Been Here Too Long-- Top 10

A friend, Heidi, and I compiled this handy reference
You’ve been in Uganda for too long……
10 When the only physical affection you get is with your 5 best friends in the back of a taxi.
9 when you know that empty motor vehicles indicate most reliable form of crop irrigation.
8 When you look both ways before crossing one- way streets…and sidewalks…. And it has saved your life.. multiple times
7 when your definition of a balanced diet involves three shades of starch
6 When 9pm is the new midnight and midnight is…. Unthinkable.
5 When you think of your funeral wishes every time you step onto a moving vehicle.
4 When you know that rice is detrimental to dental health but that using your teeth to open bottles isn’t.
3 When you long for speed bumps to be built.
2 When you think “Why go all the way to the toilet to pee when I have a bucket/ bush/ tree right here?”
1When you need your cell phone to pee.

-- the picture is of some mean Ugandan army ants on an overnight trash expedition

Taking Over the World!

It has recently been confirmed that I have two alter egos—one that wants a colorful, contented life, and the other—with ambitions to “Take over the world!” On one hand, I would love to go home and garden. Or work as a social worker in metro- Detroit and turn a vacant lot into a summer garden program. On that hand, I want my grandma to find me a lonely farmer in South Dakota and settle down. It was that side of me that loved my internship working with women from prison in Detroit—or just walking through neighborhoods of burned down houses. It is that side of me that is excited about the seedlings I’ve started and imagines them slowly growing in their former water bottle planter. It is that side that wonders whether I should take a recent job offer as the manager of the children’s home I volunteered at in Lesotho.
Then there’s the other side. The one that cannot rest without being first in class; the one that is trying to read every Economist possible and stay in touch with the State Dept. briefings-- It is this one that was interested in policy and economics instead of becoming a therapist. It is this one that wants to apply for the Foreign Service and one day influence something. This one wants to do another research paper, although the requirements for my masters’ degree have been met. This one wonders about a future Ph.D. or additional degrees. It is this one that wants to go beyond those planter seeds to agricultural cooperatives in my village.
It seems, also, that my friends in Peace Corps fall into these two categories. On one hand, I have those who are very happy teaching and gardening and would love to continue doing so in the US. On the other hand, there are those who hope to start venture capital firms and international consulting agencies and stop worldwide disease with the WHO. Both groups are intelligent, motivated people, who have meaningful lives. Both groups challenge me.
Yesterday, I gave up trying to take over the world. I did not do my evening reading, nor my daily exercise. I just went on a walk, ate supper, and slept. I dreamed dreams of seeds in soil and grass roots social work in the states. Then I woke up, started checking the state dept. briefings and looking longingly at my shelf of foreign diplomacy books.
When I was in undergrad, we watched a 1930’s era film from Germany, about the meeting of heart and head. The film’s argument was that the heart’s objectives could not be achieved without the head, and that the head would go astray without the heart’s compass. I just need to figure out how my heart and head are supposed to be connected. As one friend, however, said, “Wherever I go, there will be people. It is being with and working with them that will make life meaningful.”

Bliss

Lately, I have been visiting farmers in the bush with a local friend. I am interested in improved farming methods for an agricultural seminar and want to see what local farmers are doing. My friend is interested in buying land and wants to stay up to date.
This involves several hours of walking and/ or bike riding along rural roads, greeting endless small smiling faces, and enjoying the low sloping hills and varying frequencies of green. For example, we visited Mr. Robert, an 82 year old retired teacher and government worker, who has raised over twelve children (from two wives). He owns his own hill, several cattle, a well maintained banana plantation, and experiments with several exotic plants, such as apple trees, beets, and even strawberries. Sitting in his quiet house, decorated with the pictures of graduating children (all have been educated beyond high schools) and traditional pottery and bead work a strange longing creeps up to my heart. Somehow, I don’t want to go back to town. I really don’t want to go to the city. I just want to stay there—digging, planting, starting seedlings.
I understand why my friend toils in his primary school classroom with over one hundred students under a corrupt headmaster. He is saving his small salary toward a similar paradise. He wants to be his own boss, with his own land and his own life. He wants to live this quiet, though unstable, life, depending on the tiny green lives of seedlings and trees, coffee berries and banana stalks. I think this is what we were made for. Living in this second Eden, humbly connected to what we eat and able to constantly marvel at the beauty of it all. At times—I can’t think of anything better.

