fire

We sat in a makeshift tent made just a few hours earlier using logs and a tarp. the side of the tent was open to the night air, but a thick darkness had fallen, such that all i could see were the glowing ambers of the fire a few feet away, and the faces of those immediately next to me, lit by the shine of the lantern. That i know of, there are only two circumstances in Uganda that cause someone to build a fire ouside their home; cooking and burial.

A few weeks earlier, our head-woman teacher had done to the hospital feeling ill. She was pregnant, and recently, hadn't even the strength to rise out of bed. The dependents that she took care of had recently been taking care of her. But the illness grew severe. Madame had no children of her own, she had given birth twice before, but both children had passed away before reaching even 1 year old. This was the third time she was pregnant and it seemed her body was rejecting this child, this offspring that is of so much value to the African culture.

At about 8pm, the sky now fully black, 300 girls begin to sing hymns and songs of praise at the home of the late Madame Rester. The songs are in Luo, and I pick only a few, random words; "pray for us", "peace", "Lord", "I believe". I think of the destination of these words, rising up from an unknown village in an unknown land, from lips that many never even think about, to a God that people spend their whole lives thinking about. It seems fitting that He should be the only one to hear and the only one whose gaze can pierce this dense night to view the hearts of all gathered.

We first heard, about a week ago, that Madame's baby had passed away while giving birth. The mother had lost a lot of blood. She was receiving transfusions, but her health and recovery were still hopeful. There were whispers of AIDS in the air though. People had gone to visit her, the school community gathered around to suport her, it even seemed she was doing better. A week later, I heard she was on life support. A day later, the vice principal called a meeting to say she had passed.

The fire was lit.

I don't know what to write about really. My thoughts are many, but lacking. I think about the care she received in the hospital and how blessed we are in the States. I think about how so many Ugandans want to see the U.S.A., and about how so few get the chance to go beyond the dirt roads of their village. I think about how some people must view the African people, as less civilized, less compassionate, and less immersed in the spirit; but then i remember the grief and sorrow and people affected by this death. I think about the deaths I've experienced in my own life and how death always seems so...permanently fake.

getting jiggy with it

there has been a wide range of activities and pleasures and struggles over these last weeks. i can't remember if i mentioned the life skills day we held at the school last month. a few other pc volunteers came to the school and taught the students about making beads, HIV/AIDS, women's sanitation, and goal setting. the volunteers were awesome and it was a pleasure to see the girls making bead necklaces out of magazines and to hear them singing songs while working. in the hiv/aids class, the girls asked questions that prompted thought and more questions. there are many myths that surround these topics and you could see them enlodged within some of the questions. "can having sex with a virgin cure hiv?" "does it cause immediate death?" "can bathing in milk prevent pregnancy?" the list of confusions and questions goes on. at first, maybe i thought these questions comically unreal. but don't we even have misconceptions? In 20 years, will we look on some of our own practices as unreasonably unsound? I think the questions reveal a great need and Im happy my friends were there to help.

we (the us peace corps-uganda) played the british volunteers in football/soccer one weekend. we might be the greatest team even assembled. the british had our backs against the wall early as they put in the first goal. however, we responded by putting in the next 5 goals. im going to use some foul language in the next sentence, so take the women and children away, but its necessary. i thought the british might beat the "bloody" piss out of us, but no sir, we dropped the chalupa on them.

we formed a wildlife club at school. so far, we've planted a bunch of flowers and planted some jackfruit trees (jackfruits are a delicious little item ive never seen in the states but wouldn't' mind picking up at krogers sometime).

i had an interesting conversation about the death sentence here in uganda. try these on for size: hanging, firing squad, and the recently abolished guillotine.

in the education system here, at the end of the high school years, all the students take national exams. its a pretty intense couple of weeks where students have about 2 exams a day which sometimes includes science practicals. all the students in uganda take the same exams at the same point in time. for example, on Tuesday, at 9am, all the seniors in uganda might be having a paper on the geography of e. africa. at 11am, the exam must be over, and then that paper is finished throughout the country. the result of these exams determines, not only whether or not the students can continue in their schooling, but also what subjects the students can study. if you really like English, but scored high in the sciences and not the arts, you may be required to study science. because of the impact these exams have on the future of the students, there is obviously a lot of tension and a lot of secrecy surrounding these exams. those who write the questions are actually locked in a resort following the completion of writing the exams to eliminate leaks on what the paper topics may be on. for example, if it came out that the biology practical was going to be on the parts of a flower, this would seriously alter the true results that may have occurred, as students are now all prepared for the flower.

