Saturday, my LABE friends gave me a lovely going away party.  What a sweet grou of people who have become family.  There was even a cake, with Thank You Nancy” written in pink icing.  For the cutting of the cake, every person had a hand on the knife to signify that we are all together.  Traditionally, locals have eaten with their hands and often from a common bowl.  The belief is that if you are sharing a meal in this way adversaries become friends and everyone is firmly bound together.  I am touched that they went to such lengths to keep our bond strong. I of course cried and was completely unable to tell them all the things I’d like to have said. It’s rare that I am without words…

I was completely unprepared for how thrilling and emotional it would be to see the ring-of-fire. Apparently I was not alone in these feelings because spontaneous cheering erupted everywhere.  What a gift to be in one of the three best places in the world to witness this moment.  While Packwach –  an hour east of here was promoted to be the best (and therefore attract 41 astronomers from around the world, not to mention the Jolie/Pitt tribe, it was clouded over!  so turns out staying put in Gulu was the best move as the cloud that obscured the show moved away just in time to see the full eclipse!

All manner of last minute semi-calamities have arisen with people who know I’m leaving.  One lovely young man who has been sponsored for the last year in vocational school by three separate volunteers and folks from the States asked for help finding a doctor who could take care of a ear-ache.  I knew where that one was going – so forked over funds for the doctor’s visit and you’d have thought I’d saved his life.  He called to say the treatment was a miracle and he could now take his exams.  

Then Peter reported a horrid toothache, which—after spending hours determining who could take him to the one dentist in town—resulted in the discovery of two large cavities requiring 80,000 shillings to “cement.”  I’m feeling a bit taken advantage of – since at least these did not simply arrive over night, but somehow didn’t become an emergency until my leaving became a reality.  It feels opportunistic – and am still not sure how to handle that one – since it was not my intention to fund medical, etc. – and I don’t have the funds.  I plan on putting the network to work and will fund part of it, but they will need to supply the rest.   Somehow he had work done earlier and that happened without my support. 

Time to go home.  This is part of the dilemma in sponsoring someone for school – it’s never “just” school.  You are seen to be the fixer of all things and the energy required to continually set and re-set boundaries without being obnoxious about it is herculean. 

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It started the week after my return from Zanzibar when I got a call that Peter was very sick – severe malaria was the fist diagnosis – and needed to go to the hospital, but was too weak to ride on the back of a Boda.   I’d been out the previous week with a young journalist who wanted to interview Peter for an article on the street kids, so I wanted to introduce her and let Peter decide if he would like to be interviewed.  It was brief but it also gave me a chance to see the school: a government school for War Affected Children, a serious hike outside of Gulu.  I took a private hire the first time, to be sure I knew where to go.  And it was pricey.  Can’t do that very often.  Walking is a commitment – 45 minutes there along a dusty road, periodically receiving a fresh dusting from passing vehicles.

The good news is that Peter reported he felt accepted for the first time in school: other kids had stories similar to his and he was no longer an outcast.  The bad news: “teaching is a problem.’ Schools here  “teach” every day Monday through Saturday, 8am to 7pm.  This means that the kids wake up early, clean the compound and start class. 

Unless it’s a private school (and even here it’s questionable) there is not power (i.e. no lights for study at night) so if there’s homework – it’s done by flashlight or not at all, but usually not at all.   Sunday is for church, then classes in the afternoon.  No down time.   I learned that his school has no teachers on the weekends and they are often not back by Monday, so there’s little or no school on Monday either.  

Then there’s the food issue:  if you are unlucky enough at the end of the line, the “food is finished” before a lot of students have eaten – so the one real meal they get per day, “is not there.’  And there’s the fact that it’s always posho (think hard, overcooked grits) and beans.  hard on the stomach.   Always something here surrounding school.  It’s not uncommon for the government NOT pay teachers for 6 months.   

On Saturday, Patrick – Peter’s friend as a close as you can get to sainthood in human form, walked the 45 minutes to the school with me and we visited.  The kids showed off the keyboard, an old discarded piece lacking batteries that morning.  It took a while; by they came back with 6-AA batteries, we discovered that the spring was “spoiled.”.  We improvised with a key to make the connection and hear a few renditions of a tune missing the upper register.  Moving on the music room, we were treated to the sounds of a “spoiled” piano whose string were rusted or missing, the felts hanging off the strikers at perilous angles. 

