July 26, 2011

July 26^th, 2011

What a day today has been!  And, I will get to describing it later, but for now I must write about the weekend, as it was like none I have ever had.

Friday, July 22^nd, 2011

Miranda and I had decided to go to Rwanda with Diana and Pamela, both women who work at MVP.  Diana is also a graduate student at Columbia, here doing a practicum for her program, and Pamela is a native Ugandan, acting as the trainer for Diana’s project.  Since Diana has been here, she has taught a coalition of women how to work with glass beads in jewelry design.  And, the finished products – consisting of necklaces, bracelets and earrings – are gorgeous, jewelry you would find in high-end stores.  Anyway, she has a potentially lucrative contract with a very big American brand (which I will not mention, as it is not for certain at this point) for some African crafts and is in need of acquiring more artisans to join the project.  Since MVP has a site in Rwanda whose forte is basket weaving, Diana had decided to visit that site and speak to them about including the baskets in the contract.

As Miranda and I have the responsibility to find an income generating activity in which to involve the adolescent center, we thought it would be the perfect opportunity to expose ourselves to this new craft.  So, in discussions with Diana on Thursday, it was agreed we both would tag along.  And, of course, the bus they were taking that Friday morning was leaving at 4am, since it is a five hour bus ride to Kigali, Rwanda.  I mentioned in my last entry that I had to pack all of my suitcases Thursday afternoon, and this was the reason.  I knew upon our return Sunday that we would be changing our hotel arrangements, and we wanted to store our luggage at the new location.  Miranda and I took our belongings to Mass General’s guest house, which is where we were moving on Sunday, and woke up at 3:15am to get a car by 3:30am.

We, of course, had already arranged the car to pick us up, so when 3:45am rolled around, I was surprised the driver had not come.  I will never cease to remind myself that this is Africa.  He finally showed up shortly before 4am, but now I understand why the driver wasn’t concerned that he was late.  The bus we had to wake up at 3:30am to catch did not arrive until 4:45am.  We sat outside in the dark.  When we did finally board the bus, I was so exhausted I just sat down and closed my eyes.  However, I never left that hazy state somewhere between being awake and being asleep; nevertheless, it was rest, and I was glad for it.  It was also during this lack of clarity I realized why we had to leave so very early.  All buses either leave late at night or first thing in the morning; my thought is that the air conditioned bus, packed with 50-some bodies, gets too hot to travel in during the middle of the day.  I am not for sure about this reasoning, but I think it is quite possible. 

There was a two hour drive to the border, where we, along with all our stuff, had to get off the bus to go through customs, first with the Ugandan side and then the Rwandan.  Crossing the bridge on foot, I look around my surroundings and realized why Rwanda is called “The Land of 1,000 Hills.”  Having the sun’s first rays of pink caress the rolling, continuous hills was breathtaking.  There was the lovely mist of morning hanging on the trees, and it looked as if the waving greens were covered by a billowy blanket.  I wish I had a picture to show right now, but the area was the border; I was advised not to bring my camera out, and I listened.  Hopefully, your imagination sees the beauty.

Going through customs in Rwanda was not a simple task, as they check every item you bring.  While we were standing there waiting, Miranda told me we were not able to bring any plastic into the country and that security would confiscate any we brought with us.  I had some of my belongings in plastic baggies and resigned myself to them being taken.  However, when security searched me, the plastic was right there on top, and they didn’t take it.  I can only assume plastic baggies aren’t really the concern but rather – perhaps – weapons are the security issue; however, the country is one of the cleanest I have ever seen, with absolutely NO trash (including plastic) anywhere on the streets.  All Rwandans are required to spend one Sunday a month cleaning all the country.  Seeing the streets, I understood their great efforts.

The winding road through the hills concluded in a city that, like Kampala, could have been European.  There were shops and cafes, but I could only look at them from a distance, as we were soon to be off into the country.  The Rwandan MVP site, which is located in Mayange, was approximately a thirty minute drive from Kigali.  We first stopped at a local breakfast restaurant, and I had my first taste of chapati (which is similar to Indian naan).  I didn’t know what I have been missing, as it was delicious. Bellies full, we soon got back into the car to head to the ladies.

Walking into the tiny building, I was awed by color and faces and baskets and laughter.  It was simple and pure, with a pulse of life all to its own.  An interpreter explained what we were doing there, and we watched as the women carefully wove their respective pieces.  I watched and took pictures, as my curiosity abounded; then, I noticed them looking at my I-phone camera with equal curiosity.  I showed them the pictures I had taken, and the amazement in their eyes was evident.  I am most positive they had never seen anything like that phone/camera, and they kept trying to crane their heads to see the phone’s screen as I took more pictures.  These women and their spirits are beautiful.

Diana kept attending to the business portion of our trip, and soon enough, quality control was mentioned.  The colors of the sisal (a fine thread-like material from an agave and pronounced seize-al) need to be exact, and the discussion turned to how they formulated the dye for the color.  Soon enough, we were whisked outside where a woman and her small child were starting a fire, and a bowl sat balanced above, beginning to boil.  A woman, who I assumed was the leader of the group, pulled out a crate of colored powders that I could not figure out what they were.  She carried them over to the boiling bowl and threw in a spoonful of one of the powders, and the bowl erupted into blue, which was then stained onto the sisal.  She then took another spoonful of a different powder and threw it into the bowl, and green grew from the bottom, as if it were somehow alive.  She once again dipped the sisal into the bowl, and the two dyed areas looked like the sky above and the ground below.  Again, a balance of north and south.

