Happy Holliday

The trip mostly began and almost ended with me sitting in a bus wondering as my knees pushed into the seat in front of how I could sleep and how I managed to be sick at exactly this moment. But don’t let that paint anywhere near a picture that the journey wasn’t amazing beyond belief. The goodness of it all started when I learned I didn’t actually have malaria, just some random infection that we treated with medicine and I hoped would wear off as the bus tore down the road. Somewhere into the 36 hour trip from Kampala to Dar es Salaam, I guess it did—or at least I stopped paying attention to it. And even those hours weren’t horrible. We rode in relative comfort compared to the people we passed walking to their destination or those crammed into matatus or even shabbier busses. Each time the bus lurched I tried to look sidewise and if everyone else seemed unconcerned and peacefully trying to sleep in the limited space, not concerned that the only thing available to eat in the past day and a half was biscuits (cookies), chips (fries), and hard boiled eggs, then I tried to hold the similar lack of concern and enjoyed switching between reading, talking to my friends, sleeping, and staring out the window as the scenery grew more and more amazing as we passed through Kenya and Tanzania to the coast.

Somewhere in the chaos of arriving in Dar at two in the morning and scrambling around for some local money so we could buy anything (somehow Uganda had tricked me out of the idea of traveling with mainly American money, a useful trick traveling anywhere except the country I live in) I left the Lonely Planet in the cab. So, we didn’t really have a plan, except that we wanted to get to Zanzibar, spend some time on some beaches, and make it back to Arusha at some point to hit up a safari. We could have had the whole trip planned out easy, clean, and comfortable, but somehow Kevin and I convinced Kerri and Tiffany that it would be more fun taking the bus. That, combined with the notion that neither Kevin nor I could afford the flight and package deal options, we embarked and ended up on the coast without a guide book. As you might guess, everything turned out fine—better than fine, silly books.

At some point in time there will be pictures attached to this so that everyone can understand the brilliance of this place. Stowntown in Zanzibar presents a beautiful city on the coast that somehow even managed to awake in the recesses of my struggling mind the stories of Portuguese imperialism that stretched out from a few random classes. Whitewashed buildings crammed in close with alleys barely allowing walking passengers to pass by the ornate and imposing doors fill the streets. We set about enjoying the grand coffee, fresh seafood, and everything that the town offered for a short while before renting some motorcycles and heading off to the east coast, where we heard there were less tourists crowding the hotels and beaches. Being Christmas Eve, we followed the traditions of Kevin’s family and enjoyed a nice Italian meal at this place that held a wonderful collection of African art setting the background against Christmas Tree. Filled with pasta, we found a nice lapping beach and stuck our feet in salt water for the first time since months ago in San Diego and listened to lapping waves and sang carols as our feet squished in sand, laughing about how mostly anyone only knows the first verse of almost any carol and trying to figure out which is the best one. (“O, Holy Night” by most peoples’ reckoning, just to inform everyone, just that it gets to high and I can’t really sing it, but Lordie, the beauty of it is severe, “Fall on your knees, Hear the Angels’ voices, oh night divine)

The next day (Christmas Day) we tried to finish organizing and begin the vacation proper. On some points, we were not well informed, and after cruising across the island and pulling up on the east coast just as the sun went down behind us, we found all the guest houses were full, and most of them were so expensive we couldn’t afford them anyway. Somehow, we stumbled, as we often did throughout the trip, on some helpful friends who directed us towards a restaurant. We met our new friend, Aziz, there whose favorite pastime was helping tourists. He set us up in what I’m pretty sure was his room, led us to a Christmas feast filled with fresh caught marlin, vast quantities of fruit and sides and everything delicious while traditional dancers performed in front us and Aziz managed the whole thing for us for half price and basically we ate our full and danced a little bit, then retired for a quick night swim in the ridiculous water, off for “one-one” at a nice local spot with very few mzungus, and then to bed.

