A constant tension

There are always terrible reminders to bring one crashing back down to earth after a nice holiday or an encouraging day of work or a fun afternoon of soccer. Those good times are constantly juxtaposed with stories and experiences of suffering. The last two days have been a true study in that tension.

Yesterday afternoon (my birthday), I flew with Heidi and Ashley in a little cessna over the mountains an to Kampala. I got to fly co-pilot, had some great views of the mountains and the crater lakes around Fort Portal, and just had fun flying. It was a nice birthday present, and that was before dinner. I was lucky enough to be in Kampala for my birthday dinner, which we spent at a nice Belgian restaurant where I ordered a good, rare steak, a nice bottle of wine, and a deep dish of ice cream (the girls even got the waiter for put a candle on it). Splurging? Probably. It was a great birthday meal.

But earlier that day I had delayed the plane, because I was driving a 12 year old boy from the health center to the hospital a half hour away for an emergency appendectomy. Luckily, he came through his surgery (none too soon) and is recovering. At the health center we also had a young boy with sickle-cell disease who had just had a stroke, and died this morning, with no one able to do anything to prevent it. But as if those difficulties of the morning weren't enough, arriving in Kampala we found this headline on the web "Ugandan rebels massacre hundreds at church in Congo." In the last few weeks, after Joseph Kony (leader of the LRA) failed for the third time to show up to peace talks, the Ugandan, Congolese, and Southern-Sudanese armies launched a joint offensive against the LRA in the territory they control, where these countries meet. While it's hard to know what reports to believe, it was seeming to be rather effective, but now it is clear that it has also stirred the LRA back into its brutal, savage, child-enslaving life. The day after Christmas, rebels attacked a church service in a village in eastern Congo and slaughtered almost around 150 people, mostly women and children, with machetes and clubs. The horror and brutality of it is almost incomprehensible. It was difficult even to read about it, realizing that this is not a movie or a book, but something happening in real time. It's a terrible reminder of the brokenness and horror of the world we live in.

(As a note of assurance, this is not anywhere near Bundibugyo, but much farther north. The LRA exists in north-western Uganda, southern Sudan, and north-eastern Congo, a long way from where I live in south-western Uganda.)

So, sometimes I feel like I exist between extremes, never knowing where to find reality. Between stories of recovery and health, and those of slowly wasting away to death. Between big, happy smiles on the neighborhood kids faces when we're playing and the fact that they often don't have enough to eat. Between great meals in Kampala and inhuman brutality. It makes life confusing, it makes me ashamed of my ability to enjoy those nice meals or good medical care, and it leaves me clueless as to how I am supposed to respond to a world full of both beauty and ugliness, love and hate, rejoicing and suffering.

A Christmas to remember

Quick description of Christmas:

Waking up early to the hustle and bustle of neighbors getting ready for Christmas and the drums and singing of celebration. Receiving a morning phone call from my family, who stayed up late to call and sing "O Come All Ye Faithful" to me. Making omelets for Pat, Heidi, Ashley, and myself, and eating about half of the kringle (a scrumptious combination of butter and sugar and probably a few other token ingredients) that Ashley made. Exchanging gifts and opening stockings with them after breakfast. Three hours of church, full of dancing, singing, and general joyfulness. A dance party in my house for a bunch of the local kids. A great steak dinner at the Myhre's with the whole team, followed by an all-team soccer game and delicious desserts. Another dance party, this time with the Myhre and Pierce kids. Watching the Grinch and Cinderella Man (not exactly a Christmas classic but one of my favorite movies), and talking to family again at night. A great day.

One thing in particular stuck out - I really enjoyed the church service. Oftentimes, I find myself struggling through church, either because I barely understand what's going on or because I find the preaching... less than encouraging. But the Christmas service was beautiful. I especially loved the group children that got up to sing and dance, partly because I'm friends with many of them. Their smiles and joy were contagious, and  I've decided that my (roughly 7-8 year old) neighbor Charity is in fact the cutest boy I've ever seen, a conclusion that was reinforced by his dancing and his role as a shepherd in a little Christmas skit. The thing that struck me most was the preaching, though. While it often, depending on who is preaching, can become a rant against alcohol and smoking or something like that, this message was a great telling of the coming Kingdom which we await. I especially liked one illustration that I found put very eloquently. The pastor said that, today we would feast on chicken and beef and rice (all of which are rather expensive), but that it would only satisfy us for today. However, one day, when the Kindgom of God is here, we will have a feast which is satisfy forever: "That chicken is forever! That beef is forever!" Eternal chicken... an unusual concept, but here, where hunger is a reality and meat is a luxury, I though it was a great description of what the Kingdom of God will mean to people here.

Merry Christmas!

I want to wish all of you a very merry Christmas, even if it is a day early. This season I've been thinking a lot about Christmas and home, and all of the people who are a part of both of them for me. So I want to tell you how much I appreciate and miss all of you, my family and friends.

Amid the preparations, the pre-Christmas celebrations, the Christmas carols with the team, the buying of my Christmas shirt, and the general anticipation that fills the air in Bundibugyo (Christmas is a big deal here, if you hadn't figured that out), the tragic and difficult realities remain. Just yesterday, a soda truck collided with a pickup truck laden with far too many passengers. Both of them rolled, and this morning I learned that 12 people have died, including a mother and her two young children, all of them leaving friends and family mourning and weeping at a time when almost everyone is celebrating and making merry. This has been a poignant reminder that, while we celebrate the birth of Jesus, come into the world for our salvation, the consummation of his work is yet to come - we still live in a world of suffering and tragedy. So, I plan to celebrate and feast and to enjoy new family, new friends, good food, and good wine, but to also remember that I live in a world of needs and pain, as well as joy and celebration. 

