America Eats Africa: A Night Spent in Pabo

I am sitting in the back of a white pick up truck speeding down a burnt sienna road. Above me cotton clouds fill a bright blue sky and all around me tall grasses, a myriad of green and yellow, sway with the breeze. In the distance the rolling land exposes clusters of trees and bushes and a horizon of shadowy hills. We are driving through an oil painting entitled “African Paradise”.

Inside the truck I am surrounded by jerry cans, boxes of curry powder and other groceries, and a large machine tied down with twine. There are six others traveling with me today. Along the window of the cab, my Dwon Madiki companion and a young woman sit on boxes of salt. Beside them sits an elderly woman with a tall thin stick. She is wearing a pastel shirt with a loud early 90s pattern. Over the pocket it says “Original JAMS”. Two middle aged men sit on the opposite side of the truck from me and a young guy about my age hangs dangerously close to the edge of the vehicle. As we bumpily maneuver through potholes, I grip the side railing for safety. In the middle of this stunning scenery, wind cascading through my hair, I cannot believe that we are leaving Pabo. Though mere minutes, I feel worlds away.

Pabo is an Internally Displaced Persons camp in the Gulu district of Uganda. It is the largest in the country and perhaps the most impoverished as well. We are going there today to check in on two students from the Dwon Madiki Partnership who live there. In order to experience life in an IDP camp, Madisson and I have decided to spend the night. There has been much discussion about whether we should sleep in the hut with the family or in the camp’s parish but I think that we will play it by ear and decide once we get there.

Megan and Kevin have some work to do before they join us in Pabo, so Kevin shows us where to catch a bus and we wait. We just missed one bus, so the wait time is long. I wander to a food stand nearby and grab some chapatti before settling in to play some Snake Xenzia on our phone. After an hour, a bus arrives heading to Pabo and for 4,000 shillings we board. I am leading the line of DMP travelers and am first to notice the four large sacks of cabbage blocking the aisle to the only empty seats left. In an act of desperation, I climb over seats and leafy vegetables to a window seat in the back. After a half an hour of possible mechanical problems, we take off on our way to Pabo. The ride is bumpy and combined with the smell of exhaust, I feel quite nauseated. Luckily we arrive in one hour, despite Kevin’s estimated travel time of two and a half. Because of our delays, Megan and Kevin have beaten us here, so we walk to find them. When we reunite, we make our way to Pabo Primary School.

It is soon apparent that we have arrived at an incredibly poor time: lunch break. As we walk toward the school, hundreds of students donning pink and blue uniforms are heading in our direction. The first small wave of children wave and greet us, “Munus! Kopa di?” Soon the small wave turns into something more like a swarm. As we walk at least a hundred kids follow us. They shake our hands or simply try to touch us, laughing, squealing, and greeting. To them we are a novelty; to them we are money. In this moment I know exactly the feeling of an international celebrity. Kevin, trying to avoid the crowd has sped up and is walking 20 feet ahead of us. Having driven here on his boda, he wears a large puffy coat and sunglasses. In this moment he is our bodyguard. And he is doing a poor job. In a lapse of judgment we take out our cameras to capture this moment, exciting the masses even more. Kevin finally comes to our aid, shouting at the children in Luo telling them to go home and leave us alone. Some scatter but most stick around until the head teacher at the school appears and shoos them away. He leads us to the school and I see that Megan is reading a letter. It was given to her by one of the many children, and I soon find out that it is a hand written plea for help from an orphan who is unable to pay school fees. The saddest part of this scenario to me is that the thought that Moses was holding on to this letter just waiting and hoping for someone who might be able to help to come on by.


In the office of Pabo Primary, we remind the head teacher about our program and explain that we wish to check in on our students. He calls for their teachers and while he does the five of us wait. All around the walls are posters. I notice one that reads, “Overworking women makes them grow old quicker. They get ugly.” I’m mildly disturbed by this hanging in a school, but I try to ignore it. When the head teacher comes back with the student’s teachers Kevin, Megan, and Laura leave, allowing the education majors to talk it out. As with most of our experiences talking to teachers, I am not assured that they actually know who our students are. They give us generic answers when we ask how they are doing in class saying, “She is active. Her English needs work. She behaves well.” It seems rather unproductive. We plan to come back to the school to observe a lesson after lunch and we meet back up with the others.