After such a wonderful circus of color, we sat down to rest, and a few of the women came out to join us.  I was watching one of the women as her fingers were delicately weaving, and she took her work, which happened to be hot pink, and placed it beside my hot pink shirt.  We both nodded our heads and smiled, as our communication was limited to sign language and expression.  The woman began pulling materials out of her bag while she spoke to the interpreter, and the interpreter looked at me and informed me that the woman wanted to teach me the process.  I nodded my head vigorously, as I had wanted to learn but didn’t know how to approach the subject. 

The woman sat close and motioned this direction and that, and I tried to follow, knowing this simple explanation could not describe the precision and craft needed for this art.  However, I was happy to watch and honored to be included into their circle.  She finally put the project she was working on down and then picked up a green, unfinished bracelet to show to me.  I again nodded my head, telling her I loved the color and realizing she would not understand.  To my delight, however, she nodded her head, too, and then set to work on the bracelet.  The interpreter once again turned to me and said, “She is going to finish the bracelet, as she wants you to have it.”

I don’t know sometimes how I get so lucky, but I watched that woman as she diligently sized the bracelet to my wrist and completed the unfinished clasp.  She wrapped the bracelet onto my wrist, and when she had secured it, I grabbed her into a hug.  She was my new friend. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon watching the children and the women, but my new fascination was with the children.  Two little girls, probably age 3, were kneeling outside the building where the women were working, and they were picking up sticks and playing with an old, plastic water bottle as if the two items were the newest and greatest toys.  They laughed and created, attaching the water bottle to their shirts by putting the cloth in between the top and the bottle and then screwing them together.  She would walk around afterward, looking down every so often to see if it was still attached.  There was also a little boy who was playing with a stick that had leftover dyed sisal attached.  He was waving his makeshift baton as if a conductor of a band.  And, they were happy.  This is what is so endearing to me about the rural Ugandan culture – they are happy with what they have.

       Leaving the women later in the afternoon was hard, especially when my friend came over to say goodbye to me.  The interpreter told me that the woman said she would be looking for me the next day and called me her friend.  I told the interpreter to please let her know I would not be returning the next day, but I think the message got lost in translation, as Diana went back on Saturday and told me my friend kept asking why I wasn’t there.  I hope my friend knows I carry her with me.

Miranda and I went to Kigali that night, and Diana and Pamela stayed at the MVP site.  We had discovered earlier that day that buses only left for Mbarara at 5:30am, 9:00am, and 5:30pm; we decided to save money and time and just go home on Saturday on the 5:30pm bus.  Having made this decision, Miranda and I wanted to see a bit of the city during our short stay.  We caught a ride back to the city with some MVP employees and found a decent hotel to stay in for the night.  Our next mission was food, as we had not eaten since breakfast.  We found a restaurant in a travel guide and headed out for what the book described as good food and great views.  The book was right.  We sat on the top of one of the many hills and looked out over the city as the sun faded behind the west.  We got two large pizzas, thinking we would make a dinner and a lunch out of them, and split a delicious carafe of wine.  Halfway through the carafe and partly soothed by its effects, I looked at Miranda and said, “You know we are going to eat all this pizza tonight.”  She laughed, nodding her head, and said, “Yep.”

Sleep came fast and hard that night, and I dreamt about so many discussions occurring throughout the day.  I guess we take memories with us more than we even realize.  Very good day.

Saturday, July 23^rd, 2011

                Miranda and I slept in on this day, as both of us were in need of any rest we could scrounge up.  When we finally did join the land of the living, it was almost 9am Kigali time, which is 10am Uganda time.  Neither of us ever sleeps in that late, and both of us felt much better.  We walked around the city for a bit, and then decided to head in the direction we both wanted – the Genocide Memorial Museum.  Our taxi dropped us off at what, at first, looked like a business of some sort, and because I never saw a sign outside the building, I honestly didn’t think he had let us out at the right location.

                Walking into the building, however, we began to see groups of people and knew we were in the right place.  We talked with the attendant for a bit, asking how long the audio tour would take and were told approximately an hour and a half.  I asked Miranda if she was ready, and she responded, “I don’t think you are ever ready for this.”  She was right.

                You begin the tour outside in the memorial gardens, where there is a beautiful wading pool with elephants surrounding it.  Elephants, if you don’t know, in the Eastern world are a symbol of strength, wisdom, and perseverance, themes that reoccurred often throughout the museum.

                The tour then leads you down a flight of steps to the mass graves, where over 250,000 victims of the genocide are buried.  The graves, which span about 50 yards lengthwise and 4 yards in depth, are divided into three levels and are massive, concrete covered, unmarked, flat graves.  The stillness was chilling.  As I walked around the second level, I heard singing coming from down below.  My first thought was to rejoice, as the voices were unified in such a harmonious way.  However, I soon heard wails intertwined with the singing, and the rejoicing quality I had felt a moment earlier slowly slipped away.  I walked over to the edge and realized a memorial service was being held on the third tier.  Fifty or so people were standing around the bottom grave, placing flowers on the stones and swaying gently to their mourning.

                I did not want to observe this ritual, as I felt like a voyeur, distant and uncomprehending.  No matter how badly I wanted to empathize, as my own tears were now falling readily, I realized quickly I could not.  I have no manner of understanding or empathizing, because I have never been haunted by a past of such darkness.  I said a prayer for the deceased, and I said a prayer for the living; however, it is the latter who wail in suffering, as the aforementioned are silenced in peace.  Neither is comfortable for me right now.

