Proof of my abentures

Between a busy week and spastic internet, I finally got pictures of my July "abentures" online. To see them, click here. Hope you enjoy!

Coming Home

Yesterday I reentered Uganda via the Entebbe airport, arriving on a flight from Kenya. My friend Megan and I took a quick three-day vacation to Nairobi over the weekend and while the trip was refreshing and fun, it was surprisingly uneventful. Nairobi is more western than any city I've seen here in Uganda. But most surprising wasn't Nairobi's stock of foods I haven't had in six months or the fun I had relaxing at a beautiful conference center, it was how I felt when I stepped off the plane in Entebbe and breathed in the Ugandan air. The smell of burning trash and diesel fuel flooded my nose as I stepped out of the plane, onto the stairs leading to the tarmac. Warm twilight air greeted me and I immediately regretted the socks, sneakers, jeans and long sleeved shirt I had worn to ward off goose-bumps in Kenya. Familiar smells and warmth reassured me that nothing had changed in three days. The comfort I've felt upon arriving into the San Jose airport at the end of a long trip or long time away from the Bay Area rushed over me—I really was home again.

Over the weekend I said many times, "I live in Uganda." I even told some Kenyans that we were from Uganda. I knew they assumed that I wasn't claiming Ugandan nationality, but it was true in a sense—we'd come from there, and that was where we were headed. While Megan leaves in a few weeks, Kampala is my home for at least the next six months and I'm comfortable here. 'I'm used," as the Ugandans would say. I'm used to waking up at 5:30 a.m. to the morning call to prayer from a nearby mosque. I'm used to checking both ways 30 times before crossing the street to keep from being flattened by bus, bike, or boda. I'm used to being called "Mzungu" and watched as I walk down the street. I'm used to seeing women carrying bananas on their heads or selling fresh produce on the sidewalk. I'm used to seeing four-year-olds carrying six-month-olds on their backs. I'm used to (but not taking for granted) the beauty of the seven hills on which Kampala is situated. I'm used to my routine of work, working out, dinner alone or with friends, relaxing with a good book, going downtown to meet up with acquaintances, going to different churches every Sunday, running errands around the city, and taking Matatus or boda-bodas to the other side of town. I'm used to seeing men pushing awkward loads, like a bed frame, on a bike. I'm used to seeing children beg on the street, imploring me for money. I'm used to going places without directions and having to ask for help. I'm used to having no plans, just ideas. I'm used to throwing out any agenda I set because Africa just doesn't run on a schedule. This is normal. I'm used.

Pictures of my July adventures, like my friend Phoebe's visit, my hike in Eastern Uganda and my trip to Kenya, will be coming soon! Check back in the next couple of days!

Big "Abentures"

Getting out of the public taxi-van, Cassie and I wade through a crowd of boda-boda drivers clamoring for our business. We don't know where we we're going yet, so how could we tell a boda driver where to take us? Stretching our cramped bodies from being squished into one seat for three and a half hours, we look beyond the little town, into the Mornee Hills. "Is that where we're headed?" I ask, pointing at the hills. "I think so—they're the only mountains around here, and we're in Mbale," she replied. Ok, we're in the right region, those are the only mountains we see, so by process of elimination…yep—that has to be where we're headed.

Ten minutes later we're zooming down Mbale's main drag, warm air whipping at our faces. We break out into giggles—I mean, could we have any less of a clue? We don't even know where the hiking trail begins. Our boda-boda driver indicated he knew what we were talking about, but as he zips up and down a local dirt road, we only seem to be driving alongside the hills rather than getting closer to them.

"Um, can you take us closer?" Cassie asks our driver while pointing to the hills.

"There?" He asks.

"Yes, there," she affirms. A few minutes later we're still no closer.

"Ssebo, please stop…Stop," Cassie commands. Hopping off the bike we look between the driver and the hills.

"We want to go there, Ssebo. Do you know the way?" I ask him in my Ugandan-English accent.

"Where?" He asks blankly. I look at Cassie. He has no idea what we're asking, and no idea where he's going. He's just driving. We laugh, because we both know what I'm thinking. My "Oh Africa" look says it all. Just then, an elderly man comes up to us. "Where are you going?" he asks in English.

"We want to hike, um, I mean walk, to the top of those hills," I answer.

"The Mornee Hills?"

"YES!!" I chirp, thrilled that someone knows what we're talking about. What a relief—we're not delusional. "Yes, do you know if there is a path to the top?" I ask eagerly.

"You want to go? But who will you go with? Who will show you the way?" He quizzes.

"We just want to go alone. Is there a path? We'll just follow that." By now we're surrounded by a crowd of children and a few young women, wondering what these two white women and a boda man could be up to. I hear children whispering "Bzungu" under their breaths. Yes, "whiteys." "Stand out" doesn't even begin to describe the scene that this is amounting to.