So, I don't want to make your Christmas sad with these stories (I could keep going), but the complexity and nuance of this season have struck me, and I think it's good to dwell on it for a time. I hope that you all have a wonderful Christmas (or Chanukah, or just a good December), and that you are able to enjoy it with friends and family. Merry Christmas from the heat and dust of Bundibugyo!

sorry, snakes

Here’s a snapshot of life here in Bundibugyo. Yesterday, I was playing football (soccer) with about 20 neighborhood kids in front of my house, as has become my custom most afternoons, especially now that school is out. One of my favorite boys, Richard, was dribbling the ball near the bushes when suddenly he jumped back and a snake slithered away from right under his feet toward the bushes. Within moments, all 20 of the kids were shouting and surrounding the bushes, launching rocks into them to try to scare the snake out. The snake was soon chased up to the top of the bush, about 15 feet, and the kids kept throwing rocks up into the air, which clattered onto my roof on the other side (and I was amazed that none of the kids hit each other, since they were surrounding the bush). Soon, adults were running toward my house, sticks in hand, ready to take over in place of the kids. After throwing a few sticks into the bush, the snake was knocked down and quickly beaten to death by my friend Richard. It was then pulled out into the path, where about 10 kids beat its lifeless body with sticks for several minutes, as if to make sure that it was actually dead. And that was the third snake that was killed within a few feet of my house yesterday.

Now, many of you probably know that I am an animal lover who hates to kill things (exception: rats), and that I really like snakes and have always tried to convince people that they’re not dangerous and should be left alone. Here, however, things are a little different, since almost all snakes are poisonous, and there are kids running around my yard all the time. Luckily, this very common species is only “mildly poisonous,” causing swelling and nausea but never death. When I said to someone “I’m not sure if this kind is dangerous,” my neighbor replied, “We don’t have non-dangerous snakes here.” So, I’ve had to decide that snakes in my yard must be killed, especially since these three appeared to be living in a hole in the concrete of my house, where I saw another one today. So there will probably be another snake-killing posse in action soon.

A very sorry Christmas tree

So that's my Christmas tree. It's a bunch of boughs tied to a metal post and set in a bucket, wider at the top than at the bottom, leaning into the corner so that it doesn't fall. I'm not sure that there's ever been one like it. It probably bears more resemblance to some sort of palm tree than a pine tree. Still, it's more that I thought I'd have, so I'm glad for that. And see the lights! The Myhre's had leftover LED lights they weren't using, as well as some tinsel, so I have a little bit of Christmas cheer in my house. Now, I don't have much electricity so I don't run them much, but it's a nice touch. It makes that Charlie Brown tree look great, but it was fun to put together. Just thought I'd share a funny picture with you. 

More Rwenzori pictures

I will try to a get a Flickr page going soon, but this is how I'm posting pictures until then.

Home

While I've been getting more and more settled here in Bundibugyo, I've been wondering when it's going to feel like home. When I can down from the Rwenzori mountains about a week ago, I had the feeling that I had been on vacation and that it was now time to go home - a home that was distinctly in Andover, NJ. That felt like the place that I should go after being away. It was hard for me to think about going to Kampala and then back to an empty house in Bundibugyo. However, after spending one day in Kampala, I found myself really wishing to get back home to Bundibugyo. It's a place that I know somewhat, and I was excited to see a lot of people from the community, especially the kids who I've been playing with and swimming with most afternoons. That was the first time when I felt like Bundibugyo was home. (Of course, when I got home I found that rats had wreaked havoc in my unoccupied kitchen. The battle continues.)

The Christmas season is a hard time to be away from home because Christmas and family are nearly synonymous to me. Decorating the tree, putting candles in the windows, singing Christmas carols - these are the heralds of the Christmas season for me, and I have always done them with my family. It's hard to think about waking up on Christmas morning alone. However, I'm very grateful for those moments like the other day when I'm starting to feel at home here.

Unspeakable Beauty

One of the problems with my time trekking in the mountains was that I’m having trouble putting the experience into words. It was truly spectacular – an experience that was powerful and majestic and difficult and incredibly rewarding. It’s hard to explain what was so amazing about it, but I’ll try.

 

