Rwanda

Hey All,

Writing to you from an internet cafe in Kigali, the capital city of Rwanda.

The trip here might have been the most perfect trip of my life. Everything has been wonderful and I have a lot to update on the blog!

Will be back in Kampala tomorrow night and will update my blog then.

Back in NYC in 11 days - woo hoo!

Joe

Traveling to Rwanda

Hey everyone,

Making my first international trip on Friday morning.  Leave Kampala at 1:00 AM and taking a 12 hour bus to the Rwandan capital of Kigali.

Will be out of Uganda for almost 5 days so won't be able to post.

Maggie and I are going to check out Kigali, climb a volcano bordering the Democratic Republic of Congo and visiting the memorial sites for the 1994 genocide.

Should be a memorable experience.

Talk to you soon.  (God willing)  :)

Joe

Autobiography of a Yogi

"You speak with conviction, sir."

"I have long exercised an honest introspection, the exquisitely painful approach to wisdom.  Self-scrutiny, relentless observance of one's thoughts, is a stark and shattering experience.  It pulverizes the stoutest ego.  But true self-analysis mathematically operates to produce seers."

Friday, November 20th 2009

            Morgan and I woke up and walked to Miracle restaurant for more of the best tea in the world.  I’ve discovered that one of the secrets is to use boiled milk (as opposed to water) to steep the tealeaves.  I also know they use a lot of Indian tea masala spices – apart from that I can’t deduce their magical recipe.  I can just enjoy it.

            Morgan and I spent two hours at Miracle Grill sipping tea, eating chappati and debating over the social and economical quandries of Africa.  Morgan is vehemently anti-capatalistic and I believe that while capitalism has been used in a negative light in many places in the world, its not inherently evil and is the most important tool for social change.  Needless to say we get into some pretty robust conversations – but they’re always interesting.  I told Morgan that capitalism would never change as the preeminent social governing mechanism because it appealed to the core of humanity – concern for the well being of yourself.  Capitalism boils down to greed – it allows everyone to concern for their economic and social well-being and that’s is (fortunately or unfortunately) the basis for most human decisions.

            To take a line from Wall Street when Gordon Gecko addressed the board of Anacot Steel, “Greed is good.”

            Afterwards I went back to the room and read a bit. 

            At 12:00 Morgan and I went outside the Nsoma Hotel to wait for Solomon.

            The proprietor of Nsoma Hotel came out.

            “You boys want to come and pray at the mosque with me?”

            “We’d love to.”  Morgan said, “But we need to go teach at schools soon.”

            “Ah, okay.”  The man replied.  “I will pray for you.  I will pray for your health so you can continue coming back to the Nsoma Hotel and paying for rooms!”

            The man drove off.

            I looked at Morgan.  “See?  Told you so.  The basis of almost all human decisions is selfishishnes.  He’s only praying for us so we can give him more money.”

            Morgan laughed.  “Shut up Joe.”

            I’m not really that cynical J

            Meanwhile a half hour had passed and still no Solomon.

            I got a text from Solomon.  “Be there soon.  Sorry I’m late.” 

            We continued to wait.

            12:45

            1:00

            1:15

            1:30

            Finally I texted Solomon.  “We’re hungry and going to the Miracle Restaurant.  Meet us there.”

            Solomon and JP finally showed up at 1:40.  An hour and forty minutes late.  Sigh. 

            We finished eating and all jumped on boda boda’s to Sir Tito Winyi which is 40 minutes away via boda boda.  The route traverses through dirt roads with huge pot holes.

            The drive was nice, albeit dusty.  We saw a truck that had just crashed on the side of the road.  People were still trying to hoist it out of a ditch.  It was twisted like melted plastic – underneath the carriage I could see two broken axles. 

            When we finally got to Sir Tito Winyi we were all covered in dust.  Solomon’s and Morgan’s hair was red (I had a helmet so my face and hair were spared but the rest of me was covered).

            We sat down with only 5 kids – the rest were in exams.

            At one point I looked down at one of the kids binders to see, to my shock, swastikas drawn all over the binder.  He opened the binder and on the inside flap was a huge, ornate swastika.  I nudged Morgan.  He looked at it and then we looked at each other in disbelief.

            “Charles, whats with all those swastikas?”  I asked pensively.

            “I like them.”

            “I see.”  I continued, “Do you know what they mean?”

            “They are Hitler’s symbols.  He used them in Germany.”

            “Right, but do you understand what they represent?”

            Charles shook his head.

            “Do you know what genocide is?”

            Charles nodded.

            “Do you know about the Rwandan genocide?”

            He nodded.

            “If there was a symbol for that – would you write it all over your book?”

            “No of course not.  That was terrible.”

            “Then why do you think its okay to write the swastika that represented a whole different kind of genocide?”

            Charles shrugged.

            “Do you know what a concentration camp is?”

            Charles shook his head.

            “Do you know what the arian race is?”  Morgan asked.

            “No.”

            “Hitler killed everyone that didn’t fit a specific genre – people had to have blonde hair and blue eyes and look a certain way and worship a specific God.”

            Morgan stopped short of the obvious, the lesson would have been to scary for Charles, but the question I think we both wanted to ask was, “Do you know Hitler would have killed you and now you are promoting his ideology 60 years later?”

            We didn’t go there.

            “Charles, in the United States of America you would get expelled from school for writing that symbol on your book.  Its THAT bad.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes, really.”  I continued.  “When I get back in February I don’t want to see any more swastikas or I’ll take your binder.”

            Charles nodded.

            Weird.  It was weird to see someone so obsessed with such a powerful symbol who wasn’t aware of its maliciousness.  The folly of youth.

            After class Charles told me his dream – to be a US Marine.

            “Yes, but Marine’s come with a lot of power and you have to use that power wisely.”

            Charles nodded.  I hope I broke through in some capacity.

            Afterward class we took a matatu home.  We were fortunate to get one.  Sometimes it takes two hours to get transport from Sir Tito since it’s in the sticks.

            Morgan and I went to a local bar to have a beer and relax after a long day.  Shortly after sitting down a fat man with with loose, drunken eyes walked over.  He took one of the plastic chairs and put it on another one (he needed the support of two chairs) and sat down.  The man reminded me of Forsest Whitakers depiction of Idi Amin in “The Last King of Scotland.”  The man didn’t look altogether intelligent – he was, however, drunk.  My spider senses started ringing.

            The man didn’t ask if he he could sit down.  He didn’t ask if he could join.  He just pulled up his double chair and plopped down.

            “My name is King David the Messiah.”

            Wow, what an introduction.

            “Hello King David.”  I said.  “What do you do?”

            “I am a police officer in Hoima.”  He babbled.  “I’ve been a police officer for 30 years.”           