Morning showed us how dramatically beautiful the beach could be, with the finest white sand you could ever imagine coating your feet in beautiful powder on the beach and providing squishy, almost gooey cushioning as we walked out into the water, where you could swim at high tide, or walk out almost a mile with water up to barely your knees past seaweed farms and moored boats and other things stretching out to the horizon at low tide. It was amazing to stand several hundred feet off the shore and look back and around, out to the waves crashing on reef in the distance and back to the beach and to the water to either side occasionally dotted with people standing almost out of the water, the bright colors of the local clothing making almost miraculous imaged of women walking on water in the low tide. One of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and all of that with warm sun and cool breezes. Just a short distance down the beach from Paje, we found a smaller town of Jambiani almost neglected by the crowds and a great guest house right on the ocean where put up for a while with another new friend, Mumba, who seemed to only know Kevin’s name, but at least he sang it out with the most enthusiasm each time he came close to us.

We spent a couple of days on the beach before heading back to Stonetown for a boat ride, snorkeling through the coral reef with the brilliantly colored fish, up to the island with a hundred giant turtles, more scenic beaches, history spreading everywhere, and beauty beyond understanding. Sadly, thought we had to leave, although it was almost too easy to console ourselves with the idea that we were heading to Arusha. Once more past Kilimanjaro, and the bus ride made me think of a couple of months from now when I will try to organize a force of my friends to attempt the summit.
We were picked up in Arusha by Halidi, our guide, found a great place to sleep and in the mourning set off for Ngorongoro Crater our chef, Booga. Through broken communication, we tried to learn as much as we could about the animals, but more often than not just stood in awe. The combination of the joy of standing with your body perched outside of a Land Rover much like you must have always wanted to do as a child and then coming across patches of wildebeest, flamingoes, water buffalo, gazelles, elephant, lions, hippos, and all sorts of birds and other creatures while you are nestled inside a huge crater that once blew forth from a volcano but now filled with stretches of green and salt water lakes offered just about everything we could ask for in a safari. Once we moved on the Serengeti, I sometimes allowed myself to be lulled into the regularity of everything. Of course, there are hundreds of zebras and wildebeest migrating just to my left and right, of course there are patches of giraffe, and once barely a leopard’s head poking out from the tall grass. I’ve seen this all before in zoos, just never to this extent, all concentrated and free. But that human tendancy, to minimize and rationalize, comes crushing down in some moments, like when we rounded the corner and found a small pride of lions feasting upon the fresh kill of a hippo. This is certainly something the San Diego Zoological Society would not coordinate or even condone. This is reality happening just outside the brief confines of the vehicle, and I traveled through it only, bringing my society and preconceptions with me, not this other way around which I am used to. We are visitors in life and the world, here to observe and hopefully learn a little, but more so just to see and experience joy, to taste and see that God has created something good and shows us that He is somehow Good Himself, better than we could hope.

New Years came in a campsite on the savannah. For some reason, the different camps couldn’t break through social barriers to come together until just before midnight, when, thankfully, the discussion of the correct time brought everyone together. (With some small pride, I can say that it was our party that convinced people to bring their lanterns near ours for at least the simulation of a campfire in the center of our small gathering.) Most people had come somewhat equipped with beer and wine, so we all gathered together, guides and participants, raising bottles, cans, and glasses together and toasting the celebration of newness and life in the middle of one of the prime examples of both that we could hope to find on the planet. Then we went to bed, because everyone wanted to get up early with the sun and with the animals around us to catch them as they caught their breakfast and as the world woke to stretch and show us what it could of how it has lived since the beginning.

Sadly though, every adventure, even if it is just a small subset of a larger adventure seems to come to an end, and while we had probably spent too much money and nowhere near enough time in these wonderful places, we had to set home. Of course, this is Africa and nothing is easy. The bus we were told would be there was not only not there, but was also full beyond capacity (two things that I think can only simultaneously happen in Africa). Not having any idea how we would get home, we scrambled about, found a cheep place to stay, heard about a shuttle to Nairobi and that we might have better chances there to we went to sleep and then Kenya. I have heard all kinds of stories about Nairobi, so I knew to walk around always with enough of my mind conscious so that I could feel my pockets and the backpack to notice the slight change of weight caused by thieves and all these other horrible things. In the face of this, I have this to say. Nairobi was fantastic. There were great bookshops and coffee, a wonderful place, Uhuru Park, in the middle of town, some of the most interesting architecture I’ve seen, helpful people, and almost anything one could hope for, including decent food that isn’t too terribly expensive. Kevin and I became quite happy the bus mishap caused the delay so that we could enjoy the town for at least six hours instead of whipping through it as we would have originally done. But soon, even that time was finished, and we had to make it home.