"Yes, there is a path, just back there."

"Great, can you please direct our boda driver to where it starts?" I implore. Directions flying in a Lutoro, I hope our driver's getting it all. Clearly confused, the driver looks from the old man to us. The man interprets. "You can take a car?"

Oh boy, I think to myself. "No, no," I explain slowly and patiently, "we want to walk. He should just get us close to a path that goes to the top. Or a road that goes to the top. But we will walk."

Finally the driver is convinced he knows where he's going. Thanking the man and our audience, we hop back on the boda to head back where we came from. Laughing all the way down the road, we wonder where we'll actually end up. If we get up the mountain, great. If not, the past 20 minutes have been entertaining enough for us to go back to Kampala with a great story.

Wow. Banana trees, simple mud homes, and lush greenery surround us on both sides. To our left are high cliffs, while our right stretches out far and flat. As we walk past peoples' homes, children run from their front doors up to the edge of the road waving and yelling "Bzungu! Bzungu! Howareyou?" Mile-wide grins are plastered across their little faces as we wave back. "Fine! How are you?" we reply without stopping, leaving them little time to respond as we pass. Some kids follow us for a while; some implore us for money, hands outstretched, impish grins on their faces. They know what they're asking for, and they know it's just because we're white. They see white and think green. Cassie and I keep up our conversation about our favorite books and soon the kids fall back. We've been walking along a local road for an hour, without seeing a path into the hills, but beauty surrounds us and we're happy just to be outside; outside of the city, outside of the smog, outside in eastern Uganda. We've committed to turning around and making our way back to town at 2 p.m. so we don't miss the bus. But for the next three hours, we're just going to follow the road, maybe to Oz. We don't know.

"What? There's a path just a few meters back? Can you show us?" Cassie asks the young man we've interrupted from his midday break. He cheerfully leaves his post and walks us the hundred meters to the start of the path. "Thank you, thank you!" we cheer. Finally, a way to the top! It almost seems too good to be true—we are actually doing what we came to do, without any maps or guides, just through the help of people we meet. The ascent is pretty steep with very few switchbacks, but it's fantastic. We stop every once in a while to catch our breath and admire the view as we get higher and higher. Uganda is so flat! It's incredible to look out onto so much land without the smallest hill in sight. When we reach the rock wall, we discover that the path essentially requires some bouldering techniques. Hand holds are even carved into the rocks we're climbing over, to assist our ascent. It turns out that the path is actually a local path used by people to get up and down to various farms and resources on the mountain. Even on the "bouldering" section we find ourselves being passed by Ugandans without shoes and bunches of bananas on their heads. Cassie and I just smile at each other. Of course that's how they'd go up, while we're struggling not to slip and fall.

But we make it. It's a grand view. It actually reminds me of a view I had in England last summer, overlooking the moors from a tall cliff. There are distinct plots of land, but the green here is different than England—it's much more vibrant and one can clearly make out the banana trees which I'm sure are hard to find in Britain. The view takes our breath away but reminds us that we're hungry. Pausing for an apple break, we take in all that we are seeing. Smiling and chomping and happy. Just a few minutes later we head back down. While coming up was tedious, going down is that much more frightening. We precariously scoot on our butts to keep from sliding off the side of the mountain. We pass two children, a girl and boy no more than 6 and 8. They quietly watch us attempt to maneuver down the rocks. As I hesitate before finally resorting to bottom-sliding, I hear the kids burst into full belly laughs—one of the most innocent, sweetest sounds I've ever heard. Seeing myself and Cassie from their eyes I burst out laughing as well and laugh with them for a few minutes. Their giggles take a while to quiet, but I'm not embarrassed—I'm sure I looked ridiculous to them.

Safely down the mountain, we headed back into town in time to wash our hands, enjoy some water at a café, and make the bus back to Kampala. What a splendid "abenture," as a friend of mine would say. A day full of unknowns but plenty of wonderful surprises.

Rest and Relaxation

What an incredible relief. Last week one of my best friends from college, Phoebe, flew thousands of miles from San Diego, California, to Kampala, Uganda, to visit me. Granted that she and her family had already planned a 3 week vacation in East Africa, I still felt incredibly special to have her diverge from her family’s plans just to visit me here.

It is amazing to me just how well God knows what we need and when we need it. The week before Phoebe’s arrival was basically the worst week I’d had yet. Due to a number of circumstances, I was feeling beat up, worn out, and simply done trying to make life “work” here. I had anticipated needing to get away with Phoebe—away from my Kampala bubble. I had booked a room for us at a resort on the Nile River, but plans fell through. But as we prepared for a few more days in my flat, my boss invited us to house-sit her very westernized home for the weekend while she was on vacation!

