bill before the ugandan parliament

At 6 am, our driver picked us up at our campsite to take us to the Ngorogoro Crater. (His name was Wilson and all day I had images of the volleyball in Castaway, and the neighbor from the 80s show Home Improvement!) The Ngorongoro Conservation Area (NCA) is 3,200 sq. mi. and includes the Ngorongoro Crater – the world’s largest unbroken, unflooded volcanic caldera (2,001 ft deep, 102 sq. mi.). The Crater formed when a giant volcano exploded and collapsed on itself some two to three million years ago. The NCA is a World Heritage Site – one of 800 places deemed by UNESCO as places of outstanding cultural or natural importance to the common heritage of humanity. (wikipedia, 2009)

Our first stop was the NCA office to take care of paperwork. The entrance fee is $50 per person (though Erin should have gotten a discount as an East African resident), and $200 per car. While we waited for Wilson, we watched the troop of baboons hanging out in the parking lot and nearby trees. One tractor trailer was parked with a window half-open. A baboon walked by, reached up, grabbed the top of the window, and swung himself up – just like that. Luckily the driver was on his way back from the office and was able to shoo him off just in time. Our neighbor was not so lucky. He left his windows open, and the car running. As we watched, a baboon wandered over and, in the blink of an eye, came through the driver’s side window. We thought we were going to see if baboons have learned how to drive! But no, he went to work, going through the contents of the car until he found a box of yogurt which he pilfered happily. His friends were on their way to join him when the owner came out of the NCA building, saw what was happening, and came running and yelling. The baboon was out of the car as quickly as he was in, taking some yogurt with him for his troubles.

With the logistics settled, we headed off to the Crater. It’s a bit of a long windy drive down and I was nervous because it was quite misty. We could see nothing from the vista point. What if we got down there and couldn’t see anything through the fog? I forgot my worries as a small herd of elephants appeared within yards of the car. For such enormous animals, 4-5 of them made almost no noise, even while ambling away. Within seconds we encountered a similarly-sized group of zebra. They are quite striking up close – perfectly symmetrical, as if they are painted. The males’ stripes are black while the females are more brown. As we continued down into the Crater I was struck to come across a Maasai, herding their cattle. We saw them throughout the day, always a bit of a jolt given the wildlife we had seen only minutes (or meters) before.

Once we got down into the Crater, the driving was easier, though it was mostly dirt tracks. The sightings were few and far between at first, but steady enough: a group of vultures off in the distance, a beautiful antelope, the full skeleton of a Cape buffalo and then a whole, live group. Next up was an ostrich performing for a potential mate; some jackals; several lone hyenas; a single warthog and a lone elephant. I was surprised to learn that most of the time hyenas travel alone; my image is of a pack of them, prowling. (With the voice of Whoopi Goldberg.) They do fit the stereotype of being horrifically, nightmarishly ugly.

What else did I learn? That when warthogs run their tails stick straight up in the air, and that they kneel on their front two legs while they eat. That wildebeests and zebras often travel together in large packs – during the day the zebras follow the wildebeests to take advantage of their keen eyesight, at night it is the reverse since zebras have a strong sense of smell. That a superb starling is an aptly named bird; it really is superb.

At one point we saw several vehicles parked ahead and soon realized why: three lions were lunching on (I should probably say in) a recently killed Cape buffalo, two females and a juvenile. Unbelievable. Surprisingly, a small herd of buffalo grazed nearby – either ignorant to their plight, mourning their lost brother, or assured that the lions were no longer hungry, we weren’t sure which. We could also see, quite some ways away, hyenas beginning to stream towards each other, forming a group that knew leftovers would be available soon. Very creepy.

The routine was the same all day. When we reached a place with something to see, Wilson would turn off the car. Erin and I would pop through the open roof, take pictures, ask Wilson about the animal, and take in the view. When we were ready, he’d start the car again, and off we’d go. This worked fine until the moment we were finished viewing our first male lion, who was probably 100+ yards from us and 50 yards from a female and juvenile. It was actually comical because the he was sitting in a dirt circle and we watched this line of warthogs trot up to the edge of the circle, and — just like kids — push the front-most hog towards the lion. That hog would then scurry to the back of the line and the next one was pushed forward. It was as if the they were taunting him. But, at some point, we were done watching. Wilson went to start the car, and … nothing. It doesn’t turn over, it doesn’t make a sound. So he gets out of the car, pops the hood, and takes a peek.

My eyes, of course, are glued to the lions, so I can scream an alert when they begin heading in the direction of our guide. Wilson, of course, is unfazed. He picks up a large rock and begins banging it under the hood. He tries the key, we try the key … nothing. Finally a friend has to come and push him so that he can pop the clutch and get us on our way. The car ran for the rest of the day, except at lunch, when he parked us up on a hill so he could make a rolling start.

