Friday, November 6th 2009

Got woken up in the middle night when my brother sent me a text message telling me he has swine flu. Oink Oink get better Ste.

When I finally woke up for good at 7:00 I discovered I had to go to “teacher training” (where we teach our next round of Educate! mentors) as a guest judge.
I took a boda to the international learning center where we teach our students. I sat through 3 hours of presentations. Then Maggie, Emily, Angelica, Rachel and I went to Quality Cuts to get baguette sandwiches. Quality Cuts is the best butcher in Kampala. They actually make half decent sandwiches. I got meat – yay! Afterwards we spoiled ourselves with chocolate éclairs. Again, not too bad. I guess there are a few places with decent food in Kampala – but they are few and far between.
Then I had to run a few errands in the city so I left the group and got into a matatu headed towards Kampala. The driver was aggressive as all hell – yelling at people and swerving all over the place. When we got into Kampala the driver pulled into a gas station, and, as he was doing it I thought to myself, “Hmm, it looks like he’s going to hit that boda boda driver.” But I figured the driver knew the dimensions of his van better than my novice eyes. I was wrong. Crunch he hit the boda boda driver. The driver fell and the matatu stopped. The driver got up – unhurt (we were only going 5 MPH or so) but angry as hell. I was sitting in the passenger seat and the fallen boda boda driver was yelling right next to me at the matatu driver. I thought they were going to fight but then someone pulled the boda away and we drove off. Ho hum – just another matatu drive.
I walked to the MTN store to do research on setting our mentors up with group pay packages. Then I walked to the NSSF (National Social Security Fund) to inquire about Educate! making social security payments on behalf of our employees. Oh yeah – fun stuff - let me tell you. It’s all part of working at a non-profit start-up in Uganda. No job is too big or too small.
Finally I walked to “Aristoc” which is a nice little bookstore in central Kampala. I had to buy a book for Mercy’s daughter’s graduation present. I bought her “How to Make Friends and Influence People.” I seem to remember that was a good book…
Then boda boda to Moshin’s to discuss the T-Shirt project, Kristmas in Kampala and take pictures of the school I’m trying to help Moshin buy. Moshin met me on the side of Ggaba Road and we descended into the slums together.
“Moshin I need to take a picture of the school building.” I said. “I want people in the US to see what their contributions are buying.”
He nodded and pointed at a building about 100 hundreds from the classroom now. The building was a simple one-story construction with a blue center winged by two drab grey facades. Iron sheets hung over the front of the building. I walked back about 30 yards to take a picture. I turned my camera on.
NO BATTERY
Sigh.
“Moshin I don’t have any battery.”
“Okay – do you have the charger?”
I nodded.
“Okay give me the battery and the charger. I know someone around the way that has electricity.”
I was actually surprised anyone in the slum had electricity. I was leary of giving away my battery and charger, but gave both to Moshin. He walked away and came back 5 minutes later.
“Okay it’s charging.” He smiled. “Lets go talk.”
We went to Moshin’s and discussed the T-shirt project. My Mom’s 6th grade class is creating T-shirts for Moshin’s class. When I come home for my mid-volunteer break I’m going to pick them up and give them out to Moshin’s kids when I come back.
Moshin has 86 kids in his class. My Mom’s class is going to design 100 T-shirts. Moshin and I decided on T-Shirts as a practical gift for the kids. They’ll know it was made by kids in the US that care for them AND now they’ll have an extra T shirt. (If you can remember my previous pictures of these children, most of them are wearing threadbare, tattered clothes). We also discussed my fundraising efforts. My target date to start sending out emails soliciting money for my cause is November 11th. So plan on being peppered by me!!! Its for a great cause. If we can raise 30,000,000 USH ($15,000) Moshin’s school for training illiterate street children will have a permanent place. They wont have to worry about struggling for rent money on a monthly basis. It will also help to give Moshin’s school more legitimacy and visibility in the community.
“I think my battery should have charged by now.” I said. Moshin and I had already been talking for an hour.
He went and got my battery and charger.
We took pictures of the school we’re trying to purchase and the school Moshin currently operates out of. I also snapped pictures of some cute kids following me around.
Then I took a boda boda home.
Long day…was out of the office from 8:00 AM to 7:00 PM.
That night Maggie and I had a super secret Ipod party on the roof and then we walked to a local place to get a beer.
The moon was a chalky sliver in the sky and it was dark out so I brought my flashlight so Maggie and I could find our way to the bar.
“Joe!”
Someone yelled at me from the darkness.
“Its me Hassan!”
I shined my flashlight down an alley.
I could see Hassan (Muslim guy I met in Edith’s restaurant and got a beer with one night) facing away from us, arching backwards, waving one hand. He was peeing. How lovely Hassan.
Hassan didn’t look exactly sober so Maggie and I kept walking. Hassan perpetually sips on a clear plastic bag of werenje (word for local gin) or fermented plantain liquor. Okay – I forgot to write about this – but I always thought it was a wivestale that if you drank locally brewed alcohol you could go blind, but, UMM, apparently it’s the real deal.
Headline in the Daily Monitor (popular daily newspaper here):
Crude Gin Brings Misery to Acholi
“Mr. Olwedo and a dozen others drunk local potent waragi that has left over 15 people dead and about five blind in Gulu.”
“The regional police spokesman, Mr Johnson Kilama, appealed to people to stop drinking crude warragi. He said, “’Those who want to drink it should first dig their own graves so they don’t bother people with digging graves when they die.’”
So yeah people around here drink this stuff all the time. Again…life seems to have a lesser value here. I swear its sounds too simple to be true, but that’s how I feel.
Maggie and got to the bar and sat down. We talked about the different dangers for men and women in Africa. Hassan got us thinking. If Hassan was so drunk he thought it would be good to rob me, fine. Maybe he could, maybe he couldn’t. Worse case scenario I lose my money.
If Hassan got drunk enough to think about raping a woman…well that’s scary.
I give the girls here a lot of props.
Maggie and I had two beers and then Hassan showed up at the bar. He was so drunk he could barely speak. He was almost cross-eyed.
“Joe, you let me know if anyone bothers you.”
“Okay Hassan. Thank you.”
He leaned on a chair that wasn’t rooted down and almost fell. “You let me know if anyone bothers you.”
“Thanks Hassan.”
I thought to myself. Can you dispose of yourself?
Hassan walked away for a half hour and Maggie and I had good conversation.
Then Hassan came back and sat down.
He wasn’t leaving this time.
After listening to his drunken rambling for five minutes I turned to him.
“Hassan, do you mind if I have a private conversation with Maggie? There’s something I need to confess to her and I’m embarrassed.”
He nodded and sat there.
“By ourselves Hassan.” I added.
“Okay.” He said. “You tell me when I leave. I will walk home with you.”
Umm…No.
Maggie and I waited till Hassan was distracted and then PEACE OUT.
Something tells me he won’t remember the broken promise.