I trust you’re all as resolution-free as me. Since my 2010 paraded me around with a dogged resolve that more than compensates for two years, I think I’m square in 2011. And to justify, allow me to recapitulate: I packed up and moved to Uganda with two bags of shit and an idealistic determination; spent two months becoming intimately aware of all of my bodily functions during training; packed up and moved for a second time to a NGO in the central, Buganda, region to work with dairy farmers; hit a number of snafus that prompted me to pack up and hit the open road within two weeks, branding me a vagabond for three months, after which I moved for a third time, with no less than a sense of urgent desperation, to my second site to teach computers in St. Thomas Vocational Secondary School; lived, actually lived, happy-as-a-clam, for a handful of months before being stabbed with a few more gut-punches that effectively nullified my contentment and necessitated a relocation; packed up for a fourth (fifth? I’ve lost count…) time before taking off for a little TLC in A Nice Place to Live (that would be Darien, IL, for all of those unfamiliar with its exceptional mantra), with the knowledge that I would be calling a new place home upon my return to Uganda. And that is where I sit presently: in my small, two-room crackerjack box with shoddy wall circuits, outdoor kitchen, take-your-breath-away-cold shower, pit latrine john, and bedbugs. But I love it! The privacy, sense of ownership, independence, solitude, quietude, or whatever else you want to call it, placates my single most important ability: I can eat whatever the F I want. But allow me to fill you in on a few events that have brought me to noshing on a carrot with peanut butter for lunch and cauliflower coconut curry on brown rice for dinner on my floor with Arwen.
Beginning of December. The school year ends and I head to Kampala with Sanyu (yes, still my absolute best friend in the village) as co-counselors for 150 Ugandan girls aged 12-16 during a week of empowerment, knowledge, and fun befitting your stereotypical American summer camp. Peace Corps has called it Camp GLOW: Girls Leading Our World. The girls, the majority of whom had never set foot outside of their villages, had a ball. They learned the ways of the capital and made friends from different tribes all over the country. They listened to female guest speakers who have “made it” and planned for their own future. They danced and played sports; learned about health and HIV/AIDS. I got the flu.
Three hours before my flight home. I was still on a bus coming from Mbale, a city 5 hours East of Kampala. I’d been in Uganda too long; my priorities and time-sensitivity were all out of whack. I opted to head East with one day remaining in the countdown, to keep myself from toe-tapping anxiousness and to catch the bi-annual male circumcision ceremonies (aged-16, no anesthesia, dull blade, drums, booze and costumes). I opted to wait it out when the ceremonies began at noon instead of 10am. And I opted to wait for the Elgon Flyer bus I had already bought a ticket for when it got a flat tire minutes before departure, pushing that back from 2pm to 4pm. I did not opt to sit in traffic heading into Kampala. I did not opt to sit in traffic on my way from the hotel (and a face-scratchingly panicked shower) to the airport. I did not opt to leave half of my Christmas presents at a volunteer’s site en route to the airport, poorly assuming that I’d have time to snag them on the way. I did not opt to drop my money belt with passport, credit card and cash in the airport waiting room, as I, blissfully-unaware, fiddled with the gadgetry of an international flight jumbo jet. But thanks St. Christopher medallion at the bottom of my purse: my idiocy was overlooked, my life (seriously I would have been identity-less in Istanbul without that crap) was relocated and my flight only left an hour late. Dear Mom tracking it online at home: that was because of your daughter.
Beginning of January. Home’d been great. A vacation. Eden. Idyllic. But you all know that, you live in The States, dammit. So why was I leaving? Family, friends, a pretty rad boyfriend, soy milk, yogurt and salmon, a hot shower, potable tap water, daily runs, McDonald’s hot fudge sundaes, yoga classes, you get the gist. What was making me go back to a place with daily struggles, twelve-hour bus rides without a bathroom stop, and cockroaches? And then I got off the plane at 2:30am, sans hotel room booking and thus the prospect of sleeping on an airport bench until dawn, only to find Arwen and Elizabeth jumping up and down, waving frantically at me through some glass doors. That’s why I came back to Uganda. And after an enjoyable yet sleepless and abbreviated stay with the girls, I was back on the bus to Bururuma, contemplating my judgment in returning to the place I’d struggled in for the past 2 months, only to find a village that came out in swarms to welcome me back and an extended family (that would be Sanyu, Brenda, Kakulu Mukulu, Fred, Muhumuza, Robert, Ronald, Devis, Kakulu Muto, Somiya, and Renette; seriously, there are a lot of them) who tried every day to call my U.S. phone number without success because they missed me. They’re why I came back to Bururuma.
Today. I’m comfortably settled in a new house. I get my fill of the village life as I wile away the time at no more than a saunter, waiting until next week when I play the tourist in Egypt before returning to the beginning of a new school year and the prospect of 150 of my favorite students back on campus! Peace Corps 2011, you are most welcome!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Saturday, October 9, 2010
For Jacob, Wherever I May Find Him
Exactly as the title indicates (and as Simon and Garfunkel penned): Jacob Babu, thank you for being ever there when I need you.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Recent poll: If a worm crawled out of your guava, would you still eat it? Yes.
“Assist me to become upright,” Clovis said, gesturing with open palms as if seeking help.
“I’d like to assist half the country with that one, dude...”
“No, help me to stand up.”
“Oh. Yeah... No problem.” I pull her up. Guess that can serve as my Peace Corps Duty of the Day instead?
So being south of the equator and whatnot, it’s technically Spring here. But damn, winter might as well be approaching: the rains have come, and when it rains, people hibernate. True, the maxim “when it rains, it pours” garners its literal meaning here and tin roofs and a lack of windows fall so far short of the mark in providing a conducive learning environment in schools. Okay, yeah, the rains are making my summer squash, beets and basil sprout faster than I can clear away new transplanting land. But I don’t care! To me, this meteorological alteration signifies three things: unreliable power, the disruption of playing outside all day, and boredom, eliminating any excuse I’ve had for dogging it on the blog front. The more lengthy the span between posts, the easier I find it to offer up picking mud out from underneath my fingernails as a legitimate excuse for not blogging. It would help if I took pictures…
Okay. In the two months since my last blog, I’ve been mentally torn (not to mention physically; a big “Thank you!” to Peter for steering our bicycle into that barbed wire fence): is everything different or has nothing changed? As far as adjustments I’ve made in this country go, the ones I’ve had a go at in the past 2 months have been insignificant, inconsequential, negligible. I haven’t been forced to learn a new culture, move 8 hours away, nor lived out of a backpack for longer than a week. Congratulate me. I’m feeling pretty good about this accomplishment. I’m still teaching computers to 110 13-16-year-olds. I’m still failing at learning Runyankore. I’m still loving the pace of life in the village. My head is still reeling at the possibilities for this place that stare unblinking at me through the infallible sunshine. So nothing has changed changed; unless it’s me?
There are some obvious things that have affected me. Like people. Yeah, be careful, they’ll do that to ya if you’re not obstinate. Constant vigilance, Mad-Eye, constant vigilance… But in all seriousness, I’ve had a few people really change my outlook on Uganda. I used to think that the cultural differences were too disparate, the education level gap too vast for meaningful communication, until Peter and Sanyu. Peter, a Peace Corps Volunteer from Chicago (might as well be from Timbuktu: he’s a Cub’s fan), just finished his 2 years and is extending for a third year in Botswana. He and I became fast friends over a decades-old cross-town rivalry and a knack for sarcasm. It could have also been the Hare Krishna service we strolled into one lazy Sunday in Kampala that inexplicably bonded us, religion has that power I suppose (a free lunch is always delicious, even if they were fasting from beans and grains…). But really I think I just admired his non-condescension when interacting with Ugandans. It was really refreshing and it opened my eyes to a population that enjoyed wit, toyed with the English language, and could dish out sass as easily as the best (best?) spoiled brats from suburbia. A certain lightness has to be what kept him sane during his service.