Kevin takes us now to the family’s hut. We walk through the congested camp, most huts close enough that I could lie between them and touch both. They are made of clay and have grass-thatched roofs, but many cover their roofs with tarps for fear of fire which easily moves through the camp. I walk past huts that have doors fashioned out of USAid cans, USA, USA, USA written all over the door. I feel as though this is a statement on something but I’m not sure what. We are invited into the family’s hut, and I must duck down beneath the roof to enter. They have set out two wooden benches for us to sit on while they take seats on the floor. Along with Beatrice and Wilfred who are in DMP, their mother has two other children. Daniel, who is about three years old, has bad burns covering most of his face after falling into a fire when he was a baby. And being held closely by his mother is baby Ogenrwot David. This was the baby our fellow ICer was asked to name last year and he gave him his exact name. This gives us a good chuckle.

Beatrice ran to fetch us some soda, a treat given to us regularly as a sign of hospitality. Fantas and Pepsis all around, we begin discussing some business. Kevin talks about putting the children into boarding schools next year, which seems to be positive news. There are some requirements like mattresses, shoes, and a Bible that we leave to the guardians to pay and we ask if this will be feasible. I am happy to hear that it likely will since there are eight months to prepare. During this conversation we learn that Felda is HIV positive and the children’s father died from the disease. I had not known this before and I wonder if the children are inflicted too. I am told they have not yet been tested.

We leave the family and start walking to the parish. Kevin told us that it would be safest to sleep there tonight. Because we worked up so much attention just walking through the camp, it would be known munus were staying in the hut and it would be a likely target for attack. So we decide to stay in the hut until eight and then have the children walk us to the parish to sleep. When our living arrangements are made, Kevin leaves with Megan and Laura. Though I am happy to be staying tonight, I feel a little anxious to be there without Kevin. He is like our big brother here and to not have his protection is a little unnerving.

Madisson and I walk back to the school and are escorted to Beatrice’s P5 classroom. The man taking us there tells us a little about the school. During the war, many of the village schools closed and so the Pabo School was built hastily to accommodate the floods of displaced children. As we walk through the patchy, half dead grass, he tells us the lawn was once used for food distribution during the war.

We finally get to the class, and sit in the back of the room. We are observing an English lesson today and the topic is turning nouns into adjectives using the “ish”. The kids recite England/English, Britain/British, fool/foolish, and child/childish. The teacher asks for some example sentences using one of these words and (because there is already a sample on the board of “She is so foolish”) a boy raises his hand to answer, “She is SO British.” The thought of Mary Poppins comes into my head, thinking of what it would take to make someone so emphatically British. At the end of the lesson, the teacher writes some exercises on the board. The first asks the students to change the nouns into adjectives: boy, girl, woman. I contemplate these for a minute and when I think of womanish, I exchange confused looks with Madisson. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word before. The students don’t seem bothered by this and get going on their practice work. We are sitting closely to Beatrice and I watch her complete the work. Her teacher comes by to correct her and the only one she gets wrong is womanish.

At the end of this lesson, the class says goodbye to us and performs a special clap and we head to Wilfred’s P4 room. The day is almost done and they have completed their lesson. We sit for a moment and greet the students and the teacher introduces us to the wrong child: here is Alfred, your student. The teacher speaks in Luo to the kids about us and they laugh. I make an exaggerated confused face and the laughter becomes uproarious. I am happy to only spend a few more moments in this room. Class is dismissed, we find Wilfred and Beatrice among the sea of children, and they walk us back to their home.

Back in the home, Felda and another woman are cooking dinner. Madisson and I sit with Beatrice and Wilfred. There is an obvious language barrier, their English about as good as my Luo. I had wanted to simply hang out with them and do what they do when they get home from school, but I think there is something special about our visit that robs their day of its normalcy. So we sit. I pull out a piece of paper from my bag and some paper and see if they would like to draw. They take them happily and we all draw quietly together. I draw the only thing I can think of how to say in Luo: gueno or chicken. When I show the kids, they laugh. Beatrice pulls out some of her school notebooks and writes some things down. When she shows us, I see what she has written, “America Eats Africa.” My mind searches for a context or possible mistake, but I have no ideas. Again Madisson and I exchange looks, this time one of amusement.

