Cows, goats, and Graeme
So this past 10 days I spent at my home-base, Rubingo. Our camp consits of a bunch of those dark green canvas tents, each suspended in a wooden frame with a papyrus reed roof. The camp itself is on a hill, as I guessed in my first entry, and the tents we live in are at the very top, giving us a pretty sweet view. The area is very very rural. Our tents look out over a deep green banana tree covered valley, and then up huge bare green hills in every direction. As implied by the title, there are cows and goats everywhere. Goats, by the way, make horrible noises. I now understand the wise words of Cake (originally the bible?). They cry all the time, and it really does sound like hell. But besides that, Rubingo is great. We get up every morning at 7:00, which may sound like a challenge (especially for those who know me well) but is somewhat unavoidable due to the volume of the birds. They wake up about 6:30am, so I'm usually up with them. Plus, there is very little night life in this particular area...maybe due to the fact that there is no electricity whatsoever. That gets me in bed by 10:30 every night.
Our first few days were filled with visitng various ACTS projects. A big part of my time was spent going to widows meetings. ACTS has organized 8 different groups of very needy widows, and leased land for them to farm. Once a month, they have a general meeting where they can voice their concerns and go over accounts. Oh, by the way, meetings here are ridiculously formal (colonial legacy?) and every meeting begins with going over the agenda, then a word from the chair person, the previous minutes, a word from the guests, and then the accounts. The chair person is a widow nominated by the group, and she shares her thanks to us for coming and then voices her concerns. These were pretty uniform between the 8 groups. They don't have enough money to pay for their children's school fees, they have trouble affording a reasonable amount of food, they are all malaria ridden, so naturally request mosquito nets, and a larger than appropriate amount do not have homes at all. A Debbie Downer to say the least. Next, we are asked to say a word. At first we were caught off gaurd, but have since evolved an eloquence that would put Martin Luther King to shame. We begin our speeches with fluffy thank yous, and equally fluffy greetings (on behalf of anyone we can think of). Then, with seamless transitions, we compliment the widows on their hard work in the gardens, and praise them for their success with the handicraft program. Just to explain that, they recently began making handicrafts once a week (baskets, mats, etc) that they sell in the local market. They weren't too receptive to the idea at first, but since making a good amount of money from the projects, have been very happy to participate. One of my projects while I am here will be to contact an organization in Kampala that buys handicrafts from groups like these and sells them to tourists in Kampala. It would mean a whole lot more money for the widows, so hopefully I'll be able to set something up.
Our group was taken up into the hills to visit one of the water sources that Acts established and provides water for a large amount of people in the Rubingo area. There were some locals producing a brew there. Moonshine for sure. They make it out of squashed bananas first, the juice of which they ferment into something like beer. Then these guys boil the beer in big barrels, until the alcohol is vaporized and sent through a tube straight through a stream. It then cools and comes out the other end of the tube way stronger. If i'm not mistaken, thats what distilling is. So they happily let us try some, and it tasted a lot like gin. I'd guess about 40%. We were about to go on our way when they asked us if we'd like to try the "strong stuff". My throat still burned from the last one, but I didn't want to look like a pansy white kid, so naturally i agreed to try it. They took the gin-like stuff, then put it through the same process, and in the end it came out probably above 70%. Holy crap was that strong. I'm quite surprised I am not blind. It was like drinking rubbing alcohol, but with a faint banana taste. At least I know it's sterile!
I'm amazed at how much of a spectacle we whities are. In Rubingo, people will just stop and stare at us. We went to the market one day, and everywhere we went a little herd of people followed, just staring. It's a lot like being in a zoo. We drive around in big pick up trucks all day, and are often in the bed of the truck, which by the way, is ridiculously fun. Every road here is a 4x4 road, with huge rocks, potholes, mud, and really questionable bridges. In fact, today, there was a ridiculously big rainstorm, and on the way back to camp, our truck slipped off one of the two plank bridges and went nose first into a ditch. Luckily, the ditch was not too deep, and we were able to build up a ramp with some nearby fence poles, then reinforce the bridge. Trudging around in the mud with a ridiculous amount of water pouring from the sky made me question my wardrobe decisions....my tevas and shorts just werent cutting it.