But alas, Peter is out like the Cubs and the playoffs and Sanyu is in like a new Blackhawk’s lineup. Who’s Sanyu, you say? My neighbor/school secretary/Fr. Charles’ niece/my best friend. The villagers know us to be inseperable; can I even by a tomato without Sanyu accompanying me? Nope. Why would I want to? This girl, aged 23, gets me, gets me like I’d presumed only another American could. When she’s around (which is thankfully every day, all day), I’m reminded of how generous, how understanding, how amusing Ugandans can be. I buy us a jackfruit to eat until our stomachs scream in protest and she pays be back half the next day. I help her plant beans in her garden (not even kidding, this is how it’s done: shove a handful into your mouth, store them like a chipmunk, take a swipe at the ground with a hoe, spit a seed into the hole, move on and repeat) and she’s out the next week helping me clear the knee-high weeds from mine. It seems I forget about my garden’s existence easily… I want to turn my courtyard into a dance floor and she shows up with tunes. I want to play football, jump rope, do cartwheels and handstands, learn netball, run sprints across the field, dodging grazing goats and cows all the while, and she’s right there next to me. I could go on all day, but what you need to take away from my diatribe is this: Sanyu makes me view my time in the village as so much more than “two years of service”. Her only downfall is a relentless consumption of my gum, so thanks for the dozens of packs you all have sent her way!
Right, so people have changed me. But so has the universal Ugandan contentment. Sure, sometimes it manifests itself in an lack of concern for work, children, eating, bathing, or more generally, living. But it can also surface as a “happy here in the now” attitude. Some of the best shit comes from the times you decide to cede and acquiesce to let the wind take you where it will. The power goes out before a computer lesson and instead of holing up in my room, reading a book, I play a trivia game with the kiddos. Questions I’ve received: can you kill us because all Americans know karate? Do Americans need oxygen to survive? Are Americans immortal? Is your skin 100 times softer than ours? Pretty confident those ones’ll stick with me for a while.
General contentment comes with removing stressors as well. What does that mean for me? No marathon training! And safaris! Why take 10 hours out of your week submitting yourself to harassment and hills when you can be playing football with kids? Why put in extra hours working, the only one to do so, when you can get up close and personal with elephants and lions on safari in Queen Elizabeth National Park? Exactly. Exactly…
But don’t get me wrong, I am working! As proof, I’ll leave ya’ll with a little doozy from one of my girl students that left me staggering during my reproductive health and sex ed. lesson: “can you lose your virginity by riding a bike or climbing a tree?” Ha. Ha. Help me.
“I’d like to assist half the country with that one, dude...”
“No, help me to stand up.”
“Oh. Yeah... No problem.” I pull her up. Guess that can serve as my Peace Corps Duty of the Day instead?
So being south of the equator and whatnot, it’s technically Spring here. But damn, winter might as well be approaching: the rains have come, and when it rains, people hibernate. True, the maxim “when it rains, it pours” garners its literal meaning here and tin roofs and a lack of windows fall so far short of the mark in providing a conducive learning environment in schools. Okay, yeah, the rains are making my summer squash, beets and basil sprout faster than I can clear away new transplanting land. But I don’t care! To me, this meteorological alteration signifies three things: unreliable power, the disruption of playing outside all day, and boredom, eliminating any excuse I’ve had for dogging it on the blog front. The more lengthy the span between posts, the easier I find it to offer up picking mud out from underneath my fingernails as a legitimate excuse for not blogging. It would help if I took pictures…
Okay. In the two months since my last blog, I’ve been mentally torn (not to mention physically; a big “Thank you!” to Peter for steering our bicycle into that barbed wire fence): is everything different or has nothing changed? As far as adjustments I’ve made in this country go, the ones I’ve had a go at in the past 2 months have been insignificant, inconsequential, negligible. I haven’t been forced to learn a new culture, move 8 hours away, nor lived out of a backpack for longer than a week. Congratulate me. I’m feeling pretty good about this accomplishment. I’m still teaching computers to 110 13-16-year-olds. I’m still failing at learning Runyankore. I’m still loving the pace of life in the village. My head is still reeling at the possibilities for this place that stare unblinking at me through the infallible sunshine. So nothing has changed changed; unless it’s me?
There are some obvious things that have affected me. Like people. Yeah, be careful, they’ll do that to ya if you’re not obstinate. Constant vigilance, Mad-Eye, constant vigilance… But in all seriousness, I’ve had a few people really change my outlook on Uganda. I used to think that the cultural differences were too disparate, the education level gap too vast for meaningful communication, until Peter and Sanyu. Peter, a Peace Corps Volunteer from Chicago (might as well be from Timbuktu: he’s a Cub’s fan), just finished his 2 years and is extending for a third year in Botswana. He and I became fast friends over a decades-old cross-town rivalry and a knack for sarcasm. It could have also been the Hare Krishna service we strolled into one lazy Sunday in Kampala that inexplicably bonded us, religion has that power I suppose (a free lunch is always delicious, even if they were fasting from beans and grains…). But really I think I just admired his non-condescension when interacting with Ugandans. It was really refreshing and it opened my eyes to a population that enjoyed wit, toyed with the English language, and could dish out sass as easily as the best (best?) spoiled brats from suburbia. A certain lightness has to be what kept him sane during his service.
But alas, Peter is out like the Cubs and the playoffs and Sanyu is in like a new Blackhawk’s lineup. Who’s Sanyu, you say? My neighbor/school secretary/Fr. Charles’ niece/my best friend. The villagers know us to be inseperable; can I even by a tomato without Sanyu accompanying me? Nope. Why would I want to? This girl, aged 23, gets me, gets me like I’d presumed only another American could. When she’s around (which is thankfully every day, all day), I’m reminded of how generous, how understanding, how amusing Ugandans can be. I buy us a jackfruit to eat until our stomachs scream in protest and she pays be back half the next day. I help her plant beans in her garden (not even kidding, this is how it’s done: shove a handful into your mouth, store them like a chipmunk, take a swipe at the ground with a hoe, spit a seed into the hole, move on and repeat) and she’s out the next week helping me clear the knee-high weeds from mine. It seems I forget about my garden’s existence easily… I want to turn my courtyard into a dance floor and she shows up with tunes. I want to play football, jump rope, do cartwheels and handstands, learn netball, run sprints across the field, dodging grazing goats and cows all the while, and she’s right there next to me. I could go on all day, but what you need to take away from my diatribe is this: Sanyu makes me view my time in the village as so much more than “two years of service”. Her only downfall is a relentless consumption of my gum, so thanks for the dozens of packs you all have sent her way!
Right, so people have changed me. But so has the universal Ugandan contentment. Sure, sometimes it manifests itself in an lack of concern for work, children, eating, bathing, or more generally, living. But it can also surface as a “happy here in the now” attitude. Some of the best shit comes from the times you decide to cede and acquiesce to let the wind take you where it will. The power goes out before a computer lesson and instead of holing up in my room, reading a book, I play a trivia game with the kiddos. Questions I’ve received: can you kill us because all Americans know karate? Do Americans need oxygen to survive? Are Americans immortal? Is your skin 100 times softer than ours? Pretty confident those ones’ll stick with me for a while.