Kuri kayekirokikuru! (It has come Christmas)

Chestnuts may have been roasting on an open fire—Jack Frost may have been nipping at your nose—but my Christmas was a bit different.
It started on the 21st, when some peace corps friends invited me to bake cookies with them for a local babies’ home. We made three batches—I think one batch was eaten in dough form before they were ever baked, but there were still over 50 cookies for the 23 kids we were bringing them to. This was done at night—when the sporadic power in my friend’s house was on—while listening to some N’sync Christmas songs—it was perfect. The next day, we brought the cookies to the kids. Approaching the gate, I heard small voices shouting “Boy! Boy! Boy! Ija!” (Ija= come). I guess that someone taught them that all white people (usually called by the much hated word “muzungu”) were called “boy.” When you come to a group of 1-3 year olds, there’s not much choice but to play, so we played-- jumping, swinging, climbing. I remembered my time in Lesotho and how much these kids just want to be loved—it was so much fun!
On the 23rd, I did my baking back at home in the convent. Two white cakes and one chocolate one—much like I did last year. It is nice to be somewhere two years in a row! On the 24th, I was invited for lunch at the local veterinarian’s home and I brought a white cake, again. They had just slaughtered a goat, and were eating meat. Now, when people here eat, it is usually starch, but when they slaughter for Christmas and there is no fridge it is meat meat meat! Roasted goat liver is what I like best, but, by now, I appreciate the unique goodness in each piece, whether intestines, or stomach, or plain meat.
On the 25th, I gave myself four gifts:
1. I slept in until 8:30—so late that I was ashamed to empty my pee bucket in the morning in front of everyone else.
2. I collected the dress that was made for me by the designer at the technical school. Maybe my taste in clothing has changed since I’ve been here, but I think it is gorgeous! I then wore that dress to mass.
3. I listened to BBC’s medley of Christmas Hymns recorded at Cambridge—beautiful
4. I mapped out my life—very specifically for the next 12 months, and more generally for optional paths in the next three years. I don’t know if I will be able to go to Jordan or not because of some policy changes regarding extensions in different countries and I am thinking about the foreign service, etc. Every once in a while, I think of dropping it all for med. school. Then, of course, there is always that social work license, and stealing kids for the government. So, I needed a general map, a time table, and a look at the possibilities (outside of surrogacy, of course).
Now to the Christmas activities!!
I was supposed to climb a volcanic mountain in a different area on the 28th, so on the 26th, I contacted the other volunteer I was supposed to go with. She said it wouldn’t take too long to get there, so we should leave at leisure mid- morning on the 27th.
The next day, there was an unexpected guest, and one of the sisters wanted me to do some computer fixing (which, despite trying, I failed to do)—so I didn’t get out of my place until 11AM. Waited in a taxi until 12, and got to my friend’s place around 1. I found her lying on the couch, dehydrated and very sick with a nasty bug. So, I did some grocery shopping, ran to the pharmacy, washed dishes, and prepared oral rehydration, etc. After making sure with the nurse and with another volunteer in town that my friend would be cared for, I continued my journey. After getting in a taxi that is usually direct, I realized that we were stopping at every town for people to get off and on. Then the tire busted, then the cops ticketed us for overloading passengers (what’s wrong with 10 passengers in a Toyota corolla?) Reached Mbarara (usually 2.5 hrs. away from my town) at 3:30 pm (4.5 hrs late :)). I was directed to a bus headed to the town with a volcanic mountain, but, thanks to my local language skills, I learned that it would not leave until after dark and it would arrive at 5:00--- 5:00AM!!
A quick call to a friend along the way, and I headed to a town I had never been in before—Kabale, and stayed with MJ, a 71 year old nurse and excellent peace corps volunteer. We spent a day meeting her buddies and seeing her bush medicine work instead of climbing that mountain. Good thing because I was not feeling well, but with some R&R, I felt much improved.

On the 29th, I met the others and we spent 3 days on an island in the middle of lake Bunyoni, the second deepest lake in Africa and part of the continental rift. There, despite being the only single lady from my group (pcv’s tend to become two by two animals quite quickly), I found that my private reading would not happen. Instead, I swam around the island once-- scared that I wouldn't make it but coached on by a sweet Brazilian friend-- then agian-- then a third time triumphantly. Each time was between 1-2km-- not bad when you have not really been swimming in over a year! I talked to some very free spirited friends about their world traveling post- peace corps ideas— It was nice to see intelligent, skilled people that are not afraid of the future and feel as though there is enough time to live life. They're not racing to a plateau of suburban life and regular careers, but they're just trying to learn and climb throughout-- quite brave.
I stayed an extra day, with only one other peace corps volunteer—a man who recently married a Ugandan lady and who reminds most people of Jesus—in dress, hairstyle, and ideas. We canoed (in a locally made dugout) out to another island, were trapped in a rainstorm, then after arriving drenched, we found a doctor and his wife that I knew. They helped us with some dry clothes and we talked all day about HIV and TB and beautiful fabric in Uganda. That night back on our island, we had local food with the staff, and a staff member told me about his visit to the UK. Appliances making frightening alarms at night in a strange house, bad tasting “packed” food, naughty nursery kids, kind church folk, old stone buildings, and homeless people begging him for money—it was great to hear his impressions! The trip home was incredibly straight forward and easy, I was there in time to dry my wet clothes in the sun-- Peace Corps is truly like a box of chocolates—you just never know!