Emptiness and Fullness.

Today I awoke to the sound of children singing. Priscilla was chirping a church song in Lugisu or Luganda and this was a much better wake up call than the rooster. Hopefully someone ate it.

Life in Mbale is becoming less and less novel (but still hilarious at times) as I remain here, it's finally becoming a strange home. I pass friends on the street everytime I'm in town and while I still create a scene by merely existing (but then again I'm used to this to some degree), life is quietly stablizing as we can always count on it to do. My work at TASO is unpredictable, often going to the field for long days then followed by a slow day truly on Ugandan time.

I take this moment to digress about the way time passes here. S L O W L Y. There is no iota of Western urgency that we so commonly refer to as time management. But there is something to be learned from the emptiness of seconds, minutes and hours and of finding fulfillment not in efficiency and productivity but in conversation and connection. This will take me a while to get used to (and I may never completely), but making the most of the day has taken on an entirely new meaning.

Here it's the quiet moments that both embrace and haunt me. And life here, when away from the hustle and bustle of everyday transit through town, has plenty of these moments. Those times with myself, usually in the evening when there is little light, I hear my own voice. Where are you? What are you making of each day? What is it about this place that you fear yet crave? What will all of these experiences mean in a larger sense for your life and others? Will it mean nothing? Will it mean something?

Usually after one of these moments I find a way to exhale. Going for beers and pizza with Will or playing with the kids over tea. Someway my mind usually eases and the pressure subsides. Then I'm back to being just one person, in one place, living at life's pace, intending to do something good. But it's a short journey from emptiness to fullness when life is full of people to light the dark, dark nights.

The Exposition of A Very Strange Tale.

I am bad at keeping a diary. This is why my blog is the way it is. If I relay this and that of my life in droning chronological order, or even if I throw up on to the page (an emo-esque, spewing of innermost thoughts that is tragically too common) I end up boring myself and most of all - you. Because let's face it, you don't want to hear about my latest pimple or what I had for lunch. And I don't want to tell it. So instead I think of these writings as part of a larger story. Not just the story of my journey to Africa, living abroad as an international volunteer deeply concerned with AIDS and inequality, but the story of one person who has the opportunity to touch many people in one way or another. Our stories are all connected. And mine is just one.

So in the spirit of any good story (and we all have one), there must be an exposition. Before I tell my story as it unfolds for me, you have to know the characters and setting.

The Muzungus

Sarah Hunko ... Me. A 21-year-old American girl or Chinese immigrant, whichever you prefer.

Will Baker ... My boyfriend, best friend. The well-known and loved "100 kilo" muzungu.

Jacob ... Newly 30 and our intern coordinator, he hails from San Fransisco, then New York previously, Texas originally. Also known as Uncle Kakoo (a name given to him by his family), he loves chips, being a vegetarian, boda boda, sustainable energy forms, Heinz ketchup and internet dating. He is often the butt of our jokes, and he's a good sport.

Nikki ... One year out of college at Vermont, she's a tall, blonde, blue-eyed Bostonian with a free spirit and very long hair she is afraid to cut. Also a vegetarian (from birth), she enjoys dancing and really wants the group to get to Club Oasis (Mbale's only dance club equally appealling and frightening).

Brianna ... Born and raised in Tuscon, Arizona, she is only 22 and of average height, with blue eyes and short light brown hair. A sensitive soul with a good sense of humor, she just started a new relationship before leaving for Uganda (!), and enjoys hiking, science and girly things like the other females, myself included. Along with Nikki, the two are sometimes called Brikki because of their oft proximity to one another. Similar to Bennifer of days of ole. (Will and I are also known as Willarah from time to time, to my dismay - Sarbur, damnit!)

Grant ... He was *blessed* with quite possibly the worst name for a white person in Uganda. A 27-year-old Jewish guy from D.C. (formerly employed in real estate), he is a also blue-eyed, but dark complected. He has a picky pallate and a strange love of Purel, but is also a very funny character, especially when he relays stories about his toilet manners. (He is the only intern unfortunate enough to have a pit latrine.)