General contentment comes with removing stressors as well. What does that mean for me? No marathon training! And safaris! Why take 10 hours out of your week submitting yourself to harassment and hills when you can be playing football with kids? Why put in extra hours working, the only one to do so, when you can get up close and personal with elephants and lions on safari in Queen Elizabeth National Park? Exactly. Exactly…
But don’t get me wrong, I am working! As proof, I’ll leave ya’ll with a little doozy from one of my girl students that left me staggering during my reproductive health and sex ed. lesson: “can you lose your virginity by riding a bike or climbing a tree?” Ha. Ha. Help me.
Ugandan Nutritional Myths
Here's an article I wrote for our monthy Peace Corps Newsletter. Not exactly the same thing as a full-fledged blog post, but one is forthcoming, scout's honor. Sorry that a good 3/10 of it can't be applied to the U.S....
Ugandan Nutritional Myths
Whether or not you worried about your diet in the States, I’m sure that in Uganda most of you have experienced some reservations, pangs of guilt, uncertainty, or sleepless nights for those in the high-strung group, over what you’re putting into your body. Sure, it’s a fact that posho makes you stronger than any other food, but what about the other dubious foodstuffs here? I don’t claim to be a nutritionist and some of my facts may come from questionable sources, or be entirely fabricated where research was dearth, but let me attempt to answer some of your burning (calories) questions about the Ugandan diet.
Is sugarcane good for you?
Heck yes! Sure sugar is derived from it, but in the raw and unprocessed form sugarcane has a very low glycemic index, meaning that it produces only small fluctuations in your blood glucose and insulin levels. Hence, good for diabetics, reduces the risk of heart disease and beneficial in weight loss. With a high water content , it beats soda and beer as a hydration agent. High in potassium, it works as a decent laxative, should the need arise here… Claims have been made that sugarcane strengthens the stomach, kidneys, heart, eyes, brain and sex organs, prevents sore throat, cold and flu, fights cancer and speeds up the recovery process after jaundice. Hallelujah, no more living in constant fear that your eyes are yellowing!
Ugandans never eat raw vegetables, probably to avoid germs, but does cooking eliminate all of their nutritional content?
Cooking actually boosts your body’s ability to absorb the nutrients in some vegetables. For example, the cancer-fighting nutrient lycopene is stronger in cooked tomato sauce than in raw tomatoes. However, overboiling veggies results in nutrients seeping out into the boiling water. Steaming and roasting vegetables, or using the water to make a soup, can help retain the most nutrition.
With the massive quantities of salt Ugandan’s throw into the pot, are we ingesting more salt here than we would be in the States?
Up to 75% of the sodium Americans consume comes from sodium added to processed food by manufactures. Americans on average consume 3,436mg of sodium daily. The recommended amount is under 1,500mg per day. This is equivalent to about ¾ tsp of salt. That’s not a lot, but I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about your own individual diets. Sure, processed cheeses, canned soups, packaged chips, and crackers are no longer available readily, but Ugandans probably could be encouraged to use spices, herbs and lemon (why do they call them "oranges"?) juice to flavor fish and chips.
Matooke: high in carbohydrates and devoid of nutrients, or does it have redeeming qualities?
Let’s get this straight, tell all your Ugandan friends: matooke contains no protein. It contains no fiber. What it does have is water, vitamin C and potassium. In fact, one matooke banana allegedly has as much potassium as 2 ½ yellow bananas. However, the method of cooking matooke in Uganda completely squanders these redeeming nutrients; it should be steamed in its peel (n.b. my writing is clearly biased here). But here’s a little known fact: matooke bananas do turn yellow when ripe and can be eaten, but are not as sweet as Kabalagala or Bagoya (baby and bigboy bananas, respectively).
Let’s here the same verdict on cassava. Add on sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes and posho while we're at it, too.
With about 330 calories per cup, cassava is a pure carbohydrate. Sure it has neither fat nor cholesterol and does contain fiber and vitamin C, but cassava has no protein and is “good for weight gain”. As far as Irish potatoes go, it clearly makes a difference whether they’re baked or boiled, with skin or without. Ala Uganda (boiled without skin), they’re more carbohydrate dense than cassava but contain more nutrients, specifically vitamins B and C, fiber and potassium. Bake 'em with skin, and they’re teeming with vitamins and minerals. What normally accompanies posho is beans. Taken together, amino acid intake is complete but protein and vitamin levels are nowhere near met. Posho doesn’t even have the calories needed to impact weight gain. What posho lacks in Vitamin A, which correlates with malnutrition, is made up for by sweet potatoes. High in calories, true, but more vitamin-dense.
Speaking of bananas, can a person consume a health-jeopardizing quantity of yellow bananas?
No. Unless you’re popping Potassium pills at the same time. But the big ones pack about 100 calories per shaft, so 5 or more a day can add up…
Ugandans seem to think that pumpkin is a “food” (read: carb) like matooke or potatoes. True or false?
Pumpkin is actually a vegetable, more akin to the American acorn squash than anything. That said, it is extremely low in calories (about 50 of the little guys per cup) and contains a heap of vitamins and minerals: A, B, C, K, Dietary Fiber Potassium, Folate, Riboflavin, Copper, Manganese and Iron. Pumpkin contains a high dose of the essential antioxidant beta-carotene, which may reduce the risk of developing certain types of cancer, protects against heart disease and stalls the degenerative effects of aging. That being said, you should probably try the recipe at the end of this newsletter to get your pumpkin fix.
Protein can be somewhat of an issue for Ugandan kids. What are the daily protein requirements of a growing body (that also digs, treks two miles to school and carries jerrycans of water on the head)?
The daily recommended intake of protein for children aged 1-3 years is 13 grams; aged 4-8 years is 19 grams; aged 9-13 years is 34 grams. One cup of beans/cowpeas has 14 grams of protein, as does 2 oz of meat, fish or chicken or 2 oz of nuts. One egg has 6 grams of protein and one cup of milk has 10 grams. I’d recommend tacking on some grams to the recommended intake, as these numbers are for American children, who are a great deal more sedentary than Ugandan kids. So, acquiring enough protein could be an issue for older Ugandan children, if not all children.
“Glucose is a nutrient that needs to be supplemented.”
No. Glucose is the physiological name for a simple sugar. It does not need to be supplemented; Ugandans get enough of it in porridge, tea, cakes and fruits. Glucose packets: probably not a good idea.
None of them are particularly good for you, but what’s the worst of the worst: Kimbo, Blueband or Ghee?
Here’s my translation of these products: Kimbo = Crisco vegetable shortening, Blueband = Land O Lakes margarine, Ghee = butter, somehow. Therefore, Kimbo has a higher fat content (100%) compared to Blueband and Ghee (about 80%). Ghee is unprocessed and is solely comprised of milk, according to some semi-reliable Ugandans. However, both Blueband and Kimbo are fortified with vitamins. A negligible benefit when considering the trans fat, calorie, sodium and cholesterol contents.
Ugandan Nutritional Myths
Whether or not you worried about your diet in the States, I’m sure that in Uganda most of you have experienced some reservations, pangs of guilt, uncertainty, or sleepless nights for those in the high-strung group, over what you’re putting into your body. Sure, it’s a fact that posho makes you stronger than any other food, but what about the other dubious foodstuffs here? I don’t claim to be a nutritionist and some of my facts may come from questionable sources, or be entirely fabricated where research was dearth, but let me attempt to answer some of your burning (calories) questions about the Ugandan diet.