First of all, there was a great diversity of natural beauty. Even on the drive out of Bundibugyo I saw baboons by the road and surveyed an archetypal African plain. The trek itself started in dense jungle, passed through montane forests, bamboo forest, heather forest, alpine bogs, bare rock, glacier, and back through all of them again. There is something magical about the Rwenzoris. They feel ancient and wild. In most places, the lightly worn trail is the only evidence that humans have ever been there. The first day was spent in jungle – monkeys jumping overhead, giant tree ferns, and chimpanzees calling in the valley below us (an especially eerie sound at night). Day two was spent gaining a lot of elevation and moving into the heather forest. This is a truly otherworldly landscape, where gnarled old heather trees are draped with Old Man’s Beard and covered in masses of moss that reach up to three feet across. These hanging moss gardens are so unusual that they instantly struck me as something that could have come from a Dr. Seuss book. Day three was spent traversing two alpine bogs, places of incredible beauty and strange plant life, but that were clearly never meant to have people cross them. Luckily, we had experienced guides to lead us through them, and pretty much all of the Rwenzoris from that point on was more or less bog. Jumping from one tussock of grass to the next was fun and challenging, and carried with it significant risk as well, since the mud could be waist deep if one were to fall. I had a good time trying to land on wobbly, slippery tussocks, and by the end of the day I was well worn out from all of the jumping. Next we picked up a lot more elevation as we passed through a seemingly prehistoric alpine forest – I remarked at the time that a dinosaur stepping out into the path wouldn’t particularly surprise me there. Every day we were getting better and better views of the snow-capped high peaks of the Rwenzoris: Mt. Speke, Mt. Baker, and Mt. Stanely, whose Margherita Peak is the highest point in Uganda and was our destination. The majesty of these mountains is impossible for me to overstate, and I wish I could convey to you the feelings of wonder and awe that held me when the clouds would lift early in the morning, letting me bask in the splendor of those mountains.  By this time we were at significant elevation and the air was getting thin, making every foot gained a little more difficult than the last. By then end of day four we were scrambling over wet rocks and in sight of the snow, reaching the hut that sits about 200 yards from the edge of the glacier. Even before this, the temperature would plummet in the evening, but now it was cold all of the time. Still, Luke and I decided that this was our only chance to bathe in a glacial pool, so up we climbed to a pool above the hut and bathed ourselves is the icy water (literally) that sat just below the glacier. It occurred to me at the time that guys often do very stupid things and that this was likely one of them, but it was a fun to be there that close to the glacier, and afterwords the air felt much warmer by comparison, leaving us feeling refreshed. At this elevation, any activity, even walking to the latrine, was tiring and caused me to lose my breath. There just wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. We were all on medication for altitude sickness (two men died up there this summer from it), so no one had serious problems, but we all suffered from nausea and general weakness. The next morning started at 4:30 as we set out for the summit (all of us except Jack and Julia), scrambling by headlamp for an hour through a steep boulder field to the edge of the glacier, where we put on our crampons and harnesses and roped ourselves together. I was on a short rope with Luke and a guide, meaning that we were free to move at our own pace, but also meaning that, if someone fell, there were only two others to catch him. The glacier was fun and frightening, as we passed right over and around various openings to crevices that could have been 10 or 200 feet deep and I would have never known the difference. At one point, in a particularly steep section, there was an opening about a foot across into an ice cave, through which I could see icicles hanging down into the blackness. And we used that opening as a foothold for climbing! In the movie, it would collapse every time. But it didn’t, and I passed over it with heart racing and ice-axe at the ready to try to catch myself if it gave. After scaling a 20 foot rock face (completely exhausting at almost 17,000 feet – I couldn’t move my arms for a while afterword. However, I was roped in and being held by a guide), we scrambled for a few more minutes to the summit – all 16,763 feet of it. It was amazing looking down at the clouds, watching the wind whip them up onto the peak, and seeing how the sky looks strangely dark overhead at high elevation. Every now and again the clouds would part and we would have a stunning view of Alexandra peak, just a few hundred yards away. I would whip out my camera, but in seconds the clouds would close back in and it would be gone. I never did get a clear picture of it (my best try is the second picture above). While waiting for the second group to reach the summit, Luke and I snacked, tried to keep warm, and sang Go Tell it On the Mountain (that was the only place where it feels like the Christmas season!). Despite getting caught in a snowstorm on the way down, we made it back safely (though the snowy rocks made us use ropes to get down and it took an hour longer than it should have) and quickly made up a bunch of hot chocolate. We were all very tired but several more days of spectacular hiking awaited. One place from the descent sticks out in particular – a bamboo forest that I was alone when I entered. There was a stillness about it that felt almost sacred, broken only by the intermittent hushed rustle of the bamboo in the breeze. I was trying to catch up to the rest of the group, but I walked slowly through the bamboo. It felt like a place where one shouldn’t hurry.

 

All in all, the trek was cold, muddy, and exhausting, but incredibly fun, fascinating, and awe-inspiring. The difficultly and discomfort are a big part of what made it such a great experience for me and brought a lot of fun and adventure to it. On a climb like that, it’s usually best not to dwell on all of the times where one wrong step could send you tumbling to a rocky death, but those times were exhilarating and exciting too. Most of you probably know how much I enjoy the natural world and how much natural beauty speaks to me, and this trip gave me a huge dose of that. I saw many stunning birds, several of which are found only in the Rwenzoris. It was a place of great power. It reminded me of how Tolkien speaks of mountains having power or having a will of their own. It was like I could feel the mountains in addition to seeing them. I’ll certainly never forget it.

 

That’s a very long way of telling you that I’m back in Bundibugyo safely after an amazing time in the mountains. It is back to the real world tomorrow, as I’m headed down to the health center again in the morning. But I’m incredibly grateful for the chance to experience the Rwenzoris, and the beauty and majesty that I was lucky enough to revel in there. (I’ll try to get some more pictures up).

Mountains of the Moon

Tomorrow morning I'm leaving with the Myhres and Ashley for a week of trekking in the Rwenzoris. These are the same mountains that I see every day and that supply my water, but they get much bigger a few hours south of here. The ancient Greeks, upon seeing the Nile flowing so steadily out of an massive desert, guessed that somewhere in equatorial Africa there must lie a high mountain range - the Mountains of the Moon. They were right, of course, and the snows of the Rwenzori mountains are the only permanent source of that ancient river which formed a culture of it's own. That's right, snow on the equator. Pretty hard to believe, and not something I packed particularly well for. Many Europeans doubted that there could be snow in such a place (I've been telling you about the heat here), but these mountains are higher than the Alps and contain some spectacular ice formations. At over 16,700 feet, Mount Stanely is the 3rd highest peak in Africa, next to Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya, but is a harder climb than either of them. Climbing on glaciers is always tricky, and there's a large glacier to cross to reach the summit (As with  almost all of the world's glaciers, it has lost about 1/3 of its mass in the last 50 years as the climate warms). We'll be renting gear like harnesses, crampons, and ice picks for this part (not exactly everyday gear here). Probably only a smaller group of us will go up on the glacier and attempt the summit, and even this will depend on the weather and altitude sickness.