            “Nice to talk to you.”  Morgan said.

            “Yes, yes.”  He smiled “but please please no talk about homo’s.”

            My blood went cold.  Morgan and I shot a glance at each other.  Morgan has a lesbian sister and everyone reading this blog knows how I feel about LGBT rights.

We were both very cautious about our response.  As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs it’s a crime to be a homosexual in Uganda.  You can get beaten to death or lynched for an open admission of homosexuality.  Morgan and I are both straight but it dawned on us that this drunken police officer might have seen two mzungu’s (rare sight to see one, much less two) having a drink and decided to investigate.  There is a common belief here that westerners and Europeans routinely to Uganda to “recruit homosexuals.”

            I can’t be sure why David came over and said that to us, but I thought it was incongruous with a general “get to know someone” conversation.

            Instantly I was furious at this attitude and use of a hateful epithet, but in Hoima with a drunken police officer was not the place to defend LGBT rights.  It’s not like the United States – things can happen here.  Morgan and I bit our tongue and didn’t say anything (but we do later and its wonderful, keep reading).

            King David, the righteous fellow he is, goes on to tell us he has 14 children by 4 different wives.  He admits he was young and foolish and a bit of a wanderlust in his youth.  He has wives and children all over the country.  I didn’t want to ask the venerable King David, “the messiah” how he supported 14 children on a police officers salary (they are paid very poorly) – but again, I didn’t want to incite anger with a drunken police officer.

            King David kept ordering bottle after bottle of waregi – the local gin that has killed 20 people in the last month and made another 10 blind.  He offered me some.  I declined.  It was a bad situation.  We’d ordered food and couldn’t leave, but King David was going nowhere soon.

            We talked about this and that.

            He said Idi Amin was cruel and Milton Obote was an intellectual without the ability to control his retinue.  He said General James Kazini was an incredible army commander and Uganda mourned his loss.

            Finally we get back to why it’s bad to be a homosexual. 

            “David, we are both straight, we like women, but I want you to tell me why homosexuality is bad.”  Morgan said.  He’d had a few drinks and the liquid courage was rearings its head.

            David dithered about.  “I told you.  I don’t want to talk about homos.”

            That word again.  I simmered.

            “Well” Morgan continued, getting louder “I DO want to talk about it David.  I want to hear why it’s wrong.”

            “Because it says so in the bible!”

            “Who inspired the bible?”  Morgan asked.

            “God.”

            “But who wrote it?”

            “People.”

            “Is it possible that they got the message wrong?  That they didn’t understand God?”

            “No – it’s the word of God.”

            “I see – BUT – will you admit the bible has changed over 2,000 years as more and more people have contributed to it?”

            “Yes – it’s gotten better.”

            “So what you’re saying is that man has improved upon God’s word?  Is that possible?”

            King David looked confused.  He clearly hadn’t thought about this.  He and I were diametrically unlike – I question everything and he committed the scripture to memory and then gave forth unrealized abstractions. 

            Morgan continued.  “Well, I don’t think the bible is a good excuse.  David.  Yeah?  I think it’s a tainted document.  Yeah?”

            He kept saying “yeah” and it was engaging and antagonistic.  The mood had shifted from simple conversation to something harder.

            “Men and women fit together.  Men are hard and women are soft.  God made us to fit together so we could have children.”  King David said.

            I interjected.  “So if I marry a woman and we don’t have kids, or we can’t have kids are we also considered on the samel level as homosexuals?”

            King David was flustered.  Clearly he’d never had to back his beliefs to anyone before.  He took a massive sip of warregi.

            “Okay.”  He continued, “Here is an analogy.  When you are cooking eggs its good to have both eggs and oil.  If you cook eggs with oil they come out nice and delicious.  If you cook eggs with just eggs and salt they don’t taste good.”

            Morgan lifted off.

            “THAT’S HOW YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS.  YOU LIKE THEM WITH EGG AND OIL.  YEAH?  BUT IF I LIKE MY EGGS WITH JUST SALT WHY DO YOU CARE?  YEAH?  WHY DO YOU CARE HOW MY EGGS TASTE?”

            It was one of the most beautifully constructed responses I’ve ever witnessed.  King David couldn’t argue on our level so he brought it to an analogy and again Morgan stopped him cold in his tracks.

            “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”  David retorted.  “Lets eat chicken.”

He ordered a piece of street chicken and we ate it.  I texted Morgan, “Good job tonight buddy.”

            It was but a small victory, but for one night we’d made someone reassess their blind beliefs.  I told Morgan it was time to go.  We’d come dangerously close to disrespecting King David (Morgan was practically screaming and pointing his finger in David’s face during the egg analogy discussion).  Upsetting a drunk police officer in Hoima probably wasn’t the most prudent course of action.

            We walked away smiling.

Thursday, November 19th 2009

            Morgan and I set off for Hoima this morning.

            We awoke at 5:30, got our stuff together and departed at 7:00. 

            We got to the bus park at 8:00.  We were inundated by men trying to get us to board their bus.  Again, I have to laugh because they all yell for us to board their bus when they don’t even know where we’re headed.

            Finally we found the bus company I like (Link) and spoke with the conductor.

            “When does this bus leave?”

            “Soon.”  He said.           

            “When?”  I replied.  I wanted a concrete time.

            “9:30.”

            I looked at my watch.  It was 8:20.  “You want to grab some breakfast and then come back?”  I asked Morgan.

            He nodded.

            “Okay sebbo, two tickets.”

            I bought tickets from another man.  “When does this bus leave?”  I asked again.

            “10:00.”

            Bad sign.  We’d lost another half hour in 30 seconds.

            We walked on the bus.  It was empty.

            “This bus ain’t leaving till 11:30.”  Morgan said. 

            I agreed.

            “You can leave your stuff here and go get something to eat.”  A man without a uniform told Morgan and I.

            “Who are you?”  I asked.  “Do you work here?”

            He didn’t understand my question.

            He took Morgan’s bag and put it in the front of the bus.  “Its okay – leave it here.”

            Morgan and I looked at each other and laughed.

            “Its not okay sebbo.”  He said.

            We grabbed out bags and went in search of a restaurant.

            We found a place across the street called Al Malik restaurant.  It was located four stories up.

            We sat down and a waitress came over.’           

            “What food do you have?”  Morgan asked.

            “We have food and drink.”  The lady responded.

            We laughed to ourselves.

            “Umm, what type of food and drink?”  I asked.

            “Matoke and tea.”

            Oh YUM.

            “We’ll have that.”  Morgan said.

            The matoke wasn’t good but the tea was nice.  We hung out there until 9:30 and walked back to the bus.  When we got on I knew we weren’t leaving for a long time.

