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 1st 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.
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