Rwanda - Day 1

Okay Okay Okay...I know these aren't my greatest pictures yet...but its hard to pull out my camera in most of the places we travel.  I dont want it to get stolen so often times when I'm in an urban environment I wont take it out till I'm in my hostel.

Anyways...a few snaps of Kigali and the hostel.

http://picasaweb.google.com/Joseph.Quaderer/Rwanda?authkey=Gv1sRgCMbS8_ruiPfG2gE#

Thursday November 26th, 2009

Today as I prepared for my trip to Rwanda I took out my money belt and looked at my passport and US money that I hadn’t seen in about 3 months.  Now, I haven’t been away for THAT long BUT 3 months is far and away the longest I’ve lived outside the US (the previous record was a 2 week backpack through Europe).  Anyways, I did SUCH a double take when I looked at the US money.  The Ugandan money is very large and ornate and the US money looked like it was monopoly money.  So weird.  If that was a pseudo-shock I cant imagine what it’ll be like to be back in the developing world in 2 weeks.  I can’t wait.

      For thanksgiving we went to Tim Kreutters house.  Tim Kreutter is the founder of a non-profit called “Cornerstone” which teaches vocational skills to out-of-school youth.  He’s a white American but was born in the Democratic Republic of Congo (his parents were missionaries).  He has a son and a daughter and a wife and although they are all white and were schooled in America – they are basically African.  Very interesting family.

      Anyways, the Kreutters always host a HUGE thanksgiving dinner for American expats in Uganda.  There were probably about 30 people at the event.  The Kreutters made us all pick numbers so we were seated randomly and I ended up sitting next to Evan, a guy from Atlanta who was visiting cornerstone in Uganda but was training to be a priest at a seminary somewhere in the US, Grace who was bizarrely from Jackson Heights Queens (for those of you who don’t know the geography of Long Island – Jackson Heights is 15 minutes from my house – small world).  The food was good, conversation was interesting but nothing, I mean NOTHING, can replace being surrounded by people you love and are comfortable with.  Most of the dinner I engaged in conversation but secretly wished I could transport myself back to NY and be with the family.  Alas, I could not.

      After dinner we went up on the Kreutter’s roof.  Mr. Kreutter came around and told the girls that they needed to be careful.  Tim told us that in the last two weeks 2 American girls were abducted outside of Iguana’s (very popular mzungu bar) by boda boda drivers.  I don’t know the details of one girl, except for the the fact that she was raped.  But the second girl was someone Tim Kreutter knew through a friend of a friend – apparently she got on a boda boda after a night at Iguana’s, the boda boda driver took her to an abandoned field where he and another man raped her, then they beat her until they thought she was dead (she wasn’t).  Finally someone found her (I don’t know details) and when the police questioned her they thought she was making the story up.  The poor girl had been gang-raped (with a decent chance of contracting AIDS) and beaten till the point the peretrators thought she was dead – and then the police didn’t believe her.  Unbelievable.  Finally the US Embassy got involved and started an investigation.   Apparently the poor girl was only in Uganda for a 2 week Rotary rotation.

            The two boda boda incidents were so serious that I got the following emails from the US Embassy:

 

Subject: URGENT: Warden Message - Security Notice

Warden Message - Security Notice

Kampala, Uganda

November 23, 2009

 

This notice is being sent to address the serious dangers associated with the use of public transportation in Uganda, specifically motorcycles for hire, commonly known as “boda bodas”. 

 

Boda bodas are inherently dangerous at all hours of the day given the combination in Uganda of poor roads, poorly maintained vehicles, and erratic driving behavior.  Boda boda customers and drivers are frequent victims of serious auto accidents.  As a result, the Chief of Mission discourages their use by American citizens even in daylight hours.

 

Additionally, in the past two weeks, there have been two serious late-night attacks on private American citizens by boda boda operators.  According to reports, one or more boda boda operators were “staged” at the same bar/restaurant in the Kisementi area of Kampala waiting to pick up passengers.  In both attacks, the boda boda operators then took the female victims to secluded areas to sexually assault them.  RSO Kampala is actively assisting the Ugandan Police to identify and bring to justice these perpetrators.

 

Effective immediately, due to the inherent danger and general criminal activity associated with riding boda bodas, U.S. Mission employees under Chief of Mission authority and their dependents are prohibited from riding boda-bodas after dark.

 

Additionally, U.S. citizens and their dependents should avoid arriving and departing alone from bars and restaurants anywhere in Kampala after dark.  The two attacks reported above targeted females who were traveling alone after leaving bar/restaurants in the early morning hours.