            Long story short we sat on the bus for almost three hours before it took off.  Its easy to dismiss that “3 hour” number when reading someones blog…but think about it.  THREE HOURS on a stationary, hot bus in a pollution filled bus park.  It was really painful.

            We finally rolled our of Kampala at 12:00.  We’d already been travelling for 5 hours and hadn’t gotten out of Kampala.  Sweet.

            The bus BLASTED Ugandan rap videos the entire 3 hour trip.  I nearly lost it.  Thank God I had earplugs.  Poor Morgan had to deal with the sound without the buffers of earplugs.

            I noticed something weird about Ugandan people on the bus.  They never bring anything to read or write or keep themselves entertained.  I don’t know if its because most of them cant afford books, but I find that when I’m reading a book I usually have a few people peering to see what I’m reading, and, if they can, reading along with me.  The other day I was reading an excellent collection of short stories by one of my favorite contemporary authors A.M. Holmes called, “Things You Should Know.”  Anyways, A.M. Holmes is definitely a gritty, salacious writer and I was reading a particularly provocative story when I noticed the person next to me was reading along.  I had to close the book I didn’t want to upset anyone (it’s a very conservative culture here).

            When we got to Hoima Morgan and I went to Miracle restaurant for some tea and chappati.

            Shortly thereafter JP (a orphan refugee from the DRC) and Solomon (Educate! mentor) met up with us.  They had VERY disturbing news for me. 

            The last time I was in Hoima you might recall I visited a refugee / orphan camp near Kitara High School.  I met Twisenge who was the leader of the mens group and I also met Jeniffer who was a young girl from the Congo who led the woman’s group.  I was very struck with how composed the young girl was.  She was so eloquent and graceful and also quite pretty for a girl.  You could tell she’d grow up to be beautiful some day.  She had very striking features and I remembered her sticking out amongst the group for her different facial features and the fact she was wearing a bright orange shirt.  She was the girl who led the group in prayer and who thanked me for coming to visit their hostile.  It was very touching.  Here is an excerpt from when I visited the hostile on October 1^st 2009:

Then Twisenge and Solomon walked me to the girl’s dorms.  By this time all the boys from their dorm heard news there was a visitor and soon enough I was surrounded by refugee orphans.  It started to rain so we were ushered into a large blue room with a single light bulb hanging in the middle of the room.  I looked at their faces glistening with sweat and the sudden rain.  There are about 50 children (young adults) in COBURAS and most of them crammed into the room.  They made such a BIG deal that I was there.  They talked for about a half hour and then waited with baited breath for me to say a few words – per usual I stammered and stuttered and said nothing prophetic, but was thanked “for my wonderful words.”

Here comes the emotional part – after I spoke we joined hands and they sung a prayer to God.  The song thanked God for all their blessings (them being alive…them not starving…them having shelter) and they were SO thankful.  And I looked around the room and not ONE of them had shoes…10-15 of them were stricken with malaria and were too weak to see me…and THEY were thanking for God for their blessings.  Their strength of spirit and indomitable faith was almost too much for me and for the first time since I’d been to Africa my eyes welled up with tears.  There are no words to describe the sorrow in my heart for them.  I thank God I wasn’t one of those kids.  I don’t know that I would be as strong as them. It was a truly touching and life changing moment.   It was surreal that I was there.

Afterwards I hugged all of them.  Even the ones with malaria came out to hug me and then go back to bed.

Outside I met Emmanuel…the refugee charged with helping the COBURAS deal with the ravages of malaria.  I found it ironic that we stood outside being stung by mosquitoes while we discussed malaria prevention.  By the way – malaria is rampant and ruthless in Uganda.  People get it several times a year and it’s a chronic disease that can kill you 40 years after you get it.  I don’t think they know that.

 

 

            Anyways, Solomon looked at me.  “I have some bad news for you Joe.”

            I looked at him.

            “Jennifer died.”

            I looked at him.  “Who is that?”

            “The girl leader from the refugee hostile.”

            “The one that led the girls in prayer last time?  The one that thanked me for coming?  She wore an orange shirt?”

            Solomon nodded.

            I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.  Last time I wrote how I almost cried when the refugees were thanking God for all their blessings (and I stood there, praying with them, knowing they really had NO blessings) and a month later the girl who had led those prayers was dead.  It was absolutely sickening.

            Again, you can see the trenchant different between my life and theirs.  I take Malarone, a daily malaria prophalactic that renders me immune to the deadly disease and it still takes the lives of the poor here.

            After a month praying together she was dead and I was alive.

            She was 14.  Half my age.

            Oh my.  Blinders.

            JP was visibly disturbed.

            “It will be hard to find another leader like her.”  He murmured.  “But what can we do?  We bury her and move on.”

 

            Everyone reading say a prayer for Jennifer.  How sad.

 

            Afterwards we set off for Duhaga.  There were grasshoppers EVERYWHERE – it lookd like a plague from the bible or something.  They are about the size of a thumb.

            Morgan and I promised Solomon we’d eat grasshoppers. 

            We finally got to Duhaga and I had a focus groups with the kids.  I put together a questionnaire so I could assess their competency understanding the basics of borrowing and lending.  I need to make sure our kids understand concepts like principal and interest before I cant set them up with a microfiance organization.  The results were disheartening.  I don’t know if the kids were nervous or if they really didn’t know the questions I was asking…but I am not comfortable linking them with one.  Sigh.  I am trying…

            After class the kids showed me the farm where they were planting vegetables (proceeds from the sale of vegetables is used to defray school costs for children struggling to pay their school fees).  I watched as children ran around catching grasshoppers and shoving the live bugs into their pockets. 

            Solomon called one of them over.  “Show Joe what you have in your pockets.”

            The kid reached in and pulled out a handful of these huge bugs.  They were squirming around.  It was nasty.”

            The kid put all of them but one back in his pocket.

            “You have to watch out for their teeth.  They bite.”  He pointed at a pair of large green teeth-looking things.

            “This is how you prepare them.”  He held the bug out and tore off the arms and legs until it was just a torso.  “You can eat them like that or you can cook them.”

            He held out the grass hopper to me.  I declined – secretly feeling bad for the legless / armless grasshopper the little boy shoved back into his pocket.  Gross.

            On the way back I realized I didn’t see Ishmaela, the girl who I’d eaten lunch with at the cluster retreat two weekends before.  She’s the one that lost both parents, lived with her aunt and had to commute to boarding school because she was too poor to pay boarding fees.

            “Where is Ismaela?”  I asked.

            “She’s very sick with malaria.”

            Sigh.  Another one.