Back to the being white here thing. We drive around in these trucks, and every child who notices the mzungus will scream, clap, jump, and sprint after the truck. We wave back of course, and I can't say I don't enjoy the attention, but is it ever wierd. At one point, we stopped the truck by a primary school, and the entire studen body, about 75 kids all dressed in pink uniforms, surrounded the truck, giggling and watching. We took out our cameras of course, and every time they saw the picture we took of them, the whole group would scream and laugh and throw up their hands. At one point, Katie ( another intern) jumped at them with a roar, and they all scattered, terrified of the crazy mzungu. But they loved it, and came back with big smiles asking for more. All the kids love to try out their english on us, too. We get a lot of "how are you", the response to which is "i am fine". I don't think they are taught any other response. One day, a little girl came running up with a friend, and as she passed me whispered, "you are most welcome". Another did a similar drive-by...i guess run-by english shooting and said "good evening, madame" even though it was morning. Oh and also I am not a woman, last I checked. Although they do say that if a woman whistles here, she will grow a beard, so maybe I can't be sure anymore.
We attended church on Sunday, a service that lasted from 9:30am until about 5:00pm. We were given seats of honor right in front, and sat politely listening to the service, even though we could not understand a thing. We were also asked to introduce ourselves, and the crowd, upon hearing our attempts at Runyankole greetings, would burst into laughter and applause. The choir on this particular Sunday was made up of a Community Based Organization (CBO) called the Hope CBO. They are a group of about 30, and all HIV positive. What a great group. They are completely organized and indepent, and unlike other CBOs we've met, did not immediately ask us for money. Instead, we were greeted warmly. They even sang us a song in English, some words of which went, "We thank you for your presence" and "Sit down and feel at home, you are welcome". Quite an honor. By the way, these people can freaking sing. The songs they sing put any songs from my church back home to shame, and are so joyful, upbeat and pure that it's no wonder most of Uganda is Christian. They sang accompanied by two huge metal-basin made drums that laid down a syncopated, complex beat and gave the whole thing a celebratory groove. The whole congregation joined in the singing, clapping their hands and dancing the whole time. The quality of sound was made even more innocent because of the presence of so many children, probably about 50%. This is not too surprising, considering Uganda's population consists of about 50% kids.
The down side to church was lunch. Only we were served, mostly because we were guests, but talk about inequality manifesting itself in a very literal way. We sat and ate while the rest of the 300 or so people had nothing. Took away my appetite. Oh, and some of my goat still had its fur. That didnt help things.
That brings me to the diet. They warned us to bring spices and sauces, because the diet is not very varied. Of course, me being me, I ignored these reccommendations, and was sure I wouldn't mind at all. Now 10 days into it, and no Mrs. Dash left, I fill my free time with thoughts of General Tsaou, fettuccini alfredo, huge steaks, and coffee. Did i mention there is no coffee? Sure they grow it all around me, but no they do not drink it. The beans cannot be used straight off the tree either, they need to go to the factory. I wander through farms, coffee branches dripping with red, ripe beans, but am not granted a sip. Oh how I miss a good coffee. For us it is rice and beans, twice a day, every day. I will be returning to Rubingo with a backpack full of sauces, spices, and snacks. I will also search high and low for some coffee, as hot water is available. Where there's a will there's a way?
We currently are just starting our five day break. On the way back to Mbarara, our truck was rather testy, and would not drive over 40k/h. In fact, it could barely make it up the hills. I had to keep hopping out to pump the gas manually. We did make it back eventually. These trucks are bound to have problems, though. THey are put through a lot. At one point during the week, we had three flat tires in one day. We ran out of spares, and had to wait around for ever to get the them patched. So is life around here. A lot of waiting. A lot.
Tomorrow we head off to Rwanda for our break. We're going to check out the genocide museums and hopefully visit a lake resort town. There have even been rumors of hot water and a bar on the beach......
