A friend I miss

Meet Mujuni. He is one of my favorite people in the world. A boy of about 4 or 5 years, he has trouble forming words, he has chronically infected and pus-filled ears, a distended belly, and a tiny butt which improbably holds up a ragged pair of shorts. When he has shorts. He sometimes wears a dirty cardigan, sometimes a ratty t-shirt, and sometimes no pants. His infected ears and general state of dirty-ness give him a smell all his own - I can tell when he is at my door just by the smell, and I can tell whenever someone else has been holding him.

When he first showed up at my neighbor's house months ago, he was terrified of white people and would often sneak up behind me to touch my leg, only to flee in terror, arms and legs flailing wildly, when I would turn around. But slowly he warmed up, and by the summer he was a regular fixture in my house, running around like he owned the place, dancing to music, playing with Doug, Tim, and I, and exclaiming "ngeee!" at just about everything. As I would appraoch my house, he would see me from a distance, raise both arms over his head, wave, and run with beaming smile and awkward stride into my arms.

But his story is sad. His parents were very young and unmarried when he was born, getting him off to a bad start. His mother eventually married another man who didn't want to raise another man's child (this is a very common scenario), and his father was either unable or unwilling to raise him. And so he found himself staying with his mother's relatives, who happen to be my neighbors. Sometimes I would find him standing alone in the yard, crying softly. As I would take him in my arms to comfort him, some other friends said to me, "Mujuni is want his mom."

When I returned from my travels in August, after dropping my family at the airport and then going to Kenya, I was excited to see him again. However, upon arrival I was told that he had gone to live with his father's family, about an hour and a half walk away. I was truly saddened to hear the news - I guess, until that point, I hadn't realized how much joy Mujuni brought to my life. But I miss him terribly. His constant presences was sometimes a nuisance, but I love him. So, not long after getting back, Sarah, Ashley and I made the trek out to visit him one day. He was quiet and shy, barely making a sound the whole time we were there. It was sad to see, after he had livened up so much in the preceeding months. For his sake, I hope that he regains the vitality he had found in his time here. Selfishly, I wish he would come back and stay here again so that I could see him, but I realize that it is probably best for him to be with his immediate family. Gonja sometimes tells me that he'll be back soon, which makes me excited at the prospect of being with him again, yet saddened that he has such a volatile family situation.

He is a wonderful, sad, adorable, sickly, loving, happy little boy. And his story is one that is repeated over and over here, where unstable family situations make life volatile and difficult for children.

Instability

A recent experience with my neighbors has me thinking about illness, marital problems, and the destabilizing effect that these things have on children. I’ll preface this by saying that I realize these are issues all over the world, but they have become more obvious to me here, and I think that some things about this place can make them more acute.

I write frequently about my neighbors Saulo and Majili, and their children, my good friends Gonja, Charity, Gloria, and Nighty. Well, when I returned from my travels last month, Gonja told me that his mom was very sick and admitted at a private health clinic. I went with him to visit her, took a few gifts, and a few days later she returned, seemingly coming out the other side of a serious case of malaria. But not long after that she was gone again, and this time I was told that she was at her family home, about an hour and a half walk away, to recover and receive more treatment. I began to worry as the days wore on. The kids were really struggling without their mom around, both from a lack of someone to cook for them and the absence of her caring presence. I began cooking for them regularly and helping them buy food. With school not in session, they practically lived in my house, having no real reason to be at home during the day. I was quickly exasperated at their constant presence, especially as I was attempting to work on med school applications, but I tried to keep in mind that they were especially needy at the time, and that it was a wonderful chance for me to show them love.

About a week ago, when I returned to my house, I saw the kids walking with packed bags. It turns out that Gloria and Nighty have gone to stay with their mom, while Gonja and Charity were going to stay around for school. But soon, they began making a daily commute from here to their mom’s house – they got their bikes in reasonable working order and rode out there every evening, and back here for school every morning. But now I haven’t seen them in several days, so I don’t think they’ve been in school this week.

Yesterday, when I was walking by a large group of women at the health center, I heard my name and instantly recognized Majili’s voice. She was there to see Scott, apparently having some lingering health problems. I was so glad to see her, and hopeful that she would be returning soon so that her life and that of her family could return to normal. However, it soon became clear that this wasn’t just about sickness. Apparently, the reason she is staying at her family home has more to do with her complaints about the home that her husband has provided her and the ways in which he cares for her. Leaving the family alone, or taking the kids with her, seems to be her form of protest.