            

Monday, November 19th 2009

            Today it was our fantabulous Monday Morning Mentor Meeting (M4).  I spoke for an hour about various business items I’m trying to incorporate at Educate! and then did mentor reimbursements.  Fun stuff.

            Afterwards I had to travel into Kampala to pay the MTN phone bill.  Maggie was bored so she decided to join with me.  We stopped at Quality Cuts on the way into Kampala and I got a sandwich and she got a coffee.  Good food and coffee and we had nice conversation.

            We paid the MTN bill and then neither of us wanted to head back to the Buziga compound.

            “Lets go on an adventure.”  Maggie said.

            “Okay.”

            “I need to buy some Indian spices.”  She said.  “There’s an Indian mart by Nakasero market.”

            We went to the Indian store and while Maggie perused the aisles I walked around looking at the various spices on the shelves.

            A man approached me.  My first thought was “this guy doesn’t work here.  Be careful.”  But then he picked some spices off the racks and tried to sell them to me.  There was a girl who I KNEW worked there that was standing close by.  I figured she’d have said something if the the guy didn’t work there.

            He smiled at me.  He was missing all his top front teeth.  “My name is Udi!”  He said.

            “Hi I’m Joe.”

            Udi went on to tell me about various friends he has in America (Bill in Colorado, Jim in California, Mike in New Jersey).

            “Hey – I have a bean I want to sell you.”

            I figured he worked there so he would show me a bean on the shelf.

            He started to walk out.

            “Wait”  I said.  “Do you work here?”

            He nodded and continued walking.  Hmm…something was wrong.

            As Udi neared the front of the store the proprietor yelled at him.  “Get out of my store.  I told you not to come back in here.”  He screamed.

            I walked over sheepishly.  “I’m sorry.  I thought he worked here.”

            The proprietor shook his head.

            “No no no – be careful with that man.”

            We walked out and Udi ran up to me.

            “There you are!  Come this way!  Come with me.”  He pointed down a side street.

            I was pretty furious he lied to me.  “Go away.”  I yelled at him.  “You lied to me and I wont buy anything from you.”

            He tried to tug at my arm.  I shot him a look of death.  He held out a vanilla bean.

            “I wont buy anything from you.  Go away.”

            He walked away.  I hate that I always have to be skeptical and on-guard but as soon as you stop being a cynic people take advantage of you.

            Next we walked to a hindu temple and Maggie showed me the different Gods and explained what they represented.  We had to leave our shoes outside. 

            “Whats the chance these shoes are here when we get back?”  I asked.

            “I hope they don’t get stolen.”  Maggie said.

            The temple was beautiful and eery and fascinating at the same time.  We walked around to the various paintings of the Hindu gods and then walked back out.

            Our shoes were still there.  A small win for us.  J

            We decided to walk to the largest outdoor market in East Africa.  It’s a few blocks long and deep and its located between Old Taxi Park and New Taxi Park. 

            The market is super interesting but its also notorious spot for pickpockets.  In fact, in all of Kampala its known as the one with the most thieves.  Now its not a particularly dangerous place, just a place abounding with pick pockets.

            Maggie and I know how to handle ourselves by now.  She tucked her purse underneath her arm like a football and I consolidated all my valuables in the front center pocket of my jacket. 

            Check AND check.

            We entered and it was just crazy and chaotic as we thought.  Mzungus aren’t a common sight in this place and everyone thinks we are dumb and have a lot of money – every single vendor  was screaming at us to buy their jeans and t shirts and fish and spatula’s.  It was so crowded and narrow and good were stocked so high and tarp was used to cover the top that it felt like we were underground.

            We found a store that sold hats.  Maggie found a cool hat.  I couldn’t find one that fit.  They were all used.  We laughed that these hats probably came from the US in goodwill boxes and now we were considering buying them.  Hey they make good conversation pieces, right?

            The market was really cool but definitely not what I’d call a tourist destination.  More on that in a second.

            Finally we figured out a way to get out of the market.  We walked outside and saw a section of Kampala I’d never seen.  Very impoverished and industrial and everyone was surprised the mzungu’s had found their way through the entire mart and popped out in this section of town.

“Want to walk in deeper?”  Maggie asked.

“Sure.”

We both peered down the muddy, ramshackle street.

“Do you think its safe?”  She asked.

“I don’t know.”  I admitted.  “Maybe its better to do it when we have more daylight.”

The sun was starting to set.

“Agreed.”

We set out to find our way back to Old Taxi Park.

We both agreed that if we took any Westerner to the market and the street behind the market they’d be in culture shock.  I can’t explain how different that world is from anything we have in the US.  Its not that Maggie and I are Mr. and Mrs. Africa – but getting acclimated to the lifestyle here definitely takes time and that market with its smells and sights and crowded stalls and people screaming mzungu would be too much for someone that just got to Kampala.  It takes a while before you can digest something like that.

            Afterwards the traffic was so bad we decided to walk to Ggaba Road (after the traffic) to get a matatu to Buziga.  Got into one and went to Le Petite Bistro a mzungu spot that’s famous for its steaks.

            Had a few beers and some great food and conversation.

            We had to figure out how to get home.

            “I guess we could walk.”  I said.

            “Is that safe?”  Maggie asked.

            “I don’t know.”

            Again we decided not to risk it.  We took a matatu to Ggaba and got off at Ggaba Road / Buziga Road intersection.  We were still a mile away from home but decided to walk it rather than risk a boda boda ride.  I didn’t have my helmet.

            We were walking.  A car zoomed past us, slammed on the breaks and backed up.

            A man poked his head out.  Hey we saw you up on Ggaba Road.  Would you like a lift?

            “No.”  I said sternly.  I didn’t want there to be any misinterpretation of my intention to walk.

            The car drove away.

            “That’s why it’s good travelling with a man.”  Maggie said.

            I agreed.

            Maggie’s phone has a flashlight on it and we used it as we walked along the dark roads of Buziga back to our compound.

In Hoima for 2 days

Hi everyone,

I'm headed to Hoima for the next 2 days / nights.

I'm travelling with Morgan (the child soldier expert).  We're going to tour Hoima and then Morgan is going further north to the Kyangwali Refugee Camp and I'm coming back.

Will be without the internet until I'm back in Kampala.

Catch ya'll on the flipside.

Joe

Sunday, November 15th 2009

            After such a great weekend Sunday was a bit anti climatic.  We woke up at 6:30 and headed off on another safari.

            After we got off the ferry Sam turned to us, “Today we are hunting for leopards.  If we see anything else it’s a bonus.”

            We tore around the savannah in different areas than we’d gone the day before. We saw a lot of the same animals.

            We passed a large ant mound at one time and Sam pointed at it.  “I love to eat the queen ants of those.”

            The Yale students and I looked at each other disgused. 

