I worked on a project at the PC office for the first three days and was ferried to the training location on Friday morning. Remember that this was to be held at the SWAMP and I’d been dreading it for two weeks.  A much intentioned reprieve was delivered because the SWAMP wasn’t ready for habitation it seems.  So instead, training was held at Kulika, a perma-gardening demonstration project an hour’s ride from Kampala.  The universe was smiling on us all.  Without going into details, I was able to stay at the site, ensconced in a room with another volunteer.  

So this was a week of unexpected gifts, the first being a good seat mate for 5.5 hour ride into Kampala, the second being the Kulika-reprieve and the third being a night of utter silence – if you don’t count the pig grunting around outside my window…  (Mama pig out for a stroll without her piglets?) Really – no noise, no blasting radios-calls-to-prayer-marching bands.  I slept without ear-plugs.  I gave my first session the next day and it went well-enough.  One learns to be grateful for things like there being a projector and computer for the three Power Point presentations loaded onto a flash drive and the fact that there was power to actually use the projector.  Good so far.

The new group of trainees seems solid and their training experience appears to be far superior to the one we survived.  We raised so much hell about ours, they redesigned the model and it seems to be paying off.  Whereas we had 10 weeks of home-stay and trekking 45 minutes to an hour through manure strewn fields, past belligerent cows and marauding attacks of local children, deep mud, insects, barbed wire and other assorted obstacles to get to training and then back again at night, they trained and lodged at the same location which was – in itself – beautiful. That one change leaves lots of time for study, guitar playing, conversation and rest against a farm backdrop of cows and pigs and goats.  They appear to be in MUCH better emotional and physical condition that we were by this time in the process.    

Saturday I conducted a session that I’ve presented at home many times and was delighted and surprised to be able to offer here.  It’s the one on neural-networks, motivation, boundary setting and staying positive.  It was very well received and opened the door for a lot of interesting conversations and a meditation session the next day.  Radically different from any training PC has offered in the past, it felt good to share that part of my life and expertise here.  Sunday was a totally free and unstructured day and the weather was perfect: cool and breezy accented with bird song and the occasional pig snort and turkey gobble.

Now – I have kind of a soft spot for pigs (not turkeys), as my grandmother had an enormous hog that I adored as a toddler in north Louisiana.  I named this beast Dear-Sweet-Pig and docile creature that she was she allowed me to commune with her through the fence and wiggle my fingers in her piggy-nostrils (how utterly disgusting!).  Why I didn’t lose a hand, I’ll never know because the pigs I have met since, have been a bit more – well – beastly. Though I’ve yet to try the finger maneuver on any other porcine subjects – it just  might be a secret hypnotic Mudra for a pig   I was inconsolable when my parents wouldn’t let me bring Dear-Sweet-Pig home to live in our living room in Baton Rouge.   So the next morning of training, when a very business like pig trotted up the driveway looking like he ran the place, it seemed fitting tribute to Pig.  The next day he was joined by some disreputable looking friends, running through the compound causing general havoc and scattering trainees,  but that seemed perfectly in keeping with the cow who doubled as the snooze alarm in the morning.   I like this place. 

Now to Jonathan:  a fine specimen of a feline living on the property. He  does love his Muzungus, though as a respectable cat, he could never admit to such weakness.  In fact, Jonathan became know as a fearless-stalker-of-pigs, until said pig called his bluff and chased him around the yard.  Not to be outdone, Jonathan completely upstaged me in today’s presentation on Monitoring and Evaluation (not hard to be upstaged there however…).  About half way through he strutted straight to the front of the room with a sizable mouse dangling from his mouth. He threw it about and tormented it to death and when he’d exhausted his fun, he retired to lounge around with his sleek brown trophy displayed under the flip chart.  Clearly time for me to call it a day.

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We have now been and come home after several faulty starts with transportation.  But that’s to be expected.  See – I’m becoming acculturated…

Predawn on the last day we were awakened by the most horrific, rusty-door-squawking of a demented chicken that went on forever.  I think the chicken must have just passed out  – or maybe made into lunch.  My roommate and I started giggling – well – I started – she followed and so the day began.  This inauspicious wake-up call followed the 3:30 crowing of innumerable roosters, synchronous with the electricity being “finished.”  It’s true what they say about Kitgum, it IS hotter than Gulu, Pader and any number of other places except summer in Texas. Because of this, and being old farts (well a few of us anyway – Carla I don’t put you in that category yet) who chose the possibility of sharing a room with just one other person – as opposed to fifteen or twenty – we stayed at a little place called Fugly’s, run by an Australian woman.  The least costly are the dorm rooms (for 2 – 3) boasting fans, communal showers and toilets, etc. – and a SWIMMING POOL!   It is not cheap by Ugandan standards, but not high end either.    And – it is quiet. That’s worth something.  And then there’s Betty-the-watchdog, a brindle Blue-heeler mix who “speaks.”