Is sugarcane good for you?
Heck yes! Sure sugar is derived from it, but in the raw and unprocessed form sugarcane has a very low glycemic index, meaning that it produces only small fluctuations in your blood glucose and insulin levels. Hence, good for diabetics, reduces the risk of heart disease and beneficial in weight loss. With a high water content , it beats soda and beer as a hydration agent. High in potassium, it works as a decent laxative, should the need arise here… Claims have been made that sugarcane strengthens the stomach, kidneys, heart, eyes, brain and sex organs, prevents sore throat, cold and flu, fights cancer and speeds up the recovery process after jaundice. Hallelujah, no more living in constant fear that your eyes are yellowing!
Ugandans never eat raw vegetables, probably to avoid germs, but does cooking eliminate all of their nutritional content?
Cooking actually boosts your body’s ability to absorb the nutrients in some vegetables. For example, the cancer-fighting nutrient lycopene is stronger in cooked tomato sauce than in raw tomatoes. However, overboiling veggies results in nutrients seeping out into the boiling water. Steaming and roasting vegetables, or using the water to make a soup, can help retain the most nutrition.
With the massive quantities of salt Ugandan’s throw into the pot, are we ingesting more salt here than we would be in the States?
Up to 75% of the sodium Americans consume comes from sodium added to processed food by manufactures. Americans on average consume 3,436mg of sodium daily. The recommended amount is under 1,500mg per day. This is equivalent to about ¾ tsp of salt. That’s not a lot, but I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about your own individual diets. Sure, processed cheeses, canned soups, packaged chips, and crackers are no longer available readily, but Ugandans probably could be encouraged to use spices, herbs and lemon (why do they call them "oranges"?) juice to flavor fish and chips.
Matooke: high in carbohydrates and devoid of nutrients, or does it have redeeming qualities?
Let’s get this straight, tell all your Ugandan friends: matooke contains no protein. It contains no fiber. What it does have is water, vitamin C and potassium. In fact, one matooke banana allegedly has as much potassium as 2 ½ yellow bananas. However, the method of cooking matooke in Uganda completely squanders these redeeming nutrients; it should be steamed in its peel (n.b. my writing is clearly biased here). But here’s a little known fact: matooke bananas do turn yellow when ripe and can be eaten, but are not as sweet as Kabalagala or Bagoya (baby and bigboy bananas, respectively).
Let’s here the same verdict on cassava. Add on sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes and posho while we're at it, too.
With about 330 calories per cup, cassava is a pure carbohydrate. Sure it has neither fat nor cholesterol and does contain fiber and vitamin C, but cassava has no protein and is “good for weight gain”. As far as Irish potatoes go, it clearly makes a difference whether they’re baked or boiled, with skin or without. Ala Uganda (boiled without skin), they’re more carbohydrate dense than cassava but contain more nutrients, specifically vitamins B and C, fiber and potassium. Bake 'em with skin, and they’re teeming with vitamins and minerals. What normally accompanies posho is beans. Taken together, amino acid intake is complete but protein and vitamin levels are nowhere near met. Posho doesn’t even have the calories needed to impact weight gain. What posho lacks in Vitamin A, which correlates with malnutrition, is made up for by sweet potatoes. High in calories, true, but more vitamin-dense.
Speaking of bananas, can a person consume a health-jeopardizing quantity of yellow bananas?
No. Unless you’re popping Potassium pills at the same time. But the big ones pack about 100 calories per shaft, so 5 or more a day can add up…
Ugandans seem to think that pumpkin is a “food” (read: carb) like matooke or potatoes. True or false?
Pumpkin is actually a vegetable, more akin to the American acorn squash than anything. That said, it is extremely low in calories (about 50 of the little guys per cup) and contains a heap of vitamins and minerals: A, B, C, K, Dietary Fiber Potassium, Folate, Riboflavin, Copper, Manganese and Iron. Pumpkin contains a high dose of the essential antioxidant beta-carotene, which may reduce the risk of developing certain types of cancer, protects against heart disease and stalls the degenerative effects of aging. That being said, you should probably try the recipe at the end of this newsletter to get your pumpkin fix.
Protein can be somewhat of an issue for Ugandan kids. What are the daily protein requirements of a growing body (that also digs, treks two miles to school and carries jerrycans of water on the head)?
The daily recommended intake of protein for children aged 1-3 years is 13 grams; aged 4-8 years is 19 grams; aged 9-13 years is 34 grams. One cup of beans/cowpeas has 14 grams of protein, as does 2 oz of meat, fish or chicken or 2 oz of nuts. One egg has 6 grams of protein and one cup of milk has 10 grams. I’d recommend tacking on some grams to the recommended intake, as these numbers are for American children, who are a great deal more sedentary than Ugandan kids. So, acquiring enough protein could be an issue for older Ugandan children, if not all children.
“Glucose is a nutrient that needs to be supplemented.”
No. Glucose is the physiological name for a simple sugar. It does not need to be supplemented; Ugandans get enough of it in porridge, tea, cakes and fruits. Glucose packets: probably not a good idea.
None of them are particularly good for you, but what’s the worst of the worst: Kimbo, Blueband or Ghee?
Here’s my translation of these products: Kimbo = Crisco vegetable shortening, Blueband = Land O Lakes margarine, Ghee = butter, somehow. Therefore, Kimbo has a higher fat content (100%) compared to Blueband and Ghee (about 80%). Ghee is unprocessed and is solely comprised of milk, according to some semi-reliable Ugandans. However, both Blueband and Kimbo are fortified with vitamins. A negligible benefit when considering the trans fat, calorie, sodium and cholesterol contents.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Lesson planning sucks
Mukurikeyo! Welcome back!
I am officially a teacher. Be assured, this hasn’t been on my Life List since I forced a too young and over-boisterous Carl into the basement for a summer, enticing him with phonics and fractions instead of wiffleball and chase. A failed attempt. But round two’s proving quite enjoyable. It may have something to do with these kids being so eager to learn that they literally sprint, chairs held fast over their heads, from the school to my computer lab 200 yards down the road. I suppose 8 to 9 years of schooling with nary a textbook, newspaper, novel, computer, video, science experiment or playground will weigh one down with the burden of ignorance. So, I teach, asking of my students all the while, “are you picking?” (a Uganglish corruption of “are you picking up on the meaning of what I’m saying?”). Allow me to demonstrate…
A lesson in change: of language and perceptions; potential: both human and environmental; and salvation: not eternal, merely temporary.