Soon we are served dinner, a large portion of maize and beans. I am grateful that this family, with so little, goes so far to welcome us into their home and feed us. I am not sure why but the family eats outside without us. Beatrice stays with us and I am happy about that.

With dinner done, Madisson and I sit outside with the family. Little words are exchanged due to language but I don’t mind much. Kids start to notice we are outside and a buzz is created. After a while Felda gets a stick and starts shooing them away. I think in a weird way she enjoys having the attention munus bring. After a while, I see Wilfred writing “one, two” in the dirt with a stick. I take this as an opportunity to start an impromptu lesson. We start writing numbers, which soon leads to math problems in the dirt. It is fun and Wilfred is quite good at addition. Madisson begins doing the same with Beatrice. What started with playful math soon becomes a game show. A large group of people (children and adults) gathers to watch us. With each problem, I feel the eyes of the masses waiting for the correct answer. I hear whispers of people (children and adults!) helping Wilfred along with the answer, saying the numbers in Luo. The attention feels a little awkward to me, but I feel like we are bringing some excitement to the evening and so I try to squelch my discomfort.

After a while, Madisson and I decide we would like to go for a walk around the camp. We end our math problems and get up. There seems to be confusion that we are unpleased and are walking away. We explain that we just want to take a walk but we are not understood and do not know the words to say what we mean. Felda happily walks with us and we think somehow that we have made our meaning known. We walk a little way down until we reach a shop. Felda speaks to a man in Luo. He turns to us with a smile and says, “She has no idea what you said. Can you say it to me in English so I can translate?” We explain ourselves and Felda happily shows us around the place. Though I find this situation funny, it saddens me a little to be so ignorant of Luo.

Walking around the camp, I get my first real view of the stereotypical Africa, the one seen on those late night infomercials. Families are living in extreme poverty here in small clay huts with only the very basic necessities. I see children with the potbelly of malnutrition. I see children playing with the rubber of bicycle tires. One little boy has a small wooden box with a string tied around in. In it he has put a brick and he is running around toting the innovative toy around with him. He seems genuinely delighted by it. As we pass, people happily greet us with big smiles. When I look behind us I see a line of children following along behind us. We cause quite a stir. For a moment I think about what Kevin said about our presence making an attack on the family’s hut more likely. Even though we are not staying there I hope that this parade through the camp does not cause the family any unwanted attention or harm.

When we get to an open area of the camp, I look to the horizon and see the rolling landscape. In the states this would be a million dollar view. Seeing all of this open and beautiful land, I am filled with anger that these people have been wrangled and forced into this tiny patch of earth.
We return from our walk and spend the rest of our night sitting outside with the family. Again, a mass of people surrounds us, just watching us in silence. We take out our cameras and photograph the family and the hut. It is a fun time, and I am glad the digital camera allows us to show the pictures off as soon as we take them. After a while, a nursery school teacher who happens to speak English joins the crowd. She talks with us and translates for us and this is how we spend the rest of our time with the family. Dusk falls and we walk to the parish. The whole family accompanies us on the walk there. We say our goodbyes and part ways. Though we will be leaving early tomorrow I know I will see them again, for I want very badly to come back.

At the parish we are kindly welcomed and given coffee, water, and two bottles of Coke each. We are given g-nuts, which tastes absolutely delicious. Beds have been made up for us with green and pink mosquito nets. We wind down after a long day and spend hours talking until we finally give in to sleep.

In the morning, we are served a light breakfast and head on our way. With the help of a man from the church named Peter, we head to the main road in search of a ride back to Gulu. Peter suggests we take a taxi, but because they wait for full capacity of 14 people, the vehicle will likely not leave for hours. Ahead we see a pick up truck loaded with cargo. They will be leaving shortly. I am extremely hesitant to take this ride, questioning the safety of it, but do not want to wait for a taxi. I decide, perhaps against my better judgment to hop in the truck’s bed and we head on home. Soon the camp is behind us and we are driving through an African Paradise.