                Miranda and I continued on, and I walked back to an area where thousands of names bear the passing of souls.  I walked pass the letters, and I walked pass the words.  How can so many stories be condensed to a name?  I kept thinking this as I walked, until I looked down and was jolted.  With fear or with shock, I do not know.  I just stopped. 

                Rwandans are still finding remains from the 1994 massacre, and because the museum was established to bury the dead with respect, an open grave is always present.  Instead of the concrete cover, there are glass windows, leaving the underneath as well as the reality blatantly exposed.  The caskets are covered with a purple and white cloth, bearing the symbol of the cross, and are stacked neatly, making room for all those to come.  Seeing this combined with the singing and wailing simply stopped me.  I didn’t know what to think.  I didn’t know what to do.  I didn’t know.

                The tour continued, weaving around gardens of remembrance, but it was the three different, descending gardens connected by a flowing fountain that resonated with me, especially after seeing the graves and the memorial service in progress.  The first and highest garden was the Garden of Unity, symbolizing the time before the genocide when the country was in harmony, like those voices I first heard.  The second and middle garden, the Garden of Division, was full of lush plants, growing almost like a jungle; the wailing voices entered into my mind once again, loud with their pain. 

You are asked to sit in this garden and contemplate its meaning, which was easy to do for me, because I as a spectator felt so divided at this point.  I knew what should have happened but was faced with what did happen.  And, isn’t that so common in everyday life?  We know what we should do but are pulled by one reason or another to feel or do something else.  Where is the peaceful balance?

While listening to the audio tour as I sat in the Garden of Division, a phrase caught my attention and made me further reflect on how I am living my life.  It stated that it is time for “Individual Reflection on Personal Responsibility.”  In a time where pointing fingers rather than accepting the consequences of our actions seem to be more commonplace, I have been and will continue to be an advocate of this succinct statement.  I hope you may be, too.

    And speaking of hope, I looked around the wildish garden I was sitting in somewhat becoming morose when my eyes fell upon this.

It was standing alone, reminding me of the beauty we must see in the world rather than its mistakes.  I took that with me into the next Garden, which was the Garden of Reconciliation.  It, again, was surrounded with elephant statues, one in particular talking on a cell phone.  The audio tour explained that this statue represents the communication to the international community, which is a message I believe is not limited to Rwanda.

The tour winding throughout the gardens ended soon after the display, and next we were led into a building full of pictures and stories of all those who lost their lives.  One million people in 100 days – it is a harrowing fact.  If you are unfamiliar with the genocide, I encourage you to research it, as it is a history in need of remembrance.  For, if it is forgotten, it could potentially happen again.

I left there feeling spent, as our one and a half hours had somehow become four.  Nothing can minimize genocide, not even time.

And, time by this point in our day was escaping quickly, as we had to be at the bus station at 4pm.  So, we rushed to get our belongings, made a quick supermarket and deli trip, and headed to the bus, where another adventure awaited us.

However, I will wait to tell that story tomorrow, as I am again getting very tired.  I promise that the beginning of this week has not been nearly as jam packed as my last one, so my blogs will be much less dense.  In fact, I am purposefully keeping my schedule lower key, as I realized at the beginning of the week how extremely tired I am and have been.  It is just better to slow down.  Maybe Africa is rubbing off on me more than I initially thought. 

July 25, 2011

hJuly 25, 2011

I am still backtracking, as I had limited access to internet during the first few days of last week.  We were staying in a hotel that wasn’t, what I would say, completely modern.  Needless to say, I wasn’t able to stay technologically up to speed, so I will continue to date at the beginning to define the days.

I will also add that I just finished Skyping Wes, and he informed me that my last entry was not as straightforward as my previous ones.  I reminded him that the reason I am jumping around – in both dates and places – is simply due to the fact that this is indicative of my life right now.  I have had very sporadic usage of electricity, water, and cell phone, which is a new experience for me.  Please bear with me.  I feel very disoriented in so many different ways, and although I did not mean it to be reflected this much in my writing, I must deep down want you to understand as truthfully as possible.  Enjoy!

I kid you not.  The power just went off.

Tuesday, July 19^th, 2011

I had left you with a war between the north and the south, and on Tuesday, I hate to admit it, but the south rose again!  I woke up thinking I felt better and was so excited to go out into the field for the first time.  We went to the Millennium Villages office, which is a lovely beehive of activity, people flitting here, there, and everywhere.  New faces were seen and names remembered, but as I was drinking my first true African tea, I felt the oh-so-familiar stomach wrench again.  I could only assume that my day before temporary cure kept my body from truly being cleansed, and I knew the roller coaster would soon begin.

Loading into the UN car once again, my stomach had its own agenda and definitely kept me on my toes.  The ups and downs and ups and downs of unpaved, curvy roads in rural Uganda are a ride to be remembered.  You look out the windows and see breathtaking vistas in all directions, but for me at that moment, I was just trying to look forward and choke down my gag reflexes. 

And, it only proceeded to get worse as the day continued, which mortified me.  Here I was in Ruhiira and Kabuyanda, Uganda, meeting my teams in the field for the first time, and I kept having to step outside for fresh air.  The entire time, I just hoped they were not offended, possibly misconstruing my absence as a slight toward them; and to my delight, Miranda told me later she hadn’t even noticed my discomfort, which made me happier that I had done a sufficient job acting. Thank goodness I can power through.