Jonathan and Katerina ... Jon is our other coordinator and he hails from the Outback. (Actually he's from outside Melbourne but I'm American so I like to make gross generalizations about geography.) Reserved but very apt to laugh at Will's jokes and faux pau's, he is a voice of reason among the crazies (us). His fiance, Katerina is a Slovakian opthamologist that works in a hospital in Tororo. She was a bit hard to get to know, but she is really quite sweet and has a biting sense of humor. They live in Senior Quarters, and definitely do not have a pit latrine.

Pieter ... A Belgiun opthamologist and colleague of Katerina who is almost 30 and very warm and Europian (not an oxymoron). His house is a santuary here for us, and he does his best keeping up with fast-talking Americans (he only spoke English in school before coming to Uganda one year ago).

The Wambedde's

Janet ... My host mother, a 38-year-old director of her own NGO, the Association for World Education. She is eternally giving, a mother to MANY, not just her own four. She and her wide network of extended family take very good care of Will and I.

Apollo ... My host father, a jovial, convivial man with a knack for chatting. He's around 40 and has a lot of stress (which is smiles through) because of two deceased siblings (lost as a result of AIDS) and their several (more than 15 and I'm just starting to piece them all together) children all left to him in one way or another. He works as an engineer for the government in the area of road development.

The kids ... Dean (12), Isaiah (11), Mark (6) and Priscilla (5). They are all spirited, well-behaved and unbelievably cute. I have a special fondness for Mark and Priscilla since they are home the most. Mark is a gentle soul whose fiestiness is only brought out by the precocious, effervescent Priscie.

Harriet ... In Africa they are fondly called "house girls" but in the U.S. she might be a governess and a maid and a butler all in one. While my family isn't wealthy (they are considered middle class here but their standard of living would be considered lower working at best in the States), they employ Harriet and she is the backbone of the family. She is to thank for every meal, teatime, dish and clean piece of clothing and swept room.

The Extended family. Like a Greek Chorus, they are many and they are one. And certainly too many to name. They enter and leave the home at whim, taking tea or staying for supper (per African culture the extended family network is vital to the survival of the group) and always keep life interesting. My favorite is Deborah, the 4 month old baby that seems to love me.

Of Place and Time

We are nestled in Mbale town (not Somewhere Near Mbale, it turns out) for most of our story. However, as a part of my work with TASO, I often find myself in the middle of remote villages and traversing far out trading centers in rural Uganda. In town, the scenery varies from the tropical, lush and beautiful to the dirty and miserable. The town itself struggles with load shedding of electricity and we only have power every other day, but this is a rough estimate. The streets are mostly dirt, although a few main roads are paved, but all roads are failry bumpy (you thought Michigan had potholes!). Accomodations, for the most part, are more basic than most Americans have ever seen. Toilets rarely flush properly if at all, bugs (including freaky East African spiders and 6 inch by 1/2 inch millipedes) are ubiquitous. Water can be scarce, there is no sanitation system (trash is burned out in the open) and as you can suspect, poverty is rife. So is religion. A common question: Are you Saved? (yeah, By the Bell!) Gender roles, called "norms" here, are incredibly strong. Homes are clay or cement or wood and many have tin rooves. It gets dark just before 7 p.m. every day which makes life more difficult.

It's unwise to "move" (Ugandan English for 'walk') at night, especially for women. One way of preventing HIV in young women is encouraging them not to move at night since this is a " high risk behavior" that leads to them getting raped. (Have I mentioned things are different here?) Needless to say, we hire a taxi if we go out anywhere past dark. All fresh food and virtually any dry good you may need is purchased in the Market: about a square quarter mile of informal shop fronts enclosed in one giant tin roof with dirt floors. It is the mall of Mbale, if it can be called such. Buy a skinned goat, used shoes, rice, milk and charcoal all in one place! I can almost smell it now...

Now, the stage is set. When I tell of wild happenings or everyday tragedies, you'll have a closer idea of who, what and where I'm refering to. Just remember this is real life as it happens, my own non-fiction, not polished for anyone. Thanks for diving in with me.

And so the story begins...

Window into my world.

Two weeks of Ugandan life and one of field work. In vignettes...

What Child Is This?

A young woman, who cannot be more than 16 or 17 is holding a small baby so small he cannot be more than two weeks old. When I ask this woman, who lives in in a rural village half way up the emerald foothills that frame Mbale town to the East, what her baby boy's name is, she simply says, "He has none." By this time, I am also holding the tiny child whose face is so tender and premature he resembles a mammal not of this species. "How about Nelson," I blurt. "For Nelson Mandela. He is a great man and I'm sure he will be too." She just smiles, and something genuine is beyond it. I hand her the baby, a little proud that I may have just named a child I barely know, and I little guilty if the kid really does have to go through all his years with the the name Nelson. (Sorry, kiddo.)