  In the process, Peter casually informed us that he’s fainted in football practice – malaria they presume.  By Monday, it had progressed to the point that he needed transport to the hospital, but there was none, as the school’s vehicle is “spoiled” and he was too weak to go by Boda.  Hours later, they loaded Peter on a Boda with a teacher on the back to hold him on…     At the hospital  (a government run operation with neither a functioning lab nor antibiotics)  I found him severely dehydrated and only semi-conscious and placed on a black plastic covered bed.  He stayed the night, so after multiple trips and planning, I provided a blanket and a sheet.  Food would have to be delivered the next morning and during the day – since families here provide all services: food, sheets, etc.

To make a long story short, Peter  – feeing marginally better – left the hospital without being discharged (street kids are accustomed to a lot of independence) and found his way to another friend’s house.  It was morning before we found out his whereabouts and another set of friends (the only ones with a car because they are affiliated with a Canadian funded church) “picked” Peter and brought him BACK to the hospital for a typhoid test, which had to be administered at a clinic because – yep – no functioning lab at the hospital.  It came back negative because they’d given him antibiotics for 12 hours, but 10 other students from the school were admitted the same day with similar symptoms.  

After a few days on Cypro and anti-malarials, Peter went back to school.  After one day, he was out again and last night took 10 phone calls to coordinate another ride to the hospital.  Today, we start again.  Another PCV whose site is at a better hospital will see if he can wrangle admission there to see if we can get to the bottom of this.  It could still be malaria, typhoid, cholera, or giardia.     Welcome to the Petrie-dish of diseases.

Moving along to a week that I hope has some celestial-retrograde explanations (because these could dissipate whereas other cause might not…) the man I have been working with on the Street-Kid project became so obnoxious with volunteers I’d referred to him, I had to withdraw my permission for my name to be used.  That has resulted in a stream of vitriolic e-mails that are frightening in the intensity of his anger. and have pronounced me: the enemy! So that project is off the books for me, but his presence is still around and the issue still raises its ugly head.   The joys of a small town in a place where people get poisoned for less.  

And then – the final blow:  the library.  Much of the work that was done to organize the adult-room of the library was undone, when the bigwigs from Kampala swept through and demanded it be done in the Dewey Decimal System.  Never mind that they have no manpower to catalogue the books, no computer, no card-catalogue, etc.  So half of the books so carefully arranged and labelled were in stacks, shelves re-arranged, etc.  This is so common in the development world that it was just another nail in the coffin.  NGO and government offices run from Kampala where there are resources, hand down mandates to the field where they have no concept of what’s “on the ground.’ They issue commands that cannot possibly be implemented because they are completely out of touch with the realities of life, lack of resources, etc.  Yes – I know I’m ranting.   And I’ve had to step back.  I’d already decided I can’t be attached to the outcome of what happens here in terms of sustainability.   I can plan for it, but not rely on it.  Yet –  but I thought I could at least get out of town with and vaguely intact system.    Apparently not.

Fortunately, the Children’s Library was left relatively unscathed, but the bigwig had recommended that the already termite damaged 6-foot tall shelves be moved along the outside wall of windows, blocking the windows and only light – so the kids could “play.”  Never mind that there is no other light-source and that rain comes in through the windows re-creating the perfect habitat for termites whose mounds are periodically removed from inside the library.

God bless the Ugandan volunteer who has been working with us.  Stella, who started this project as a rather unwilling participant asking what we would “give,” has – after seeing our hard work, good ideas and persistence, become a true ally.  She’s willing to stand her ground in the Children’s Room.    The most amazing victory of yesterday and indeed the last few months came in the form of FIRE.  Remember the thousands of newspapers we organized and the many more thousands of duplicates?  We’d tried for months to find a home for these and there were 5 more years of termite and mildew-ridden issues stored in the falling down back rooms.  She had been intransigent about letting them go.  Yesterday, as we were waiting around for a 12-year old artist to paint an anti-malaria cartoon on the wall (lovely work by the way) she surprised us by saying “Let’s burn the newspapers!”  Michelle (left) encouraging the blaze.

Jubilant, we got to work taking loads to the pit and setting fire.   As the fire began to tickle the edges of some stacks and we were hauling in more, we discovered a man frantically trying to pull them OUT of the fire.  After all this time, we accidentally had found a taker.  We explained that we had thousands of papers he could have for free if he would get them out of there that same day.  In an act of efficiency rarely seen, he arrived with a wooden wheelbarrow. but then commandeered a motorcycle trailer and a bunch of friends and took them all.

