“I speak Acholi a little…” And at least well enough to pass the second round of testing. It was about as badly handled as something like that can be – our language trainers being the only bright spot in an otherwise dark journey. The whole remaining group of 40 (one more has been Medically Evacuated) rode buses to Masaka, a town in the south west. Some of us traveled for 6 days to get two days of “training.” Hmmmm – But Masaka is actually a lovely town – it turns out the second largest city in Uganda – I was mis-informed about Gulu being the second largest. And it is probably a place I would not have visited had it not been the venue for IST.
There is a real road going from Kampala to Masaka – complete with painted lines and passing lanes. To those of us in the north, this discovery was like waking up in a fairy tale. This is Museveni’s stomping groups, so the west has better amenities. But that wasn’t the only thing: there are hills… and green grass … and fat cows, geese and goats and road-side craft markets boasting baskets, three-legged-stools, drums, gourdes, etc. And then there were tall columns of carefully stacked yams and cassava for sale in front of the homesteads lining the road. The difference between the northern war-ravaged part of Uganda and the South and Southwest is staggering to the point of Uganda feeling like two distinct countries.
And we crossed the equator! This seems big after hearing your whole life about the equator – equatorial heat, Coriolis Effect, gravity and all that. I missed the opportunity to see if I weighed less (I’m sure there’s a diet plan in there somewhere – but it would be an infinitesimal loss), see if water circles the opposite direction, etc. What you hear about it being hotter at the equator doesn’t work in Masaka because of the elevation. It was soooo much cooler than Gulu and being surrounded by green grass and cool breezes provided an added psychological boost. Ah – and we enjoyed good food at a couple of local cafes – even had a banana split – thought it was called a Banana Spilt.
It was a treat to see all the other PCV’s again, catch up on the gossip and basically get IST and language behind us. Of all the challenges I expected in Peace Corps, I did not expect the sturm-und-drang promulgated by PC admin to be among them. But it has defined and dominated much of our time here and created an atmosphere of distrust and mixed-messages that has been all-encompassing and in some cases debilitating. The Peace Corps experience offers an opportunity for deep self-reflection and shift even if one is not so prone to introspection.
The first six months is a roller-coaster ride of emotions given the best of environments and support (neither of which would describe ours). Transformative is the word that comes to mind and has certainly been true for PCV’s who came in at a time and place where PC was not so bureaucratized and political. My sister and her husband did PC in the Kennedy years and it was a different experience entirely, some elements of which are to be expected, others not. Still, I am glad to be part of this adventure and the experiences many of us are having within our communities transcend the bureaucracy.
Now that we are through the threat of being sent home for the transgression of not improving in one of many local languages (seldom utilized at many of our sites), we can put our full attention toward doing what we came here to do – contribute. Our individual reasons for coming are as varied are the personalities here. Some came to beef up their resumes, some to recalibrate, some to have an adventure, some to escape because they didn’t know what to do next, some – for all of the above. All are valid. But regardless of why we thought we were coming, the lessons and what we take away and – indeed the footprints we leave behind – will not be fully realized until we leave. So trying to analyze it now is fruitless. It’s a little like taking pictures: one has to step outside the moment to do that – and in doing so loses the full impact of just being here.
Some days that takes every ounce of resolve and restraint. Other days are magical. When I was a “we” and “we” were sailing, a more experienced sailor said: “If you can add up all of your best days and worst days and get a sum of zero, you’ve had an excellent adventure!” Still tallying… and hoping for a “zero.”