It still seems odd to call Uganda home, to feel comfortable once I saw the buildings and banana trees and black red and yellow flags, once my phone started working again. Stranger still to breath easy in Kampala. I’m excited to feel Gulu again, the comfortable small town, but for now I am in the capital, waiting and working a little, enjoying, of course, coffee and wireless and trying to think of all of the small parts of the holiday that would make for interesting reading. I’m sure I’ve missed some pieces that would have been fun to read, or at least to write. While it’s sad to have missed some of the parties, all of the family gatherings with overstuffed tables, floors littered with torn paper, sleepy-eyed children, and all of those hallmark examples of holidays, this was a great one. I miss of course beyond description my family and friends, but still, the world is wide, and this is one more stretch of it I’ve seen. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Snapshots

(written December 21st, 2006 in Kampala, Uganda)

Even as I write this, I can't think of the last time I sat down to communicate something that wasn't directly involved with work. Maybe it hasn't been that long. A month or so, something along those lines and I shouldn't worry so much. The absence of my thoughts and recollections for the recent time doesn't necessarily mean that people where questioning the worth of the internet or anything—if it can't bring updates from Uganda, then what good is it. But still, as I haven't written hardly one personal letter in a considerable amount of time, I do feel slightly like I'm abandoning certain friends, people who I wish knew what was going on in my life, if just because when I can't see them and talk to them, then at least if they share second hand in these adventures then it's in some small way like still sharing life with them. After this, I have the daunting task of sending out the entire backlog of emails, but for now, I will attempt this concise abbreviation of the past month. As I can't accurately describe everything, and also as a tribute to the fact that I am finally admitting that my camera is gone, I've decided to try to represent the month in a series of images and brief descriptions. Hope it's fun.

The First Holiday

Thanksgiving in Gulu consisted of a farm-reared turkey given to us by our friend Tony, cranberry sauce and stuffing smuggled in from the States, plenty of sweet potatoes and whatever other approximations to traditional fare that we could make out with local ingredients. I had to work the first half of the day so I didn't get a chance to try my hand at preparing something close to pumpkin pie, but I did swing by the craft store on the way home to pick up several bottles of wine. At the time, the volunteer house held about twenty people, and we all gathered around, blessed my Margie as she visited Uganda for the first time and brought her amazing ability to cook with her. We tried to convince our own cook, Doreen, that she had to stay and take dinner with us, but she still doesn't think it is proper. We will keep trying. It's impressive the thanks people poor out when they are surrounded by need. At the traditional round of thanksgiving people tried to convey the mixture of gratitude, hurt, joy, and awe that the country brings out. The moments presented a mixture of sympathy and nostalgia where we tried to understand the position we stood in contrasting the world outside our gates. (This became comically poignant as I tried to explain the holiday to Ugandans. "Well, we pretty much gather together as a family, give thanks for our blessings, and then eat ourselves silly.") But the evening held a number of nice moments in our makeshift family. Tears were shed, food was eaten, wine was drunk, and thanks were definitely given.

Excursion – Finally, a Break

Shortly after Thanksgiving, I moved my weekend to accommodate a trip two new friends were making for Rwanda. In the midst of the hectic schedule that continued to consume me at the office, I tried to search for some sanity in a respite. These girls were heading off to visit the new Partners in Health hospital (of Paul Farmer and Mountains Beyond Mountains fame) and I decided it sounded like a nice difference from computer staring and price negotiating. That and they thought it would be much safer to actually travel with a guy who could hopefully ward off some undesirables with his mere (and might I say, incredibly masculine) presence. So I packed off with my two new wives (easiest way to explain the situation and get cheaper hotel rooms) for Rwanda.