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To back up a bit, a small clutch of new volunteers arrived last week and I was part of what’s called Tech Week, where volunteers are introduced to some of the skills they might be using in their work.    It was a great group and we’d spent a fair amount of time together,  so when Saturday arrived we were off to play, including some time in the lovely grounds of the Acholi Inn (left).  They wanted to meet Peter and shop so I was on my way to meet them at their hotel when I ran into Peter – out of school when he shouldn’t be –and looking liked he’d just lost his best friend or afraid he might.

Near tears, he struggled to explain tell me that the SHT – known for his merciless treatment of students – the same one who has literally turned his back on me in the middle of “conversations,” who called Peter out in front of the whole school announcing that this former “street-kid is a piece of human waste – stay away from him,” canes students at night, boxes ears, etc. had found yet another way to damage  a student – this time sending Peter out of school for a week.  He knows Peter has no home, has no way to get food and is in the midst of reviewing for the exams that determine whether   high school is possible.  

During the last break between terms, you might recall that I sponsored Peter for a leadership camp.  He came back so energized and motivated that he formed a group at school and taught them about hygiene and built six tippy-tap hand-washing-stations (right) around the school.  In other words, contributing in a significant way, demonstrating his commitment to his school.  He’s also been invited to represent the street-kids at a conference. Life was turning around – so SHT had to up-the-ante to try and make sure that doesn’t happen.  Like I said – SHT is a piece-of-work.

And that was the week.  Tomorrow – and none too soon – friends and I will board the Post Bus and haul down to Kampala to leave for ZANZIBAR on Sunday.    Our phones don’t work there and computers are not invited.  I will be blissfully out-of-touch on a white, sandy beach eating as much seafood as I can consume, going on a Spice Tour and basically acting like a tourist for 6 days. After that there’s the COS (Close of Service) conference in JINGA on the Nile!   Yaaaay!  That’s not a tan you’ll see – it’s the COS glow.   Well – it might be a tan

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This altered-universe feel was heralded by the realization that my organization seems to be imploding around me – the changes too numerous to address – except to say that if feels chaotic, disorganized and in peril.  My efforts to affect productive change have been for naught – despite  doing what I was “hired” to do: be a Program Adviser and advise. I wrote a very good SWOT Analysis (Strengths, Weaknesses and Threats) and submitted it prior to our annual strategic planning conference where everything in it was validated when each point was independently voiced by staff – and dismissed by management. This is a blame-first culture and change is difficult in the face of fear.   Therefore I have turned to things over which I have at least a modicum of control. Those are – in fact moving forward: the Children’s Library and Peter.  There continue to be details regarding the accident.  I have gathered my friend’s belongings to get them to her in South Africa and elsewhere, cleaned out her little house and distributed items.  The trial is coming up this week so there are things happening with that.  The charges have been upgraded to manslaughter with a potential sentence of life in prison.  In Uganda, when someone goes to prison, I’ve been told the family has to provide food and and some essentials, so the burden of the sentencing spreads across the entire family.  Not entirely sure of this as I get mixed information,  but to say the least the income stream if there was one is interrupted and there are some concerns about reprisal.   

On a happier topic, two leadership camps (BUILD for boys, GLOW for girls), both sponsored by Peace Corps happened a couple of weeks ago in the north and another two were held last week in the south.  A strange sense of calm descended on Gulu which was essentially  “empty”  because all the other PCVs were at the camps acting as counselors.  I was able to sponsor Peter to go to one of them and he excitedly washed his clothes, got all packed and left with the group.   Here’s a picture of Peter (dark shirt) with the counselors and director and three little kids who scooted in thrilled to be in the picture.  

Peter returned absolutely glowing with excitement and feeling good about himself and life.  It was a first for this former child of the streets.  In the week following camp he would have no place to sleep, study, eat, etc.  A friend of his located a small grass roofed hut where he can stay safely and study.  I’ve paid for it and have been giving him funds for food during the day.  Much to his credit, Peter refuses to take money without giving something back in return. He’d been a big help at the library and yesterday spent the day cleaning the floors in my house (his insistence – not mine) because I don’t really have any work for him.   If he works full time, as is his custom while on break to pay for food) he can’t study and falls behind in school.  My house has never been this clean  even when I moved in.  Dust and bugs are so pervasive that the patina of filth builds with such unfailing exuberance that it feels futile to hand-mop concrete floors everyday. One gets accustomed to living with a layer of grime which would take a year to develop in the states.    But TODAY, I have a clean house.  

