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.