Before we left though, there was a short stay in Kampala, at a tourist hostel, Backpackers. I had stayed their for about a week the last time and the comfort and relaxed atmosphere seemed more promising than traveling back and forth to Jolly's house all the time. The staff actually remembered me, which is a great feeling when you walk into a place and everyone exclaims, "Chris! You have been lost!" But the lodgers also add to the experience. Such as I am with names, I'll dish out the descriptions. The Australian couple who just barely managed to beat me at bottle cap poker. The Dutch guy whose been living there for months trying to do some research except that it's taken almost his entire allotted time to just get the paperwork finished—he had two weeks left when he could finally start conducting the work. The French guy who felt he had stayed too long, but couldn't leave because he was pretty sure he picked up a local parasite but couldn't actually bring himself to see a doctor so he spent every day agonizing over the decision. Add those to all the other randoms, and it doesn't even bother me so much to have the same conversation every day (Where are you from? How long have you been here? What are you doing?)

After a rollercoaster inspired bus ride, we finally reached Rwanda. At first I was worried because my visa had expired and I shouldn't technically have been allowed to leave the country. When the first guard spent most of the time looking at the cover of passport, however, I felt better. The third guard, however, actually noticed and I thought was going to make me bribe him, but he just chastised me for a little while and I was on my way. The country itself was amazing. The verdant hills everywhere covered with agriculture that stretched up into the air and met with the always impressive African sky struck me right away. The clouds even on the distant horizon seemed to be a part of the landscape and awed in a way that I've only found the sky here to be able to do. Everywhere was green and beauty. Add that to the fact that the roads were decent, better than decent, good even, and Rwanda becomes an amazing country. The people we met on buses were equally beautiful and kind (although those we met in town, especially taxi drivers were, well, lets just say harmless would be an improvement—although I'm sure some small part of that was our miserable abilities at French, but still, when the guy couldn't figure out how to go back to where he picked us up, we were worried.)

It's difficult to think about this country. I don't want to characterize it by a tragedy. If I lived there, if I called it home, I wouldn't want people automatically associating my home with genocide. At one point, you can't help but think of it as you pass people on the road and wonder what had happened, how it could have passed, and what they are doing now with that history living behind them. We didn't see the genocide memorial, and I had no interest in visiting the school that still held hundreds of bodies piled, dusted in lime, and skulls organized uniformly. It's not that I didn't want to think about it, but I wanted to have more to say about Rwanda than death. The place seemed so alive to me, with farms and people living and laughing everywhere that I was wary of it. Maybe I should have allowed more of the reality of the history to enter my thoughts about the place, maybe I distanced myself from it. It could be obvious to say, but I find it hard to know what to do when faced with something beyond comprehension. So, I just go and see.

The hospital was located in a small town down a number of different dirt roads. We got there by bringing along a paper with the name written on it and just pointing. We would get out of one taxi (for those who don't know them, they are small vans designed to pack 14 people, but we did cap out at 23 one time) and point to the paper. The taxi drivers would then indicate a different taxi and we'd climb in, just pointing all the way. After most of the day, we stopped and realized we were there, a nice decorated building with a huge sign baring the symbol of hands joining and the words Partners in Health. Someday years from now, when I have actually finished school, to obtain some small version of the success of Paul Farmer, to have created an institution that not only provides quality care, but to the most needy, and in a way that enables them to continue the provisions to others so that entire regions are revitalized and healthy, to leave in your wake beautiful clinics and hospitals (this one even had a koi pond) and the smiling, vibrant faces of ones malnourished children near death, just to work in a place like that, to provide quality care, seems like a dream. They staff of the hospital took some time out of their obviously hectic schedules to show us around, seeming surprised that we managed to show up, and even outfitted us with bread, cheese, and raisins before we found another taxi and made our way back home.

Work

After this was a long period of typing, talking, and other things. Less interesting than some activities. Let's just leave it at that. But this is part of the reason why nobody has heard much from me.