 

RSO would like to remind the U.S. community that Kampala is a critical crime threat Post.  It is imperative that American citizens use heightened security measures to avoid being victims of crime.  Some of these countermeasures include not going out alone, avoiding poorly lit areas, consuming alcohol only in moderation, and having a solid plan to arrive home safely.  It is especially important to remain “situationally aware” when consuming alcohol given past reports of drinks being “spiked” in order to induce unconsciousness as part of premeditated sexual assault or other criminal acts.  Research indicates that the chances of being the victim of crime increase exponentially during evening hours.

 

            WOW.  When these embassy alerts pop up – you pay attention.  I will tell you that, as always, its good to be an American citizen.  The US Government REALLY has your back in the event something bad happens.  Anyone with a US citizenship is lucky,

            After we left Tim Kreutter’s house we (ironically) walked through the section of town where the two girls were abducted, but we were in a big group so it was okay.  More often than not you are safe if you exercise caution – unfortunately a single woman (probably drunk) getting on a boda boda by herself at 2:00 in the morning is the definition of NOT being safe.

            We took a special hire home and then Maggie and began packing for our overnight trip to Rwanda.  We had tickets for a bus that departed Kampala at 1:00 in the morning arriving in Rwanda the following day at noon – a nice 12 hour trip.  I was absolutely exhausted so I slept from 10:00 to 11:00 and then started packing.  It was my first international trip in Africa, and the bus was leaving at 1:00 in the morning – yeah – I was definitely nervous.

            Mad Max picked us up at 12:15 and drove us to the bus station.  The depot wasn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting – I was thinking of New York’s Port Authority multiplied by a million…but they only let people with tickets in the bus terminal so there weren’t too many seedy characters hanging around (although there were a few).

            We got on our bus immediately and asked the conductor where we could sit.  Instantly we were dismayed – there were no seats together.  Our worst fears of being stuck in the middle seat (the bus was configured with 3 seats the aisle and then 2 seats) of a 3 seater, but miraculously a man moved at the last minute freeing up a 2 seater for Maggie and I.  Next problem – there was nowhere to stow our luggage.

            “We can just put it under our feet.”  Maggie said.

            Umm – I wasn’t about to do that on a 12 hour bus trip.

            We had to rearrange some bags (much to the chagrin of the other passengers) but finally were able to wedge out bags in the overhead bins.

            Maggie and I patted ourselves on the back – phew!

            The bus pulled out of the station and drove for 5 minutes, but then it stopped to pick up two people on the side of the road.  They came onto the bus and, as luck would have it, came right up to us.

            “Those are our seats!”  They yelled at us, pointing at our seats.

            Maggie and I were in no mood for this.  “Well the conductor told us to sit here!”  Maggie yelled.

            “Get up!”  They yelled back.

            “We are NOT getting out of our seats until the conductor moves people out of our seats.”  I exclaimed.

            They yelled at us again but Maggie and I didn’t budge.

            Finally the conductor walked back to calm things down.  We explained that until he moved people out of our seats we weren’t budging.  It was a scene.

            Fortunately the conductor was able to move people out of our seats and we moved all the way in the back of the bus to our seats.  PROBLEM – our bags were now in the front of the bus and we were all the way in the back.  Thievery is RAMPANT on overnight buses – and Maggie and I were nervous as it was.  To prepare myself for the trip both Maggie and I wore moneybelts (with our passports and major cash) underneath our shirts that were twisted until they were on our back (which was pressed against the seat the whole time), my smaller bills were in my right pocket, my cell in my left, my book and glasses and other stuff were in a bag that usually slings around my shoulder, but I wore it like a belt and left it zippered on my body.  If someone tried to snatch it I’d be awoken instantly.  On my bag in the front of the bus I had miniature locks to deter someone from fingering through my bag.  Maggie and I kept all our more valuable things locked up.  As we progressed into the night the conductor turned off the lights – I kept checking every 5 minutes to make sure no one was messing with our bags and then I realized that everything in my bag was just stuff.  If it got stolen it got stolen – the only thing that really mattered was Maggie, me and our passports – everything else could go. It doesn’t matter.  I relaxed and listened to Led Zeppelin as we drove through the sleepy African country side. 

            At 2:00 AM my family called me to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving.  Dinner at the Kreutter’s was nice but speaking with my family and hearing my nephews on the phone was the highlight of my day.

            There is no clear distinction between Thursday and Friday since I didn’t sleep on the bus – but lets call it a wrap there for Thursday.

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.