I will hopefully update again sometime in Rwanda. I trust all is well over on my home continent!
Our first few days were filled with visitng various ACTS projects. A big part of my time was spent going to widows meetings. ACTS has organized 8 different groups of very needy widows, and leased land for them to farm. Once a month, they have a general meeting where they can voice their concerns and go over accounts. Oh, by the way, meetings here are ridiculously formal (colonial legacy?) and every meeting begins with going over the agenda, then a word from the chair person, the previous minutes, a word from the guests, and then the accounts. The chair person is a widow nominated by the group, and she shares her thanks to us for coming and then voices her concerns. These were pretty uniform between the 8 groups. They don't have enough money to pay for their children's school fees, they have trouble affording a reasonable amount of food, they are all malaria ridden, so naturally request mosquito nets, and a larger than appropriate amount do not have homes at all. A Debbie Downer to say the least. Next, we are asked to say a word. At first we were caught off gaurd, but have since evolved an eloquence that would put Martin Luther King to shame. We begin our speeches with fluffy thank yous, and equally fluffy greetings (on behalf of anyone we can think of). Then, with seamless transitions, we compliment the widows on their hard work in the gardens, and praise them for their success with the handicraft program. Just to explain that, they recently began making handicrafts once a week (baskets, mats, etc) that they sell in the local market. They weren't too receptive to the idea at first, but since making a good amount of money from the projects, have been very happy to participate. One of my projects while I am here will be to contact an organization in Kampala that buys handicrafts from groups like these and sells them to tourists in Kampala. It would mean a whole lot more money for the widows, so hopefully I'll be able to set something up.
Our group was taken up into the hills to visit one of the water sources that Acts established and provides water for a large amount of people in the Rubingo area. There were some locals producing a brew there. Moonshine for sure. They make it out of squashed bananas first, the juice of which they ferment into something like beer. Then these guys boil the beer in big barrels, until the alcohol is vaporized and sent through a tube straight through a stream. It then cools and comes out the other end of the tube way stronger. If i'm not mistaken, thats what distilling is. So they happily let us try some, and it tasted a lot like gin. I'd guess about 40%. We were about to go on our way when they asked us if we'd like to try the "strong stuff". My throat still burned from the last one, but I didn't want to look like a pansy white kid, so naturally i agreed to try it. They took the gin-like stuff, then put it through the same process, and in the end it came out probably above 70%. Holy crap was that strong. I'm quite surprised I am not blind. It was like drinking rubbing alcohol, but with a faint banana taste. At least I know it's sterile!
I'm amazed at how much of a spectacle we whities are. In Rubingo, people will just stop and stare at us. We went to the market one day, and everywhere we went a little herd of people followed, just staring. It's a lot like being in a zoo. We drive around in big pick up trucks all day, and are often in the bed of the truck, which by the way, is ridiculously fun. Every road here is a 4x4 road, with huge rocks, potholes, mud, and really questionable bridges. In fact, today, there was a ridiculously big rainstorm, and on the way back to camp, our truck slipped off one of the two plank bridges and went nose first into a ditch. Luckily, the ditch was not too deep, and we were able to build up a ramp with some nearby fence poles, then reinforce the bridge. Trudging around in the mud with a ridiculous amount of water pouring from the sky made me question my wardrobe decisions....my tevas and shorts just werent cutting it.
Back to the being white here thing. We drive around in these trucks, and every child who notices the mzungus will scream, clap, jump, and sprint after the truck. We wave back of course, and I can't say I don't enjoy the attention, but is it ever wierd. At one point, we stopped the truck by a primary school, and the entire studen body, about 75 kids all dressed in pink uniforms, surrounded the truck, giggling and watching. We took out our cameras of course, and every time they saw the picture we took of them, the whole group would scream and laugh and throw up their hands. At one point, Katie ( another intern) jumped at them with a roar, and they all scattered, terrified of the crazy mzungu. But they loved it, and came back with big smiles asking for more. All the kids love to try out their english on us, too. We get a lot of "how are you", the response to which is "i am fine". I don't think they are taught any other response. One day, a little girl came running up with a friend, and as she passed me whispered, "you are most welcome". Another did a similar drive-by...i guess run-by english shooting and said "good evening, madame" even though it was morning. Oh and also I am not a woman, last I checked. Although they do say that if a woman whistles here, she will grow a beard, so maybe I can't be sure anymore.