The remainder of the group shared the school’s dorm quarters and a distant latrine.   Having been without the fans (electricity is finished) for two of our four nights, on the last day of the workshop we “footed” the four miles or so down an impossibly dusty road to get to Fugly’s in time to enjoy the fruits of our 50,000 UgX accommodations – namely the swimming pool. As we rounded the corner, practically tearing off our clothes in anticipation of submerging in cold water, we discovered – to our horror – that they were in the advanced stages of draining said pool.  This is because of the vast quantities of ash  falling from the sky – fallout from the rampant burning of harvested crops.  Bereft, filthy, hot and not too happy, we stripped and stood under cold showers for thirty minutes instead.  It could have been worse – the pump for the bore hole broke that night…

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Arriving at the venue for this 4-day workshop we were escorted to a Mango tree with mats under it.  

The agenda was taped to the wall of the mud hut that represents home to the organizer of the event.  Call me crazy, but I had anticipated some sort of a classroom, with actual chairs.  See what I mean – there’s always a surprise around the corner.  

After the first day, it seemed completely normal to have a diminishing clutch of freshly hatch chicks escorted by a very protective mother hen pecking through our midst.  A drove of pigs oinked as they uprooted the field next to us and goats occupied the tops of ant heaps and the random brick wall.  Various critters periodically fell  in our laps from the mango tree as the breeze dislodged them from their perches, but all in all it was thoroughly entertaining.  Moving into the computer lab for one of the sessions was a drag.  

Every moment of Africa is a new “surprise,” in part because after six months we can still be surprised.

To get from Gulu to Kitgum, we hired a taxi, which arrived an hour late, having to deliver charcoal before we could get in, then get gas (a second attempt).  Bumping along washboard roads, and tilting at impossible angles for several hours to get here, we were thrilled at the possibility of showers and a meal served at a table.  It was to be our last meal time elegance for several days, other meals eaten balancing our plates on our laps while sitting on  mats,  assorted chairs, bricks or tree stumps.

But the evening meals were truly delicious.  How several people managed to cook for a group of almost thirty on two Sigiris and one propane burner is amazing.  It was Chinese food one night and Indian the next.  Some of the best I’ve had in Uganda!  I appreciated having my little micro-light from Travis and Brett, to occasionally check what I was eating – sitting there in the dark.  I avoided crunching down on a grasshopper sitting on the Nan bread at one point.  Don’t know what else I might  have eaten in the interim though.

Transport away from this garden spot was another eyeopener.  We had planned (no I mean really PLANNED) to ride with PCV Response  (former PCV’s who return in response to some specific need – this one being malaria prevention) Volunteer who rated a driver and a vehicle. We certainly felt plans had been made abundantly clear, having told the volunteer in the presence of the driver that two of us would be joining them.  We even gave the driver our phone number.    All planned – to leave at 9:00 the next morning.  We tried to give him details of where, but this was not to be as he insisted on calling us in the morning…    Ah – that was the crux of the problem.    Never do this again.

Next morning –  the network?  It is finished.  There will be no telephone calls.  But we are certain that our fellow volunteers will NOT let them leave without us – everyone knows where we are staying after all.  We waited – and waited – and  were left.

 Fugly’s owner, brenda, tok mercy on us and finally drove us to the bus park where we discovered all three busses to Gulu were booked. – There was no room for these Munus.  So we eyed an almost full Matatu, 10 in a vehicle made for 12 and we made 12  because it claimed to be going to Gulu “non-now.”  (Now-now in the local vernacular means really NOW.  Now just means sometimes today…)  Ah HA!  We negotiated a price and paid – a mistake.  We were then informed that they are waiting for another 10 people before leaving.  Full is never full in the world of Ugandan transportation.  It’s not full till it leaves – and it ain’t leavin’ till it’s full.  And that means 24 in a vehicle made for 12.  

