erin.

On March 3rd, 2007, I posted these words, from Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex.  And now here they are again.

“Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in “sadness,” “joy,” or “regret.” Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, “the happiness that attends disaster.” Or: “the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.” I’d like to show how “intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members” connects with “the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.” I’d like to have a word for “the sadness inspired by failing restaurants” as well as for “the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.” I’ve never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I’ve entered my story, I need them more than ever. I can’t just sit back and watch from a distance anymore.”

The last time I posted this excerpt was when I was getting ready to come to Uganda.  Now I am closing my Peace Corps service in an overwhelming flood of “complicated hybrid emotions.

In the last weeks and days, I have come to appreciate on an entirely different level what this experience has meant- and will continue to mean- for myself and those who have been a part of it.  I am sure that this is just the beginning of a continuous process of understanding and taking hold of these years and always keeping them alive in a meaningful way.

I was reading in my journal the other day, which long ago fell into disuse.  In one of my early days in Uganda, March 11th, 2007, I wrote, “Some days are just incredibly intense.  It’s hard to imagine being able to keep up the stamina for this as a constant.  It sure is interesting pretty much all the time.”

Somewhere along the way, life in Uganda started feeling different.  Yes, it still is interesting pretty much all the time.  However, I can’t pinpoint it, but at some point, life here became just that: life.  A very full life.  I have had a taste of a very rare kind of happiness: to have meaningful, challenging, rewarding work while surrounded, both near and far, by remarkable people who fill my life with laughter and love and learning.  People who have supported and changed me.  I have not endured my Peace Corps service, as if it has been some sort of sacrifice or struggle to be here.  I have lived it.  Like anything, this has had its challenges, but I would not give them up for the 1000 hot American showers I could have had instead.  I will always think of this time in this place with incredible appreciation for the privilege of opportunity.  It has been a joy.

“Ends and beginnings — there are no such things. There are only middles.”  -Robert Frost

A few months back, I heard about AppLab Uganda at a conference. It’s a pretty neat concept. They’re basically creating mobile phone applications that will help ordinary Ugandans who don’t have access to a lot of up-to-the-minute, accurate information about important topics that affect their lives (aside from perhaps radio).

Considering the increasing popularity of cell phones, even in the most rural areas, they are a great way to reach people with helpful information about almost anything- agricultural methods, weather, health information, marketing information.

I just came across a short article about this work in the NY Times: In Rural Africa, a Fertile Market for Mobile Phones.

Dialing for Answers Where Web Can’t Reach is another Times article about how an information hotline is being used to get people without internet access answers to their questions.

And some more on the transformational potential of cell phones here, from The Economist.  Cool stuff.

Yesterday was our first book day, and it was a huge success.  It is really fun to see kids who have never owned a book before get excited about reading!

Thank you all for your contributions to the Malaba Youth Center library.  You have made a difference.

While all of you play with your fancypants iPhones and fool with whatever this “Twitter” business I’m hearing about is, I am content with the perfect technological solution for my Ugandan life: the Ka-Torchi. In Uganda, “ka” is the word used to refer to something that’s small. “Torchi” means torch (or flashlight). They add the i to most words for no particular reason. For example, I am often called Erini. It reminds me sometimes of Italy, where people couldn’t resist adding a vowel to the end of everything.

So, the Ka-Torchi. It is a sturdy little Nokia phone that has…a built-in flashlight. Whoever designed this thing and marketed it in countries with unreliable power supplies deserves a prize, as s/he has probably literally saved my life many times over.

It’s another dark African night at my house,

And I’m thinking that rustling could be mouse.

It’s too inky-black to see what critter may lurk,

So I put my handy Nokia 1100 Ka-Torchi to work.

I have no power, no sink, no washer, no dryer-

Forget other gadgets, it’s Ka-Torchi I desire!

With the click of a button, the room comes alive-

With all corners bright, I’m sure to survive.

I prowl around cautiously hunting my invader,

On this eve, I’m a bazillion-watt, lit-up crusader!

I reach the spot that sounds like the creature’s lair,

And swivel my torch-phone, casting its beam there.

And there lies the beast- carefully placed:

A lizard, asleep on my tube of toothpaste.

It seems this particular lizard has made my house his home. Every day I find him somewhere new- snuggled in my shoes, climbing my clothes, curled in my laundry basket, scaling the spokes of my bicycle. Maybe I should name him.