I’ve shifted from Luganda country to Runyankore, forcing me to start afresh with my language learning. Luckily I’m right off the main tarmac, so Luganda speakers are common. Also lucky: Ugandans get a kick out of my obvious confusion, filling in my Runyankore void with Luganda and the Luganda void with English. They tease me that I speak a language all my own: Lugandankore. But my determination to catch up has been thwarted by an unexpected difficulty in finding a tutor. I sat with the local primary school English teacher, thinking his pace would suit my beginner’s speed. Not so. Spending an hour assuring him that I did, in fact, know the alphabet was quite frustrating. He was fired. Meh, I’ll find a new one with time…
But time truly does impede upon all perceptions. I now see the human child behind the filth and rags. Eat matooke with vigor. Consider coming home after the holidays a worthwhile venture instead of a death sentence. Board a bus for an 8 hour ride with patience as if it were two. Look into the faces of 28 other volunteers and see a family, when 6 months ago these strangers could do no right in my eyes. And seek out Ugandan friends for comfort and entertainment; they are peers, no longer a different species. Two of my favorite people in Uganda (barring Fr. Charles because let’s face it: he’s American) are my counterpart, Winnie, and Deacon Dez from the local parish. Deacon Dez is in limbo between university and priesthood. So for now, he eats, sleeps, goes to church, drinks Guinness and shoots the shit with me. Winnie follows an equally taxing schedule as St. Thomas’ secretary/bursar: sleep at her desk, eat at her desk, bug me to gossip with her at her desk. The other day she asked me to throw her a graduation party (from what, I don’t know). As invitees: yellow bananas and millet porridge. My response: wft? Equally as amusing, Deacon Dez and I had a long compare-and-contrast sesh on Ugandan vs. American perceptions of medical care. He complained of a nagging toothache. I told him to see a dentist. He asked me if I’d ever seen a dentist’s office in Uganda. Um, I think not… He says: but Americans see a doctor for EVERYTHING, not so? Me: Yeah, so what? Check out our life expectancy, dude. Two days later, a phone call from Deacon Dez: “I followed your advice and saw a dentist. He pulled four teeth. I only eat porridge now, damnit.” My bad. But Winnie and Dez, constant entertainment.
One of the advantages of going to a new place is that everything is new to you. Obvious, yeah I know. But think about it: these students have been stereotyped into their personae for years, becoming self-fulfilling prophecies of brains, athletes, basket-cases, princesses, criminals or whatever (80s cult classics anyone?). Then I show up behind a cloud of dust (man the dry season really does a number on the whole breathing activity)and all of these kids have the opportunity to wholly reinvent themselves for my analysis. And hey, shame of me for thinking my Psych degree was superfluous; Howard Gardner’s theory on multiple intelligences has proved quite useful not only in teaching but also in promoting egalitarianism. Take one of my favorite students, Brian. This kid’s a pitbull of a boy: small, scowling, unmotivated and pushes his luck if he sees you waver. But the first time he registered on my radar was when I went to chide him for having a program open that was clearly not Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing. A few lessons before I had attempted to get the students to master mouse movements by showing them a math trick with the calculator accessory. No matter which number was chosen, after a series of calculations, the final solution would always be 7. I know, “wow!”, right? All I got was a lot of blank stares and repeating decimals. But here’s Brian, two weeks later, replicating the multistep process on the calculator, ending with 7. “Never mind that you’re not practicing your ASDFJKL; positioning, you remember this?” “Yes.” “And you understand it?” “Yes.” Holy mother of God this kid’s smart. Chills abound. The best part (or worst depending on how you want to look at it) is that when I told Fr. Charles about Brian over a tilapia, potatoes and avocado dinner was that he was astounded. In fact, after his initial gape, he confided that he was contemplating giving Brian the ol’ heave-ho for poor performance, insubordination, and overall lack of motivation. What a disaster. But as long as I’m here, Brian will be too. This kid’s smile blows my mind every time I see it…
Brian’s just one student; I have 114 others, and they’re all unique. Victor, Anthony, Sebuwufu and Ronald x 2 forgo break tea to goof off on the computers. That’s fine, even solitaire teaches mouse control… Fiona kicks ass at Sudoku. Desire and Josephine are indignant at the fact that only the boys have a volleyball team. Mudathru can draw like it’s nobody’s business. I’m sure the list goes on; I’ve only been at St. Thomas for a month and a half. But my list of things these students should and must experience in the next 20 months is a mile and a half long.
I don’t feel like delving into the untapped potential of my surrounds, but how access to water can be the biggest day-to-day challenge for these people when there are over 40 fresh water lakes in the district is a huge mystery to me. Hopefully a solution will be elucidated in time, finishing a damn blog post was a bigger challenge for me today…
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not over the moon, slap an “F yeah Uganda!” tattoo on my ass, Angelina Jolie an African baby happy to be here all the time. Frustrations are encountered every day, being all the more potent when they’re unforeseen. A teacher canes a student. A drunkard stumbles past the computer lab, proposing marriage. A primary school uniform-clad girl calls me a sinner as I run past. You get the gist. My salvation? Running. So you can imagine how craptacular it is when these slaps in the face turn up at the start of a 10-mile training run. But for the most part, marathon training delays my approaching lunacy. But when running fails (in the form of a pursuing punk kid), nail polish, organic lip gloss, cereal, mints and magazines from the fine people in Illinois do the trick. Bet you’ve never seen anyone cry over new body lotion before, have you? And you won’t, I’m still horrible at taking pictures.
I am officially a teacher. Be assured, this hasn’t been on my Life List since I forced a too young and over-boisterous Carl into the basement for a summer, enticing him with phonics and fractions instead of wiffleball and chase. A failed attempt. But round two’s proving quite enjoyable. It may have something to do with these kids being so eager to learn that they literally sprint, chairs held fast over their heads, from the school to my computer lab 200 yards down the road. I suppose 8 to 9 years of schooling with nary a textbook, newspaper, novel, computer, video, science experiment or playground will weigh one down with the burden of ignorance. So, I teach, asking of my students all the while, “are you picking?” (a Uganglish corruption of “are you picking up on the meaning of what I’m saying?”). Allow me to demonstrate…
A lesson in change: of language and perceptions; potential: both human and environmental; and salvation: not eternal, merely temporary.
I’ve shifted from Luganda country to Runyankore, forcing me to start afresh with my language learning. Luckily I’m right off the main tarmac, so Luganda speakers are common. Also lucky: Ugandans get a kick out of my obvious confusion, filling in my Runyankore void with Luganda and the Luganda void with English. They tease me that I speak a language all my own: Lugandankore. But my determination to catch up has been thwarted by an unexpected difficulty in finding a tutor. I sat with the local primary school English teacher, thinking his pace would suit my beginner’s speed. Not so. Spending an hour assuring him that I did, in fact, know the alphabet was quite frustrating. He was fired. Meh, I’ll find a new one with time…
But time truly does impede upon all perceptions. I now see the human child behind the filth and rags. Eat matooke with vigor. Consider coming home after the holidays a worthwhile venture instead of a death sentence. Board a bus for an 8 hour ride with patience as if it were two. Look into the faces of 28 other volunteers and see a family, when 6 months ago these strangers could do no right in my eyes. And seek out Ugandan friends for comfort and entertainment; they are peers, no longer a different species. Two of my favorite people in Uganda (barring Fr. Charles because let’s face it: he’s American) are my counterpart, Winnie, and Deacon Dez from the local parish. Deacon Dez is in limbo between university and priesthood. So for now, he eats, sleeps, goes to church, drinks Guinness and shoots the shit with me. Winnie follows an equally taxing schedule as St. Thomas’ secretary/bursar: sleep at her desk, eat at her desk, bug me to gossip with her at her desk. The other day she asked me to throw her a graduation party (from what, I don’t know). As invitees: yellow bananas and millet porridge. My response: wft? Equally as amusing, Deacon Dez and I had a long compare-and-contrast sesh on Ugandan vs. American perceptions of medical care. He complained of a nagging toothache. I told him to see a dentist. He asked me if I’d ever seen a dentist’s office in Uganda. Um, I think not… He says: but Americans see a doctor for EVERYTHING, not so? Me: Yeah, so what? Check out our life expectancy, dude. Two days later, a phone call from Deacon Dez: “I followed your advice and saw a dentist. He pulled four teeth. I only eat porridge now, damnit.” My bad. But Winnie and Dez, constant entertainment.