I hear that the plant an animal life in the mountains is spectacular and unusual, and most of you know how much I enjoy both plants an animals. It's certain to be a grand adventure and a long one - 7 nights on the mountain. While it will be challenging and physically taxing, I'm excited about the chance to just be out in nature and enjoy the beauty of it. I think it will be a relaxing and restoring time, and one which will make me appreciate my cold shower. Clearly, I'll be out of touch for a little more than week. As for now, I'm trying to figure out what to pack (I picked up a great used fleece and some used wool socks in the market) and what food to bring. When I get back, I'll be sure to post pictures of the climb. I'm sure there will be some great ones. I think the hardest thing will be decided which spectacular things to photograph, since if I took pictures of them all I'd probably be stopping every few feet.

Today is the memorial service for the one year anniversary of the death of Dr. Jonah Kule in the ebola epidemic. I'm sure it will be a difficult time, as I can tell how much he is missed, especially as he was such a committed and hard-working doctor, not to mention that he was the shining star of the community, living proof that a local man could go on to receive a good education, attain a position of real influence, and do great things for his people. There are currently several young men in medical school being sponsored by the fund set up last year in Dr. Jonah's memory, so while it will be some time before they are doctors, there is hope that they will return to serve in the community here just as Dr. Jonah did.

 

Christmas goats

With Thanksgiving over, some team members are already playing Christmas music and getting out the Christmas movies (actually, some started before Thanksgiving). While the dusty, searing, 95+ degree heat makes it hard for me to think of this as the holiday season, it’s coming up fast. So, I’m going to plug a World Harvest holiday program called Give-a-Goat.  Basically, you can supply a high-quality dairy goat to a family in need – usually motherless babies or mothers with HIV/AIDS for whom breastfeeding carries the risk of infecting their child. You would receive a goat Christmas ornament (which I haven’t seen but have heard are nice). Below I’ve posted a more official description of the program.  Please give it a read and a thought.

 

Once again this year we are offering the Give-a-Goat opportunity.  For $130 we can purchase and transport a specially bred dairy goat here in Uganda, train a family in its care, give them a few tools for constructing a simple shed, and then allow them to take the goat home.  Thanks to this project, many children who otherwise would have starved, can thrive—drinking the calories and protein they need.  Most of our recipients are babies whose mothers have died, or whose mothers are infected with HIV/AIDS and therefore need to wean them from potentially infectious breast milk. 

Your donation is a gift to a family which is living on a slim margin of survival.  The first 100 donors will receive a hand-made African Christmas tree ornament which symbolizes the real gift of the goat.  Please put it on your tree to remind you that Christmas is all about incarnation:  love in bodily form, God becoming human and needing milk, your generosity translating into a real live animal and its milk.

The mechanics:

1.     Use the "Give-a-Goat" button on our sidebar (or at www.whm.org) to donate by credit card.  This is the simplest and fastest method, and allows our colleague Ginny Barnette in the Sending Center to quickly confirm your donation and address and mail you the ornament.  Here is the direct link : http://whm.org/project/details?ID=12375

2.     Send a check to WHM Donation Processing Center, P.O. Box 1244, Albert Lea, MN 56007-1244, writing "Goat Fund  12375" on the memo line.  Since the processing and return of the information to Ginny could take a couple of weeks, you may want to email her (GBarnettte@whm.org) in order to be sure you receive the ornament before Christmas. 

3.     If you would like the ornament mailed to a DIFFERENT address than the one on your credit card or check, you must also communicate this to Ginny.  A card will be included with each goat describing the program.

Gifts, begging, and generosity

People come to my door many times every day, usually children but also adults, sometimes just to talk but often to ask for a loan, food, employment, school supplies, or a drink of water. This is extremely uncomfortable for me, but it seems to be part of the territory of living here as a Westerner. The fact that I could afford to travel all the way to Uganda is evidence enough of the wealth disparity between myself and most of the community. For me, a chronic people-pleaser, saying no to these requests is hard but necessary (though I never say no to water – it’s too easy and important). A few days ago, a couple of young children, one of whom is a friend of mine, knocked at my door and we talked for a few minutes. My friend then asked for band-aids for the other child’s skinned knees. My first instinct is to be cautious about giving handouts (because they can set a dangerous precedent), but hey, I’m a health worker after all, so this was an easy decision. I had a thought: if it were me, I’d bandage it, so how could I say no to this kid? That seemed like a great way to think about these difficult issues – treating my neighbor as myself, giving of my resources, serving those around me. I thought I had my philosophy figured out. Then I had another thought. There’s no way I can possibly do that for everyone who will come to my door, there’s no chance that I can give everyone the level of care or help that I would want for myself. If it were me, of course I’d pay my own school fees. Of course I’d buy myself food. Of course I’d pay for a hospital visit. But I can’t do those things here. I’d be broke in a week and everyone in the community would know that I was an ATM (this illustration is for your benefit – almost no one here has a bank account or would know what an ATM is). So what does this mean for me? How should I handle these situations? When should I be generous and where I should draw the line? And is giving handouts a good idea? Unfortunately, simple answers to these questions are pretty elusive.