the sciences tend to be a big struggle for our seniors. recently, some decided that the upcoming physics exam wasn't even worth studying for. instead, they broke school rules and left the compound while others studied. those who left...yeah, they were punished with the cane.

we've been talking about sex ed in some of my classes. when i was in 5th grade, mr. snyder talked to the class about wearing deodorant. i think i was a little awkward even then. boy, if i could have seen myself 15 years later and heard what i would be talking about at an all girls school, i definitely would have peed my pants.

just jonesin

there are people that need a ship. hurt, hungry, tired, full of anger, lust, pride, fear, sorrow...whatever. they need a ship to cross waters and get help in these endeavors. so you decide to build. you do this selflessly, for reasons that are pure and kind, unbiased, and without any hidden agenda. the problem is, you don't have any idea how to properly build a boat. the people see you building, they revel in ecstasy, they thank God for putting you there to help. their hopes are becoming reality. the day comes, the boat's complete, ostensibly it even looks seaworthy, almost even storm-tested. the people climb aboard, taking with, their pride, humbleness, anger, selflessness, uncertainty, and all the other belongings which are theirs. when they get out to sea though, out to the deepest depths, your workmanship, or lack there-of, shows. one leek, two, three, flowing water, wet ankles, knees, hips, and no life rafts. the water is cold, the expanse is far. what happens to you? your intentions were good. you did it for all the right reasons. but honestly, do these reasons mean...anything? you just killed women, children, men, and the heritage they may have one day left. your reasons are dull, flat, minuscule in comparison to the deadly ignorance your arrogance and "goodwill" let build that ship. because, the fact is, you had no business building. you are a fake. even though no one else stepped up to build, even though no one forced the people on that ship, your blame fails to lessen, fails to be clouded over by the title of this "volunteer humanitarian." you cost people hope. you cost people lives.

there are people who need a boat here. i don't know how to build one. yet, sometimes i feel like im trying. someone once wrote, "He who strives to be of use in this world soon burdens the people with his own insufficiency." i haven't figured these things out.

i read somewhere that, "if you leave out all the details, everyone's life is interesting." despite the validity, or lack there-of, of this statement, i think that subconsciously, or maybe even consciously, i've been trying to leave out some of the details in hopes of keeping this an interesting read, but i don't know if that's the most effective technique for displaying reality. im sitting in the township writing this. the township is a single stretch of dirt road, about a kilometer long, with single story buildings lined up on either side. the buildings are made of mudbrick, some concrete, and covered by rusted tin-rooves. though there are many shops, they tend to sell similar items. i don't know why the shops decide to open, and then sell the exact thing their neighbors are selling, but maybe it has something to do with why a Meijer opens, then a Walmart, then a Target in the same vicinity. or maybe it has nothing to do with this at all. the shops sell soap for laundry, eggs, 20 liter jerrycans, mugs, plates, pots, flour, and sometimes bread. at the end of the strip of buidings (or the beginning depending on how you look at it) is an open area where ladies sell fruits, vegetables, and a donut-type bread. on saturdays the town is alive with people and vendors from nearby towns. this is when i walk the 3km, or sometimes ride on the back rack of a bicycle, to town. Four, small sized tomatoes: 10 cents; head of cabbage: 25 cents; green pepper: 10 cents; 1 kilo of rice: 1 dollar and 50 cents; having thirty kids yell "munu" at you when you're trying to buy vegetables, so much so that you want to either elbow-drop them or choke them out: priceless.

wind in the willows

school started again this week. the students arrived, ready for 3 months of school, with a mattress, a small bag of school uniforms, and a 4 x 2 x 2 metal container filled with books, pens, sesame seeds which will be grounded into paste, and "girl stuff." some of the girls show up with hair that's too long (against school policy). all of the girls must have shortly shaven heads. some teachers think the girls do this on purpose because when we send them back to town, 3 km's away, to get their hair cut, some girls take longer than expected. the teachers suspect this is because the girls are fraternizing with boys in township.