            “What does the queen aunt taste like?”  Deanna asked.

            “Sausage.”

            Hmm.

            We never saw the leopard but it was another fun day.

            On the way home Sam stopped multiple times to go “shopping.”  Mangos. Charcoal. Passion fruit.  Jack fruit.

            We fared better than our sister van.  It broke down somewhere between Masindi and Kampala. 

Los Angeles Times!!!

Exciting news!

I have been contacted by a reporter for the Los Angeles Times who is interested in my work.  She sent me the following questions and portions of my answers will appear in the Los Angeles Times.

This will be my first content published by a major media news outlet.  Exciting!

I will let ya'll know when the article is published.

Why I chose to do a volunteer sabbatical:

            I had always dreamed of volunteering in the developing world.  While working in corporate America for five years was rewarding and challenging, I wanted to use my skill set in a more altruistic manner while I had the means to do so.

            My decision to volunteer wasn’t completely selfless though - I knew that by volunteering in Uganda I’d be exposed to an extremely resilient, talented and diverse cross-section of people.  I wanted to engulf myself in a categorically different culture, because as Andre Gide said, “One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”

 

How my sabbatical has impacted me:

            When I told people I was volunteering in Africa for 6 months a common response was, “You won’t be the same person when you come back.”

            I was fine with that.  I am continually looking to evolve and grow as a person.

            Little did I know how much of an impact my sabbatical would have on me – its more than I could have ever asked for: increased confidence, renewed mental calm and clarity, a greater understanding of life, a more global understanding of the world and a vast satisfaction knowing my work is helping people.

           

How my sabbatical has impacted my career:

            Furthering your career and volunteering abroad are no longer mutually exclusive concepts.  Having a stint as a volunteer on your resume at once differentiates you and also conveys to your potential employer that you are more than an empty suit. 

            I am using the skills I garnered in corporate America to teach Ugandan high school students how to start and scale socially responsible businesses.              I have met other people using their professional competencies while volunteering - someone using his dancing background to spread AIDS awareness among the youth of Africa, someone else using her ceramics background to teach people vocational skills.  Volunteering allows people to strengthen their skills and to apply them in unorthodox scenarios that encourage creative thinking and problem solving.

            

Murchison Falls Pictures - Day Three

http://picasaweb.google.com/Joseph.Quaderer/MurchisonFallsDayThree?authkey=Gv1sRgCKfbqe6E3JSZ4QE#

Saturday, November 14th 2009

            We awoke at 6:30 to begin our day with a boat cruise up the Nile to Murchison Falls.

            We ate breakfast in the lodge when one of the girls that travelled to the rhino sanctuary with us (but in a different group) the day before walked over.  She was one of the people wearing open toe shoes, shorts and a tank top.

            “Do any of you have a scalpel or a very sharp knife?”  She asked.

            “We’re all doctors” one of the girls said.  “Whats the problem?”

            The girl lifted her foot.  “I wore sandals during the rhino tour yesterday.  A bug burrowed under my nail and layed eggs.”  She pointed at a guy standing on the other side of the room.  “That guy is also a doctor and he said it’s a jigger.  He said we need to get it out because it can cause disease.”

            “I have a leatherman?”  Dave said.  He pulled it out an opened the knife.

            The doctor guy walked over.

            The girl with the jigger showed it to him.  “Will this work?”

            “It’ll have to.”  He said.

            The British doctor looked at the group.  “Does anyone have any antibiotic cream?”

            Terri handed him a Purell hand sanitizer.

            “I also have antibiotic cream and band aids.”  I said.  “Do you want them?”

            The British doctor nodded.

            I walked to my tent and when I came back the girl was seated on a picnic table and the British doctor was about to dig in.

            “It’s burrowed pretty deep.”  He said.  “I’ll need to cut the nail away so I can get the head and the eggs out.  It’s going to hurt but you need to get it out.”

            The girl grimaced and looked away.  I also grimaced and walked away happy I wasn’t a doctor at that point.

            We watched from afar as the poor girl writhed in pain while the doctor dug under her nail with a relatively crude knife.

            After a half hour the doctor walked over.  He gave Dave his knife.

            “Did you get it all out?”  Dave asked.

            “Hard to say.”  The British doctor said.  “We got the body and most of the eggs but I can’t tell if we got the head out.”

            The girl limped over with her newly bandaged foot.

            “That’ll do for now.”  She said.  “I guess its good I’m going home in 2 weeks.”

            Indeed.

            That’s why you don’t wear shorts or open toe shoes in the bush.  Lesson learned.

           

            We left for our boat cruise down the Nile.  It was really incredible and we saw a slew of animals hanging out on the river: hippos, crocs, elephants, various birds, snakes, buffaloes, monitor lizards…etcetera…pictures are attached.

            We also saw the exact spot where Ernest Hemingway crashed his plane in 1954.  I was super excited to see the spot because I’d read about it quite a bit (I’m an Ernest Hemingway fan).

            We finally reached the falls and I really can’t emphasize the raw power coursing through that chasm.  The VAST Nile river was squeezed into a space of 7 meters in this gorge.  The tour guide said that 300 square meters of water passed through the gorge every second.   It’s hard to undertstand just how much water that is.  The force was so severe that it killed anything that went through it – even fish.  There was an area known as croc valley near the base of the falls – our guide explained to us that it was a popular spot because the crocs hung out and waited for mashed fish to float to them.  It’s much easier than hunting.

            We got off the boat and began our hike towards Murchison Falls.  Halfway along our trip one of the people in our group fell ill.  She didn’t appear to be the most physically fit person I’d ever come across and she looked seriously dehydrated.  We had to wait 45 minutes while she drank and recuperated.  It was okay though because I got to take a lot of great pictures of the falls.

            When we finally got to the falls the ground literally shook from the vibrations of the water coursing through.  I’ve never seen something so powerful in nature.  I’ve been to Niagara Falls but Murchison is the emobodiement of the power of water and mother nature.  The water was churned so much that it literally became frothy and filmy after making it to the bottom.  Awesome and scary at the same time.

            We came back to the Red Chili lodge (that’s the name of our lodge, I forgot to mention) and ate lunch.  One of the other guests left her plastic-wrapped sandwich on the table and when she left to buy a coke a warthog jumped up, grabbed the sandwich and ate it – plastic and all!

            Afterwards we took a “ferry” (umm, yeah scary) across to the northern side of the Nile.  Five years ago if you took a ferry across the Nile you’d probably have been attacked by the LRA (Lords Resistance Army).  Its safe now, but if you flip through a guide book that’s even 2 or 3 years old you’ll read how tourists are heavily advised against going north of the Nile.  Anyways…its safe now, but interesting to note how drastically things have changed in a couple of years.