I’m going about handling this by trying to give gifts to people with whom I have a relationship, and to give them when they’re not asked for. I think this makes it less of a paternalistic relationship and seems to be in tune with Ugandan notions of friendship and material involvement. (For us, lack of material involvement is what makes true friendship. Here, material involvement is a defining aspect of friendships. These cultural differences are tough). So I try to give gifts of food or school supplies to my neighbors, while maintaining plenty of other interactions that involve no material goods. We’ll see how that goes and how my thoughts develop in this area. (The Myhres – 15 year veterans of Bundibugyo – ensure me that it doesn’t get much easier). Yikes.

Seriously funny

Please click on the link to Heidi's blog and read the post entitled "To my lovely one,"  for a letter that not one, but two of the women on the team received. When they showed this to me, I laughed harder than I have in months. Just try reading it out loud. 

Wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving! We're having a team feast and soon I'll be heading to the Myhre's to help with the turkey (currently running around their yard). I managed to avoid the responsibility of cooking any of the main dishes, but I'm doing a few sides which will keep me busy for much of the afternoon and promise to be a real adventure since my oven neither closes fully nor has temperature readings. I hope that you all have a wonderful day and that you are able to spend it with people for whom you are truly thankful. 

A few more pictures. First, a couple of my neighbors, Gloria and Charity, who I play with a lot. Then some pictures of Ngite, a waterfall about 150 feet high that we hiked to. It felt like being in Planet Earth.

Of long trips and flat tires

On Sunday, I made my first trip to the big city, Kampala, capital of Uganda, where one can buy almost anything (especially compared with the modest goods one can get in Bundibugyo).  It’s amazing that, after only about three weeks here, the conveniences of a modern city were a marvel to me. The fact that my hotel room had both hot water and a toilet was almost too good to be true, and I walked around stores in the city with an almost giddy demeanor as I surveyed all of the goods that were available. The grocery store made me realize both how much I was starting to miss many of the foods I’m used to, and also how expensive my tastes are. I had to put off buying nice cheeses until I’m really desperate (give it a couple of months) and willing to pay the exorbitant prices they charge. I got my first experience riding a boda boda – a motorcycle taxi that is great for getting through traffic quickly but terrible for staying alive. I had to get somewhere quickly during rush hour, and the car was being worked on, so I went to find a boda boda to take me there. A Ugandan quickly warned me that it was not safe, but then went and found a driver with “good behavior” to get me there. It was a fun ride, and only once was I certain that I was going to die. But before I left Kampala I’d taken a couple more rides to get around quickly. It’s a pretty efficient form of transportation, especially during rush hour (which seems to me like most of the day), and there’s a certain thrill to it. Even since getting back to Bundibugyo on Wednesday, I’ve taken bodas into town and back twice, and there’s talk of me learning to drive them soon.

 

On Wednesday, Pat and I were up at 6, furiously trying to get our errands done and got on the road in time to reach Bundibugyo before dark. There’s a general rule that one shouldn’t drive after dark, for two reasons – first, any stretch of road that might be home to highway thieves becomes a bad idea after dark, but the bigger concern is that it’s just no fun to break down after dark in a place where there are no tow trucks, no AAA, and possible no town for another hour of driving. We were very delayed leaving Kampala, since we had to wait for the mechanic to finish working on the car, but we hit the road around 12:30, just about the latest we could leave and still hope to make it before dark. We reached Fort Portal, just on the other side of the mountains for Bundibugyo and about 2.5 hours from it, and decided to go for it, figuring we’d get back just after dark. We knew that Scott and Jennifer were also traveling back to Bundibugyo with the Ryans (it's been awesome having them here), after a couple of days of retreat and relaxation, but figured they were well ahead of us and furthermore, might not be thrilled about us racing the sun to get back, so I didn’t mind when I couldn’t reach them by phone – I figured that meant that the decision then fell to us. We just made it over the mountain top – still more than an hour from Bundibugyo, when we came upon Jennifer, Skip, and Barb, sitting by their truck with a flat tire. As it turns out, both of the spares they were carrying were also flat, so Scott had jumped on the back of a truck with both spares to get them repaired at the nearest town, about a half hour away. I hopped out to stay with Skip and the truck and wait for Scott, while Pat took Jennifer and Barb home. It was great to just sit on the hood of the truck in the middle of the African jungle and have a good conversation with Skip as the sun set. As it got dark, I heard all sorts of interesting birds and other animals that I can’t remotely identify, and they all seemed to be about 10 feet away in the thick vegetation. It was a pretty cool feeling, but I’ll admit to being glad that I wasn’t alone. After about 45 minutes (it’s now almost pitch black) Scott came back on one motorcycle with a patched tire on the other. By this time, the jack underneath the truck was damaged and wouldn’t lift high enough to get the new tire on, so we began trying to rig up a contraption to hold the truck up while we lowered the jack, and then prop the jack up on some rocks to get some more height. As I was digging big rocks out of the forest in the dark for this purpose, we were fortunate enough to have another truck pull up and lend us their jack. Never underestimate the value of the kindness of strangers. We got the new tire on, and drove for about a half hour to the town where the second tire was now patched, picked it up and went on our way, thinking we were in the clear. Not one kilometer later our repaired spare went flat. Luckily, the people who had helped us were kind enough to have stayed behind us in case anything went wrong, which it clearly had. We put the new spare on, and the minute we let the jack down, the sound of air escaping was audible. So here we were, still 45 minutes from home, with a tire going flat, two flat spares, and the prospect of having to sleep in the truck to keep thieves away. However, on of our Ugandan friends managed to rig up the most unlikely contraption to prevent air from escaping from the valve. He bend the valve to the side, stopping the flow of air, a wedged a small rock between it and the wall of the rim, holding it in place. I thought that this would last about 10 feet on this bumpy road. Of course, when we got in the truck, there wasn’t an ounce of power flowing from the battery. I had a distinct sense of “Ok, so what else is about to go wrong?” Somehow, after about 30 seconds, the battery decided to work again and we started on our way. Miraculously, our little rock-in-the-wheel setup held in place for the 30 kilometers back to Bundibugyo, where we arrived sometime after 10, exhausted, stressed, and hungry, 10 hours after I had left Kampala. I felt terrible for Scott and Jennifer, as this was the culmination of their time of relaxation, but I was glad that our worry and delay leaving Kampala turned into a huge blessing for them. Some team members had prepared some dinner and had it waiting for us when we got back, so I ate and fell sound asleep almost instantly, a sweaty, dirty, sticky mess. And what wonderful sleep it was.