Some interesting stories have emerged as we’ve been working in the same space. He casually told me how – before boarding school, he would find a way to hide his school uniform before returning to the street to sleep, and hand off his books to a friend to keep overnight.  The police know Peter in town because he was able to convince a rowdy gang of street kids who’d followed him up here from Kampala to return there.  He’s earned the respect of police (who helped him get an ID Card) and district officials alike and it will be interesting to see who Peter becomes.  

The library has been painted courtesy of funds from Matt Boddie (a PCV who extended a year) and his malaria organization and the almost heroic efforts of a Ugandan painter friend who called me “fearing” that I has been involved in the accident.  Shelves (some) have been moved courtesy of Peter and one of the teachers from his school and almost comically leaned against each other and walls to be sure they keep standing.  They are now loaded with what children’s books there are and while it’s a far cry from what we in the States grew up with in terms of libraries, it’s a first for Gulu.

This week I hope to get table legs cut down to convert big people tables to kiddie-size tables and find homes for more duplicate sets of 15 year old text books that keep spilling out of hidden spaces.  One small step at a time…

A talented young student-artist is doing a wonderful job copying malaria -prevention artwork to a wall mural, in exchange for art supplies.

Onward into the day.  I have a clean house and an empty kitchen – so a trip to the cuk madit is on the list, a little laundry-doing and some giving away of stuff.  I love that part – means things are winding down even as things intensify in terms of activity. 

Namaste my friends.

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All of a sudden, things have become busy and complicated.  A while back, I was casually bemoaning the circumstance of my work being so “mental.”  The library project whose failed attempt at starting in 2011, finally manifested and then along came Peter, who opened the door to more than I’d anticipated.   In the middle of all this, a friend of mine who was a PCV in Mali, put on Gulu’s version of the TED Talks and was there to take pictures.

 The event took place on the grounds of Gulu University (above with other PCV friends) and it was quite the deal.  The purpose of the event was to tell a different story of Northern Uganda, to share something other what people know of the North: “as a place you go to die.”

 That’s a direct quote from a Ugandan in Kampala.  There’s a great TED talk called “The Danger of a Single Story” (http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html) and it’s worth watching.

This TED talk was about some of the rather amazing projects operating in Gulu to move people forward. On the right, yours truly between Erin Morrison, good PCV friend living in Padjule and Natalie Grillion, the creator of the event (formerly in Mali).  

The library project is moving at a snail’s pace, despite my working there every Tuesday and Thursday.  The issues seem trivial in the larger scheme of things, but the everyday log-jams that interfere with forward motion continue to be daunting.  I think one of the things that happens to volunteers here is that we want to do much and when your deafened by the sound of the chinks in the machinery of progress grinding to a halt – there’s some self-reservation shut-down that occurs. Useful sometimes.  But then something that matters breaks through the veneer of frustration-created-apathy and we re-engage.  This time it’s the library project. 

Every time I tell a Ugandan that we are creating a Children’s Library (the first ever for Gulu and probably Uganda) they are moved nearly to tears over the idea – the commitment – the realization that someone from the outside is trying to do this for THEIR children – the opportunity it represents.  It’s a reminder that this is not a little thing and that it matters.  That’s where the frustration comes in.  To have shelves for the children’s room, we have had to liberate shelves from the adult collection, such as it is – mostly textbooks, with a little pleasure reading thrown in.  That means – for me – sorting through and organizing by category – a few thousand books. 

Since this has not really been done before except for obvious categories like math, it’s a walloping challenge.   And we could move those shelves if we could jettison the years worth of duplicate papers moved out of the “children’s room” – if anyone would come when they say they will – if anyone would call them back and follow-up, if anyone would……  What I can say about is:  it’s a great upper-body work out and it’s concrete.  When you’ve moved – and re-moved a few hundred books and see them in place, you can say – “I did that.” 

Much of what we do here is “planting seeds” that – if they grow – will come to fruition long after one leaves.    On the advice of a librarian friend, I am doing it by “book store” categories as opposed to Dewey Decimal System, because almost NO ONE shelves a book here. 

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I meet a lot of people on the street and we have brief casual conversations that consist mostly of greetings or “no, I’m sorry I don’t have any money to give you.”    With Peter, this became a dialog about what he was trying to do to get the 100 or so street kids in Gulu off the street, fed, back into school or at the least back with families.  