This excursion – although difficult for me – was my first experience out in the field, and I will say Tuesday was quite enlightening.  There is a relaxation in these small, rustic towns I don’t know that I have ever seen before.  People mill about casually, and the young children play in the streets.  But, when I went into the two youth centers, the teams (consisting of one male and one female) both gave formal presentations, proudly displaying what the centers do for the community and its individuals.  I couldn’t help but smile.  You see, every day in the states, I get up, make sure I look nice, and work in a job where I present loads of headquarter-approved, glossy sales aids; and, sitting there in a room with one desk, one row of benches, and hand-drawn educational posters sparsely decorating the walls as these two young professionals presented, a question entered my mind…am I as effective?

On the way home, school was letting out, and I saw children (as young as 3!) walking by themselves home.  The children dress in uniforms of varying colors, making the slowly darkening evening seem vibrant with color.  Some were singing, some were running in groups, and some were lolly-gagging along, perhaps enjoying the evening’s freedom.  All seemed happy and that impressed me most.

When we finally got back to Mbarara, I went to bed for a bit and awoke a few hours later feeling immensely better.  I decided to join a large group of new, expat friends who were going to dinner, even though I was quite reserved in ordering.  I don’t much care for people letting me know what on the menu is good based on whether or not it has made them sick.  People got meat on sticks and vegetables and rice and beer.  I got chips (French fries to us Americans) and a Sprite.  I ate the whole thing, enjoying the worldly conversation and unique stories.  The north and south were finally in balance.

Wednesday, July 20^th, 2011

I awoke pain free and was able for the time to appreciate my new home, Mbarara.  It is a town slightly bigger than Bowling Green, with a landscape that is much different.  As it is the dry season right now, everything is dusty and breathing sometimes can be quite gritty.  The buildings are all low and the streets are unpaved, causing the effect to be somewhat like an old timey western front.  If the modern day cell phone advertisements and the ever-present Coca-Cola logos had not been everywhere, I might have even believed I had stepped back into time.

We spent the day in the office, beginning the official business of the adolescent center.  We had meetings, made contacts, and discussed the beginning stages of the business plan.  Ideas were examined and realizations were found, and all in all I left knowing I don’t know much.  I have so much to learn throughout this process, and although I think most times will be a method of trial and error, I will give my best to the trials, working hard to make this project a success.

Another thing I did discover on this first day in the office is that the standard of business in which I am accustomed is not the standard in Uganda.  Oftentimes, we meet only to discover that we need to schedule another meeting, and things continue to constantly have hiccups.  I have not acclimated to this slower pace of waver, allowing much leeway in all directions.  And, exact time does not exist, as every hour is an –ish.  It is a new country; it is a foreign world.  At one point, several of us were sitting at our computers in the main office space, only to have the power go off and the internet lost.  I looked at a nearby intern and was greeted with a smiling mouth, saying ”happens all the time.”

Bed came early on this night, as the week had worn me down a bit, and I slept peacefully, knowing a fascinating adventure awaits me.

Thursday, July 21^st, 2011

                Another day in the field, and our car was packed.  Many of the MVP employees go to various points within the cluster to gather their various research.  So, as a newbie, I learned quickly that I have to catch a ride when a ride is available. 

On this particular day, our group was off to the Kabuyanda site, where Miranda and I were to, first, sit in on an update about the cluster’s tuberculosis and HIV data and, second, to host a meeting about how our project will be integrated.  The first presentation was fascinating to me, as my background is, obviously, not public health.  I learned more about TB and HIV in that short setting than I probably ever have.  Although it is not a direct correlation with our project’s basic development at this stage, it is in line with our overarching vision, which is to target teenage females who are at high risk of HIV infection due to cross-generational sex.  It was a very impressive discussion.

Around 2:00pm, we took a break for a bite to eat, as lunch in Uganda is never before 1pm.  I went outside to enjoy the packed lunch the hotel had made for me, but due to my previous sickness, I still had little appetite.  I ate what I could, but I still had almost all of my chips left.  Several small children were sitting in the grass nearby, so I approached them to see if they would like to have my remaining chips.  Their eyes began to bulge out of their heads, as their excitement was palpable.  They were tentative as I laid the food in front of them, but after I persuaded them to have the first bite, the children dove into the remaining chips, licking the salt that remained on their fingers.  If such a simple act can incite such joy, perhaps a simple question would be why aren’t we all sharing our chips?

We facilitated the next meeting, which involved all of Kabuyanda’s head coordinators.  We presented our ideas and were inundated with theirs; some were immensely helpful, and others were a testament to our communication barriers.  This meeting, which consisted of approximately 15 people sitting in a 12x10 feet box, was gregarious and unabashed, and my head spun around trying to figure out who was saying what.  It felt exactly like my family’s dinners, and I loved every minute!  However, I did not love all the questions Miranda and I were left with, and I can only chalk that up to being part of the process.  No one ever said this was going to be easy.  It is not.

A long drive back to Mbarara followed, and I think my head was reeling.  Where do we start first?  How can all of the aspects combine to create one function?  What will be the demographics?  How are we going to fund this?  How will we get the adolescents to come?  Will the space provided be big enough?  Who will train the adolescents in the trades?  What will be the trades?  Where am I going to live?