 

Next morning I was up early for a long, hot day of work at the food distribution, but this post is too long as it is, and that’s a story for another time.

I apologize for the lack of communication over the past week - I spent about half of it in Kampala for a conference on the prevention of mother-to-child transmission of HIV (with the foremost doctor on the subject in the world), and didn’t have my computer with me, and I’ve been very busy since getting back. That being said, I’m in a rush now and this will be short!

 

Yesterday was the Kwejuna Project food distribution, which takes place every three months, and 230 HIV+ women gathered, along with their babies and relatives. We weighed the women and their children, gathered medical history information, talked to them about coming to the clinic for treatment, and Skip, Barb, and Kisembo (the local pastor) prayed for and lent a listening ear to women who are struggling with rejection, blame, and fear. It was a fascinating, depressing, long, fun, and challenging day. Just like everything I write about, the emotions I feel don’t fall neatly into any one category. At the end of the day we distributed beans, oil, and salt to the women who had come - all in all, we gave out over 5 tons of beans. It was good to experience, as I had been working on planning and preparing for this event, and I slept very well last night after carrying dozen of bags of beans. 

I have a lot of stories to share, but no time right now. Will update soon.

I just wanted to share a couple of stories from the pediatric ward. It’s absolutely heartbreaking to see the children that come in malnourished, suffering from malaria, HIV+, with Kwashiorkor, or any number of ailments that an American like myself has never seen. But it’s wonderful to see them smile as they improve.

 

There are three little girls who were almost dead a couple of days ago (one of them pictured above). They had all been losing weight rapidly, and one has no mother. While they seemed hopeless, we treated them as best we could and prayed for them as a team. Yesterday, Jennifer reported that all three of them were still clinging to life, which was better news than she had expected. Today, as I was doing rounds with Jennifer, we found that two of the girls are putting on weight, and they even smiled at us! (Jennifer says that, when a malnourished baby smiles, it usually means that they are on the road to recovery. Starving children don’t waste energy smiling or laughing). It was truly beautiful to see these tiny girls, still frighteningly thin, looking happy and seemingly on the road to survival. After the seeing the first two, we hoped for a hat-trick of smiles, but it wasn’t to be.  The third girl, while still alive, remains at an extremely low weight and can’t survive long like this. The mother maintains that she tested negative for HIV, but says she can’t find the card (many people never disclose their HIV status, or never get tested, for fear of social ostracization), leading Jennifer to think that the child is likely HIV+ and already very sick. So, for every recovery story there is one of death, for every ounce of hope there is an ounce of despair. I suppose that these girls represent two stories of hope and only one of despair, but the odds can just as quickly turn in the other direction. This balance is hard to live with – I like happy endings, success stories, and generally good things. But that’s not the reality of life here (or in most of the world); the reality is full of both suffering and joy, and is hard. And I’ve only been here for two weeks of it. These are just preliminary observations that I’m sure will develop as I gain greater perspective on things and a greater understanding of life here, but they are the thoughts that I’m wrestling with at this early stage.

New skills

During my short time here, I’ve been amazed at the sheer number of things that Scott can do. Construction, plumbing, accounting, bike repair, electrical … it seems pretty endless. I suppose that, just as necessity is the mother of invention, so is it the mother of learning to do anything. I got a taste of that on Saturday when Scott and I, along with several Ugandans, installed a solar hot water system at the teachers’ house. Now, you might ask why anyone would want hot water when living one degree north of the equator, but we’re at enough elevation that, by the time you bathe in the evening the temperature has dropped enough to make a cold shower a little bracing (either that or the hot weather has already made me seriously soft). So the prospect of hot water had the girls very excited (normally the team only gets hot water in Kampala).  The system is very similar to the one that my parents have on our house in NJ – the sun heats a glycol mixture to a very high temperature, which then heats water in the reservoir. I’m no plumber, but I figured out what I was doing pretty quickly as we worked. After a full day of work (we’re lucky that it was cloudy – and even so I got sunburned) we had completed the installation and had attached the pipes to the shower inside the house. There were several steps in the directions – yes, even we men managed to look at the directions every now and again – that clearly stated that only licensed professionals were allowed to perform, but, looking around, we didn’t find any of those so it usually fell to Scott or to me. At the end of the day the water was running, but didn’t have time to heat up so we couldn’t judge the effectiveness of our work.