            We crossed the Nile and Sam told us to make sure we had NO food items in the van.  He said that as soon as we crossed the van would be infiltrated by baboons and if they smelled food they’d go as far as entering the van and taking it out.

            We had no baboon problems.           

            We started out safari, sticking our heads out the top of the converted van.  It was absolutely incredible – we traversed across the savannah and looked at fields of rolling grass, baobub trees and blue skies stretching into eternity.  It was just like I imagined.  I had to pinch myself to remember it was real – I was flying through the African countryside looking at lions, elephants, giraffes, monkeys, baboons, Jackson wildebeests, grey herons, buffaloes and every other animal you could imagine. 

            We were VERY lucky to see lions – they are solitary animals that don’t like attention or commotion.  Not only did we see a lioness, but we saw her with her cubs.  It was really incredible.

            We spent the next 4 hours flying through the bush looking at animals I’d only seen in zoos, movies and post cards.

            At one point Sam yelled, “okay, we need to leave now!”

            He told us the last ferry back left at 7:00.  It was 6:15.

            “What if we miss that ferry?”

            “We don’t.”

            Gulp.

            Sam RACED through the countryside, flying through the complicated network of paths weaving through the volley of shoulder high grass.  The sun was setting in the background and everyone else sat in the van, but I stood up and tried to soak it all in.  I put the camera down.  I stopped talking and I focused on absorption.

            I looked at hilltops in the distance and the indigenous trees sprouting from the ground.  I saw giraffes and buffaloes lined against the setting sun.  I felt the warm air, filled with dust breezing through my hair.  And I knew the images I burned into my brain would stay with me forever.  That doesn’t happen often in life.

            We got to the ferry with four minutes to spare.  The sun had set and the bright moon hung high in the sky.  The Nile flowed silently and powerfully past us in the dark.  We boarded the ferry.

            Sam was yelling at one of the ferry operators.

            “Whats the matter?”  Dave asked.

            “One of the vans didn’t make it back in time.”  Sam said.  “The ferry operator wont wait.”

            They waited till 7:04 and we swept back across the Nile.  When we were half way we saw a van appear out of the darkness.  We kept moving forward and left the van and all its passengers on the north side of the Nile.

            “What happens to them?”  I asked Sam.

            “I don’t know.”  He said.  “They sleep in their van.”

            I felt terrible for those poor people.

            We had a beer.  We ate.  We talked about the incredible experiences we had that day and we all fell asleep by 9:00.

Murchison Falls Pictures - Day Two

http://picasaweb.google.com/Joseph.Quaderer/MurchisonFallsDayTwo?authkey=Gv1sRgCLCCuYeO5bOLnQE#