So not only do the children suffer from their mother’s sickness, they are caught in the middle of marital conflict. It has affected their nutrition, their education, and undoubtedly their emotional health. None of them have been around for several days, and my house has been eerily quiet. That has been good for med school applications (which are tantalizingly close to being finished), but I’ve missed them a lot. I hope that stability returns to my neighbors lives sometime soon.

Why does it always have to be snakes?

Snakes have been a big part of my experience in the last few weeks (I’ll try to blog about something else soon, but it’s an.... exciting part of life here). After several snake encounters early on, I hadn’t seen many in recent months. Then, about a month ago, on the day that I received a package from a good friend that included, among other things, a note hoping that “creepy, crawly creatures” were staying out of my house, I was called into my house by one of the kids, telling me that Tim had seen a snake inside. It was apparently hiding underneath my kitchen cabinets, a small black snake – I was picturing one like I had almost stepped on months ago. So Tim, Charity, and I stood around, waiting for him to come out, machetes and sticks in hand. A neighbor came by, and I decided to show him how the snake couldn’t be inside the cabinet, since there’s no way to get from underneath to inside. I crouched down and opened up the cabinet to show him, only to be startled by a hiss right near my face. I looked up, and there on the top shelf of the cabinet, about a foot from my face, was a small cobra, head up, hood open. I sprung backwards, heart racing – I probably could have bench-pressed a truck, I had so much adrenaline pumping. With help from my neighbor Bihwa, we quickly had him out on the floor where he was an easy target. This is, of course, instantly blog-worthy material, but you will understand my reluctance to post anything about it, as it occurred only a few days before my family’s visit. Luckily, there were no snake incidents during their visit.

Even this story had an endearing moment. Being the naturalist that I am, before we threw the body away I wanted to have a look at it, especially to examine the fangs – it’s not everyday one has a chance to look at a cobra (for which I am glad, to be sure). So I grabbed two knives to use as probes, and went outside to see the dead snake. When little Charity saw me a horrified look came over his face and he shouted, shrill with terror, “Nathany! You are eat?!?! You are eat?!?!” as he saw me approaching the snake with silverware in hand. It was adorable. I did decide to hold on to the snake, however, and I took it to biology class the next day to dissect with Caleb, Jack, and Julia. I bet that not many students can say that they have dissected a cobra.

Just a couple days ago, Gonja spotted a snake in my rafters, which we quickly dispatched of. I don’t think this one was poisonous. While I’ve always liked snakes, the fact that so many here are dangerous has changed the calculations in my mind. I figured I was getting pretty good at this.

So, when Sarah told me the other day hat she had just seen a snake in the rocks by her back door, I thought it was no problem. Just to be safe, I called over a couple of Ugandan men, and grabbed a machete and several sticks and went over to her house. I was a little nervous digging through this rock pile with my bare hands, but we soon found the snake. That was when I realized that I really wasn’t quite as prepared for this as I had thought. There in the rocks was a 5-foot cobra, none too pleased that we were turning his home upside down. I can’t really describe the vehemence with which these two men attacked this snake. The man versus snake battle has a primordial quality here – it is reminiscent of the biblical struggle. They are mortal enemies; people will throw more energy into killing snakes than just about anything else I’ve seen, and there is an obvious glee when people have come out on top of this life and death struggle. They live to fight another day. So, sticks came smashing down on these rocks, splintering into dozens of pieces. Sparks flew off of my machete as it clanged down around the snake. I quickly realized that the greatest danger to myself was no longer the snake, but rather getting in the way of these men who were bent on destroying it.

They made short work of it, but it was a big, black reminder of how precarious life can be. As I thought about the delight people take in killing snakes, it occurred to me that people in the US don’t like snakes either, but it’s different here. Here, if it gets away, it could easily end up in someone’s house that night, which is a dangerous situation with people many sleeping on the floor. There are enough dangerous snakes in Bundibugyo that I think people probably see killing a snake as possibly saving their child’s life. And in many cases, it probably is. I’m lucky enough to sleep in a permanent house, in an elevated bed with a mosquito net. But it was another reminder of the many ways in which people’s lives here are often perched on the edge of a precipice, where any number of small misfortunes or common struggles can push them over the edge. The Babwisi have, in general, little margin for the unexpected.