We attended church on Sunday, a service that lasted from 9:30am until about 5:00pm. We were given seats of honor right in front, and sat politely listening to the service, even though we could not understand a thing. We were also asked to introduce ourselves, and the crowd, upon hearing our attempts at Runyankole greetings, would burst into laughter and applause. The choir on this particular Sunday was made up of a Community Based Organization (CBO) called the Hope CBO. They are a group of about 30, and all HIV positive. What a great group. They are completely organized and indepent, and unlike other CBOs we've met, did not immediately ask us for money. Instead, we were greeted warmly. They even sang us a song in English, some words of which went, "We thank you for your presence" and "Sit down and feel at home, you are welcome". Quite an honor. By the way, these people can freaking sing. The songs they sing put any songs from my church back home to shame, and are so joyful, upbeat and pure that it's no wonder most of Uganda is Christian. They sang accompanied by two huge metal-basin made drums that laid down a syncopated, complex beat and gave the whole thing a celebratory groove. The whole congregation joined in the singing, clapping their hands and dancing the whole time. The quality of sound was made even more innocent because of the presence of so many children, probably about 50%. This is not too surprising, considering Uganda's population consists of about 50% kids.
The down side to church was lunch. Only we were served, mostly because we were guests, but talk about inequality manifesting itself in a very literal way. We sat and ate while the rest of the 300 or so people had nothing. Took away my appetite. Oh, and some of my goat still had its fur. That didnt help things.
That brings me to the diet. They warned us to bring spices and sauces, because the diet is not very varied. Of course, me being me, I ignored these reccommendations, and was sure I wouldn't mind at all. Now 10 days into it, and no Mrs. Dash left, I fill my free time with thoughts of General Tsaou, fettuccini alfredo, huge steaks, and coffee. Did i mention there is no coffee? Sure they grow it all around me, but no they do not drink it. The beans cannot be used straight off the tree either, they need to go to the factory. I wander through farms, coffee branches dripping with red, ripe beans, but am not granted a sip. Oh how I miss a good coffee. For us it is rice and beans, twice a day, every day. I will be returning to Rubingo with a backpack full of sauces, spices, and snacks. I will also search high and low for some coffee, as hot water is available. Where there's a will there's a way?
We currently are just starting our five day break. On the way back to Mbarara, our truck was rather testy, and would not drive over 40k/h. In fact, it could barely make it up the hills. I had to keep hopping out to pump the gas manually. We did make it back eventually. These trucks are bound to have problems, though. THey are put through a lot. At one point during the week, we had three flat tires in one day. We ran out of spares, and had to wait around for ever to get the them patched. So is life around here. A lot of waiting. A lot.
Tomorrow we head off to Rwanda for our break. We're going to check out the genocide museums and hopefully visit a lake resort town. There have even been rumors of hot water and a bar on the beach......
I will hopefully update again sometime in Rwanda. I trust all is well over on my home continent!
posted by graeme at 7:45 AM
1 Comments:
Amazing! You aren't dressed properly? I thought you bought a bunch of shirts before you left? Graeme, why so many widows in Rubingo? Does the Army take all the men? You awake at 7:00 AM!! Dude that is great. When you are back in CA we can go to the gym together now at 6:30 AM you'll love it.
All well here. Claudette has been touring around with DJ Yosef & Elias, here from Ethiopia. They went to Berkeley the other night and met up at Greg 'Chuck" G's place. I think Erika went as well. Lenka & I should join them in the city this afternoon. You'd have fun here, we miss you.
Too bad you didn't have more spices! I hope you get that cup o' coffee in Rwanda. Loved the post take care and be safe.
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