Friday, November 13th 2009

Today Mad Max picked me up at 6:30 and drove me to the Makerere University (the “Harvard of Africa) where I was supposed to meet the Yale doctors who were going with me on my trip to Murchison Falls. Its funny how things work here – expatriates really bond together here. Two weeks before I’d gone on a rafting expedition with a person I’d known for four days. While on that expedition I met a team of Yale doctors and became friendly with them. Then all but one of the Yale doctors went back to the US (they are sent over here in staggered time frames). I stayed friendly with the doctor who stayed in Uganda and he invited me to go to Murchison with a new set of doctors that had just arrived in Uganda. So without really knowing anyone I was all the sudden travelling 7 hours north and spending a three-day weekend with people I didn’t know. Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind and hope for the best.
I got to Makerere University early so I hung out on the steps, read a local newspaper and sipped on my bag of yogurt.
The Yale students walked up.
Dave looked at me. “Dude, are you drinking a bag of pink milk?”
I laughed. “Nope, its drinkable yogurt.”
They couldn’t believe it. Sometimes I forget that drinkable yogurt in a bag is normal to me but really weird to people that just got to Uganda!
I read them the contents of the article I was reading in the local newspaper. Sometimes you really have to pinch yourself because the articles are so ridiculous. I read them a story about a supposed witch doctor in Jinja that people were trying to kill because he could “kill you by pointing at you.” The people also claimed he was the only one that could see “invisible snakes.” The mobs tried to beat the man to death and even beat some of his family members.
Reminds me of Monty Python’s Holy Grail
“How do you know she’s a witch!”
“She turned me into a newt!”
Crowd goes silent. The judge looks at the man who just claimed the “witch” turned him into a newt.
The man looks around sheepishly. “I got better?”
Hahaha. If you don’t know the scene that wasn’t funny. If you do its hysterical.
Our driver, Sam, picked us up at 7:45 and away we went. I thought we were going in a 4-wheel drive SUV with an elevated intake valve and V8 engine but Sam picked us up in a matatu van with a “4 wheel drive” sticker on the door. Sweet.
We drove into town (the opposite of the way we should have been driving) and stopped at a car wash. Sam parked the car and spoke in an aggravated manner to the owner of the car wash.
When he got back he told us he’d taken the car to get cleaned the day before and one of the workers stole his spare tire. But the proprietor said he didn’t know what Sam was talking about. Long story short we had a notoriously difficult 7-hour ride to northern Uganda in a rickety van with no spare tire. Sweet. Again, you just laugh.
The ride was pretty uneventful we basically slept the first three hours – UNTIL – we got near Gulu and the EIGHT HUNDRED recently installed speed bumps on the only road between Kampala and Masindi.
OH. MY. GOD.
The speed bumps had been installed recently but no one seemed to know why. I got varying stories from people.
“The stones on the road are sharp and if people go to fast the stones will hurt people on the side of the road.”
“The road is new and the government doesn’t want it to get ruined so they put the speed bumps in.”
Whatever it was, it was ridiculous. Sam told us that local villagers were conspiring to break the speed bumps with a pick and an axe at night.
Oh, Sam also explained the origination of the term “boda boda.”
I assumed it was a derivative of a KiSwahili term (for example matatu is a derivative of a KiSwahili word). BUT that’s not the case with boda boda’s. So here’s the deal – when you cross country borders in Africa the bus stops in the departing country and everyone has to literally WALK across the border into the new country with all their goods. I don’t know why this is. Anyways, depending on the road into the new country there is sometimes a sizable walk for the travelers. Local people realized they could make money shuttling people from one border to the next border. Hence, border to border → border border → boda boda! Pretty cool, eh?
We finally made it to the Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary. We were given a quick safety recap before going into the field to look for Rhino’s:
- Be aware of snakes (black momba’s and cobra’s) (The Yale students told me they’d recently treated a child in Mulago that died of a cobra bite.)
- Should the rhino’s show signs of charging move near a tree and get ready to climb. What?!
They also told us:
- Uganda’s rhino’s went extinct in the 1980’s
- Rhino horns fetch a high price on the market because they can be made into sword and dagger handles, medicines and aphrodesiacs.
- Rhinos have a very slow reproductive rate breeding once every two to three years and bearing only one calf, further diminishing chances for the survival of the species.
- The Obama rhino was the latest addition to the sanctuary. He is named Obama because his mother is an American rhino and his father is a Kenyan rhino!
- Armed rangers monitor each individual rhino 24/7 365 days a year. They walk around with AK 47’s.
The guide led us into the bush. I wore hiking boots, pants, a shirt and a hat. You basically want to expose yourself to as little as possible when travelling in the thick African bush. There are a bevy of insects and diseases you can get. I remember thinking to myself, “wow, these American tourists are walking around with open toe sandals, shorts and tank-tops. That’s just inviting trouble.”
Oh how right I was. More on that tomorrow.
The rhinos were really incredible. They were really majestic animals. Very cool stuff.
Afterwards we drove to a restaurant and had lunch. Our driver Sam drank beer (only one Mom, don’t worry). Drinking and driving isn’t really seen as taboo here. I don’t think an American guide would sit in front of his customers at lunch and have a beer or two, but here its normal.
The drive from Masindi to Murchison Falls was ridiculous…over the worst, choppiest roads I’d ever driven on and Sam was driving like this was the qualification rounds of a rally car championship. The undercarriage of the van slammed into the dirt, the tires sounded like they were going to peel off and the car flew all over this dirt road in the middle of nowhere. All this, mind you, without a spare tire.
I knew things would be REALLY interesting when I saw, what looked like, a recent accident on the side of the road. As we got closer I discovered it was the TOW TRUCK that serviced the area between Masindi and Murchison falls. It had fallen into a gully on the side of the road and had apparently been abandoned. Yay and YAY!
Okay, so we are driving along and all the sudden Sam slams his window shut.
“Everyone shut your windows!”
We shut them and no sooner had we done it than the van was consumed with tsi tsi flies. For those of you who don’t know what tsi tsi flies are – they are basically large African flies that BITE. They are very painful BUT the worst part is that tsi tsi flies are the insect that carries sleeping sickness, a very deadly African disease.
“You don’t want to get bit by these flies.” Dave told me.
“Why? I thought sleeping sickness had basically been eradicated.”
“We see people with sleeping sickeness in Mulago all the time.” Terri responded.
“Is it really that bad?”
They all nodded.
“It’s a very deadly disease and the problem is the medication used to treat it has a mortality rate of 50%.” Dave said.
Gulp. It’s scary travelling with people in the medical profession sometimes.
I looked out my window. There were tsi tsi flies covering it.
“Sam, why are they attacking the vehicle?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they think we are a buffalo.” He said.
The Yale doctors and I looked at each other nervously.
“Will they be at the camp site?” I asked.
“No no.” Sam said. “They are only on this portion of the road.
We kept going along. It started pouring and then the tsi tsi flies REALLY started coming out.
“Ahh! Its raining and the sun is out!” Sam yelled. “That means a leopard is giving birth.”
We laughed nervously. Still concerned about the swarm of insects carefully following our van.
“Watch this.” Sam said.
He stopped the van completely. We were swarmed by tsi tsi flies.
“When you stop they catch up to you. If we could see out the back window (we couldn’t because all our stuff was covering the windows) you’d see the swarm.”
Double gulp.
At this point we drove on. But problem. Since it had been raining and it was damp the windows started fogging up. The defroster didn’t work in the van so we needed to open the windows so Sam could see where the hell he was going. If we popped a tire on this road we would be in really bad shape - We’d be consumed by tsi tsi flies.
We all looked at each other in disbelief for how we could be in a rickety van with no spare, flying through a deserted road in northeastern Uganda, after having just passed the tow truck in a ditch on the side of the road and being chased by a swarm of tsi tsi flies capable of carrying sleeping sickness.
I promise you – I can’t make this stuff up. Truth is stranger than fiction.
The way we resolved this issue was this – when we went faster than 20 MPH the tsi tsi flies couldn’t keep up with the van. Once we’d lost them Sam would open his window and we’d all follow suit and open our respective windows. The front window and side windows would partially defog and we’d continue along.
When Sam had to slow down to veer around a pothole we’d see the tsi tsi swarm advacing on our van. Sam would roll up his window and we’d all follow suit. If we didn’t move fast enough a few tsi tsi flies would invade the cabin and Dave and I attacked them with rolled up newspapers. This cycle of rolling / unrolling, speeding / slowing down, losing the tsi tsi flies and having them catch us continued for two hours. We finally made it to our campground with a lot of dead tsi tsi flies on the floor of the vam, but nobody having been bitten.
PHEW! It was crazy. Oddly enough there were basically no tsi tsi flies at the campsite. They only hunted near the road. Weird.
The campsite WAS indundated with warthogs which are harmless unless provoked and then they can be super aggressive. They didn’t give us any trouble.
After our ordeal travelling from Kampala the crew was pretty tired. We pitched our tents, ate and went back to our tents. I packed a sleeping bag but it was too hot so I just lay on the floor of my tent listening to the sounds of the warthogs outside eating grass.

Pictures - Murchison Falls - Day 1

Hey Everyone,

In an effort to share more pictures I am going to post selected pictures to an online photo gallery (link below).  Now you can see even more of my ugly mug :)

Here are pictures of my first day at Murchison Falls - enjoy!

http://picasaweb.google.com/Joseph.Quaderer/MurchisonFalls#

Thursday, November 12th 2009

            Today I had to run a couple of errands around town.  I needed to drop my money for the Murchison Falls trip off AND needed to go to the NSSF (National Social Security Fund) head office to determine how NSSF payments would affect our taxes.  Exciting stuff.

            Since I didn’t want to take a boda all across the city I asked Mad Max to pick me up at 10:00 and drive me around.

            He picked me up at 10:00 and we went.

            “Where are you going anyways?”  He asked me after we started driving. 

            “To pay for my trip to Murchison under Iguana’s (the home office was located beneath Iguana’s – one of the more popular expatriate hang outs in Kampala) and then to the NSSF office.”

            “Ah!  Why are you going to NSSF?”  He asked, surprised.

            “I need to figure out how contributions will affect taxes.” 

            “Why are you doing that?”  He asked.

            “Our employees asked for it so we’re setting them up on it.”

            “It’s a scam.  I’m surprised your employees want it – everyone knows you’ll never get your money back.”

            Max went on to tell me horror stories about getting the money you’d saved for back from the NSSF.  Apparently it’s almost impossible.  IF and I mean IF you ARE able to get your money back it usually takes several months and a very healthy bribe to the local officer.  I recalled reading an article a few weeks earlier describing NSSF employees taking (and I paraphrase) “large swaths of money from the NSSF funds and using it to fund luxurious lifestyles.” 

