bottles and cans just clap your hands

Christmas has come and passed. I saw apes. My aunt and brother came out! but really, we did see gorillas. we went trekking through the "impenetrable forest," jungle all around, thick, with no path, steep, muddy slopes, an unannounced humidity, and a guy named Sunday bushwhacking through the growth with a small machete. After an hour of this, we saw them. A family of five. Videos ad television do a good job at relaying their likeness, but being that close to them, just a few feet away, it was surreal. honestly, it didn't seem real. I mean, it didn't seem like these giant, docile, rare, beautiful creatures were real. either that, or it was i who wasn't real. I wasn't really there, i was still at home, watching this on the screen. Yet, I know we were there. When the silverback reached out his massive hand to tear down a tree and eat the leaves from the top, I could have almost leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Eat Neeko, it'll save the trees." But all I could do instead was stand there, smiling, and manage to take a few photos now and then (yes, i did get a photo of a certain younger brother flicking off some chimpanzees). But in all honesty, what magnificence. To look out through an opening in the canopy and see just vegetation, dense vegetation, all around, and then to realize that within this blanket of green, lived such massive and mysterious animals as the gorillas we were standing amidst...surreal. awe-invoking.

new years...i don't know how to explain. i met some other pc volunteers in a part of the country with beautiful waterfalls and peacefulness. i thought then, that the new years celebration would take on this form as well. Yet, as midnight came, i found myself embracing about 30 ugandans in a local house party or something like it. i actually know exactly how we ended up there, and there's only one man to blame. i wont forget.

though the celebration was loud, the new year has since been quiet. the students don't report until february and many of the teachers that live nearby have gone to their home villages. I since have realized that an African night can be brilliantly uncertain. The brilliance comes in with stars I've never seen and a sky that's governed by a depth I've never noticed. The uncertainty comes when I realize, some nights, that I really don't know what's out there in that darkness. The noises aren't of those I grew up with. Knowledge of what's just passed my sight is, perhaps, as unknown as the fact that there was a 300 lb gorilla in a tree above me that I never saw until her round, black body ambled ably down the trunk i stood by.

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I haven't written in a while and i think there's a reason for that. the reason is not because of lack of internet, as i have had multiple opportunities in the past month of posting. i think, instead, that the reason is, steadiness. i didn't write about my life in the states, not because there weren't stories to share, but because it is my life, and perhaps i felt people wouldn't be interested in hearing of something that had been steadily moving on since september 13, 1984 ( i use steady in a loose sense as it has certainly had it's turbulence). but when i came here, that life, that steady movement (though at times chaotic) seemed interrupted, incongruous with normal movement, and so i wrote. but ive been here over 10 months now, i've been a part of marriage celebrations and death ceremonies, graduations and retirements, and it feels like life, steady, congruent, life. this is not to say that there aren't stories to share or that i wont continue to do my best to recall them, just that, at first, though i felt a little transplanted, maybe im starting to get the sense of having roots here in this fertile ugandan soil.

now for a story! Christmas is coming, and how does a family that lives in a grass thatched hut celebrate? with fury. even just speaking to some of the people here, i think the whole week surrounding the 25th will be a big party. family will come from their various locations, there will be some gifts of sweets for the kids, and there will be meat! whenever there's meat it means there was a slaughtering, and whenever there's a slaughtering, aside from the butcher's place, there's a celebration. kind of makes the next trip to arby's to get a roast beef sandwich a little more enjoyable. though don't get me wrong, a beef-n-chedder sandwich is always a little exciting.

speaking of celebrations, i spent quite a night a few weeks ago at a wedding ceremony. to make a short story out of a long night, lets just say i found myself drinking home-brewed wine out of a 10-gallon paint bucket using a 3 foot straw that was then used by 20 other men sitting in a circle around this same bucket. no, i do not condone this.

What's in a name- here is a brief list of some of the names of the students in my class (they put the surname first):

abeja oliver, abua scovia, acen lydia grace, aceng dorine, aceng jackline, acio nancy, achola rose mary, adit sandra, ajok flavia, ajwang teddy, akao babra, akello paska, akello sarah, akullo linda, akullo branda, akullu jackline, akullu sharron, alela gladys, among harriet, amuge eresta joan, amuno monica, angom robinah, apio brenda, apio immaculate, arao susan, atim leah, atim naume, atit loyce, atoo rebecca, atyang stella desire, tino racheal, koli hope, epol nighty.

no, i was not being partial to one letter. yes, i would like you to pray for these girls. yes, there are about 60 more girls with surnames beginning with the letter "a" that i could have listed. (the boys typically have a surname that begins with "o")

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.