A Funny Life, In Pictures

The following is a photo essay (albeit a strange mix) of everything photo worthy I've been doing for the last few weeks. A long December already, indeed.

Faces of the Pandemic

On December 1, I attended Mbale District's World AIDS Day commeration and celebrations. It was held just outside the town in a near 'suburb' called Nauyo. I was also part of the planning, and I attended several town hall-style meetings concerning the preparations. Mothers of Hope, the organization I'm working with here, was a sponsoring partner. The day was completely thrown together (the Chairman leading the "planning" meetings had to call someone to figure out the day's worldwide theme on the second to last meeting).

Alas, I was privy to a strapped local government's attempt to unite a community with only donations from other nonprofits and the hard work of only a few. These inside experiences are illuminating in many ways: it is disheartening to see the Ugandan local government having so little vision for a day very close to the country's mettle, and it's encouraging to see community members step up when the government does not. There was no free testing, no informational for people living with AIDS, no facts on prevention or ARVs. In fact while most of the local NGOs that deal with HIV/AIDS were present, none provided services or information aside from their drama performances.



Acholi Dancers

What there was: plenty of robust drama groups, singing, tribal dancing, deworming (?!), and some very long speeches by some out of touch government officials who all touted the dated, problematic statistics Uganda is known for: turning back their HIV prevalence rate from 15 percent in 1991 to 6 percent in 2001. Never mind the fact that HIV infections in Uganda are again rising at a very alarming rate. Official statistics that I consider up to date are not yet here. Yet local stats seem to hold the clearer picture. In Mbale district, 33% of women tested in 2006 tested positive. For men this number is lower (about 25%), but both are up at least 2% from last year. And the struggle continues.

Crowd Control

I don't want to discount the importance of art and drama in the fight against AIDS, but it the target was sorely missed on Dec. 1 in Mbale. While the ceremony proved plenty entertaining, the theme of "Unite for Children, Unite Against AIDS" was never addressed. Yet the crowds teemed with hungry school children that were sometimes beat with a stick by "crowd controllers" (older men schoolmasters or young 'trainees' given a stick) while they watched the uninvolved goverment workers drink sodas. All while the real faces of World AIDS, like these little girls, stood and waited for something to happen or something to change.

Uphill battles

On another day in December when it was hot, sticky and generally sauna-like, Will and I embarked to Buwalewa village, which is about 1.5 hours away from town by car. Except most of the way up- we didn't take a car. We arrived at Will's host organization called KAFAMI, they are a small, rural farmer's cooperative. I was going to do a short HIV/AIDS workshop with some members in another village. Two-and-a-half hours of hiking up a smallish mountain later we arrived dripping with sweat and kicking ourselves for not bringing water with us. "It is near," our Ugandan friends from KAFAMI kept saying. Ugandans aren't known for precise directions. Well the view from the top and the robust and receptive group meeting us at the hilltop parish made our trip worth the lost salts. With the help of a fantastic translator I think we had a productive, educational session. And the walk down wasn't nearly as bad.

Get Wired

More recently, Will and I have been holding computer skills training at our local internet cafe, whose sign is shown above. Jenepher, the woman to my left had never touched a computer but had heard of email. It was challenging and so rewarding to finally get her to master using a mouse and keyboard. We even got to typing and copy/paste. In our second session we set up email accounts and the KAFAMI peeps were excited to be connected.



Meet Violet

At the clinic where my roommate Brianna works there lives a beautiful and vibrant girl named for my personal favorite color of the rainbow. Violet was badly burned on almost a third of her little body about 4 months ago, after playing with matches. Bri has been helping change her dressings since she was back in the clinic after a life-threatening infection. She cannot go home, not even for Christmas, for risk of infection again. So we threw her a Christmas party the other day in the clinic, complete with soda, presents (Brianna got her and her baby sister Jenny two African dolls), food and toiletries, and we filled her room with pictures and cards we drew for her. And boy can Violet dance - she has so much spunk and sass you wouldn't know she is still badly injured. Her story is an inspiration and a reminder what Christmas is really all about.