 

During the course of the day, the teachers expressed their thanks by making me lunch, dinner, and homemade ice cream (the only kind here, and a real rarity). It was perfect payment. I also managed to kill two rats in their house, so I think that the ice cream might have been a bonus for the extermination work. It’s funny how much your behavior changes and how much what is normal changes when you enter a new set of circumstances. Here, where rats are a common problem, there’s nothing odd about me chasing a rat along a wall, hammer in hand – in fact, it’s strongly encouraged. I got one with a hammer (reminds me of the bop-the-gopher game from Chuckee Cheeses) and one with my foot (reminds me of stepping on a rat). Maybe this sounds disgusting to you, and perhaps there is something a little morbid about it, but it seems to be just one of those realities of life here. But, all in all, when added to the hot water installing, it made for a successful day.

 

The next day, when making a minor repair to the water heater, I found the water to be HOT.  So Scott and I are happy to have successfully installed it, and Sarah and Ashley are happy to have hot water. And hey, there’s one new skill I’ve already picked up.

Computers and Names

I wonder if we Americans realize how much computers are a part of our everyday lives. I’m not talking about e-mails, on-line shopping, or instant news. In a place with almost no computing power, things like medical records and databases present challenges I’ve never considered before. Everyone has their own medical record – it’s contained in a little cardboard-bound book (I believe it’s called a kitabo) that they take with them to a health center to show the doctor, and in which the doctor writes diagnoses and prescriptions. These books are almost unfailingly damp, dirty, and falling apart (the writing in them is also completely illegible to me). There’s no careful, easily accessible record of what treatment people have actually received, though the books do contain valuable information.

 

The issue of names here complicates things further. While I can’t say for sure that that they don’t exist, I have yet to encounter a family name (last name). Everyone has two names (so I am asked “what are your names?”) but they are both given names. One or both of these names shows up on medical records (for example, who received anti-retroviral drugs on a specific date) but often multiple people have the same names, or a person uses only one name, which may be very common. This, along with a lack of centralized computer database and the difficulty of following up with patients who have no address, makes reliable data collection and patient tracking extremely difficult. Just determining who received what treatment when is very hard. This issue of tracking and determining efficacy of treatment is just one obstacle that never crossed my mind, since I take these things completely for granted in the United States.

 

And as a quick anecdote about the unusual and impermanent nature of names here: a baby boy named Nixon was treated years ago, and sometime later returned for another ailment. His birth card showed the name Nixon, but his health card now carried the name Clinton, which his mother insisted was his real name. One can only guess that there will be a spike in the number of baby Obamas in the coming year

A few more pictures...

A view from the mountains out into the Congo - the river is the border. The inpatient and pediatric wards at Nyahuka Health Center. I'm trying to get a good picture of the mountains but none of them can capture their beauty - here's an attempt.

Sadness and rejoicing

Yesterday, a local priest of the Church of Uganda (the Anglican Church) died at the age of 83, and since his daughter works at the health center and he himself was quite involved with the World Harvest team, I was invited to attend the funeral. Scott volunteered to drive the casket to his traditional home in one of the nearby villages, and as soon as it was loaded on, about 10 Ugandans jumped in the back of the truck along with the body. Now with a heavily laded truck, we drove (or slid) through the rain over steep, rutted, dirt roads for about 30 minutes to reach the man’s home. The last couple  yards were impassible so we all walked through the deep mud to join probably 100 people gathered for his funeral, the large number indicating the level of respect that he held in the community.  Awkwardly, we white people were told to sit in plastic chairs brought out for us, right next to the casket, while most of the Ugandans stood or sat in the mud. It feels horribly superior and colonial to be treated that way, but as honored guests it would be far worse to refuse. The ceremony consisted of multiple people standing up to speak about the late Reverend Sereboyo, some of which was summarized in English for us, and Dr. Scott was also asked to speak, which was translated into Lubwisi. The people gathered sometimes cried and sometimes laughed. The service included much singing, and also readings, teachings, and prayers from other clergy in the Church of Uganda (all of which was done in Lubwisi). This remarkable man was monogamous for his 65 years of marriage, unusual in a society where multiple wives indicate high status. The ceremony was long, though I was told that it could have been much longer. It was an honor to attend so sacred and important an event, especially as a new arrival here.

 

The other big news here is the result of the American election. Early Wednesday morning the whole team was gathered at the Myhre’s, listening to the radio for the news. When, during Obama’s speech he addressed “people in the forgotten corners of the world, huddled around radios,” we had a good laugh, as that pretty perfectly described us.  On my walk to the Health Center, many people cheered “Obama! America!” as I walked by. I think that people here are incredibly encouraged and excited that someone with roots in this part of the world can attain such influence.

A bachelor's legs are his garden...

This is a Lubwisi proverb that was just told to me by Pat, one of the team members. It means that a bachelor gets his food by walking to other people's houses and being fed there. So far, that's been my experience here, as I've had dinner every night at the houses of other team members. (And Pat told me this when I was eating with she and Heidi). It's been a great way to get to know the other people on the team here.

Today there was more of the reality hitting me, as we did the clinic for motherless babies. These kids were brought by their caretakers - aunts, sisters, grandmothers - to be examined by the doctors, weighed, and have food distributed. The food was mostly for the caretakers who have taken over breast-feeding of the infants. So many of the children were unbelievably small and malnourished. But there were many heroines among their caretakers, women who have taken on children not their own, taken on breast feeding them, have carried them here for miles, and who carry them, along with a heavy load of beans and milk, those many miles back to there homes. Other health workers told me the histories of some of the kids: some are great recovery stories, some apparently hopeless. One thing that struck me was the "child health chart" - a chart with a series of curves, representing a weight to age ratio. One curve was labelled "normal weight child," the next one down "low weight child," and the last "very low weight child." One these charts, all that these caretakers can hope for or aim for is to keep children on the "very low weight child" line, because then they have a chance to survive. There seems to be no thought of the "normal weight line," and many of the babies fell significantly below the "very low weight" line. It was pointed out that, in America, most babies are significantly above the normal weight line. It's hard to deal with such stark contrasts - the realities of life here are simply different (and harder) than in America. What does it mean for me to be a wealthy American in light of that? There are so many things like this flying through my head that I barely know what to do with them.