One of the advantages of going to a new place is that everything is new to you. Obvious, yeah I know. But think about it: these students have been stereotyped into their personae for years, becoming self-fulfilling prophecies of brains, athletes, basket-cases, princesses, criminals or whatever (80s cult classics anyone?). Then I show up behind a cloud of dust (man the dry season really does a number on the whole breathing activity)and all of these kids have the opportunity to wholly reinvent themselves for my analysis. And hey, shame of me for thinking my Psych degree was superfluous; Howard Gardner’s theory on multiple intelligences has proved quite useful not only in teaching but also in promoting egalitarianism. Take one of my favorite students, Brian. This kid’s a pitbull of a boy: small, scowling, unmotivated and pushes his luck if he sees you waver. But the first time he registered on my radar was when I went to chide him for having a program open that was clearly not Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing. A few lessons before I had attempted to get the students to master mouse movements by showing them a math trick with the calculator accessory. No matter which number was chosen, after a series of calculations, the final solution would always be 7. I know, “wow!”, right? All I got was a lot of blank stares and repeating decimals. But here’s Brian, two weeks later, replicating the multistep process on the calculator, ending with 7. “Never mind that you’re not practicing your ASDFJKL; positioning, you remember this?” “Yes.” “And you understand it?” “Yes.” Holy mother of God this kid’s smart. Chills abound. The best part (or worst depending on how you want to look at it) is that when I told Fr. Charles about Brian over a tilapia, potatoes and avocado dinner was that he was astounded. In fact, after his initial gape, he confided that he was contemplating giving Brian the ol’ heave-ho for poor performance, insubordination, and overall lack of motivation. What a disaster. But as long as I’m here, Brian will be too. This kid’s smile blows my mind every time I see it…
Brian’s just one student; I have 114 others, and they’re all unique. Victor, Anthony, Sebuwufu and Ronald x 2 forgo break tea to goof off on the computers. That’s fine, even solitaire teaches mouse control… Fiona kicks ass at Sudoku. Desire and Josephine are indignant at the fact that only the boys have a volleyball team. Mudathru can draw like it’s nobody’s business. I’m sure the list goes on; I’ve only been at St. Thomas for a month and a half. But my list of things these students should and must experience in the next 20 months is a mile and a half long.
I don’t feel like delving into the untapped potential of my surrounds, but how access to water can be the biggest day-to-day challenge for these people when there are over 40 fresh water lakes in the district is a huge mystery to me. Hopefully a solution will be elucidated in time, finishing a damn blog post was a bigger challenge for me today…
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not over the moon, slap an “F yeah Uganda!” tattoo on my ass, Angelina Jolie an African baby happy to be here all the time. Frustrations are encountered every day, being all the more potent when they’re unforeseen. A teacher canes a student. A drunkard stumbles past the computer lab, proposing marriage. A primary school uniform-clad girl calls me a sinner as I run past. You get the gist. My salvation? Running. So you can imagine how craptacular it is when these slaps in the face turn up at the start of a 10-mile training run. But for the most part, marathon training delays my approaching lunacy. But when running fails (in the form of a pursuing punk kid), nail polish, organic lip gloss, cereal, mints and magazines from the fine people in Illinois do the trick. Bet you’ve never seen anyone cry over new body lotion before, have you? And you won’t, I’m still horrible at taking pictures.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
I found an Indy hair in my lotion today a.k.a. I feel home
After the World Cup Final on Sunday night, Spain vs. Netherlands, two bombs went off in Kampala, more specifically, in White Kampala. The death toll hangs around 85; the people are saddened and suspicious. Ex-patriots fear targeting, while the Somalese terrorist group Al-Shabaab bears the brunt of the accusations. But when Peace Corps woke me up at 7am Monday morning, my first reaction was to silently plead: “don’t send us home!” Luckily our instructions were to stand fast at our sites until further notice, yet I had to ask myself how, after 5 months of uncomfortable settling in, setting out, wandering over and nearly sinking under, I could remain so obstinate in my desire to stay in Uganda. Well the explanation is clear; one has only to look to my new site: St. Thomas Secondary/Vocational School in Bunyaruguru, Bushenyi.
Making the 6 hour journey to my new site last Tuesday I experienced a pendulum of emotions. Anticipation, anxiety, animosity towards the past, apathy, agitation… Got any more A words? Chances are it was there. But I was taken A-back (man I’m good) when I found my concluding and enduring emotion to be sheer, tears-in-my-eyes, uncontrollable joy. Holy balls is Bushenyi gorgeous. If Uganda is the Pearl of Africa, then surely Bushenyi is a frickin’ 20 karat blood diamond. Pictures to come, patience is a virtue you know, but for now be content with this: Acres and acres of tea plantations and untarnished, protected jungle are interrupted by fathoms-deep crater lakes sitting at the base of rocky, pine tree-studded bluffs and rolling hills. So let’s see… Bushenyi could well be hailed as the capital of lakes, tea, honey, hills, cool breezes and bananas. Oh yeah, and Queen Elizabeth National Park is 10 minutes away; I’ve already driven past savannahs teeming with antelope and wildebeest half a dozen times (one being for the lone purpose of buying “the best smoked fish in Uganda” from a roadside stand at the river connecting Lake George and Lake Edward).
And who took me to pick out fish? Fr. Charles, the director of St. Thomas and my new roommate. The “WELOME HOME!” sign on my door said it all when my 6 hour drive ended; Charles has done an immaculate job of welcoming me to St. Thomas and Bunyaruguru. Not only has he opened his house to me à la the “what’s mine is yours” philosophy (more deets on the digs to follow; ps DWE that’s all the French I’ve retained…), but the intense 1. community leaders-attended dinner party with me as the guest of honor, giving my Peace Corps/personal history spiel via powerpoint presentation created with an hour’s notice, and 2. A speech given at Sunday mass… by me… to 400 villagers… in Runyankore… with an hour’s notice (what is it with the time paradox in Africa? No one seems to accomplish anything yet everything is last minute!) have been impeccably balanced by Charles with meals at stunning Queen Elizabeth resorts and jaunts with local university kids who reinforce my conviction in Ugandans’ intelligence and good humor. Just last night, in fact, I returned home soaking wet from a walk around the Africa Lake (it’s shaped liked Africa apparently; must climb the hills and look down to believe it) with Charles’ brother Peter, to Fr. Charles unpacking a new blender from his recent shopping spree in the nearest town. “Wanna make orange/pineapple/passion fruit juice?!” he goes. Heck yes! And I see you’ve bought about 50 or so oranges to do so. I’ll just forget about the part about me having to run run run (Phoenix, anyone?), taking shelter with some pigs when the rains caught us unawares a few minutes ago.