Teacher Moments

So, as I have updated I have been spending most of my days as of late seeing primary schools here in Gulu. Yesterday I went to Negri primary, a boarding school for boys. I was so thrilled to see posters on the walls, children with books, and a (relatively) small class size. We talked to the head teacher there about getting our boys into this school for the upcoming year. He was very encouraging and I got the impression that if we can foot the bill, we will be able to move our kids there. When we went to the girls boarding school up the road the same sentiment seemed true. Today we have been looking at our budget trying to see if this all would be feasible.

It excites me to think that next year we could move these students from a class of over a hundred to one of forty. I have met almost all of the children of the Dwon Madiki Partnership now, and I see great potential. I know that despite the hardships they have been handed, they can succeed with just a little support.

I know this because in the short while I have been here I have experienced a moment that would fill any teacher's heart with joy and a sense of purpose.

On Saturday, I was asked to teach an English lesson for the students who came to the office. I had no idea what to do given my limited knowledge of student skills or the Ugandan English curriculum. We have a small number of books in the office and I simply decided to take some out to the kids and read them. After a short read aloud with about 10 kids (maybe 2 of whom actually understood the book), I noticed Brenda sitting with a book, looking at it, flipping through the pages rather unaffectedly. While the other kids began drawing pictures or reading other books, I suggested to Brenda that we read her book "The Reel of Cotton". She was very hesitant at first, suggesting instead that she just copy it down on paper as some of the other students were doing. I insisted that we read the whole book so that she would know what she was writing.

When finally she agreed, we settled down and began reading the story of Mayaka who lost his reel of cotton his mother had just bought him. Carefully we read through the story, each page a struggle. Brenda would stop at word and ask, “this one?” and I would read it. When she struggled with “reel of cotton,” I made her read and reread it at least a dozen times, enough for her to find humor in the situation and laugh at my persistence. We at long last finished the story (the dog triumphantly discovered the cotton and was rewarded with bread!), and I could tell Brenda was proud of herself which brought the same feeling about in me.

This in and of itself felt successful, but Monday at the office Madisson went out to greet the kids and when she did, Brenda, the reluctant reader asked, “Can I read?” Well of course! Madisson brought out “The Reel of Cotton” and Brenda said, “I have to read the whole book and answer the questions on the back!” (which we had also done Saturday with minimal success). Any one who has ever spent time in a classroom can relate to triumph of this moment. She asked to read! I am reminded that these students are brimming with potential and so excited to learn. I am proud of the Dwon Madiki Partnership for being a part of their education, and I am hopeful that we can do even more. Because surely, in a class of 121, that individualized attention that brings out the desire to learn is rare.

In all of this I cannot help but think about my teaching experiences in the U.S. As Brenda and I read, I felt like I was in Hayt School Room 107. I had that same experience of laboring through a book so many times there. The environment was different, but the teacher moment was exactly the same. It is a weird feeling I have, happy to know that the power (and joy!) of education is universal, but saddened by the fact that so many kids here miss out on the opportunities to know it.

I knew that spending my summer in Uganda would have its effects on my teaching. Certainly with more than a month to go it still will in new and unexpected ways. Right now however, I feel lucky to return to a classroom with 30 students with books and an abundance of scholastic materials. I know that there are many problems facing public schools in the United States, but I have a renewed energy to work toward fixing them.

A Day in the Life of Laker Diana

5:27 am
In my sweet slumber I lie, covered in a bed sheet surrounded completely by a mosquito net. Somehow the sounds of cats in heat infiltrate my dreamland. In my sleepy-eyed confusion I am worried that friends are calling my name from the next room. They sound as though they are in pain. When I find myself fully awake, I realize the noise was coming from some frisky felines instead. I am wide-eyed and unable to sleep until they have completed their deed.