Cry, Freedom

Donning a ripped, American flag-printed button down shirt covered with brown dust and human worry - a young boy runs down a lonley dirt road chasing our TASO vehicle. He may be one of the orphans we were checking up on that day, but it's likely he isn't. He is just one face, one boy, dressed in irony, that I can't help.

The Funny Side of Globalization

In a village like many other villages near a mountain like many other mountains, a radio blares as the only window to a distant outside world. Several women and children are crowed on straw mats beneath their thatch roofed huts. A Mariah Carey song plays. (There's a heroooo....) I sing along with the kids. (if you look inside your heeeaaart...) A Celine Dion song plays. (looove comes to those who belieeeve in it..) I sing along with the kids.(And that's the way it iiiis..) ...So many laughs inside my head...

I Never Went to Sunday School (Sorry, God)

It's Sunday night and my host family is having the after dinner prayer. They are deeply religious and of course this makes me feel a little funny because I'm not terribly churchy, even if I am spiritual. Janet (host mom) begins the first hymn. It is something about how we are waiting for Jesus. I hum under my breath, unsure of the words and catching on to the tune. You know the kind.... "Uh.. hmmm ummm, yes, God ohh Lord you are.. mii...mighty, you aaan..answer.." The process repeats for three long hymns, each time I don't get any better at acting like I know any of the words. Sigh. "Sarah, what is your favorite hymn from home," Apollo (host Dad) asks, noticing that I don't know these and wondering just how different Christianity is in the US. "Uh, well... I don't have a favorite, it's so hard to chose!," I stall. "It's got to be Hallelujah (although only the gospel version is coming to mind)." "Yes, you gaatta love Hallelujah!" Enter awkward silence. Enter Janet's soft voice singing a Hallelujah hymn I've still... never heard before.

The ABC's of UG.

An Alphabet of This African Life

A is for Always a price. For any crime, any piece of food, mode of transport, for anything at all. Everything's for sale and up for bargaining. Everything.

B is for Beans, beans and more beans. Sometimes the best food available, but they can get very old...very fast. And for Boda-boda (riding on a seat on the the back of a bicycle), the best and worst mode of transportatoin in Mbale.

C is for Cocks. Clear that dirty mind I'm talking about what we call roosters (i prefer calling them roosters anyhow). They are obnoxious, relentless alarm clocks. It's also for Chinese, which is what people think I am here (light skin, black hair..makes sense?!)

D is for Don't Drink the Water, synonymous with Diarrhea. Enough said.

E is for Eagles. There are flocks of them around! It's awesome.

F is for Foreskin (and Forbidden). NOT ALLOWED! Chop, chop says the circumsizor! (tradition of the local people).

G is for Goats. They really do roam! And there isn't a square kilometer in Uganda without a billion of them.

H is for Harriet or our House Girl. She's a saint. REALLY.

I is for Indians. There's a good population in Eastern Uganda and they own many businesses, including Narali's and the "hoe-tel" upstairs.

J is for Justice. Here it's had by people not institutions. And usually occurs in mobs. Frightening and illuminating.

K is for Kumugati, my fave Lugisu word which simlpy means bread. Say it with me.. Koo-muu-gaa-tee!

L is for Lugisu, the local tongue here. It's fun to speak and pretty easy yto learn but pretty useless outside of Mbale District. NKANA KAMEZI! (the most essential phrase: I want water)

M is for "Muzungu, how are you?" which is what children from the villages that MAY have seen one or two white people in their lives say to me when I crawl out from the truck. It's also for Mariah Carey, who can be heard in the most remote villages, as I found out yesterday. Apparently people that have never seen themselves in a mirror before can sing "Always Be My Baby'' just as well as I can..

N is for Narrow. As in my room, which is about 4.5 feet wide. Yay for walking sideways!

O is for Odor. Mbale has its own smell.. sometimes it's good (frying bread) and sometimes its very bad (BO and burning garbage). Mmm.