Two nights in a deliciously comfortable bed (it felt so indulgent it should have been fattening) and two days spent lounging on cushy couches, gabbing with my friend, was just what the doctor ordered. Not only could I relax but I wasn’t required to have my “game face” on. I was free to be myself with someone who knows me well and loves me in spite of myself. I was able to process some of my recent experiences with an experienced traveler. I was also able to celebrate incredible developments in her life and to listen as she opened up about the past few months. We talked about work, travels, friends, relationships, heartache, challenges and blessings.

Phoebe is someone who encourages me to be a better person. 4 days with her taught me so much about how I want to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way whether it be an Ultimate Frisbee game, chance to improve my public speaking skills, a Bible study group, time with a new acquaintance, whatever. I’m not just talking big opportunities like jobs or world-travelling adventures, although those shouldn’t be excluded from possibility—who am I to limit possibility? I’m talking about living daily life with greater abandon, with an eagerness to experience all that life has to offer. That seems to be how Phoebe lives.

Last week was a very relaxing, rejuvenating week, and I am so grateful for it. The summer is whizzing by in the busyness of work, and it was wonderful to have a few days to unwind with a close friend. As I come to the half-way mark of my time in Uganda in just a few days, it is good to be reminded that although life has trying periods, I have a great deal to be thankful for.

Matoke Dreams

Last week I dreamt that I had come home from Uganda for Christmas and was sitting down with my family and relatives for Christmas dinner. As food circulated the table someone passed me a bowl of something warm, starchy and yellow—which could only mean one thing—matoke! I gleefully jabbed my spoon at the mound in front of me, expecting to dig out a heaping helping of the dense starch, only to discover that the spoon slid right in without any resistance. The mound was, in fact, just mashed potatoes. Horrified by the nightmarish lack of Ugandan food at our table, I awoke and realized I have six more months in Uganda. Six more months of matoke. What a relief.

Month In Review: Top 10 experiences in June

10. Meeting Megan Gary, our office’s new summer legal intern. Her arrival settled the confusion which had developed in the office over my reference to another “Megan.” Before she arrived, every time I spoke about the new Megan who was coming for the summer, my colleagues thought I was referring to myself in the third person. Clearly Megan is not a popular name here.

9. Dinner at my boss’ house with ladies from the office and a couple good friends—girls’ nights like these provide a sense of normalcy while living so far from what I consider “normal.” It’s good to know that girls’ nights happen all over the world!

8. Meeting clients from work. Their stories are absolutely inspiring. I look forward to a point when I can share their stories with all of you. The struggles of poor women in this country are overwhelming and yet it’s not our clients’ past and present plight that brings me to tears. It’s when they’re freed from oppression and begin to espouse joy and hope which makes me cry [happy tears].

7. Aerobics class at a nearby hotel. Thank goodness for my college aerobics class! Without it I’d be useless in this predominantly male, Ugandan aerobics class (I’m talking 100% Ugandan and 85% male). I’ve never stood out more for being white and female than I do in this class—but I love it! Good music and a good sweat—what could be better?

6. Birthday celebrations for the "new" Megan and another friend named Timmy. They were great excuses for delicious food, ice cream, cake, karaoke, movies, and board games.

5. 3 hour church service at a small Ugandan church. It sure made me thankful for 1-1.5 hour services in air conditioned buildings in the States! While long and tedious (trust me—staying awake has never been harder to do), I was reminded that the community of God is found worldwide, and I am lucky to be in place where I do not have to hide my faith.

4. Visiting the Nile River for the first time with 5 girl friends (click on this link http://picasaweb.google.com/megangarn/Nile to see photos from this trip). What an incredible sight! Besides spending time watching the river rush by we also cheered Kristen on as she bungee jumped, took photos with Bengali soldiers (see number 4), and had guacamole at a local cafe! The Nile was incredible but to be quite honest, I think the guacamole was reason enough to travel the 1.5 hours to Jinja.

3. Taking photos with 15 Bengali soldiers who acted as though myself and my 5 American girl friends were a literal American Dream. As we were sitting near Bujagali Falls on the Nile, the soldiers (also touring the area) walked up to us, literally pushed their way into the 4 inch gap between each of us, and took turns taking each other’s photos with us American ladies. I must have been in at least 15 photos. I wonder if Lady Liberty ever gets tired of posing for pictures?

2. Being named “Namatovu” by the Resident District Commissioner (top political figure) or RDC, of the Mukono district of Uganda. A personal meeting with him and a few of my colleagues led to a discussion of Luganda names bequeathed on expats. Upon learning that I had no such name, the Big Man himself named me “Namatovu,” the name of his personal clan. I am now Megan Garner Namatovu.

