning started entirely too early, and I'm already dragging ... not sure how I'm going to feel in 20 hours when this trip is over with.

Peter dropped me off at the airport before he went to drill and before the sun came up. I'm still getting used to flying out of the tiny Columbia airport. When I lived in Vegas, the McCarren Airport was so touchy! If you flew out of D Gate during the busy hours, you needed to make sure that you'd given yourself about three hours in advance of the flight to get through the security an across the terminal in time. At the Columbia airport you get through baggage check, security, and terminal check-in in about half an hour. That left me a little over two hours to watch the sun come up over the trees.

There was a woman behind me coughing as though she was about to die. Another woman came and sat next to her and said, "I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who will be hacking on the flight today." They laughed. I suddenly had the urge to run. I have an immune system that rivals a six-month old in terms of being able to fight off infection and the last thing I cared to have before I left the USA was some patriotic influenza. I felt it might be in bad form to hand these women surgical masks, and instead got up quickly to leave.

This would be when my backpack decided it no longer wanted to be a backpack and attempted instead to become a bucket (the zippers broke). I suppose that if it was going to happen, it was better in Columbia than in Entebbe. I was fortunate that the gift shop in the airport had big carry-on style shoulder bags. It was roomier than my backpack and didn't cost an arm and a leg.

As I transferred my belongings to the new bag (reminding myself, "passport, wallet, laptop, power cord, mouse, inhaler, voice recorder, chocolate") I had the weirdest feeling that I was forgetting something. I thought I triple checked the bag and all fifteen hundred obligatory pockets...but not close enough. I was sitting on the plane as it taxi'd away from the gate when I realized that I had forgotten to secure my Mp3 charger.

sigh.

It's been that kind of a morning.

I gave up my seat to a family that had small children and needed to sit together; again a fortuitous event since I ended up in a window seat on a single seated row (little plane, one seat in right row, two seats in the left). I was saved from claustrophobia, amongst other things, today.

The Detroit International Airport is nice. The underground tunnel has a gorgeous wall paneling that lights up and plays soft, ethereal music. It reminded me of those baby toys that attach to a kid's crib and play music with plastic sea creatures and little air bubbles. My theory is that a bigger version of said toy might have the same calming effect on the people running at a break-neck sprint across the airport. Who knows.

Given that this is my first international flight, I'm obviously fighting the normal nerves and jitters of a first time traveler. I'm finally getting excited though. I love to fly. I don't like the stress involved in airports, but I love being in the air. There's so much potential in travel. Potential to be introduced to new things, to be re-acquainted with old things, and to see things that defy photography. I may be doing it with a body that is wracked with fear shakes, but I am absolutely taking this journey. Talk adrenaline rush!

Well...that's it for right now. Until next time!

Final Countdown (Uganda in T-1 Day)

Good morning all!

For the record: I'm no better at packing for overseas trips than I am at packing for domestic flights. My suitcases are somewhat packed and lying on the floor in the middle of the kitchen -- the best of intentions put them there, I promise. I've been trying to do the laundry for three days but something always comes up and I end up forgetting  to finish it.

I've started taking Doxy (generic for...I'm not sure. It's my anti-malaria medication, taken once a day and for four weeks when I get home). No crazy side-effects so far. The medicine was so cheap, they might as well be paying ME to take it, and I'm glad of that because everything else about this trip has been expensive.

Peter made me round up all of my inhalers yesterday. I had an asthma attack while we were at dinner and didn't have one on me. Stupid, I know, but I haven't had an attack in six months and I guess I'd gotten cocky about it. Don't worry folks -- the inhalers (all three of them) are safely packed in my purse and I've got backups in each of my bags.

 We're having gorgeous weather in SC right now -- seems a pity that I'm leaving this to go to rainy season Uganda. On the plus side, it is mango season there right now. I've been told that nothing beats the taste of a mango straight from the tree. I look forward to testing this theory upon my arrival.

Anyway, I really should get moving. Today is going to be a hectic mess of running last minute errands, making last minute phone calls, and packing my bags (probably up to the minute before I fall asleep). I'm on a plane tomorrow morning at 9:30 AM. Will keep everyone posted!

PS--Once I get my int'l cell phone, I'll be able to send the number out via email. Just remember that Uganda is 10 hours ahead of the West Coast, and 7 hours ahead of the East Coast.

Welcome! Uganda in T - 7 Days

Welcome to my blog! Many of you have asked me to keep you posted on my goings-on while I'm abroad. I thought that instead of trying to write everyone an individual email, I'd do my best with my limited internet access to update this blog on a semi-regular basis instead. I assume that many of you are aware of where I'm going and what I'm doing, but for those who aren't let me give the Reader's Digest version:

I just completed my first year at the University of South Carolina where I'm working towards my PhD in history. My dissertation topic (at the moment) looks like it is going to focus heavily on the uses of women and children in the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA), which is a rebel group that had been active in Northern Uganda for about twenty years (1986-2006). I'm actually looking to challenge some of the international stereotypes of women and children in warfare, but first I need to see for myself what life is like in Northern Uganda.

This trip is just a short (6 week) foundational trip which will help me establish contacts in the region, hopefully collect some oral histories, and begin work learning Acholi-Luo (local language). We'll see after this trip whether this will be a major focus of my work (and thus necessitate several longer trips to the area) or if my research goes a different direction. I'll be staying for most of my trip in Gulu, which is the second largest city in Uganda (I believe Kampala comes first). I'll have a cell phone and periodic internet access -- even in the middle of Africa I'll be able to stay in touch.

Prior to my trip I was vaccinated for yellow fever, hepatitis A, and typhoid. I'll also be taking a daily anti-malaria medication. All of this will help me avoid mosquito borne or food-borne illnesses.

Currently, the LRA is concentrated in Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and Sudan. The area I'm going to has been relatively quiet for the last couple of years, and I've been told it may actually be one of the most stable places in Africa right now to be doing this research.

Concerns at the moment: The Icelandic volcano (Mt. Whateveritsnameis) is spewing ash again this week. I'm hoping it doesn't cause me to miss my flight into Amsterdam, as that is where my research team is meeting.

Other than that, I'm just packing and prepping. Thanks for dropping by -- I'll try to keep this thing updated.