7:14 am
My internal clock wakes me this time, 16 minutes before my phone alarm was set to sound. Quietly I stumble out of be and begin my morning routine. From my suitcase I grab some fresh clothes (a skirt and a plain t-shirt as usual) and head to one of the most luxurious bathrooms in Gulu. There is no toilet seat or lid to the tank, but the fact that there is a toilet rather than a hole in the ground is an immediate plus. To flush, I must fill the tank with water from a jerry can and pull hard on a black cord. I notice today that a grasshopper has met his demise in the tank and there he will remain until I find something with which to fish him out. This particular morning I decide to bathe. I fill up a plastic basin and step in. After my soap and shampoo I use a cut up water bottle as a cup for rinsing. The shower is cold and mostly unpleasant but when it is done, I feel absolutely clean.

8:20 am
When my Dwon Madiki coworkers and roommates are ready to leave, we head out. A short walk down the road and we are greeted by numerous boda-bodas (motorbike taxis). I hop on back of one and ask to go to Lacor Hospital. The price is 2,000 Ugandan shillings (UGX) equal to approximately one U.S. dollar. We leave town toward the office down a long dirt road I have come to know quite well. We pass small businesses and many signs for NGOs (Feed the Children Uganda, War Child, World Food Program, Catholic Relief Services) but mostly small clay homes covered with grass-thatched roofs. My boda driver speeds along expertly dodging potholes. It has not rained in two days so the road is dusty. I never fully could imagine the Dust Bowl of the Great Depression until a truck whizzes past and kicks up the dirt. I close my eyes wishing I hadn’t lost my sunglasses. We drive past children walking on their way to school. Every once in a while a small child (usually a girl) shouts from the side of the road “Munu, munu!” beaming brightly. I wave and giddy laughter follows. This used to bother me but Megan likened our presence here to that of a monkey wandering the city. I know that to see such an odd sight would bring me joy and if she waved at me?! So I have come to accept this. Finally after fifteen minutes or so we arrive at the Dwon Madiki office.

8:41 am
We arrive to find Kevin already there working. He is DMP’s administrative secretary, but we have come to know him as the hero of DMP. He does so very much for the organization. Twenty-four and always looking sharp, he is exactly how I picture a young businessman. Today Kevin will be taking Madisson and I to St. Joseph’s Primary School to observe the classes three of our students attend.

10:10 am
Breakfast is served, brought to us by the women from the compound behind the office. Today’s breakfast is mendazi (fried dough), avocado, and tea. There is always tea. We are not quite sure about eating plain avocado so we run next door and buy some chapatti. We use the thick tortilla-like bread to make our own burritos.

10:30am
Kevin shows us the way to St. Joe’s. He tells us it will be a long walk, but it is not too bad. The scenery is quite nice, lush and green. After about twenty minutes walk we arrive at the school and go straight to the head teacher’s office. He is a friendly man and he is prepared to show us around. As we wait for him to talk to the P7 teacher, he has us sign the guestbook, something so many places in Uganda have. I write my name Laker (La-kay) Diana, using the Acholi name I was given by the women of the compound. It is a name given to royalty or important people. We talk to the head teacher a little more before we make our way to a P6 classroom.

In the class the teacher greets us and special chairs are brought in for us to sit in the front of the room. The students are crammed together in a small classroom, sitting five to a bench or more. This is our second day in a Gulu school so we are not as surprised to see more than a hundred students in the classroom. We introduce ourselves and sit back for a lesson on the people of East Africa. I have my video camera and I film for a bit and take a few pictures but it is hard to be discreet with so many eyes on me. I take notes on a few things I notice but I nearly lose my cool when I see this quick moving newt crawling toward me. For the rest of the lesson, I have one eye on this creature and the other on the class.

12:30 pm
We are in a P4 classroom now and the subject is maths. Today we are learning multiplication. We sit in the back of the class and watch as the teacher explains the lesson with an obvious amount of passion and excitement that makes me happy to be there. Even though there are 111 students in class today, it does not seem too crowded, as a group of students sit in the front on the floor. After examples with the whole class, students go to the board to practice. They go over each one together. I am reminded of my experiences in American schools for I have seen these same things there. One of our students goes up to work on a problem and unfortunately gets it wrong. When she corrects herself with the help of the class they all clap for her. I try to join in on the clapping but it is a practiced rhythmic clapping I do not know and so I stop. I was so happy to see this student succeed, knowing especially of her many problems in school. In this moment she was able to do well and 110 students applauded her. Despite the crowded conditions and limited resources, great educational moments exist here. This moment fills me with hope.