After lunch we came upon a pond full of hippos. The pond wasn’t deep enough to cover their whole bodies, and their skin can’t take that much direct sunlight/heat. So, every once in a while, they do a 360 in the water. What I mean by that is they roll over, submerging their head/back and sticking all 4 legs in the air at the same time. As Erin Leidl might say, it was the craziest thing I ever saw.

We saw a lot of birds and antelope-type things I can no longer remember the names of, and then another party of vultures. That suggested a recent kill. And there, just down the road, was a cheetah. Another of The Big Five! (Our guide saw a rhinoceros at one point, but I cannot claim to have seen it. It was a grayish blob on the horizon as far as I could tell.) On our way out of the park we saw hartebeests, both dead and alive, and another male lion, most likely the murderer. The last bit of the park is more forest-like, and here we saw a vervet monkey and a pair of elephants – blowing water with their trunks, using one leg to scratch the other, yanking out greens and eating them for lunch, and cooling themselves with mud.

It was an amazing day. The beauty and scale of the place is – for my skills anyway – indescribable. The experience of seeing wild animals, in person, also defies words. I kept thinking, and saying to Erin, “Who gets to do this?!?” I am so glad and grateful to know that such a place exists, and is protected for the inhabitants of the park and for future generations.

My only “disappointment” was that giraffes – also Wilson’s favorite animal – cannot make it down into the Crater. That was quickly remedied on our drive back to Arusha, when several were spotted from the road as we passed near another park. What a day.

We returned to the Arusha bus park – this is when I saw a Tanzanian in a Flyers T-shirt! – and made our way to Mosque Street. We could hear the muezzin calling people to prayer and see the mosque from our hotel, which required my one and only “bucket shower” though I should say my water was quite hot. We decided to try a highly recommended bbq, though at least some of my reading had recommended against “street food”. We went looking for Zubeda’s Autospares. A mechanic shop by day, it turns into Khan’s bbq by night! We ordered the mixed grill for two. I stayed away from the salads and have to say it was an amazing meal. I believe this is where Erin lit up from within when she was told they had avocado juice. The perfect meal, we hoped, to fuel us through a very early and long bus ride, to Dar es Salaam, hopefully in time to catch the ferry to Zanzibar late that afternoon.

(stay tuned for more from TZ and beyond)

[Thank you, Megan! Notes from our journey in Tanzania.]

In Kiswahili the word safari means trip or journey, not just a trip to see animals in the wild. My safari began the evening of Oct. 28^{th, after drinks with Cait and Jill at Boston’s Logan airport. I landed in Dar es Salaam – the economic if not political capital of Tanzania – on the morning of the 30ieth, over 24 hours later. My flight to Kilimanjaro didn’t leave until late afternoon, but I had a to-do list: pick up and pay for the two in-country flights I’d reserved via Skype, change some money into Tanzanian shillings, find an internet cafÈ to see if I’d heard from a contact in Dar, and call Erin to let her know I’d made it. Hopefully, I would also do something because I couldn’t take another full day in an airport. (I spent the 29th in Heathrow.)}

Upon arrival to the ticket office, I learned that my flight from Kigoma to Dar had been cancelled. Luckily, the woman befriended me, booked me on another airline for a similar price, paid a friend of hers to call Erin on his cell phone, and hooked me up with a driver to take me somewhere to hang out until it was time for my flight to Kili. I was shocked when they said it would be $20, or 25,000 Tanzanian shillings, but I was too exhausted to argue/negotiate. So I went to a fancy hotel and had coffee in a beautiful setting overlooking a garden. While there I did some research and discovered that taxis between the airport and Dar center are a set price, $20. Also, that a night at this hotel would be $269 US. Yowza.

Several hours later I was on a flight to Kilimanjaro, and then, there was Erin, with a taxi driver to take us to Arusha. Our first choice was booked so we ended up at L’Oasis. Why? Erin had read about their Kilimanjaro nachos. Made to look like the mountain. (They turned out to be fried wontons with mozzarella on them, which wasn’t the right cheese, but it was real cheese, which was enough for her.)

By the time we checked in I had been traveling for 38 hours. I didn’t know which end was up nor what to make of the last bit of the drive – we turned off a paved road and headed up a very narrow, very rocky dirt road that was very dark and lined with small buildings/shacks/rooms with corrugated tin roofs and lots of people and activity. I felt so conspicuous, two white women in a taxi, crawling up this road that didn’t feel as if it was meant for cars. Erin laughed and said I should see the roads in Uganda.

We arrived at the hotel and the gates were opened for our taxi. We checked in, had dinner and our first Tanzanian beer, a Kilimanjaro. After, a staffer walked us “home” to our building (the hotel spanned both sides of the road) and informed us that he would be downstairs in a chair in the courtyard all night. By the time I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night I had completely forgotten about him and nearly jumped out of my skin when he appeared to escort me to the bathhouse! This type of security was not something we’d seen a lot on our travels in Namibia. But it was true across TZ: I was escorted to the bank in broad daylight; we were walked to the bus station at 445 one morning; our campsite had overnight security (two Masai warriors) as did the fancy hotel the airline put us up in when it cancelled our flight (one per floor, 13 floors). Strangers also looked out for us on occasion, asking where we were staying as we left a restaurant, in case they should have someone walk us. On the one hand this was reassuring; on the other hand, it made me a tad nervous – how necessary was all this security anyway?