And with that, the internet is about to be switched back off. Goodnight.

Things get tough

Reality started to set in today. I spent the morning touring the Nyahuka Health Center, which is a few minutes walk down the road. The intensity of the suffering there is remarkable, and is compounded by the close-packed conditions, lack of ventilation, and darkness of the wards. The new maternity and pediatric wards built by World Harvest are immeasurably better than the old ones (which are still used), but they are still rather shocking to an American.

 

The reality of the work started to appear to me when I was visiting the female ward, and Dr. Scott was discussing a patient with a lab worker. I saw this woman, who is HIV positive, is suffering from carposi sarcoma, and possibly infected with TB. They can’t administer anti-retrovirals for the HIV until they know if she has TB, but the health center is out of TB tests and the new shipment is late getting here. So there this woman lies, weakening every day, with nothing that anyone can really do about it.

 

Next, upon entering the crowded pediatric ward, we were informed that a child in the corner was dying. Watching this tiny, frail boy gasp for air, eyes wide with terror, while his family sat helplessly by, simply struck me to the core. It hit me in the stomach and brought tears to my eyes. I then went to see some of the outpatient clinics, and upon re-entering the pediatric ward no more than 20 minutes later, I was told that young Daniel had died. It was heartbreaking and sobering, as this is simply what happens here on a regular basis. Added to this was the doctor’s frustration that even though has had been in the hospital for some time they were unable to save him, since any food given to him was instantly vomited back up, making his recovery impossible.

 

Together, these events made for a very sobering morning, as I have been confronted by the reality of the suffering here in rural Uganda and the difficulties faced by those trying to address them.

 

This afternoon, however, I had the wonderful opportunity to play football (real football, or soccer to Americans) with the boys at Christ School. It was a lot of fun and a great way to build relationships with people here – it truly is the universal language. I found myself in terrible shape after not having played much in recent months, but there’s no better way to get it back than to keep playing. The coach invited me to come and play every day, and we started talking about how I might work with the team and do soccer programs for other youth. On my walk back from the school I stopped to talk with several people who I didn’t know, and they asked me how America was. I mentioned that the election was tomorrow, and their faces lit up and crowed gathered almost instantly. Everyone here absolutely loves Obama, as his father was Kenyan (Uganda shares a border with Kenya) and he has talked about East Africa. People are really passionate about him, and they continually expressed to me how much they followed out election and how much they cared about it. I’ve also seen some newspaper articles talking about Uganda is at the top of Obama’s agenda, though they never say in what way. I have no idea how people have gotten this idea, since I have yet to hear Obama utter the word “Uganda, ” and I fear that people will be horribly disappointed should he be elected. But they really do care, and they love him. It’s very interesting to see such intense interest in our election here. 

A couple of pictures of my house and my room.

Arrival in Bundibugyo!

Here's a brief preliminary post just to get this blog up and running.

After two long flights, a night in Kampala, and an 8 hour drive, I've arrived in Bundibugyo! (That was actually two days ago).  The drive out was complicated by a truck lying on its side blocking the road a few miles from Bundibugyo, so we detoured on a remarkable bumpy and steep road, but Heidi's driving was great and we got here with no problem. 

I was pleasantly surprised by my house - it's bigger and nicer than I expected. It was built for a family of five, so living in it alone makes it pretty spacious. My toilet is a pit-latrine out back, but it's probably the cleanest one I've ever seen.

Everything has been hectic and getting settled has been tough, but I guess I shouldn't expect anything else. Here are a few highlights:

- On the first day I went with Dr. Scott to Bundibugyo hospital in the morning and "helped" him with ultrasounds for problem pregnancies. I say "helped" because I definitely slowed him down. I was recording data into the hospital log, but I had to ask for help with almost every name that I saw, since I have no idea what names are like here yet. But he showed me how to read and interpret the ultrasounds, which was really interesting. The hospital was not something that would be recognized as such in the States. There's electricity from a generator, but it doesn't run all the time. There are several wards, rather small, concrete buildings. I didn't get a tour of the whole place, but I'm sure I'll be finding my way around soon. We also visited Dr. Jonah's grave, (Ugandan doctor who died during the Ebola outbreak last year), which is there at the hospital. It was a meaningful time, and his loss is clearly still felt very deeply.

-I went to the Saturday market yesterday, which was a great, but wild experience. Fish, meant, vegetables, and hundreds of people crowded together, all in the heat of the equatorial mid-day sun, with no refrigeration. It will be fun to find my way around there.

-I ate my first goat meat, as well as my first matoke  (kind of like mashed plantains) and posho, a starchy white root. So, far, Ugandan food seems pretty good, but we'll see what I think in a couple of months.

-Finally, a great story from one of the children of the family that runs Christ School, the secondary school here. As I was walking with 6-year old Quinn, he looked up at me and said, completely out of the blue, "Actually, I don't find you boring to be with at all! I find you fun, and intelligent." It was one of the funniest things I had ever heard.

There will soon be more interesting things to post about, as I get more exposure to the culture and figure out how exactly I'll be fitting in to the team, but I wanted to start relaying a few of my experiences. 

Nathan