1:00 pm
We go back to the head teacher’s office to say our thank yous and goodbyes. He encourages us to come back again sometime. We walk to the major road and take a boda back to the office.

2:30 pm
At the office we find out that Kevin has gone with Megan and Laura to talk to someone about joining the Board of Directors for DMP. As we wait for them we are served lunch. Today it is rice and beans (our staples here) and eggplant, which tastes so delicious. When we are done, we work on some things and wait for our roommates to come back to the office. When they get there we will all leave for home together.

5:00 pm
Megan and Laura finally have come back to the office, but instead of going home together Madisson and I will travel alone. Our two coworkers wish instead to run the four miles to our hotel. Fine by me, I will see you guys at home! Us non runners grab a boda boda and began our trek home. The journey is the same from the morning. The sides of the roads are now filled with children walking home from school, their uniforms telling which school they attend. Also along the road I see many goats grazing. Recently I have noticed a great influx of baby goats to this road. I think about how I want to bring Tracy’s goat to take a picture with her relatives. Nearing the end of our journey home I feel a raindrop. It is only starting the sprinkle but my boda driver, not wanting the rain to catch up to us, speeds up, zipping past cars and bicyclists. For a moment I fear for my life.

5:30pm
We are at home now. When we enter our hotel we are always so cheerfully greeted by the staff. “Welcome backs” and “Apwoyos” are exchanged as we make our way back to the room. Upon opening the door we see our bed nicely made and our pillows and covers creatively and hilariously arranged, a sure fire sign that Molly has come in today to clean.

I have started to write in my journal and Madisson has begun working on some things for the partnership. She is making a spreadsheet with all of the students’ information on it for quick reference in the future. For the most part we are just relaxing and enjoying our post work evening.

6:45ish pm
Laura and Megan have made it home from their run now. They try to embrace me in a sweaty hug but I refuse their advances. They clean up and we laugh together about their faux tan lines caused by dust.

8:55pm
We decided to go to Kope Café for dinner. It is hot tonight, and Kope is the only place I know that serves yogurt, which sounds absolutely delightful. A man named Jamie, who works for Invisible Children, owns Kope. Their menu has lots of good American foods like yogurt, pizza, and burritos. We go there when we need a change of pace. It is usually quite bustling with munus, and my first reaction when I see them is “What are you doing here? What brought you to Uganda? Won’t you be my friend?” When we get there tonight we are disappointed to find out that they do not have yogurt! Bummer. I opt for a cheese pizza instead. At every restaurant we go to food takes a while so I hunker down and wait. By 10:30 our food is served.

11:30 pm
We are not usually this late getting home. I am exhausted beyond words. I change into pajamas, use some left over bottled water to brush my teeth and climb in to bed. The thought of tucking in my mosquito net seems too big a chore for me to complete so I just sit there until Megan scolds me. As soon as I surround myself with insect repellent netting, I pass out, hoping not to be disturbed by cats again!

More to follow

Things here have been quite busy. Madisson and I have been exploring primary schools that our children attend. A whole new idea of a "high needs school" has emerged as I sit in on a class with 121 students and no books. I have a big update coming about a Day in the Life of Laker Diana (my Acholi name). I just wanted to post some pictures while I am at the office. I uploaded them for the article being written for the Dearborn Press and Guide and I thought that perhaps you all might like to see them.

The first is baby Nathan, who lives in the compound out back. He is a sweet baby if you let him stand.

These are some of the girls during the welcome ceremony. They look a little pained but surely they were enjoying themselves.

I was going to post more but loading is slow here. So I will leave it at that for now. Be on the look out for a long post very soon.

TIA, This is Africa

Day five of my Ugandan adventure. Because it is Sunday, we are not going in to the office, so the day will be spent doing chores and errands and relaxing. When we go back to the hotel I have to do laundry a task I've never done without a machine. It will be quite the learning experience no doubt.