Home

At long last, I'm back in Bundibugyo, and in most ways it feels like coming home. After an incredible trip with my parents, we said a tearful goodbye at the airport - it was easier this time, but still not easy. Then came a wonderful week in Kenya with Sarah, Ashley, and Heidi, as school breaks are the time that people take a break from the district. So it was an amazing month for travel, but it feels good to be back here. While there are a lot of things I miss about Kenya and Kampala already, I sometimes get the feeling that one can travel too much, and it's good to be back where neighbors know me, even if they don't give me a moment's peace. So, in a frustrating and often foreign way, this place is home, a place I'm glad to come back to, a place that feels right. It's hard to explain how this works in a place where I'm an outsider and that can be stressful to a degree that makes college look like an afternoon nap, but it's true. It has to do with the beaming smiles on Gonja and Charity's faces when we pulled into the mission, and the friends who came from all around to welcome me back. It has to do with the sound of the birds in the morning and the sound of rain on my roof. It has to do with Pat cooking dinner for us when we arrived. It's good to be back.

A couple of re-entry highlights. In one of their most endearing moves yet, several neigborhood children used a slasher (picture a razor-sharp, double-edged golf club used to cut grass) to carve my name into the grass in big letters in my yard. The night we arrived, when I went out to use my cho before going to bed, I found a poisonous snake at the bottom of the door. This was a more difficult "welcome back" moment - sometimes I feel like Bundibugyo delights in slapping me in the face. If he had been actually inside the cho, I would have been seriously disturbed. I returned to find my neighbor Majili, Gonja and Charity's mother, in the hospital, very sick with malaria, and multiple friends have had relatives die while I was gone. It is a sudden and forceful reminder of the realities of life faced by people here, struggles that are far less real to me than to them. I've been away from them as I've been out of the district, but it's as though I've been hiding for a short time, and now that I've come out of hiding they hit me even stronger.

So I'm back, blessed by my family's visit, saddened by their departure, feeling rested from a wonderful week of vacation in Kenya, stressed by shopping in Kampala, glad to be in Bundibugyo, and confronted again with the challenges and heartbreak of life here.

Family

I’ve been notably silent this summer, for which I apologize. It’s been a hectic month, with interns to host, medical school to apply to, and visits to plan, all while continuing my normal work on the team. Just about every time I’ve thought that I should write a post, I’ve thought that it’s probably a better idea to work on medical school applications. I’m now finished with the primary application, but have already received secondary applications to work on. No rest for the weary, I suppose.

But the main purpose of this post is to say that I am incredibly blessed to have my parents and brother visiting me. They arrived about a week ago and have been experiencing life here and just spending time with me and with the team. I still can barely believe that they’re here – it’s a fusion of disparate worlds that hardly feels real. I feel like I exist in two separate worlds, one here, and one in the States, and the two have previously had precious little connection. But now I find myself struggling to believe that I’m walking down the road into Nyahuka with my mom; not only does it barely seem real, it almost doesn’t seem possible. Their visit has been a huge blessing to me. I’ve been anticipating it all summer and it’s truly beautiful to sit around with family in evenings, just talking, drinking port, and enjoying each others' company, something I hadn’t been able to do for nine months. My parents also have my house in a state of cleanliness that it probably hasn’t seen in that same time period.

It’s wonderful to have family see the things that I see and meet people that I know. Their presence here is an amazing gift to me, though it makes me miss my sister even more. This weekend we head out of the district for some travel – a time to see new and wonderful things, to explore new places, to rest in a way that one can never rest in Bundibugyo, and to spend time together. It will be a striking contrast, especially for my family, going from the rugged, sad, hectic, painful, beautiful, and poor landscape of Bundibugyo to a more pristine, natural, secluded beauty of Murchison Falls National Park (with quiet crater lakes and the dirty, chaotic commotion of Kampala thrown in along the way).

I'm often frustrated by the slow pace of things around here, by how long everything seems to take, and by how I can spend a long time doing things and then feel like I accomplished absolutely nothing. Part of this is my distinctly American value on productivity; I feel that time not doing some productive is time wasted; I tend to see myself as valuable to the extent that I am doing something useful. But part of it is also just that everything here is a little more complicated.