The Second Holiday

As the Christmas season approaches in Gulu, it's drastically different from what I am used to. This much should be obvious, but the forms the differences took surprised me. The first thing was that they have Christmas trees, but they are simply green deciduous bushes that are all over. The most drastic is that Christmas represents a period of high crime. In the weekly security report, the last sentence read something like, "We must remember to be specifically on our guard as we go through this festive period." But we are enjoying it. At the staff Christmas party, we introduced the white elephant gift concept, although calling it Pick and Pass, and watched as our staff struggled vigorously over stealing tea cups and other small niceties from each other, laughing all the way. For us, the actual holiday will be spent somewhere, we're still not sure where, but are considering Tanzania.

Side Out

Just before most of the NGOs broke for the holiday, War Child decided to hold a huge volleyball tournament and BBQ. This was slightly annoying at first, because we wanted to hold a BBQ, but couldn't do so now as it would be copying. But the staff was so excited at the prospect of the tournament that everything was consumed by practicing and preparing. We even had t-shirts made for the team and they debated the actual rules for considerable stretches. In the end, we performed well, but I think War Child had a head start on us. We took fourth place, which actually turned out to be the best, because while first through third received nice trophies, we got a goat, which we will roast in the new year. You can't eat a trophy.

The End of Planning

Months now have been spent in debate, discussion, and hours typing and retyping. When I first started at Schools for Schools we were handed a vision. There were only the first steps made towards making this vision a reality, and many of those I have taken back in the ensuing months. In December, the Roadies for the next Invisible Children National Tour came through Gulu and we were told to have a project for them. This would be the first thing Schools for Schools has actually done. Suddenly we went from talking to doing, I had been negotiating with contractors, suppliers, politicians, business men, guards, and anyone else who knew more about my job than I did (which in various capacities could include most of the population of Gulu) trying to put all those specific pieces of knowledge into one comprehensive plan. Then, one day, it all came together, I had a gathering of workers one side, some fresh-faced mzungu girls on the other, and Jolly standing in front of all of us with a huge sledgehammer, made all the more humorous as she carried both the hammer and her nine months of pregnancy with equal determination. We filmed as she swung the hammer leaving small dents in a laboratory wall and Katie sang out, "Jolly swung the hammer, and the wall came tumbling down." The building should have been condemned but students have been working in the laboratory long after the mortar shells had cracked the wall, the windows had been broken and removed, and termites had all but destroyed the windows and doors. With the swing of the hammer, we began. By lunchtime, the wall was down and reconstruction had begun. By the end of the week, new windows, doors, and cabinets were being installed. In the new year, when the students return, they will find to their surprise, and almost new building. As we move forward, we will install plumbing, central gas, and enough chemicals and science apparatus to allow for the practical knowledge that science demands to avail itself.

Sometimes it's hard to think that you're going anywhere. Especially in Africa, when the first through tenth attempts usually bring with them some degree of failure. I was trying to grow accustomed to this, that things don't work smoothly. It's hard to work when you know what you're planning will not happen, that in the morning, something will occur that will make you change everything, call in reinforcements, change strategies, and force contracts to be fulfilled. I had been practicing at this for months, and I was nervous how it would play out in action, and how I could do that and finish my final assessments of ten schools at the same time. As it happens, things slowly work themselves to some form of a conclusion. It probably takes more trust and faith than I can generally muster. Something else to work on, I suppose.

Elsewise

I'm sure I've neglected things, nice moments like finally getting a full fleet of motorcycles and driving around town with freedom and wind blowing past me. The rains in the dry season. The coming and going of various new friends. The joys of parasites. A wonderful night spent coaxing a roaring fire in the middle of a hand-made pottery kiln. More than a couple of truly nice conversations. Seeing a movie, the new Bond, after numerous months, in a theater, with popcorn and everything, although feeling horribly ill and sweating and sleeping throughout. But I suppose there has been enough for now. Life is full, if tiring, frustrating, and confusing at times. But for now, that will do nicely, I suppose.