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.
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