The best, yet somehow unbelievable, part is that something similar happens every day. I suppose I ought to give a character description of Charles for you to truly understand how awesome my life has become. Charles is a Ugandan priest who just so happens to be so ridiculously intelligent that he’s spent something like 6 years in the States getting two Master’s Degrees from two universities (St. Ambrose in the Quad Cities being one) and is heading back to NYC in September for his PhD. He returned to his home of Bunyaruguru a year ago to build a much-needed secondary school for the village. In that time, he mobilized the community to raise funds for the school, which now houses 150 freshman and sophomore students (called S1 and S2). Dormitories, a health clinic, and a second classroom block for juniors and seniors are well underway. I liken him to our dear Fr. Gavin in his station in the community: everybody knows him and everybody can readily relate an anecdote illustrating his benevolence. But this man is definitely quirky: he shipped 19 4x4x4 or however big boxes to Uganda from America before he left. What was in them? Dozens of books. Hundreds of DVDs. Thousands of rosaries. And grass seed. Man he loves American lawns! And now one sprouts on the side of the house. In fact, he’s out watering it as I sit here typing…
The second day I spent in Bunyaruguru, Charles disclosed to me that because he was treated so well by those fine Americans living in Moline, IL, he wanted nothing more than an American Peace Corps volunteer to spoil in Africa. Gotta love the pay-it-forward mentality, because spoil me, he has. Even if he wasn’t ridiculously accommodating, I wouldn’t find it hard to manage in his electricity-bearing, hot shower-yielding, stove and oven-containing, flat screen with DSTV-housing residence. I try not to let the fact that I harbor no guilt towards this weigh on my conscience. But honestly, what I care most about is that my room is cozy, my bed is big, the people are wave-and-clap-their-hands-when-I-pass-by friendly, the children are gorgeous (the Banyankore people have got some mysterious beautification gene it seems), and the computer lab I teach in is connected to my house.
So this computer lab… 9 computers, one of which doesn’t work, so 8 computers. I teach six 40-minute classes every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday; each class harbors 16-25 students, yeah for 8 computers. It’s a challenge to say the least, and that’s when the power’s not going kaput in the middle of showing them how to minimize and maximize a tab (I kid you not, that’s the kind of information that makes up my lesson plans). Although they battle to discern my accent and they’d prefer to swap witty banter with me about life, today I was filled with pride when Charles came home with a note written by the Head Boy kindly requesting that a generator be provided for the lab so that my computer classes do not have to be cancelled when the electricity disappoints. Turns out this is an appeal far superior to their prior requests for break snacks and shortened school days to watch the World Cup. So hopefully things continue to go well. But even when they’re not, and I’m storming into my room, blasting music to drown out my frustration at the deficient education systems and electricity grid, someone like Ndisiima, Charles’ housegirl, will be there to throw me a lifesaver, this time in the form of an impromptu dance party during which she wore my bike helmet and carried my stuffed dog (he’s a boxer and he sleeps with me every night) on her back like a baby.
Welp, that’s all I’ve got for now, folks. Pictures are truly forthcoming, as should be emails from you to me to which I will take an unseemly amount of time responding. Or can I tempt you with a novelty? Snail mail me!
Sister Renee Vuillaume
St. Thomas Secondary/Vocational School
P.O. Box 176
Bushenyi, Uganda
Making the 6 hour journey to my new site last Tuesday I experienced a pendulum of emotions. Anticipation, anxiety, animosity towards the past, apathy, agitation… Got any more A words? Chances are it was there. But I was taken A-back (man I’m good) when I found my concluding and enduring emotion to be sheer, tears-in-my-eyes, uncontrollable joy. Holy balls is Bushenyi gorgeous. If Uganda is the Pearl of Africa, then surely Bushenyi is a frickin’ 20 karat blood diamond. Pictures to come, patience is a virtue you know, but for now be content with this: Acres and acres of tea plantations and untarnished, protected jungle are interrupted by fathoms-deep crater lakes sitting at the base of rocky, pine tree-studded bluffs and rolling hills. So let’s see… Bushenyi could well be hailed as the capital of lakes, tea, honey, hills, cool breezes and bananas. Oh yeah, and Queen Elizabeth National Park is 10 minutes away; I’ve already driven past savannahs teeming with antelope and wildebeest half a dozen times (one being for the lone purpose of buying “the best smoked fish in Uganda” from a roadside stand at the river connecting Lake George and Lake Edward).
And who took me to pick out fish? Fr. Charles, the director of St. Thomas and my new roommate. The “WELOME HOME!” sign on my door said it all when my 6 hour drive ended; Charles has done an immaculate job of welcoming me to St. Thomas and Bunyaruguru. Not only has he opened his house to me à la the “what’s mine is yours” philosophy (more deets on the digs to follow; ps DWE that’s all the French I’ve retained…), but the intense 1. community leaders-attended dinner party with me as the guest of honor, giving my Peace Corps/personal history spiel via powerpoint presentation created with an hour’s notice, and 2. A speech given at Sunday mass… by me… to 400 villagers… in Runyankore… with an hour’s notice (what is it with the time paradox in Africa? No one seems to accomplish anything yet everything is last minute!) have been impeccably balanced by Charles with meals at stunning Queen Elizabeth resorts and jaunts with local university kids who reinforce my conviction in Ugandans’ intelligence and good humor. Just last night, in fact, I returned home soaking wet from a walk around the Africa Lake (it’s shaped liked Africa apparently; must climb the hills and look down to believe it) with Charles’ brother Peter, to Fr. Charles unpacking a new blender from his recent shopping spree in the nearest town. “Wanna make orange/pineapple/passion fruit juice?!” he goes. Heck yes! And I see you’ve bought about 50 or so oranges to do so. I’ll just forget about the part about me having to run run run (Phoenix, anyone?), taking shelter with some pigs when the rains caught us unawares a few minutes ago.
The best, yet somehow unbelievable, part is that something similar happens every day. I suppose I ought to give a character description of Charles for you to truly understand how awesome my life has become. Charles is a Ugandan priest who just so happens to be so ridiculously intelligent that he’s spent something like 6 years in the States getting two Master’s Degrees from two universities (St. Ambrose in the Quad Cities being one) and is heading back to NYC in September for his PhD. He returned to his home of Bunyaruguru a year ago to build a much-needed secondary school for the village. In that time, he mobilized the community to raise funds for the school, which now houses 150 freshman and sophomore students (called S1 and S2). Dormitories, a health clinic, and a second classroom block for juniors and seniors are well underway. I liken him to our dear Fr. Gavin in his station in the community: everybody knows him and everybody can readily relate an anecdote illustrating his benevolence. But this man is definitely quirky: he shipped 19 4x4x4 or however big boxes to Uganda from America before he left. What was in them? Dozens of books. Hundreds of DVDs. Thousands of rosaries. And grass seed. Man he loves American lawns! And now one sprouts on the side of the house. In fact, he’s out watering it as I sit here typing…
The second day I spent in Bunyaruguru, Charles disclosed to me that because he was treated so well by those fine Americans living in Moline, IL, he wanted nothing more than an American Peace Corps volunteer to spoil in Africa. Gotta love the pay-it-forward mentality, because spoil me, he has. Even if he wasn’t ridiculously accommodating, I wouldn’t find it hard to manage in his electricity-bearing, hot shower-yielding, stove and oven-containing, flat screen with DSTV-housing residence. I try not to let the fact that I harbor no guilt towards this weigh on my conscience. But honestly, what I care most about is that my room is cozy, my bed is big, the people are wave-and-clap-their-hands-when-I-pass-by friendly, the children are gorgeous (the Banyankore people have got some mysterious beautification gene it seems), and the computer lab I teach in is connected to my house.