We waited…. more people came.   Women with small children piling in and on top of each other.  In a last ditch effort to get this thing moving, I found they were finally only waiting for 2 and one was in the process of paying.  I offered to pay for the last seat so we can leave – and selfishly, so we can sit only three to a row, instead of  – well one never knows.

Miraculously we left almost “now-now,” but not before  another man piled in, leaving the conductor (who I call a referee because he referees where people will sit) to squeeze in a spot where only a chicken will fit.  He was relatively small…

We started and bumbled back along the washboard road, stopping to pick up another 6 or so people and all their luggage on the way back to Gulu.  I stopped counting at 20, but god bless the referee – he protected the sanctity of our three seats – so, Ugly Americans that we were, we arrived three hours later, covered with grime, hair caked in dust, luggage coated in dirt – but in better shape than we would have had we not bought that seat.

The crowning piece of the trip was that when we arrived in Gulu, there were the folks we were supposed to have ridden with (in a nice comfy vehicle) already there enjoying lunch.   Stunned, we approached – wondering WTF,  and how did you think we might get home???  It seems communication debacles are not just the province of  locals.  Americans can claim equal bragging rights to total screw-ups.  There was nothing malicious about our being stranded, just assumptions and mis-communication.  One is left wondering if there is any way to override such possibilities when the channels we are accustomed to  are simply “finished.”  We are creatures of convenience and in a country were nothing can be relied on except that it will be “finished” when you need it, well – all bets are off.

One must rely on wits and goodwill.   I remind myself that I chose this adventure and the nature of adventure is constant exposure to the unknown, some hazards, some danger, but mostly just stuff you don’t encounter in the safety of your known world.   This qualifies.

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Uganda is still a largely agrarian culture and here in the north, much farming has been destroyed due to the fact that people have been living in IDP (Internally Displace People) camps for 20 years of war.   When they were moved (or were convinced to move) into the camps for their safety during the war, they had to abandon their crops and could not leave the camps to go and dig.  While most are back on the land now, their farming practices can’t keep up with the need for food and a vast number of people are suffering from HIV/AIDS and simply don’t have the strength to manage a large garden.

Enter Perma-gardening, a child of Perma-Culture.  In short, it’s a method of gardening using small plots of land and natural, local resources very efficiently to increase yield.  A small garden, done this way, can feed a family or a village year round and  for years without the need for crop rotation, etc.  It’s a very different way of digging and planting, so that’s what we learned today.  And this day, we cleared, dug, weeded and planted  nine individual gardens and one “kitchen garden.”

We discovered black ants over a half an inch long that hiss and smell funny.  Nasty creatures – when they bite, they bite like a crab and don’t let go.   (More visions of Poisonwood Bible and the river of ants…)  We did double digging (digging down two feet in stages and bringing the deep soil up), water trapping, water channeling, composting, more digging, more weeding and learning how to make a central compost well in the center of a round garden, to continuously feed the garden.

There were about PCV’s and their Ugandan Counterparts there and we will all go out and use these methods and teach them in community.  In the villages, these concepts put into play will offer better nutrition, more efficient farming practices that will increase yield and reduce costs associated with some other forms of high yield farming, offer HIV patients a way to manage their disease through improved nutrition and hopefully feed some school kids and have some produce left over to sell.  

So I returned at 7:00 to – once again – no power and no running water, had a ripe papaya for dinner, a cold bucket bath (which I have learned to like…)  and a visit from some PCVs close to what’s called COS (Close of Service).  They all say time really flies after training when you’re at site.  I’m waiting to see how this works – because I haven’t seen any wings-of-time  flapping thus far, but the time is early “somehow.”    Still busy trying to keep up with hauling water, lighting candles praying for power or water – or both.

Keep those e-mails and letters coming folks!  It’s amazing what a difference in mood is generated when we get an e-mail from home.  It’s like Christmas morning al over again

Eyes are closing at 9:30 PM – absolutely disgraceful – but true.  Nighty night ya’ll.

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The training was excellent however and we found ourselves the next day in a small village of coffee farmers, cultivating mountain sides that a goat would have trouble climbing.  In the context of improving profits, this NGO has done amazing work with 3800 individual farmers (1-2 acres of land each) and  is changing the culture in the process.  