P is for Power Outages. A daily occurance, and power is officially available every other day. It's as much a political folly as an infrastructure one. Also for Pieter, our Belgian opthamologist friend who's house is a refuge.

Q is for Queen Esther, my family's restaurant named after my host mom's grandmother.

R is for Running on empty. Whether its gas (called petrol here) or cell minutes, Ugandans don't ever believe in topping off. Ever.

S is for Scary Ass Roads! There's no such thing as lanes, oh no. Walkers, motorcylcles, buses, bodas, taxis and cars fight for the road. The results are frightening and often hilarious!

T is for TASO, the org that is working my American (read: lazy) butt to the bone. They are great people who are dedicated to field work and long days.

U is for Unpredictability. There's a constant, ubiquitous sense of insecurity here... I mean that in the best way.

V is for Vulnerability. How I feel as a Muzungu (I mean Chinese) woman from time to time while getting around here. I'm getting better though. Sigh..

W is for Warmth. Both the people and the weather. And for Wambedde, family's name. And for Waving. Waving goodbye. To refridgeration, fast food, saddle bags (mine are shinking already), flushing toilets, hot showers, burgers, nicely shaved legs, personal space, a fast paced lifestyle, TV, good music on the radio, high speed internet, New York Times and other good papers, driving, ovens, espresso... I could go on, but it gets a little depressing. Hahaha.

X is for eXciting. When everyhting is new (yet somehow old) and challenging there is no room for an idle mind.

Y is for whY? Bad Christian music all the time! WHY? (instead of No Woman No Cry it's No Jesus No Life) AHHHHHH

Z is for Zany. Such is the life...:)

Muzungus in Mbale.

Mulembe everyone. That is how you say Peace in the language here. Will and I arrived without event on Friday night in Entebbe, were picked up from the airport to a nice little backpakers hostel near Lake Victoria. It was pitch black the night we arrived so after a surreal sleep, I awoke to lush vegetation and the smell of Africa. That is when I began to realize where I really am, a process that continues a bit more each morning.

First, I'd like to say thank you for checking this journal of mine and that I will try to update as much as possible. The first few days in Uganda were spent in travel and getting adjusted so it was very hard to communicate home at first. This condition will only improve. I have seen the place I will work, TASO (the AIDS support org) and much of the city, which is comparable to the size of a smaller town in the U.S. Right now it is still big and even a little frightening, but it is warm and lovely in its way. The surrounds are astounding, as we are located nera the Kenyan border in the foothills of the extinct volcano Mt. Elgon. Surrounded by beauty and nestled among poverty, Mbale is very much a contradiction. Cell phone service providers line the streets alongside live chickens and roadside sandal vendors. Warm spirits and easy smiles characterize people for the most part, however it is unwise to walk anywhere at night.

I have a feeling I will learn a great deal from this place, its feel, its smell (something between fresh air, motor oil, perspiration and stewing vegetables), its flaws, hopes, fears and strengths.

There's a word for people like me here. Muzungu. This means foreigner, or white person, really (Ugandans hold little cadence for my half-Mexican background ;) )The other interns and I have grown used to it and its use, which is never hostile. But we are quite novel to see in these parts. The Bagisu (the locals) laugh hard when the Muzungu tries to speak his language. He!

I can't wait to begin my work, as this week is an "orientation" period of language training ("ooh Muzumgu so smart"), guest speakers and walking tours. It is has been fun and I like everyone we are with, but the real reason I am here has not yet began. Pictures will be coming soon but you can imagine how silly Muzungo look with digital cameras pointed everywhere.. I'm waiitng until they get to know us better. All the best to everyone at home, I am safe and happy here. Will is too. Don't worry about us, but do think of us all the way out here.

Until next time...

Uganda Calling.

In one week I'll be landing on Ugandan soil. Then the fun really begins. I'm frazzled. I'm excited. I'm (a little) scared. I'm numb in one side of my mouth (gotta get that dental work done now).

Last weekend I had a going away party and here is the sweet cake (meaning both a truly dope cake and one with sugary goodness) my mother got. She's getting so global! It's cute. But maybe that's what put my cavity over the edge...



We had a great time, and I got to see many people I care about that I won't be seeing for a while. I'm a nostalgic/fuzzy person anyway, and I appreciate grand entrances and exits. This was my exit.



My scarecrow (the one I'll miss most of all).