So this computer lab… 9 computers, one of which doesn’t work, so 8 computers. I teach six 40-minute classes every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday; each class harbors 16-25 students, yeah for 8 computers. It’s a challenge to say the least, and that’s when the power’s not going kaput in the middle of showing them how to minimize and maximize a tab (I kid you not, that’s the kind of information that makes up my lesson plans). Although they battle to discern my accent and they’d prefer to swap witty banter with me about life, today I was filled with pride when Charles came home with a note written by the Head Boy kindly requesting that a generator be provided for the lab so that my computer classes do not have to be cancelled when the electricity disappoints. Turns out this is an appeal far superior to their prior requests for break snacks and shortened school days to watch the World Cup. So hopefully things continue to go well. But even when they’re not, and I’m storming into my room, blasting music to drown out my frustration at the deficient education systems and electricity grid, someone like Ndisiima, Charles’ housegirl, will be there to throw me a lifesaver, this time in the form of an impromptu dance party during which she wore my bike helmet and carried my stuffed dog (he’s a boxer and he sleeps with me every night) on her back like a baby.
Welp, that’s all I’ve got for now, folks. Pictures are truly forthcoming, as should be emails from you to me to which I will take an unseemly amount of time responding. Or can I tempt you with a novelty? Snail mail me!
Sister Renee Vuillaume
St. Thomas Secondary/Vocational School
P.O. Box 176
Bushenyi, Uganda
Thursday, July 1, 2010
What's the name of my new village? Oh why bother I can't pronounce it anyways!
How is it that things have been changing so fast that writing a definitive blog predicting my future has been a head-spinning impossibility, yet I have been slogging through Cross Country Challenge style, knee-deep mud for 9 weeks now in wait of a new site? Even though these weeks has shown me that nothing is certain until it’s over, so this may be a touch preemptive, but I’m moving to a new site on Tuesday! Just when things were reaching their bleakest; that is, while I was packing up my belongings from my old site, ruminating over how the scales sat unbalanced, as I was sure I caused more harm than good, Peace Corps staff was out in the West, scoping out a potential new site for me. Well the prospective had budded into the settled: Bushenyi District here I come! All I know about my new site is word of mouth from Country Director Ted, who met with the staff there, and from my nearest volunteer neighbor, who actually found my site and recommended it to Peace Corps (not a bad start...), so some of this information will inevitably have to be amended post-Tuesday when I experience everything for myself. But for now I’ve hit that “I’m just so excited, all I want to do is share my life with the people out there in bloggerland!” stage. Ever been there? Yeah, me neither. But for serious, here are the deets:
After I spend the 4th of July sporting red, white and jorts on the Ssesse Islands in Lake Victoria, a Peace Corps land cruiser will take me and my 5 months of junk on the 8-hour road trip to my new site. I’m half serious in maintaining that three months of training was utterly useless for me. I was trained to work with businesses and NGOs, speaking Luganda; I’ll be teaching computer classes at a vocational school affiliated with the nearby high school (secondary school here), speaking Runyankore. C’est la vie. But this vocational school is somewhat of an abnormality: it was not built on a pile of cash from the Western world, the community raised the funds to spearhead the project themselves. This is quite unheard of in Uganda (and probably the rest of the developing world). The director of the organization is a U.S.-educated man, on his way to Fordham for his PhD in August. My supervisor and counterpart (both women) are the principal and a teacher at the secondary school, respectively. The vocational school is brand-spankin’ new, housing only a computer lab equipped with 10 new used computers, but with space to expand into other trades, such as cosmetology, carpentry and tailoring, as time and resources allow. My lodgings, while brand new, and purportedly cozy (read: small), but size is more than compensated for with electricity and a water tap outside my door!
I’ll only be teaching 10 or so hours a week (step 1: learn computers…; I believe I’ve been through 4 in the last 5 years, does that sound right, Mom?), and with the remaining 158 hours, I get to help my community with whatever their needs and desires so happen to be! It could be anything from nutrition to water sanitation; HIV/AIDS education to fruit drying. I am so seriously jazzed about the possibilities, I can’t wait to meet all of the villagers. Finally, and quite possibly the best part about my new site, is its location. According to volunteers, staff and Ugandans alike, Bushenyi is the most beautiful area of Uganda. My site rests between two lakes, in the foothills of the Rwenzori Mountains and a 15-minute ride to Queen Elizabeth National Park. Depending on who you talk to, I’ve been informed that Bushenyi has the best milk (!), honey (!) and bananas (!) in Uganda. I move Tuesday (I know, 4th time mentioned, so what, I’m excited), meaning I have 5 days to become computer savvy and Runyankore fluent. And I’m spending 3 of those days on an island in the sun with a boatful of other volunteers? Luckily orthodox island theme stands at “no worries” ("hakuna matata" for those kiswahili, Lion King fans)!
I'll keep this last part concise. Sentimentalities are my weak point. I apologize for the lack of continuous communication, whether by blog, email, phone call, snail mail, or ubiquitous facebook posts (hello Mother!); I've been all over the place, both literally and figuratively, for the past 2 months. Here's hoping stability reigns from here on out, and your relationships with me will be a lot less one-sided... Run on, runners!
After I spend the 4th of July sporting red, white and jorts on the Ssesse Islands in Lake Victoria, a Peace Corps land cruiser will take me and my 5 months of junk on the 8-hour road trip to my new site. I’m half serious in maintaining that three months of training was utterly useless for me. I was trained to work with businesses and NGOs, speaking Luganda; I’ll be teaching computer classes at a vocational school affiliated with the nearby high school (secondary school here), speaking Runyankore. C’est la vie. But this vocational school is somewhat of an abnormality: it was not built on a pile of cash from the Western world, the community raised the funds to spearhead the project themselves. This is quite unheard of in Uganda (and probably the rest of the developing world). The director of the organization is a U.S.-educated man, on his way to Fordham for his PhD in August. My supervisor and counterpart (both women) are the principal and a teacher at the secondary school, respectively. The vocational school is brand-spankin’ new, housing only a computer lab equipped with 10 new used computers, but with space to expand into other trades, such as cosmetology, carpentry and tailoring, as time and resources allow. My lodgings, while brand new, and purportedly cozy (read: small), but size is more than compensated for with electricity and a water tap outside my door!
I’ll only be teaching 10 or so hours a week (step 1: learn computers…; I believe I’ve been through 4 in the last 5 years, does that sound right, Mom?), and with the remaining 158 hours, I get to help my community with whatever their needs and desires so happen to be! It could be anything from nutrition to water sanitation; HIV/AIDS education to fruit drying. I am so seriously jazzed about the possibilities, I can’t wait to meet all of the villagers. Finally, and quite possibly the best part about my new site, is its location. According to volunteers, staff and Ugandans alike, Bushenyi is the most beautiful area of Uganda. My site rests between two lakes, in the foothills of the Rwenzori Mountains and a 15-minute ride to Queen Elizabeth National Park. Depending on who you talk to, I’ve been informed that Bushenyi has the best milk (!), honey (!) and bananas (!) in Uganda. I move Tuesday (I know, 4th time mentioned, so what, I’m excited), meaning I have 5 days to become computer savvy and Runyankore fluent. And I’m spending 3 of those days on an island in the sun with a boatful of other volunteers? Luckily orthodox island theme stands at “no worries” ("hakuna matata" for those kiswahili, Lion King fans)!
I'll keep this last part concise. Sentimentalities are my weak point. I apologize for the lack of continuous communication, whether by blog, email, phone call, snail mail, or ubiquitous facebook posts (hello Mother!); I've been all over the place, both literally and figuratively, for the past 2 months. Here's hoping stability reigns from here on out, and your relationships with me will be a lot less one-sided... Run on, runners!
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