By this I mean that they are getting men to share in the workload (women do ALL of the work here – climb, dig, raise children, cook harvest, etc.), share decision making, reduce domestic abuse, curb drinking, etc.   It is daunting work, but it is happening and the testamonials to these changes are stunning.  Some women had escaped from war camps to live in the bush and are now successful coffee farmers.  Success takes on a different scale here:  think in terms of them living in a mud building and having food as success.  

To access the model farm we hiked up one of those mountains on straight up trails that would make a goat faint.  It was challenging even without my aversion to high places.  I wondered how I begat sons who climb mountains and jump out of airplanes and wished for some of their oomph.

Perched on a flat space the size of a one car garage, we found a family of 10 living in a mud brick hut cultivating a farm of 500 plus coffee plants and hauling water and everything else needed for daily life up the mountain and doing this multiple times per day.    They consider themselves fortunate because they have quadrupled their harvest in the last year or two and look forward to building a larger mud brick hut near their current house.

All of their coffee harvest and post-harvest work is done by hand.  There is no electricity, but they have a couple of new machines that they will run with generators, until electricity makes it up the mountain.  President Musceveni (spelling) has personally promised it by December.

So that’s the lay of the land at the moment.  Came back with tools I can take to my site in Gulu,  reminded that one person can make a difference but that it starts at the grass roots level.

Going to study Acholi again as ALL of my language skills seem to have been bounced out in the bus ride. Tests tomorrow…

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Scenes like the beautiful Ankoli cattle wandering down the road provide some relief from the stresses of training, but it’s intense. We are all feeling the stresses of living with a family in very confined circumstances, having no control over diet and no personal time. Add to this, culture shock, illnesses, 12 hours of night and no electricity, limited access to communication and a total departure from anything resembling order and it keeps one’s emotions just below the trigger point.  Any small thing can and does blindside us. 

A lovely, sweet young man volunteer ready to clear out to return home after his two years sat next to me on the ride into Kampala where we attended the American Embassy celebration of the 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps. We spoke about his family and his struggles to define himself and his close relationship with his family, forged through many trials and tribulations.  He mentioned that he’d told his mom how much her guidance and patience through the hard years had meant to him, but wasn’t sure she’d really “heard him.”  I let him know what a gift that was to parents to hear those sentiments, having heard them from my own sons.  He was really surprised at how powerful that was and I realized he needed a mother to tell him how much that meant.  For the hour drive back from the party we were surrogate mother and son to each other.  And for the entire weekend I was a little tearful, missing my guys.  Some are moved to tears by how much the memory of or relationship with their parents and siblings means when you’re half way around the world.  E-mail, telephones and mail are the lifelines, and it’s easy to understand how deep friendships are forged quickly with fellow volunteers.

So we are celebrating a bit by having made it half way through training, with no departures. From your perch in the States, that might sound strange, but trust me – this training pushes all the buttons and unravels insecurities.  I think it’s designed to – kind of like Chemistry 101 thins the student crop.

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t’s been an uncharacteristically good day.  Today was Cross Cultural Cooking day and we headed like good  little students to fulfill what we all thought might be a dreaded activity.  We arrived at 9:00, I with a backpack of cumin, fajita seasonings, chili powder, dried cilantro etc. ready to try to carve a Mexican meal out of what we have available.  First we waited for Jean Marie, our Acholi teacher, who has promised to slay the chickens.   He arrives and we have learned that ALL groups have had chicken added because we are ALL expected to know what it’s like to kill and cook a chicken – lest we need to. It does not go well.  Knives are dull.  The chickens are black and glossy and beautiful and await their fate.  Finally the deed is done and now we have to pluck them clean, dis-embowel and prepare for cooking.  Many mishaps occur – but it is accomplished and we all do our part.  I plucked…   I am fast becoming vegetarian, but have fulfilled the chicken requirement! I expect an A+ for this.

Fast forward – we meticulously poke through the bulk rice to find little stones (left)that break teeth and are probably at the root of dental problems being the highest percentage of health issues in PC Uganda. 

We take our task seriously and do this while the charcoal fires built in Sigiris (left) burn down to the point of cooking.  The chicken is started after much ado about parts.  An unlaid egg was found in one and  I wonder if I will be able to partake with the images still fresh in my mind’s eye.