Yesterday was the big welcoming ceremony at the office. I got there early because Madisson was asked to slaughter a chicken and I thought I should be there for moral support. While she attended to the killing, I cut up tomatoes and potatoes. I think I took a lot longer than the women would have but I was really happy to help out (especially since chickens weren't involved). For the majority of the day, we were told to just relax as we were the guests. I forgot my still camera so I spent a lot of the prep time filming the kids and other things around the compound.

When it was finally time for the ceremony, we were walked to this temporary structure in the back made from bamboo and papyrus and covered with a tarp. The kids danced us in, the girls wearing colorful skirts, and the boys wearing Loyola soccer shorts we brought last year. We watched them dance and the program began. We had welcoming statements from Paul and Grace and a government official. We shared introductions and the children sang a song for us.

As the students were about to dance again the clouds rolled in and the rain hit. Here we were 20 or so people under this temporary shelter under pouring rain. A river of mud akin to the chocolate river in Willy Wonka (a popular metaphor among the IC crew), flowed just past a bottle with a leaf in it which was supposed to keep away the rain. The ceremony stopped there but until the rain let up we had to stay under the tarp. In a shining act of team work, we all stood on chairs or used our shoes or chair cushions to push the water off the tarps so that the whole structure would not collapse under us. We were all soaked by the time the rain let up. We all regathered in the office and surrounding rooms to eat our food.

The feast was incredible. Rice, beans, cabbage, millet, maize, for those who ate it chicken and beef. It was all so delicious! They really feed us well here.

After all was done, we had a conference call with the IC folks back in Chicago. It was good to hear from them, though odd to be on the Uganda side of the call for once.

When we got back to the hotel, we all relaxed and talked and maybe even played a little MASH. Oh the fun times spent in Gulu.

I hope all is well in the U.S. We have been sent a few articles about escalation in Uganda with talks of LRA regrouping, but everything seems under control right now and we are safe. It seems more like speculation than anything concrete. However, do keep sending your positive thoughts this way.

Love to you all.

Apwoyo!

So I can only write a little bit because I have only a few minutes left here in the internet cafe. This is day four for me here in Gulu and everything has been going quite well.

I have been spending most of the time in the Dwon Madiki office. It is a small two room building in a compound of a few other homes. The place is pretty nice and homey.

I have had the most time spending time with the neighborhood children. Though they are not in our program they hang around a lot. One girl I met who is 9 years old, named Diana is one of the most energetic children I have met. We will be sitting in the office and an overly excited Diana will run in and say, "Diana, COME!" Where we are going and what we are going to do is never certain but she always pulls me away to some adventure.

My first day here I played a game called fossi which was very fun. Two girls stand in the middle of a line of four sticks. One person stands in the center. The goal is for the person in the center to pick up all of the stick one at a time and drop them before the girls on either side hit them with whatever they are throwing (usually a sock). I played and got a few points but I think they were going easy on me.

It's fun to hang out with the children, but at some point the realization hits that the reason they are playing with me midday is because they are not in school. And even though we are sending children to school, we just don't have enough for everyone. And so these great kids miss out. It's hard to know that we just can't do more.

Every day at the office we also get served to meals: breakfast and lunch. Breakfast yesterday was tea and the most flavorful and delicious banana I have ever eaten. For lunch we were served rice and beans and cabbage. I was surprised how absolutely wonderful such staple foods could taste. We are really being fed well. Also there are quite a few restuarants around the area including one run by the Invisible Children people. They have a more Americanized menu and so last night I had pancakes and a smoothie! Yum.

Other than time spent at the office, I have been exploring the area a little and spending time with the Dwon Madiki folks in the hotel where we are staying. Every day we go to the office I ride there on a boda-boda, a motorbike of sorts. I was absoluted petrified of getting on one the first time but it has since gotten easier. And in fact it is quite a beautiful ride to see all of Gulu while riding on one. And I've learned the word mot mot which means slowly and that has no doubt ensured my safety.

Anyway, I am off now to the office where we are having a welcoming ceremony today. There will be food and dancing and speeches and I am very excited about it.

Until next time!

Senses Working Overtime

Greetings from Gulu!

Well friends, two years and a week's delay in the making, I have finally arrived in Uganda. Surely all of the delays and frustration just made it that much sweeter to have made it.