Last month, I was fortunate to have an opportunity to travel to Northern Uganda. When I arrived here in 2007, Peace Corps volunteers were not allowed to go to the north at all, due to security concerns. Now, Peace Corps is opening up the north. I was part of a small team that helped scout out some possible sites where the first post-war PCVs will be placed in the north. This was my chance to see the one region of this country I had yet to visit. The trip was unforgettable- an intense and wonderful experience. Instead of trying to tell it all, here are just a few thoughts, photos, and stories:

on hope.

Northern Uganda was the battleground of a decades-long civil war between Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) rebels and Ugandan government forces. Peace has come, bringing renewed hope to a region that has experienced incredible tragedy- the kidnapping of children as soldiers, the arbitrary mutilation of landmines, mass killing, displacement of innocent civilians into internally displaced persons’ (IDP) camps, the terror of systematic abductions and rape. Visible and invisible scars will haunt this place for a very long time- in Kitgum town, while awaiting transport one morning, I saw a woman with no feet. But, I am reminded how strong and resilient people can be- somehow, that woman was walking. All over the north, I was amazed at the kindness of strangers, and a feeling of optimism, that there is promise in what lies ahead.

we have a winner.

T-shirt hunting in Uganda could be a sport. There are some truly amazing ones out there, but the real prize is the losers’ shirt.

So every year, two sets of winners’ t-shirts are made for the Super Bowl. One set is worn by the celebrating champions. The losers’ t-shirts are quickly whisked away from American soil, to places where people don’t even know what American football is. Like Kitgum, Uganda!

While eating lunch, L. spotted a young man wearing the shirt below. Thrilled at what he saw, L. called him over and bought the off him (literally) for about $2.00 (plus traded t-shirts).

Good reading on how losers’ shirts get here: Far Away, Super Bowl’s Losers Will Be Champs (Interestingly, Major League Baseball has a policy of destroying its losers’ shirts so that there’s no confusion anywhere in the baseball-ignoring world who the “world champions” are.)

Also, I highly recommend reading How Susie Bayer’s T-Shirt Ended Up on Yusuf Mama’s Back, a great article that follows an ordinary t-shirt across the world.

a shifting home.

Seeing the IDP camps at a time when they are in transition provided me with a very unique look into a complex and challenging human condition.

Through years of war, much of the populace chose or was forced to relocate into IDP (internally displaced persons’) camps. Most of the camps are not as make-shift as you might imagine. They are clusters of huts, built tightly together for security purposes. Some camps are very large and have become somewhat like towns, since they’ve been established for over 15 or 20 years. In some ways, the camps are very convenient for providing residents with services. Most were constructed near an existing school. International aid has helped a number of these schools develop the facilities to deal with a large student body. In some ways, it is easier to deliver things like clean water, vaccinations, and health education to a concentrated population. But people do not live this way. Living in an IDP camp, losing land and security and home, a person loses the dignity of work (for most people, work was agriculture). Poverty is the best friend of disease (particularly HIV), and many people living in close proximity raises huge sanitation challenges.

With peace, people now have the opportunity to “go home” from the camps. This is an extraordinary change, particularly for children who have never known any other home outside of a camp. There are some small incentives given to people to move back to their villages, and many have jumped at the opportunity to return. As the camps empty out, the community remaining is mostly made up of people who are either too old or sick to move back, or those who have nowhere to return to. In the coming months and years, it will be interesting to see what happens to what is left of the camps. It will also be worth watching what happens to the re-forming villages, as people try to pick up and rebuild.

guest spot on luo fm.

The trip took us to Pader, where my former counterpart and very good friend from Tororo, E, now works as the manager of a major radio station. We asked E. if we could go on air and hold a call-in “Ask a Muzungu” show where people could ask us what it was like to be an American, to be a white person living in Uganda, etc. Of course, she said yes!

We were on the air within a few short hours. Many callers just wanted to greet us and welcome us to northern Uganda. Some tried to teach us some words in local language. My two favorite call-in questions were:

1. What is a prom party? The guy who asked this had seen American movies and didn’t really understand what it was all about. (L. proceeded to try to describe his prom and may have further confused the poor caller by telling him it had an under-the-sea theme and ending up trying to explain what a mermaid is…)

2. Since everyone in Uganda has begun naming their children after Obama, do Americans name their children Museveni?

Visiting E. in Pader was wonderful. It was great to see my friend again, so in her element, and the radio show left me laughing.

what’ve you got under that gourd?

It’s…a baby!

It is traditional in Uganda (and many, dare I say all, other parts of Africa) for mothers to carry babies tied to their backs. I cannot truly get across how hard African women work, but suffice to say they are unappreciated superheroines. The hands-free baby-on-the-back system allows a mom to do all sorts of other things- ride a bicycle, load firewood on her heads, haul water, cook, etc. while keeping the smallest of her little ones very, very nearby.