i wash my clothes by hand. even when i had a washing machine at my disposal i barely did laundry (thanks mom). now, without this modern convenience, my avoidance has only intensified. i find it quite easy to convince myself that, those pair of pants ive been wearing for days can't possibly be dirty. after all, if i can't see the dirt, it means there's obviously not enough dirt to cause problems. when the laundry basket does finally begin to withhold a small mountain on the verge of collapse, i get my 3 basins out, which double as my sink to wash dishes in, fill them up with water, then put in some powdered detergent that you can buy at the local duka (little shop set up by the roadside). to supplement the detergent i use a bar of soap which i scrub the clothes with, work into a lather, and transfer to the next basin (two for washing, one for rinsing). the first couple times i did laundry my neighbor would pass by, "Hunter," she would say, "There's no suds in that water you're washing with." everyone's a critic.

things have been a little crazy with the Peace Corps lately. We've had some changes in administrative positions, and some of these changes came clouded in ill-feelings, mystery, and politics. i don't think i know enough to feel one way or the other, but i think this is my first real experience with politics in the work place and knowing that people jobs can be threatened by rumor or a failure to adhere to certain desires of one's superiors.

sometimes, i do whats called, "culinary experimentation." this is when i go the kitchen, check out what's going on in there, and try to invent new dishes with combinations of foods that i've never tried before. honey spaghetti - not a winner. cocoa oats - not a winner.

drew brees

A jubilant and tragic feature of this land is that in one instance, you can be amidst breathtaking beauty and silence-inspiring awe, and in the next, you confront horror and disbelief, and circumstances that lend themselves more to sorrow than to laughter or happiness.

The former came at the Nile.

How could I have ever hoped for the tranquility and power that came with rafting the Nile? At times, our raft drifted slowly on, kingfishers and egrets fished nearby, and the villagers washed their clothes on the river bank. THE NILE IS THEIR WASHING MACHINE! We sat on our boats eating pineapples and biscuit crackers as the current slowly pushed us through flat waters. I wonder if everyone thought about the Biblical and historical implications of such waters. There were also times through in which the water wasn't so flat! Over a 30 km stretch, we went through almost 12 rapids, 5 of which i think were class 5's (6 being the greatest). We went down an actual waterfall! we steered through rapids with names like ribcage, 50/50, easy rider, and badplace. then there was chop suey. at the base of a swell in chop suey, i looked up to see 4 feet of water above me, and coming down. the next thing i knew i was in the water, out of the boat, and wondering where i would be when i surfaced. our boat flipped once, we had multiple people fall out on other occasions, and it was exciting each time. as we finished the last rapid of the day, darkness came over the Nile, and as we walked to the trucks, a rain storm hit, adding force to the already unstoppable rapids. the scene 2,000 years earlier probably looked much the same.

then there's the tragedy.

the peace corps held a meeting in kampala in which someone from our communities was supposed to accompany us. we stayed for a few nights in a hotel and the time offered us a chance to get to know these community members a little better. one night, we started talking about the war that has been taking place for the past 22 years. we heard stories i could have never imagined, nor wanted to imagine, and hesitate even to write about. stories of abduction, rape, mutilation, forced cannibalism, and murder in ways no creature, other than man i suppose, would ever consider inflicting on another. as i write this, i question my intentions of recalling these things. sometimes i think people write about things like this to kind of say, "hey, look at what im a part of", in a braggart sort of way (this sounds horrible and yet i think it's true). I hope these aren't my intentions in writing this. i hope my intentions are to pass a message that there are people who are hurting so much and who live in a world invisible and unfathomable to most. i hope my other message is forgiveness, for the people here want to forgive (even writing about the forgiveness of such acts brings me chills). i believe they definitely want to move on. they aren't forgetting what happened, the reminders of lost homes, family members still missing, and mutilated bodies wont allow them, and they are still holding people accountable for their actions, but those whose bodies have been torn and ripped are forgiving. "how?" might be an appropriate question.

so the days go. days of brilliance, days of disgust, days that drift languidly by as our raft in the flat waters, days that come like the chop suey, that throw you, pull you under and leave you wondering where you are.