Since our boarding in JFK Airport on Monday night, everything has gone smoothly. In fact when we were boarding, in a hilarious twist of fate given the titles of the last two entries, a song played on the overhead with the lyrics "Life handed me lemonade and I don't know why. Thanks for the lemonade." It was perfectly fitting.

The journey was long and tiring (believe me flying into the future is exhausting) but so worth it. I awoke from a short nap on the plane to Entebbe to see out of my window the rising sun over (get this! ) the Nile River. Everything around it was so lush and green. It was probably the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

When we finally arrived in Uganda, we ate some bread and honey and relaxed a little bit before leaving to Gulu on the bus. First of all, Kampala is completely congested. There were people every where all selling things and talking. I tried hard to keep up with Kevin the office volunteer as he guided us but it was hectic. My senses were working so much overtime, trying to take it all in. I don't think I will be returning there until I have to leave.

We go on the bus to Gulu at about 11, but it did not leave until one or so. Let me paint the picture for you. Imagine a six or seven hour road trip. Then take out all of the rules of the road, and add many potholes and people. It was absolutely frightening. Our driver attempting to get us there fast and safe(?), drove wildly around potholes quickly shifting from one side of the road to the next depending on the site of the next pothole. He would honk the horn as he zipped by and on numerous occassions I saw women and children run of the road afraid they would be hit by the bus. A rightful fear no doubt. We would stop only every once in a while to the side of the road where local people would sell us food and drinks on the side of the road. Meat on a stick, soda and water, pineapples, mangoes and more be hawked through the bus window. "Mzungo (white person), you want something to eat?" they would holler.

As we pulled up to Gulu town, it began pouring rain. We waited it out a bit but got rained on as we walked over to our residence. I was so happily greeted by the rest of the Invisible Conflicts crew. Our place is nice two rooms and a bathroom. We went to dinner and ate vegetable rice and bread. It was alright but I'm told better food awaits me.

I slept at a place called Heels (or Heals? I guess I don't know) because there are two many of us for our two beds. I got into the bottom bunk there and pulled my mosquito net around me and tried to sleep. The darkness when the lights went out was a whole new level of black, no difference between my eyes opened or closed. I woke up a lot in the middle of the night. But it was a nice first night.

Today we are off to run errands and then are off to the office. More news soon.

The newspaper this morning said Uganda is thrilled about Obama's win. Congrat Obama!

Lemon Meringue

I was convinced that we would be on that plane to Brussels last night and on my way to Entebbe. I had such high hopes. I was so ready.


Laura and I left our hotel yesterday morning at 11 am, arriving at the airport 6 hours before our scheduled boarding time. We checked in, went through security and waited. We sat at the gate through cloudy skies and light rain. Talks of delays and cancellations brewed but we remained hopeful. Our flight was not for hours, surely it would clear up by then. And it did. The skies cleared. When we arrived at our gate we were joined there by only one other man. In the hours to come, many others would filter in. Around 5:10 there was an announcement made. We would be boarding shortly. This was it it was happening! I called my respective "people" to tell them I was finally on my way.

But wait, there's more! Shortly after this overhead announcement, we were told that the plane was still waiting for the pilot. Our new departure time would be 6:30. Okay, that still gives us an hour an a half to catch our connection. We can make it. Again, such high hopes we had.

We would soon learn (after many excruciating minutes of silent non-news) that we would have a decision on a departure time at 8pm. Two hours after our original time we would "find out more". Well that sealed our fate. We would not make it to Entebbe if we got on the plane to Brussels. We joined the masses of people in line to figure out another option and soon found we were not the only ones on their way to Entebbe. About 15 other people at least were supposed to be on that plane. And the airline could do nothing for us. After at least an hour of searching for another route, we were told the soonest we could get there would be Wednesday morning. So here we are in a hotel again for another two days. Waiting.

Next time we fly we will have a 13 hour layover in London. Hopefully no delay will cause us to miss our flight to Entebbe.

Laura suggested that maybe this was a sign that we should not be going. I have to believe that this is not the case. We just have to jump over a few hurdles to show just how important this trip is to us.

Again, I ask for your safe-travel-please-no-more-delays vibes.