I made it to the hotel by 7pm, and in an hour’s time, I had done a small load of laundry, realized I had left all my pictures in the Kampala hotel (never to be seen again!), had a long cry, fought with the new phone I have, had Miranda come over to teach me how to use the phone, tried to call the Kampala hotel to check about the pictures (to no avail), realized I needed the phone number for the hotel so tried to get on the internet, realized the internet was so slow it was going to take five minutes to get the number, got on the website only to discover all of the numbers to the hotel are incorrect, packed three bags to be stored, packed two bags to travel with me to Rwanda the next day, and then cried for a solid ten minutes.  I finally calmed down after this entire episode, and then the electricity shut off.  And, I just started laughing.  Miranda, hearing all of this through the paper thin walls, asked if I was ok, and I responded, “It has just added insult to injury.”  It summed it up pretty well.

I went out for dinner with some others, and I ordered my first heaping glass of wine.  And, although it tasted of vinegar, I drank the entire glass, relishing every last intoxicating drop. 

Goodbyes ensued, and the first part of this journey was officially over and beginning at the same time.  The people here may be transient; however, the work and the memories must sustain.

I must save the weekend’s stories for tomorrow, as I know that blog will be extremely long, and it is getting late.  I hope my consistency will improve now that things seem to be settling down.  And, by that I mean I have been in the same place for three nights and have now had internet for the same amount of time.  This may be Africa, but I am Lindsey.  And by damn, things will start a moving and a shaking, because that is the only speed I know.  TIL.  This is Lindsey.    

July 24, 2011

July 24, 2011

I know I have been gone a bit, but as I have learned…TIA (This Is Africa).  This phrase is becoming more and more applicable to me, as there are daily challenges here that are of no concern in the states.  And, because I have been gone for a week, this may be a very long entry, so consider yourself forewarned.  However, I will break it down by the day, and, hopefully, that will help.

Monday, July 18^th, 2011

First and foremost, Happy Birthday to my baby Feliz Cumpleanos Bale!  He turned seven on this day, and it was the first time I have been gone for his special day.  It was very difficult for me, and I made Wes give him a special treat (even though it wasn’t the birthday cake I usually bake for him – and, yes, I realize it IS a bit much, but he is my BABY!).  So, Happy Birthday sweet Cupe!  Your mummy loves you immensely!

Now, back to the story.  After I bragged in my last entry about the delicious dinner I had last Sunday night, I got officially initiated into Africa.  I had finished writing my blog about midnight and climbed into bed to have some much needed sleep.  I tossed and turned and tossed and turned, but a growing pain in my stomach kept me from sleeping.  I really didn’t think anything about it at this point, so when sleep finally came around 3:30am, I gladly accepted it.  However, when morning brought the dreaded day’s light, it shone on so much more than just the beautiful topography.  Oh, how I learned that AWA (Africa Wins Again)! 

The sickness is nothing like you expect and, at the same time, everything you expect.  Fever, nausea, horrific pains in your stomach, and, of course, that which I won’t write about.  The discomfort is…well, I am at a lack of words.  It simply is what it is.  Everyone coming to Africa knows it will happen; it is just a matter of WHEN it will happen.  And, in my naivety, I thought the process would somehow elude me a bit longer than two days.  I, as shown, was very wrong.  The problem with getting this mess on Monday was that I had a five hour drive to Mbarara, which I could not avoid.  We were to be picked up by a Millennium Villages driver at 10am, and at that point, I could barely make it ten minutes without an episode.  So, against everything I knew was correct, I had to take medicine to stop the problem.  And, if you don’t know, it is better for your body to allow nature to take its course and cleanse itself rather than to ingest something that will delay the process and potentially cause infection.  So, I knew it was bad, but I had no other choice.  I could not have made the drive otherwise.

When Charles (MVP’s driver) showed up at 11am with the truck, I was ready and grateful for the one hour traffic delay.  It had given me time to allow the medicine to work.   I still did not feel well, but at least I was able to put a half-hearted smile on my face, especially when I saw the truck emblazoned with the letters UN.  I know this may sound peculiar, but I have always wanted to be one of those people you see in a precarious situation riding along bravely in their UN cars.  I can happily report I can check that off my list; however, I always envisioned the precarious situation to be external.  Oh well.

The ride continued, and although my own battle persisted, I was thrilled to see the southern hemisphere for the first time.  A man working in the gift shop nearby came out to meet us and informed our group that only ten countries span the equator, and Africa is home to six of those countries. He encouraged us to have our cheesy tourist moment, and for a small fee, did the following water display, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

I met a girl later that day who told me the display is simply a tourist ploy, as it was somehow impossible for the water to actually turn in those directions.  She gave some intellectual explanation of why it could not work and said the water buckets used at the site were rigged.  Now, I am sure I could do some simple research to find out about whether or not this is true; however, I was still very sick while I was watching this and relished my brief, cheesy tourist moment.  For those few brief minutes, it changed my own direction.  Therefore, I still believe.

I arrived in Mbarara tired and weak, as I refused to eat anything and drank as little as possible.  We checked into the Lakeview Hotel, and, I hate to admit this, I just wanted to go to sleep.  This was my first day in my new home, but no matter how hard my mind tried, my body did not feel well.  So, my meeting with one of my new colleagues, Dr. Immanuel, was lovely and hard all at the same time.  My mind enjoyed him and the visions he shared; however, my body rejected the enjoyment and reminded me of its illness.  I finally stomached a small bowl of pasta and some Sprite after the meeting concluded, but my bed was my savior, ending a day full of highlights and low downs.  Truly, it was the crossing of the north to the south.