            Can you even fathom how difficult life would be if we had to worry about similar things with our social security funds?  I mean – our social security system has its own problems, but those problems revolve around a mismatch of funds deposited and funds received – not petty or major corruption.

            “Can you imagine having to bribe someone just to get your money back?”  Max laughed.  “What a joke.”

            “Petty corruption undermines society.”  I said.  And I think its true – when you know the NSSF officer holding your funds, or the police officer pulling you over for no reason, wants a bribe you begin utterly resenting and distrusting the organization as a whole.  A small bribe here or there might not seem like a big deal – but it has the ablity to undermine vast organizations and government programs.

            “Well, the people aren’t responsible for the petty corruption.”  Max said.  “It comes from the top.”

            Hmm – that’s a different thought.  I’d always assumed corruption was a grass-roots type disfunction that gradually seeped to the upper tiers.

            “Yeah” he continued, “for example – the traffic cops get paid almost nothing.  They need to subsidize their income, but they also need to pay their superior.  Each superior demands that their direct reports give them a specific dollar amount of bribes each month.  If an officer doesn’t come up with the money they will be fired and the boss will hire someone else capable of coming up with the money.  This “trickle up” mentality goes all the way to the top.  It’s not really the faults of the people at the bottom of the pyramid.”

            Hmm.

            How interesting and sad.  Corruption is SO rampant here.  It’s honestly (and sadly) a way of life.

            I paid the money for the trip to Murchison and then took care of the NSSF question and then went home.

            I stopped at Mercy’s on the way home to say hello (we’ve developed quite a friendship).

            We discussed the recent death of Major Kazini.  Major Kazini was the top military commander during Yoweri Museveni’s coup d etat on Milton Obote.  He’d battled Joseph Kony in the bush of the Democratic Republic of Congo and the deserts of Southern Sudan.  He’d secured Uganda during Rwanda’s 1994 genocide.  He was basically a revered military tactician although his reputation had been marred by a 2003 (I think?) UN report that said he’d robbed the DRC of tons of natural resources for personal gain.  He was also known to be a heavy drinker and altogether rowdy fellow.  Despite his flaws, however, he was something of a Ugandan hero.

            His girlfriend claims he got drunk after visiting three bars then he went to her house and accused her of having another man (Kazini himself was married to another woman, by the way).  She claims he threatened to shoot her and then she hit him on the head with a pipe in self defense.

            “Can you imagine?!”  Mercy said.  “He survived all those years in the bush and all those bullets only to be killed by a woman?!”

            That was an incredulosity (is that a word? Ha) I’d hear countless other times throughout the day.

            “I don’t know whats happening to our society today.”  Mercy shook her head.  “Africa used to be a good place to live.  Now its so violent.”

            “Its even more violent in Kenya.”  I said.

            “Yes.”  She nodded.  “The Gods of Kenya are powerful and violent”

            I nodded.

            “I think its all these Nigerian movies people are watching nowadays.  They are too violent and they condone witchcraft and ‘get rich quick’ schemes.  Nobody wants to work hard anymore.”

            I nodded again.

            “So so violent.  The other day my friend told me a story about a man that beat his wife to death.  When the neighbors found out they started beating the man to death (mob vengeance).  But the man yelled to the crowd – ‘Why are you beating me?  She was MY wife!  She didn’t belong to anyone else!  She was my wife and I killed her with my two hands.  I even buried her myself!  I didn’t ask for any of your help!  Why do you beat me?!”

            Wow.

            The more I venture into social causes the more I am compelled to stand up and fight for two groups of people – women and homosexuals.  I have noticed that in every single place on this earth those two groups are consistently prejudiced against.  Its bass ackwards and it infuriates me.

            For example they are actually trying to pass a law in parliament whereby anyone participating in homosexual activity can be jailed for 7 years.  If you KNOW someone who is gay and don’t report it to the police you can also go to jail for 7 years.  If you commit “aggravated homosexuality” (whatever that means) you can be sentenced to death.

            Its sad that only a few weeks after Barack Obama signed into law the first federal act protecting the rights of the LGBT community Uganda would introduce legislation like this. 

            It truly makes me sad because it’s a sign that the society is not only moving forward, but its actually moving backwards.

            To make things even more ridiculous the main politician advocating for this law is a “reformed gay person.”  He claims he used to be gay, but renounced it.  Like the dude is talking about quitting smoking or something.

            Reminds me of Sarah Palin’s ignorant statements in the past, “I have friends who CHOOSE to be gay.”

            Some people really have it twisted.

            Now I’m not a woman and I’m not gay but everywhere I travel those two groups are biased against and it drives me mad.  Sorry for the rant.

            Anyways…

            “In a way” Mercy continued, “the people here really liked Idi Amin.  I mean, he was illiterate and he did terrible things, but he was also a very fair ruler.  If you stole the government executed you.  If you raped the government executed you.  If you killed the government executed you.  It was an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  People were deterred from breaking the law.”

            Mercy said Uganda was actually much safer during Amin’s rule. 

            Hmm.  Interesting.

            The whole world thinks of Idi Amin is a cruel despot (and I know the perception is correct) but it’s interesting to hear of a Ugandan’s perspective.

            It reminds me of when I travelled to Romania and Bulgaria.

            I met an older man on a bus who was maybe 70 years old and had lived his entire life in Romania.  Romania got independence in the late 80’s so basically this man had lived his entire life under communism and the brutal regime of Nicolai Cecescu.  I was interested to hear of his perception of Cecescu and communism.

            “How do you feel about Cecescu?”  I asked.  I was expecting him to tell me that he was terrible, that he oppressed the people, that ie violated human rights – the answer I got was quite different

            “He could be cruel if you crossed him.  But he was good for Romania at the time.”

            Hmm.           

            “What about communism?”  I asked further.  “What was that like?”  I expected him to tell me that it also oppressed the people, that it was bad for the economy, that it stalled capitalistic growth.

            “Ahh communism was great!”  He laughed.  “There was no greed, there was no coveting your neighbors possessions because we all had the same salaries and goods.  Life was good.”

            Interesting.  Now, I want to be clear I’m not saying Idi Amin or Nicolai Cecescu were good rulers, good people or were good for their country – but its just interesting to hear the perspective of people that lived through these things.  There is no way to hear something like this unless you go to Uganda and ask Mercy how life under Idi Amin was or unless you go to Romania and ask an old man about life under Nicolai Cecescu. 

            The media has an awful lot of power over what we see.  The reporters may be the eyes of society, but the media companies are the neck that focuses the eyes.