Northern Uganda is notoriously hot and very dusty, so women have developed an innovation. A big gourd is positioned to cover the baby’s head, to provide shade and protection. I wonder what it would be like to experience a lot of early life bouncing along in calabash-induced darkness.

Some of you may have heard or read about recent events in Uganda. I am and have been very far from any violence or unrest. There has been an ethnic element to the turmoil that does not involve the people of my region.

Last week, violent and deadly (just how deadly depends on who you ask) riots broke out in Kampala. I should not make any public comments of even a faintly political nature about any of this (so I can’t tell you what I really think in blog form), but for those who are interested, one explanation of what has happened is here and some background as to why is here. Things in Kampala have been calm for several days now, and most Ugandans I’ve talked to sound confident it will remain that way, at least for the time being.

Very shortly after things set off in an unstable direction, Peace Corps Uganda took serious precautions to get all volunteers to safety. They are still approaching things with extreme caution. They tell me that the best way to stay safe is to stay home. So I’m sticking around Tororo, spending quality time with my blind, sneezing cat, until further notice.

Places to check up on Ugandan news in general: The Independent, The Daily Monitor ,New Vision

BBC also generally has good Africa coverage, though (as with most outside news agencies) they can be slow to pick up on a story.

I’ve shifted to primarily working at the border (Malaba) since I extended my service in May. This meant that I changed to a new house, which is still in Tororo but a bit closer to where I need to catch transport for my daily commute. I love my new house- it was a welcome change to move from loud neighbors and some other issues at my old place. I have my own compound surrounded by a fence. There’s some maize and sweet potatoes growing in my yard.

There’s a sitting room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.  My quality of life has been highly improved by a new couch from the wonderful CP.  The layout is a bit weird– the bathroom is attached to the house, but to get there requires going outside. There’s running water in the bathroom- a shower, a tap, and squat/flush toilet. In the kitchen, I use a large drum with a tap on it over a basin to serve as a sink.  There’s no electricity in the house, so I’ve rigged up a system of kerosene lanterns and candles.

I have mentioned in previous entries the immense interest and pride I have witnessed when it comes to Barack Obama. He is celebrated and honored. There are a handful of popular songs featuring the American president that regularly play on the radio here.  Shop-owners have renamed their businesses.  On my way to work every day, I pass a building that has “OBAMA HOUSE” painted across the front in huge letters.  All over Kenya, public transport have Obama’s image and name painted on them.  T-shirts and other clothing (including the absurd-yet-irresistable hologram belt buckle) are splashed with his image.

In Kenya, I was even able to buy a traditional wrap with Obama’s face and a Swahili inscription about him. The woman pictured with me (in matching Obama ensemble) danced and clapped and sang a song about Obama as I bought it.

I hope that the excitement I have seen among Africans about Obama’s candidacy and election can translate into positive change for Africa, the type of change Obama spoke about in Accra, Ghana last week. I do not think that Obama is singlehandedly going to bring about great progress on the continent, but I do hope that people here can view his unlikely achievement as exemplary, as proof that ordinary people–maybe even ordinary Africans–can have power and take responsibility, and as a reason to abandon defeatism and corruption in favor of hope and action.

I found this little guy in my laundry pile.  I thought he was dead, but it turned out he was only sleeping!

Only days after our return from Kenya, we packed up to head west. Our destination? Uganda’s most lauded tourist attraction: the mountain gorillas of Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.

The park has several groups of gorillas that are habituated to daily human visitors. We hiked to see H group, the largest in the park.

We walked through thick forest, occasionally happening upon signs of gorillas—stripped, chewed branches and fresh poop! At some points, our path also intersected with swarms of safari ants, which enjoy climbing up pant legs, biting, and hanging on. Where could the gorillas be?!

Eventually, our guides got a radio call from the trackers, who were sent out ahead to find exactly where H group had set up for the day. They had found them!

When we reached the spot, we had one hour to experience these remarkable creatures up close (only a few meters away). When we first arrived, the adult gorillas were lazing in the leaves, casually munching, while the babies rolled around and swing in the trees, playing.

After a short while, the silverback—the dominant male of the group—sat up. He was immense and stunning.

The group began to shift around to do some more serious eating.

They communicated using grunts, telling others when they found good food. They also farted—a lot!

On our way back from Bwindi, we stopped over at a campsite that was teeming with Colobus and Vervet monkeys. Bonus primate fun!