Taking care of a vehicle, for instance, is a little harder than in the States. We don't exactly have local garages. In fact, there's not even a particularly competent mechanic inside of a three hour drive. The Zoolander (the mildly affectionate nickname for the vehicle the singles share) has been having electrical problems recently, so that the wipers come on at random times (but not when you want them to) and it can only be started from a roll. We've kept it parked at my house, on the edge of a hill, so that it's easy to roll-start with few people. We decided that it can't really wait much longer and we needed to have it worked on, but this is a pretty difficult proposition. So, in order to have work done on the vehicle, Heidi and I had to drive for more than three hours over the mountains on a dirt road with a broken shock absorber in a vehicle that won't start. We also had to make sure that we never stalled or turned off the vehicle, as we'd have quite the time trying to roll-start it with only the two of us. When we got to Fort Portal, I left a long set of problems and instructions for the mechanic, we grabbed lunch, and hitched a ride with Pat and Pamela, who were driving out to Bundibugyo, where we arrived just in time for the team pizza dinner. So, even just getting the car to a mechanic turns out to be a full day affair, to say nothing of having him work on it and somehow getting it back out here.

Another humorous-but-maddening frustration occured Friday night. It started when I awoke in the middle of the night to the fiercest storm I've ever experienced. I've never been scared of a storm here, but the thundering of the wind-driven rain and hail on my roof made me seriously curious about the durability of my house, and made me think a few times about how close to my house various tall trees were. I could barely even think, as the roar of the rain on my roof filled my head - it was a sound that I could feel. Eventually it faded and I feel asleep again. Tim woke me up again in the dark of early morning, saying something about water on the floor. I got up and walked into the next room, where I found myself standing in a half inch of water that covered about half of my house. So there we were at 3:45AM, our headlamps on, mopping the floor with towels and ringing them out into a bucket. We filled this bucket probably 10 times - there were gallons upon gallons of water. It made me especially glad for two things: first, the fact that Doug and Tim are living with me this summer, so I didn't have to deal with this alone. Second, the fact that I have concrete floors, so that the standing water didn't really matter.

I'm sure that everywhere, things seldom go as smoothly as planned or hoped, but it sure seems like Bundibugyo is special in that regard. One thing is certain - living here has helped expose my performance mentality and the way I define myself by what I can accomplish, as what I can accomplish here is often very little. It's not something I really expected to learn in my time here, and it's a tough lesson.

Clay

Yesterday at the health center, after I’d been talking with the in-charge for a while, he approached me with a curious and perplexed look on his face and something small in his hand. “What is this?” he asked me, as he handed me a bar of yellow clay marked ‘Modeling Clay.’ You know what I’m talking about – the sort of clay that you made sculptures with in elementary school. Heidi and I did our best to explain to him what modeling clay is used for, which was quite difficult. There are no such things as art classes here, and when you try to explain them to someone from this culture, it comes out sounding rather silly. Still, we tried to explain that this is something that is usually used by children to play with and make small men, which is something that should be understood, since I’ve seen kids make things out of the heavy clay soil.

But it really got good when we asked him where this clay came from. Apparently, the last shipment of drugs from the Ministry of Health also included two boxes of modeling clay. Did the shipment contain the TB drugs that we need, since the health center is now out? No. But to compensate for that – modeling clay! The seeming absurdity of it was hilarious. There was no indication of why it was sent or what use the Ministry envisioned for it. I suggested that perhaps they were worried that the in-charge was becoming bored and needed some toys to entertain him. We stood around for a while, just laughing at how ridiculous the situation seemed and brainstorming possible reasons it might have been sent.

I’m just trying to picture the process at the Ministry of Health when someone was deciding what supplies to send to Nyahuka Health Center – “Ok: Antibiotics, ARVs, syringes… do we have any more TB drugs? Hmmm, no TB drugs… what else can we put in there? I’ve got it! Modeling clay! I love modeling clay!” I’m amazed that someone would put that on the list and that a supervisor would then approve it.

Of course, it’s likely that there is some legitimate reason that it was there. Perhaps every health center is receiving modeling clay for some reason about which I haven’t yet heard. Perhaps modeling clay has newfound medicinal properties ;) But I’d rather assume that it is the random and hilarious workings of a national bureaucracy.