the good, the bad and the ugly

I traveled down to Kampala again this weekend to meet up with some friends and watch the World Cup match between the U.S. and England. There was a fairly large group of friends that were able to make it to the city. The original plan was that we were going to watch the game at the British Embassy, but unfortunately those plans fell through.

Our country director was gracious enough to allow us to come to his private residence and watch the game in his living room. As the country director he has the U.S. Armed Forces television feed that all military posts get around the globe. This means that we were able to watch the ESPN feed of the game and listen to an American play-by-play instead of the African broadcast we would have otherwise had to endure.

The game was a lot of fun, with Hayley bringing Gouda cheese and Ted (the director) making us popcorn at half time. There was plenty of beer and wine to go around. Another example of a small but important event that helps a volunteer keep his/her sanity.

On Friday night a group of around 10 of us went to an area of the city called Kabalagala. I had never been, nor heard of this particular area; but it is one full of restaurants and bars. I would describe this place as Tijuana on acid.

We started off fairly normal, having dinner at a place called Flaming Chicken and watched one of the World Cup games on the t.v. After dinner we went over to a large "dance club," and upon entering all of the men in the group were immediately approached and accosted by local prostitutes.

Everyone of these girls was highly attractive and completely indiscreet about their intentions...Get these white guys to give them money. Our group also was comprised of female volunteers, but this didn't matter at all to these girls. We were sitting at a table when a girl sat down next to me and grabbed my inner-thigh asking, "do you want to have some fun tonight?"

My reply, "this is my wife Jill," pointing to my friend across the table. The young woman, "She can watch or join, I don't care."

An other's technique was to hand me her cell phone, telling me to scroll through the photos she had. They were of her in every stage of undress and position you can imagine on a bed...then the last image, a young boy who I assume was her child. Utterly depressing.

Mark, a friend of mine had a lengthy conversation with a young girl about why she was doing what she was doing with such a hi-risk of HIV, abuse and other unspeakable things. Her response was that she didn't care what happened to her, the money was too good and she needed to take care of her family. HIV was something that might kill her in the future, but right now there were too many people that were relying on her bringing in the money.

The other disturbing part was the number of old, white men in this bar that were trolling for these young women. It was almost stomach turning to see how this industry flourishes in person. You see it in news reports, but the reality is crazy. These men were there for one thing, and they had no shame. We talked to one older man (70 years or so) that had been living in the area since 1981. He had a home and started his own bar down the street.

After what I would call a fun/eye opening weekend I made my way back home to Kitgum on the bus. After eight hours we left Gulu for the final stretch to Kitgum. This part of the road ceases to be tarmac and is a two hour stretch of the worst dirt road you can imagine. We have been in the rainy season so there are pot-holes everywhere.

Drivers avoid them by swerving all over the road at a hi-rate of speed. Villagers also use these roads to walk from home to home and market, they are all over the place.

Anyway, I was in the very front seat of the bus next to the driver when in the distance we saw a group of 80 or so people milling around, i knew it wasn't a good sign. As we approached the driver slowed down and we slowly drove by... pulled to the side of the road was a large truck carrying a load of coal and further up was a dead woman that had been completely mangled.

As I watched the scene unfold as we rolled by in slow motion I remembered the conversations some of us had had during training that it would be a miracle if we made it our two years of service without seeing an incident like this. Strangely, I felt very little by what I was seeing. I mean, i felt bad for the woman but I wasn't shocked, frightened or in awe.

This past weekend proved how fast things can change in this country. Life is tough here. Sitting at home watching the nightly news about these types of things you feel shock and outrage. Being in the story, it almost becomes everyday. For better or worse I'm not sure.

getting back in the swing of things.

So I thought I was really ready to get back to my life in Uganda after my holiday back in the states...man, was I wrong. I had heard from other volunteers that it is very hard to re-adjust to life here after being away. I thought I was strong, sure in my conviction and desire to be in this country.

In my last post I discussed the theft of my camera, the power being disconnected from my home (with the heat in the North, no power=no fan=no sleep=a grumpy, irritable volunteer) for over two weeks and my landlord failing to pay his mortgage on the property...leading to my potential eviction. All of these things were tough, but I thought I could deal.

My organization started a four day program out in the villages, obviously I was the only white person out collecting data in these villages. I was barraged with people asking for my financial help for their children's school fees, drunk men asking me for small money for "tea" and quickly I was at my wits end. It seemed that all the hard work that volunteers do here is for no purpose, or maybe that there is so much to do that the task seems impossible. While in the communities the children mocked my mzungu accent and swarmed around me to make fun of me and the way I looked.

This was the first time that I honestly laid awake at night (I couldn't sleep, too damn hot without the fan) thinking that maybe this wasn't right for me, I should just call it an experience and head back to the states. Maybe I'm just not cut out for this type of work...

But then I wake up and Patience, the young girl next door is giggling in the front yard, the old man in the village thanks me for the work I'm doing and I look out over the grass-land of Northern Uganda and realize how fortunate I am to be having these "struggles."

I think the most important thing to remember is to take care of your own mental health while volunteering in this type of environment. Recognize the stress and if it gets to be to much, get away...I made a few calls to friends and we took a long weekend in Kampala.

Now, Kampala is an amazing city. anything you want to do can be done. Our first night in town we went to a very authentic/amazing Chinese restaurant. I've seen Old Chinese men sitting in the back rooms smoking, looking like something out of a movie. We sat in the back yard of the restaurant enjoying the evening with 12-15 bunny rabbits running around in the grass. As we perused the menu a chef walked out back cornered a rabbit, grabbed him by the ears and carried him into the kitchen. Like I said, real deal Chinese food!

After dinner we hit the casino in Garden City (pictured above) which is where you can gamble, go bowling, eat and drink too much, or shop for Western goods and electronics. We're talking Listerine and Pringles... amazing.

The casino was a blast, we spent the evening playing roulette and drinking free gin and tonics. To give an example of the quality of the casino, the poor girl at the wheel accidentally flung the ball against the far wall three times in a row while trying to make a spin. not exactly Vegas, but great fun none the less.

Saturday we took in Prince of Persia (awful movie, I slept through everything but the opening and closing credits) relaxed, drank $6 cappuccino's and finished the evening at an amazing Indian restaurant.

I'm back North, re-energized and looking forward to the future. Uganda is an amazing place, giving the volunteer the option of getting away from the "village" and getting back on track. I am again confident that I'm ready to handle the stresses that are sure to come in the rest of my time here. It's good to be home.