Gift that Keeps Giving

When Will and I invited our friend Sam the bartender and his wife and kids over for dinner two weeks ago, we didn't know they would give us a gift we'd remember forever. Over spaghetti bolognese, we opened this frame/clock/funny life thingie with weird anime girls in the middle wishing us "the coming year in the fullest measure." We were really touched they would buy us something, and even though we did not get what the heck it was at first, it's full meaning (although most likely not intended) has become illuminated since. Now it's sitting under our mini Christmas tree (decked with interesting 'ornaments' if you can see).

"We have to put this up in our apartment and all our houses after that," Will says with a half laugh.

"Yeah, but maybe in the basement."

"Or the closet."

"Every time we'll look at it we'll remember Sam, and Uganda. And think, funny life."

Monday Morning Musings.

During my walk to town this morning (about 1.5 miles), my minor encounters and experiences were pretty telling about how life really is here. Which is good because I find it hard to actually express, without being too fragmented or frightening, my experiences and the actual feel of living in this place. So my walk this morning should be illuminating, at least I think so.

The view from here

I leave the house and the strength of the December morning sun shocks me. Ten steps down my red dirt road and beads of sweat trickle down my spine and tiny pools form under my cotton t-shirt. It's going to be a hot one today, the dry season is finally coming (albeit very late). The sky is cerulean and the green leaves of the trees lining the streets and tall banana trees is a stark, emerald separation from the blue ceiling. I'm walking fast, to get the most out of the exercise and to burn off the stress of feeling a little frustrated with my job and missing home. Maya, with her four full teeth and newly acquired skill of speed-crawling, flashes behind my eyes like a fleeting dream. And I sweat, always, more sweat. The view ahead is beautifully normal, three women ages 45 or so walk by dressed in traditional garb (called gomesi) with something like 50 pounds of cassava in a potato sack propped on the heads. They're moving fast for all that weight, I think. "Mulembe," I mutter through heavy breath. "Mulembe, uryena?" they chime in staggered chorus - like a round of row your boat -followed by typical giggling at the muzungu speaking their language. Smiles are cordially exhanged. Ugandans are famous for their greetings.

I take the long way through more dirt paths, partly to avoid the road and the motorcycles zooming by hissing at me to come for a ride (a common way to get around are motor taxis), and partly to make the walk last longer. I like this time. It's rare alone time for me and it brings me to a center that I crave these days. A middle aged women, looking modern and carrying a purse not a bag of the latest crop, stops me, we greet in the proper fashion, pausing and making eye contact. She tells me she's looking for a job. I probe her to be polite, even though I know exactly what she's asking.

"What kind of work are you looking for?"

"I can clean house, cook, do laundry, anything you need," she says with both hope and desperation.

"I'm sorry madam, I don't have work for you. I do my own washing," I say, motioning like I am hand washing slacks - not expecting her to understand that I can't afford a housekeeper despite the color of my skin and the myths that come with the hue. Such a deceiving epidermis I am.

We move on from eachother and I branch to the left, making sure to push my legs a little faster as I head up the steep hill. The garbage dump to my left is on fire, purging the weekend's refuse and preparing anew for the week. Reaching the main road, my eyes catch a girl with skin like coal, darkened by the dust and weather of life outside, is bellowing and performing a strange kabuki like dance. It doesn't take long to register that she's mentally insane, and only 13 or so. Her clothes are gray-black like her, and her feet are thick and swollen from years of not wearing shoes. The look in her eyes is pure terror. I wince, keep walking, one foot in front of the other, not shocked at all. I realize I'm used to people like that. This scares me. And the sweat, the sweat keeps pouring. Almost like God just wants to mess with me, another one of Mbale's insane street residents walks toward me and stops. He's hurling a wooden stick over his head. It grazes my arm as I walk by, never stopping, despite my attempts to duck. I think to myself that I'm glad it wasn't a machete.

There are many mentally and physically impaired/challenged/bereft people here. Most are in some way causalities and leftovers from the ongoing war in the north. Outcasts from their familes and society.

I duck into the tiny alley way toward my little haven in the town. The internet cafe and Gracious Cafe "For Good Foods" are down this little annex. Phew. I make it to the computer to get some work done, and Ben (who strangely resembles Ben Vereen) puts some time into my favorite computer. His jolly smile is comforting, and so is it when he tells me the connection is rather good today.

"Nice," I think. Then I sit and wonder how I will explain such a common morning.