1. Going to Legal Education, the community outreach program led by our office attorneys where, upon being introduced to the seminar participants as Megan Namatovu, I met a fellow Namatovu clansman. My Matovu (male version of Namatovu) brother was an older gentleman who warmly held out his hands to me and greeted me as family. Having a Luganda name has made me feel much more a part of the Luganda culture because everywhere I go I seem to meet a Namatovu clansman and more of my Ugandan family.

Looking forward to July: I get to spend 4 full days with one of my best friends from college, Phoebe Hamann! I am so excited to finally show someone from home what it’s like for me to live here. Plus, at this half-way point, it’s nice to see a familiar face! Let the gabbing begin!

Investing

What would you do if you were surrounded by street children begging you for money? They know you have money to give—you’re a Westerner. And to be honest, you do have more money than they do. What about when your neighbor asks for just $6.00 to get home to his village? And what would you do when someone begs you to give them a job or to help them start a business by fronting all the money they need to start said business? Do you give money to the crippled men sitting in doorways of slum shanties? Do you let go of the hand of a child who has slipped their fingers into yours, hoping to feel coins drop into their dirty palm? What would you do? What should you do?

I was faced with each of the above dilemmas last week, and I generally face the dilemma of money every day. What do I do? What should I do? What does it mean to “help” someone who is begging for money? Even if they’re hungry, should I perpetuate a system of begging? In speaking to friends I’ve learned that it is important to invest in people instead of simply giving people money. But what does that investment look like? And what do you do when time is limited—when people are starving?

It’s hard for me to know what to do about the constant begging. I’m not cold hearted, believe me. It brings tears to my eyes when I see a woman sitting against a pole outside the prominent expat shopping center, begging as she holds her newborn twins who are even lucky to be alive. But then again, are they lucky? What kind of life do they have ahead of them when their mother cannot feed herself? And is she lucky to have two more mouths to feed?

Last week, as I wandered downtown to go to a large clothing, food, and goods market called Oweno Market, my roommate, colleague and I stopped for a moment as Kristen (my roommate) made a quick 30-second phone call. In this short period the three of us were literally surrounded by 12-15 children pressing into us, holding up their hands, begging for money. When the call ended, we quickly moved down the street but not without the entourage of children following us. They finally fell back as we quickened our pace and made it clear we would not be giving out any change. But was that right? They have nothing, and we have so much. What should we have done? Either way—whether I give them money or not—I feel uneasy.

Investing in people—what does that look like? I still don’t have an answer to this, and may never. But it’s good to ponder. One way I have seen my roommate invest in the poor is by helping to manage a home for children here in Kampala. She’s been working with this home for more than 8 months now, and the 45 kids that live there just love her. The organization that sent Kristen here pays for the kids’ school fees, has provided them with a new home, and covers the cost of food and electricity, among other necessities. The home, Voice of Hope, is a place for needy kids to live and learn skills that will hopefully enable them become independent, responsible citizens someday. I hadn’t been to the home until last weekend when I spent the afternoon with her at the home. We were greeted by beautiful little children running up to the gate and throwing their arms around our waists. For over two more hours I watched some of the kids dance, sing, and perform acrobatic routines for us, while holding a little four-year-old boy named Vilanny on my lap. All the kids were so loving and sweet, and it was just fun to give them hugs and smiles. It was a really fun afternoon, and I look forward to many more visits with the kids. Who knows, maybe they’ll teach me the Luganda I’ve neglected to learn! The home is by no means perfect or a paradise, but it is a special place. I am thankful that this home exists, and that the kids have hope for a good future due to the investments made by Kristen and the home caretakers.

Kristen also works, along with some of the leaders of Voice of Hope, in a Kampala slum. On Wednesdays she helps facilitate arts and crafts projects or score a football (soccer) game. Their ministry in this slum is to street kids, a tougher bunch than those at the home. Kristen took me to the slum last week and it was definitely an eye-opening experience to walk through the reality of a street kid’s life: Sleeping on the dirt when it’s warm or sleeping in a large, metal cargo box when it rains. Walking around with nothing to do all day because they can’t afford school fees. Not going to school when they have the fees, preferring to get high from sniffing the paint-thinner-soaked-rags that they carry around everywhere. Begging for money or learning to steal it so as reduce their hunger pangs.

While these have been valuable, eye-opening trips into the “real” Kampala, what do I do with these experiences? How do I process them? For now I’m determined to keep asking questions of friends and colleagues, but am getting used to the fact that I may never have concrete answers.

I hope this has given you a sense of some of the things I have been experiencing and processing in the past couple of weeks. One of my greatest desires is to come in contact with reality while I’m here, so I hope I don’t shy away from future experiences such as these. Working in an office in the nicest neighborhood in Kampala can create a "bubble" effect, so I hope I can challenge myself to step outside of my comfort zone here.

Thanks for reading, and I love you all!

Meg

If you want to see photos of my time at the children’s home, go to the following website: http://picasaweb.google.com/megangarn/OhSoCute