Several hours later, we managed to pull together a stunningly successful meal with fabulous Spanish rice with onions, garlic, cumin and fresh cilantro – cooked in chicken broth.  Yes – it is not only edible, but really added flavor to the rice, which is always served sticky and without seasonings.  We have made Chipati bread (think thick tortillas) and it is tasty! We have FRESH Guacamole to which we have added red onions and tomatoes and cilantro, all of  which have been washed in water with bleach added – as have all utensils.  It’s all part of living here and not getting stomach troubles.  So far so good – several hours have passed.

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Today we learned to castrate piglets.  Well, to be honest I can’t say we really LEARNED it – that would imply that we had opportunity to practice it and that we did not do.  But we did witness the training and I will tell you that little piggy squealed all the way home.  Yes, it’s a far cry from my former life…  And who knows just how all this will be put into play.  But you will be the first to know Well – maybe the second.

It was part of a visit to a very impressive permaculture farm where trainings were in progress for an international group learning new farming practices to take back to Kenya and Tanzania.    The hope is we’ll learn a variety of techniques that we can take to our sites and contribute to improved farming practices and that supports just about everything from health to earning school fees to educate kids.     While I don’t plan to do in piglets, the perma-culture practices I’m sure we’ll put into play.

Tomorrow we’ll learn to cook on a charcoal stove called a sigiri.  The plan is to order propane stoves for living at site, but we’ll still probably bake using charcoal.  I brought a ton of  mexican spices (thanks to Bonnie, a returned PCV who knew what was coming !) and some will be put into good use as we cook a Mexican meal as part of a Cross Cultural exercise meant to teach us how to survive when they cut the umbilical.  Out language trainer has agreed to sacrifice the chicken.  If you want meat here, ya gotta kill it.  This is probably the last meat I will have here in a meal I cook.

On that happy note, the orphanage behind my house (home stay) is tuning up.  Every night at 8:00 they sing with clapping and drumming for about 30 minutes.  It’s a wonderful sound.  This group supports itself with tours to the UK.  Sorry if I’ve already mentioned that, but it is a fine way to end the day.

Thanks to those of you who are reading and those who have commented.  It’s a wonderful link to home.

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Tomorrow we will learn the REAL short cut through the hills to school.  Rubber rain boots that come to the knee are now a requirement.  Mine are white – aren’t you just a little bit jealous???

This week we visited a farm and wore thes boots, and were allowed to wear trousers (women DON”T wear trousers here) and work gloves and learn about perma-culture farming.  No doubt I’ll have some kind of garden at site, but everyone in country depends on their farms for food, so we’ll at some point be talking and training in farming methods.  I know – you can’t see me farming????

The bins at left are manure, pic urine, etc. to use as fertilizer.

Light is fading and the solar lamp is on its last leg.  Nighty night….

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We we are settling in with our host families here in Wakisu, 15 minutes from Kampala as the crow flies and 45 if you dare to take public transportation.  My family is headed by an amazing woman who has survived more than anyone I know will experience in many lifetimes.   Educated, articulate,  a community leader and raising several grandchildren as well as educating some extended family, she was reared in a wealthy family with high level connections until one of the wars came along. After her husband was thrown into prison, where he died,  she became homeless and penniless, but survived with her 6 children in the forest until she found some family land willed to her husband.  She has built her home alone and has educated all of her children (4 of whom died from AIDS related issues) and most of her grandchildren!  In short, she is the quintessential feminist in a culture where that is rare.

Her home is reasonably upscale, built of home-made bricks.  We have a toilet (that flushes to somewhere with water poured in from a Jerry Can), no running water and no electricity.  Many volunteers are in homes with outdoor pit latrines, so this is a large step up.  We take cold water bucket baths (no too bad once you catch your breath) and sleep under treated mosquito nets.  This phase lasts for another two months, after which we will go to our sites and have out own places. 

All I know at this point is that I will be in northern Uganda, somewhere in the vicinity of Gulu and will be working with a non-profit (NGO).  The language is Acholi: rather a combination of Arabic, African dialects and peppered with sounds akin to Vietnamese.  In short, it sounds like a made up language and I am having a hard time with it. 

We are a group of 46 and my Acholi group is fabulous. I’m looking forward to moving on to the next stage and will tell more.  At the moment, I’m running out of of battery and have to hike down the road to leave it with someone who has electricity!   No time to proof read – so forgive the mistakes!

OH yes – and I have to say “The views expressed in this blog are personal and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Peace Corps…”  So there it is.  Love you all!

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What I want now is more sleep – but 22 hours on a plane should take care of some of that.
N

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