It wasn’t until later that I realized Peter had also been a street kid, getting random help from random people, working at odd jobs and getting a meal when he could.  Yet Peter never asked for money or even implied that he was in need himself. It was only obliquely that I learned he was trying to get back into school.  The focus was always on “his” street kids.  He never mentioned that all of the money he had saved for school had been stolen (story to follow). That came to me quite by accident from another woman who was in Peter’s life when it happened.

Fast forward to my deciding to help Peter get into Gulu Public Primary School (Grades 1 – 7) where he will have shelter and food as well as education. Peter’s been on the street for a few years and has developed a level of autonomy that’s doesn’t fit too well in a school where you have to ask permission to go to the latrine! As is true for many students, he is much older than the typical American 7th grader, because students attend school when there is money, time, and parental permission. Yet, he’s driven to continue his education.

Last Sunday was Parent’s Day at the school – and I guess as his sponsor, I’m the closest thing Peter has to a parent, so I went, signed in as a “parent,” was given his test results and stayed to visit.  I learned more about his history and had a fascinating conversation as Peter asked me about things he’d heard about the United States.  Sooo interesting to learn what Ugandans have heard and how it’s been interpreted in the context of life in Uganda, half-truths and all.  to do well and is following all the rules.  So far – so good, and his teachers are noticing.

The more I learn about Peter, the more amazed I am at how this young man has managed to hold on to such a single vision and motivation to be educated.  For the first few years of his life, Peter and his nine siblings were raised in a village on the outskirts of Gulu, much like the one pictured here.   Evidently the mother left the picture early on and his father was left to raise the kids alone.  They struggled for food and all of the children were expected to work in the fields or otherwise contribute to family livelihood.  Peter made it to P3 before it became evident that his father would not/could not continue to send him to school and it became a source of chronic conflict and later abuse from his older siblings.  So he went to live with another family after physical violence erupted as he became the  referee to keep his older brother from stealing food from the Peter’s younger siblings.   The new “family” got him through another year of school, but that living arrangement fell apart as well.  (Nearly every family I meet here has at least a few extra kids living with them or has sent their kids to live with someone who is better equipped to handle them.  The nuclear family is non-existant here for the most part.)

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So here we are.  I paid his fees for this term – part of them anyway – enough to get him in.  And as we get our PC stipend each month I’ll add to it.  He’ll work on holidays to finish it out, but the requirement with boarding school is that you don’t leave campus unescorted for the full three months of the term.    Interestingly, school fees include a contribution of: cement for repairs, a lightening rod, beans and posho, exam fees and an odd assortment of miscellany.   It amounts to 286,000 shillings (about $100 US). 

The dorm consists of a large room with cement floors, where the boys lay their mattresses butted up against each other on the floor.  They share an outdoor latrine and bathing area (bucket baths) and are required to bring their own toilet paper, copy paper and broom – among other things.   He couldn’t afford the socks or the flashlight or the toilet paper or the shoe polish or Vaseline or –or –or the 6 passport pictures or the 21 notebooks – so we’re piecing that all together.   I’ll post a picture when I get one.  

Today I walked to the school to take him a bag of supplies and it was an odd feeling to be helping another young man with school: a mixture of old memories of going to school for my own kids and somehow becoming a surrogate mother to a 17 year old  man-child.  This term is a test of sorts to see how he does.  Considering the fact that last year was his first year back in school and part of that time he was working to pay for it, he’s done pretty well.  In the process of getting him back in, I’ve met what amounts to a handful of people who represent his support system.   Since he has no home to go over the holidays, someone has agreed to find him “some small space.   Others have agreed to continue to seek a place for his street kids.  It’s rather daunting and the Nigerian proverb “it takes a whole village to raise a child” has become real. Here it’s quite literal.  

As we were walking back to the school yesterday he asked what we do in America when the electricity goes out.  I answered that that rarely happens and he was stunned.  Then he said:  “I hear that in the UK they don’t use candles for light, they are only used for celebrations! Can that really be true?”    When I answered “yes” he was silent for a long time after uttering an almost reverent, “wow!”  

And that’s my week in review. It’s now Sunday morning and it’s uncharacteristically quite.  The club music provided a thud all might and turned into the Call t Prayer this morning followed by church music on steroids.  I guess everyone has finally fallen asleep, because the only sound is a rooster and the wind through the trees.  Onward to another cup of coffee…

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