We spent the next day in Arusha running errands – trying to get Erin’s cell phone to work in TZ, researching options for visiting the Ngorogoro Crater, and shopping for food since we were planning on camping. The guidebook was spot on about the street touts – known in Kiswahili as papasi or ticks – and their strategies (e.g. “I met you yesterday!”). In at least one section of town, if you are white, you must be a tourist looking to book a safari. Or, perhaps you’d like to see their shop? When we realized the office we were looking for was closed for renovations, a few touts offered to take us to the temporary office … which turned out to be their place of business. Even the Arusha Tourism Board was unhelpful, telling us our plan – to take public transport to Karatu and hire a car and driver there – was not a good one, we could very well be stuck in Karatu for days, looking for a car. We also had some nice meals and explored other areas of Arusha. It was Saturday, a popular day for weddings. In fact, we witnessed one part of about 7 of them – a brass band driving around town on the back of a flatbed truck, playing their hearts out. In one case, there was also a truck whose cargo was bridesmaids all decked out in light green.

The next morning, after a very chilly breakfast in front of a crested crane (the national bird of Uganda, which seemed like a good omen!) that seemed to be performing just for me, we caught a taxi to the bus park. The bus park was swarming with familiar-looking buses, schoolbus-like buses, and a slew of cars, taxis, and folks selling everything from gum to soda to mobile phone airtime. As our taxi worked its way through the park, our car was surrounded – we had to crawl along in order to not run anyone over. A little disconcerting, but we managed to find the spot to organize public transport. Not the first, not the last, time I felt like we were the television show everyone else was watching.

We asked which was the next car leaving for Karatu and a white station wagon-ish vehicle that had seen better days was pointed out to us. The back seat was already occupied by a family of four (though another adult squeezed in not long out of town). Erin and I had dibs on two seats in the middle row. All that was left to do was wait for 3 more passengers – one to share the middle with us (though it ended up being two) and two for the front passenger seat. It’s as if you hailed a taxi, but it doesn’t leave until 4 more people arrive who want to go to the same destination. As we waited, I notice what appeared to be a white bat painted on the back windshield but figured that couldn’t be right. In fact, it was. Our car was named Father Batman. As was our driver, a man in a kofia (a muslim-style cap) wearing a bright red T-shirt showing a Latino-looking couple in an advertisement for scented condoms (strawberry and banana). As would be true almost every time we got in a hired vehicle, we had to stop for gas almost immediately, now that our fares enabled paying for it.

While we started with a legal load, we picked up passengers almost immediately and “something” was worked out at the police checkpoints along the way. With stops to drop off and pick up passengers at villages along the way, and to allow cattle to cross the road, it took several hours to get to Karatu. The cattle were being herded by Maasai – a nomadic people found in northern Tanzania and Kenya, known for their distinctive dress (predominantly red cloth wraps), jewelry, the walking and “lion stick” (Lewis, E, 2009) they carry and body modifications. For example, the security guard at our campsite had stretched his ears so far that I could literally have put my fist through the hole in his lobe. It used to be that killing a lion was a rite of passage for adolescent males; so much so that the Maasai apparently believe that lions are afraid of them. Can you imagine what it must feel like to think a lion would flee from you in fear?? It’s apparently this warrior reputation that results in jobs as askari (guards). It’s interesting seeing this group function in the modern world. In Karatu we passed a traditionally dressed Maasai who was chatting away on a mobile phone while wearing a fanny pack and a puffy coat. In Zanzibar we saw stylish sunglasses and headlamps.

This is probably a good place to mention that everyone has mobile phones. It works differently than in the US in that you buy time as you go; you don’t pay a lot of money up front for a particular plan. So Erin and I would periodically buy 5000 TZS of air time from one of numerous guys on the street, and they would load it directly onto her phone. Even in places where there was no running water or electricity, most people had phones. Erin explained that, in those villages, a person with a car battery can open their own business: charging people’s mobile phones.

Upon arrival in Karatu, we arranged for a campsite ($14) and a car and driver ($150) for the next day’s trip to the Ngorogoro Crater, tried in vain to find a supermarket so we could make lunch for our safari, and generally poked around town. (Note: Erin carefully inspected each of the four available 4WD cars to find the “best one”.) We set up the tent too:

We found the Kudu Lodge, a beautiful place rumored to have a view of the crater whose most prominent feature (in our minds anyway) was a statue of two lions brutally and bloodily mauling a kudu.

To be continued….

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.