I will have to stop there for tonight, as I am extremely tired, and I will finish this week’s stories tomorrow. 

July 25, 2011

I am posting this in separate installations, as my sister Megan emailed me this morning just wanting to know I am alright.  I am.  Please know I am safe and happy, learning and experiencing.

July 17, 2011

Day two, and I will admit that for a moment while I was watching the new Harry Potter movie I completely forgot that I was in Africa.  And, yes, to my surprise and delight, HARRY POTTER OPENED JULY 15^th in Uganda! I thought for sure I would go six long months without seeing that piece of cultural phenomena, but alas, I was able to be a part!  By the way, it is quite good, following the last book rather closely.  Like I said, for a bit though, I forgot I was in Africa.  Perhaps, it is true that the cinema is an escape, whether we want it to be or not - our own Cinema Paradiso (a movie I highly recommend)?

One thing I have discovered about this blog is that I failed to mention where the name comes from, and although I would love to take credit for it, I cannot.  It still makes me chuckle, even as I write this.  After I had been offered the position here in Uganda, I – obviously – had to think about all aspects of the opportunity and whether or not I could do this.  I went back and forth, knowing ultimately that I would go but somehow having to place my Kentucky life in a bell jar close to my heart.   And, by that, I borrow loosely from Sylvia Plath; it is almost as if I had to put that life into a contained space, but I still want/-ed to watch it and somehow be a part of it.  Needless to say, this is not an easy decision when you have a life you love but know there is also a life you want.  It is a strange process, melding the two, mind and soul. 

So, prior to accepting the position officially, I had reached out to my friend Adam to tell him my thoughts and worries, hopes and fears.  I explained to him I recognized that Uganda would be an opportunity of a lifetime, but nevertheless, it is a decision with so many unknowns.  He and I have been friends for years and he knows me well, so he let me ramble for as long as I needed (which was a considerable amount of time, mind you).  And, when I had stopped, he laughed and said, “Lindsey, Uganda go!” 

I had played around for several different titles of this blog, but when I looked back on this particular conversation, his words hit me as if they, too, knew they were meant to be my title.  When I had changed it officially on the website, my mother even followed up with an email of encouragement, writing, “Lindsey, You-Ganda Go!”   The name has stuck, and I think it is perfect.

Now, back to the day today.  After I slept in (which I never do!), I met Yanis, Miranda, and Miranda’s friend Vickie for brunch.  We went to the lovely Hotel Serena, where there awaited a Uganda I did not expect, as pictured below.  The food was delicious, and the ambiance spectacular; lunch was long, lazy, and full of fascinating conversation and strong coffee – my favorite way to enjoy a meal!  On the walk out, I couldn’t help but be captivated by the plush surroundings and exotic gardens.  The second picture is of a flower that I have never seen before, so if any of you know…

As we were walking to the cinema to make sure we got tickets for Harry Potter, I felt an itch on my arm.  It has begun.  Yes, I got my first mosquito bite!

To be fair, however, I can’t really blame that damn mosquito, because it was I who forgot to apply the bug repellant.  Knowing I am in Africa, how did I forget that?  It made me realize I am not quite acclimated to my surroundings just yet.  Vickie, who has lived here for a year, took me to a grocery store and a pharmacy, but neither carried bug spray.  The pharmacy did offer me a small patch of some sort of bug repellant to put onto my clothes, but all I could think about was that to protect my entire body, that little patch must be very toxic.  I did not buy it.

On the way to the theatre, we had to use an escalator.  Now, living in our fast pace world, where elevators and escalators are as common as buildings and malls, I was surprised to see people stopped at the bottom.  When I came a bit closer, I realized it was two small boys and a woman about my age.  The woman and one of the boys had just gotten on, but the other boy, who was approximately ten years old, stood looking at the moving stairs in awe.  He tapped his foot onto the bottom’s flat and moving surface as if he were about to get into a pool, dipping his toes into the water to feel its temperature; and, just as if the water were freezing cold, he jerked his foot away as it began to separate into two steps.  The boy already on the escalator with the woman encouraged him to get on, and the boy cautiously jumped on.  I smiled to myself, realizing that this boy had never seen anything like this escalator and lost myself in wondering what his life might be like.  Did he live in a small, rural village?  Had he come to the big city for the first time?  Was this monster building of brick and mortar, full of moving steel and flashing lights, fearful to him?

Once I got to the top where two stairs melt into a flat surface, I walked off onto the ground, coming mentally back to the present; I thought to myself as I looked around how normal this all is for me.  However, my eyes followed the boy that had been in front of me and watched as he went to stand at the top of the down escalator.  I looked around for the woman and the other small boy, but they had wondered off, leaving the adventurous boy by himself at the top of the escalator. Not wanting him to be alone, I walked over and stood next to him, and his gaze slowly lifted to meet mine.  I explained he would have to step onto the part of the stair’s surface that did not have a crack in it, because the crack represented where the one step would become two.  I used my hands as best as I knew how, trying to explain a concept as foreign to him right then as Africa is to me right now.  I told him to put one foot on as his hands hold onto the moving sides and just let the stair glide him away until he could put the second foot down.

Staring down at what must have looked like a canyon to him, he said to me in an African accent as thick as my southern, “I am scared.”  He then looked up at me, and I reassured him he could do it and told him not to be afraid.  He nodded and, before I even knew it, the boy took the step.  I saw him look back at me once he was riding the machine away; he had the biggest and brightest smile I have seen in some time.  He then looked down at a man, standing at the bottom of the escalator, as he continued downward.  The man smiled and nodded his head, as the boy prepared for yet another confusing challenge.  His body tensed as his head looked in the direction where the stairs disappear.  I saw his thin body grow as excitement forced him to hold a giant breath, and then there was a slight preparatory bend of his need.  He watched and waited for that exact moment to move, and then, he stepped off.  The man walked over to him, and the boy looked up at me.  He put his fist up into the air in that most definite sign of accomplishment, and I, standing at the top, clapped loudly as I choked back proud tears.

In a world of Harry Potter and plentiful brunches, I was brought back to a simplicity I don’t even remember and a gratefulness I am happy to feel.  I wanted to hug that boy, not only for his own accomplishment but also for a gift he will never know he gave.  His experience and strength were inspiring – my favorite thing about Africa thus far.

A movie and dinner pursued, and I was enthralled during both; however, I kept going back to that little boy and his giant step.  If he could conquer life’s unknowns, perhaps I can, too.

July 16th, 2011

If you are reading this, perhaps you have decided to “travel” this journey with me, and I am so grateful.  But, as you may or may not know, I have my masters in English Literature, and for the longest time always felt I had to read every page of every book I started.  I want you to know you may come and go as you please to my writings, as I always love that freedom to choose.  I can not tell you why that is important for me to write, but it is.  So, read (what you want!) and enjoy!  I know I will.

My travel time began on Thursday, July 14^th at a lovely 3:30am CST, as I quickly dressed and settled into the car.  My significant other, whose picture will follow (as I do think it is important to remember those who have been an integral part of my getting here), remained a calming and constant voice of reason, as I – somewhat nervous – had asked of him.  Here is Wes.  He is simply wonderful.

Also, I will state that it was Wes that took those pictures of my “shot” experience posted before.  He laughed every time he saw them.  I did not – and perhaps still don’t (!) – think they were as funny.  It was my arm – not his!  However, the complete story must be told.

Saying “until next time” is never easy, as most people know, so I won’t go into those particulars, but I will just mention that each and every one was difficult and so special to me.  I always find it fascinating how people are always with you, even though they may be halfway around the world or not on this world at all.  I feel as though I am surrounded, even though I sit here typing with no one else in the room.

I got on the plane, and I was off.  After a quick first flight over to Charlotte, NC, I was on my second plane, taking off to New York’s JFK airport.  I guess I must mention that I sat by a very nice gentleman on that first leg of the journey; I have found through this entire process that people tell me their thoughts – both good and bad – about MY travels and decisions.  He was no different, and although I think some of it was hard to hear at that particular moment, I know he was looking out for my best interest and, therefore, was endearing.

My second flight was uneventful and quiet, allowing me to be contemplative about this entire experience.  And, it was nice to listen and reflect on my own thoughts – both good and bad – about MY travels and decisions.  Needless to say, I am thrilled.

Once in NYC, I had a six hour layover, which was exactly perfect.  One may think it a long time, but I found it to be reassuring and peaceful.  I should back the story up.  I failed to mention the discovery I had made on Tuesday, July 5^th, when I was talking to one of my dearest confidants.  On that day, she had asked me about the particulars of my flights, which I gave most readily.  I explained the times and flights that were scheduled for me, and the entire time, I am realizing she has quite a quizzical look on her face.  When I was done, she asked if my flights allowed me enough time to not only physically get to the different gates at the airport but also allow my luggage the time to be transferred appropriately.  Of course, I thought!  I had talked to both airlines I was flying with, and both had assured me the timing was sufficient and that they were partners in the ground-level bag transfers.  My friend kept shaking her head, saying I needed to check, as it just did not sound right.  I left her soon after this discussion, and my mind and body shook.  She, too, was worried, as she thought she had caused me unnecessary anxiety; however, she was wrong in thinking that and right in encouraging me to double check.

I called the airlines straightaway when I got home and delved into the timings and the transfers of all my flights.  Sure enough, my friend was correct.  I discovered by talking to the most helpful and kind airline ticketing agent that all of the information given to me (by both airlines, may I remind you!) was incorrect.  I, upon my arrival to JFK, would probably have made the flight connection on foot, but my bags – in the underground world of airline maintenance – would not have stood a chance of getting on the plane taking me to Africa.

I was speechless for a good bit, because you must understand the time and preparation it takes to get ready for a six month excursion to Africa.  It has taken me months of both emotional and physical preparation to feel confident in this journey, and at that moment in my mind’s eye, I saw myself waiting in the faraway airport as a baggage carrier went round and round with no more luggage on it.  And, I stood there empty handed.   I had to have a few deep breaths before I could continue.  Once the realization that this awful vision in my head was going to be avoided because a friend had simply pushed me to question, I was calm.  She had changed the course of my trip.

After some rearranging, I had scheduled an earlier flight that gave me a six hour window at JFK. Luckily for me, my bags and I are happily together today.  Thank you good, good friend.  My six hour layover in NYC, as I said early, was reassuring and peaceful.  I walked around JFK sweating profusely as I pushed two suitcases weighing 50lbs (the limit!) each, wearing a 30lb backpack, and carrying a 30lb bag, and I was happy to no end.  I had that 160lbs of preparation and time, and I did not have worry.

Approximately at 3:00pm EST, my project manager for this assignment, texted saying I needed to meet him at the airline’s gate.  Now would be a good time for me to explain why I am in Africa, what I am doing.  I work for a pharmaceutical company, GSK, who started a global outreach division, called PULSE, three years ago.  The purpose of this division is to outsource their people to non-governmental organizations/non-profits and to help serve developing countries.  In GSK’s efforts to help make these positive and sustainable changes for other countries, the PULSE volunteers also gain invaluable information about different, external viewpoints that we can bring back to the company to help in its own development.  I am very proud I work for a company that is willing to not only change themselves for the better but also change the world for the better.  And, if you want any more information about PULSE, you may visit pulse.gsk.com.

In February, PULSE sent out an email explaining this division and requested that interested candidates please apply.  I applied.  And, after several essays and interviews, I was asked to be a part of this growing team.  I, of course, enthusiastically accepted and throughout the process was partnered with the organization Millennium Villages. For my particular assignment, I was asked to come to Mbarara, Uganda to open a youth center.  In doing so, we will be addressing the need for gender empowerment by working specifically with teenage females, who are currently at a very high risk for contracting HIV.  Our objective is to start a program in the youth center that will teach the females a trade so that they can generate revenue and become self-sustainable.  Hopefully, that may answer some of your questions.

In NYC, I boarded the plane for Amsterdam.  Easy and quick six-hour flight; however, I did not get any sleep, because the man behind me was snoring very loudly.  Upon my arrival in Amsterdam, I was able to go to the special frequent flyer’s lounge, and it was incredibly nice, with good food and hot showers.  I could get used to that.

I next boarded the flight to Rwanda, which was a bit longer but just as comfortable.  I watched movies and even got a quick nap in before landing.  I had about a one hour layover in Rwanda before I took off for our final destination on a plane – Entebbe, Uganda.  And, on the way, I couldn’t help but notice the full moon in the night sky, as it shone brightly on our path.

I was there in approximately an hour, and the local time was 11:00pm (I don’t know yet what time zone this is, but I can tell you it is 8 hours ahead of CST).  Now, for the part I was excited about…BOTH of my bags found their way to Uganda, too.  WONDERFUL!  I had a 45 minute cab ride to Kampala, and I was amazed at the night life of the city.  The entire road from the airport to the hotel is lined with what I would call a market and the driver called a trading place.  There were nightclubs with music pouring out of them and empty stands that during the day would sell matookes, and I was amazed that it kept going and going – spanning the entire distance from Entebbe to Kampala.  When I asked about that, the driver informed me that behind the trading place was residential homes, but for business, obviously, the street provided the most exposure. 

I came to the hotel around 12pm, so all in all, I had been going for 37 hours and flown on 5 different plane rides.  Needless to say, I was tired and very excited to see the hotel.  I made a quick Skype call to Wes, letting him know I arrived safely, and then it was to bed for an eight hour sleep coma.

I woke up around 8:30am this morning, had a light breakfast.  I was soon joined by Miranda, who is the Columbia grad student who will be working on the project with me.  She has been traveling in Uganda for a month now and acted as a fabulous tour guide and logistics helper today.  We went to a shopping mall and got my first Ugandan shillings, set up my phone, and grabbed some lunch.  And, to my delight, I discovered that Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 was playing at the movie theater!  Thank goodness the others were as excited as me, because we have decided to see it tomorrow.  C’mon, I’ve got to see one movie while I am here!

After this little outing, Miranda and I decided to go to the Uganda v. Kenya rugby game.  I had so much fun, as it was not only the first rugby game I’ve ever seen but also my first exposure to a massive crowd here.  You could feel the excitement pulsing through the air, and before I knew it, I, too, was jumping up and down as the Ugandan team played.  In the end, Uganda unfortunately lost, but the game for me was a win.  Here are some good pictures.

That night, we ate at a delicious, quaint Indian restaurant here in Kampala, where I tasted some of the best Indian food I have ever put into my mouth.  Delicious and probably more authentic than what I have had in the past; regardless, I will always love Bowling Green’s own little Taj Palace. 

Upon my arrival back to the hotel, I sat down in the lobby as a gentleman played piano.  It was so soothing, and I enjoyed a free little concert for a bit.  Two women – a mother and daughter of Indian descent – sat in the couch opposite me, and after hearing me briefly speak, asked if I was from London.  I said no and told them I am from Kentucky, adding that London will always be one of my favorite cities.  They said they were in from London, but that Kampala had once been thneir home.  The daughter said she had lived here as a child and remembered bits and pieces of the country,  but she had not been back since they left with nothing.  I nodded as she spoke about how much she enjoyed the country now and was glad to be back, and then I asked when she and her parents had left.  She replied simply, “1972.”

I will say it shocked me, and it took a moment to process the implications of her words.  I asked no more questions, told them both to enjoy the rest of their stay, and walked back to the room.  And, here I sit, contemplating a history that I know, a country that I see, and a future that I hope.

I am in Africa.  Those words have not yet settled, and I know they may not for a bit, as it is a major transition.  I am in my hotel room for the time being, having just slept a solid eight hours after a long two days.  However, if my journey here is any indication of the next six months, I will be happy, as my travels proved to be smooth and surrounded by good company.  I hope this good fortune remains…