Decisions

Since last Friday, I've collected several anecdotes that I think might entertain.

This past weekend entailed a lot of traveling. My dad's son Gilbert had a visitation day at his boarding school on Saturday, and his daughter Bridget had one on Sunday. Both schools are in Kampala, about a two-and-a-half hour matatu ride from Mbiko. So, as my mom says, "We went to see our childrenses." On Saturday, I sat next to a man who looked to be in his early 20s. The whole ride there, he had his hand on my leg. Not grabbing it, just touching it. I didn't think anything about it because, like I mentioned before, matatus are often overstuffed with people. Hands and legs go anywhere and there is no respect for personal space. Some woman also brought her chicken clan on this matatu, so my ankles were pecked every once-in-awhile. Anyway, as this man was getting off the taxi, he turns to me and says, "You just watch. We will meet again." I responded playfully, "Oh really? We will? How are you going to make that happen?" He said, "I want to see you again. Goodbye, Muzungu." Ha. I will never see him again.

Upon arriving at Gilbert's school, we attended a presentation of traditional dances by his classmates. Thousands upon thousands of parents attended this visitation day. Needless to say, Daisy and I were the only white "relatives" there to see their secondary school child. Gilbert was a very nice and polite young man. He was curious about the silver chastity ring I wear on my ring finger. He asked if it was a wedding ring. I shook my head. He said, "Oh good. That would've made me sad." Ugandans are quite flirtatious.

On Saturday we also found time to visit my dad's oldest daughter Harriet at her apartment. We met her boyfriend Isaac, who works for a company that constructs resettlement communities for refugees of war. They were a cute couple.

Before leaving to see Bridget (who also turned out to be a delightful youngster) on Sunday, my family took Daisy and me to Mass. The service lasted two-and-a-half hours. My dad said that was typical. Although the structure of the Mass was basically the same as what I'm used to, there were some rather entertaining differences. During the songs, the whole congregation pours their hearts into singing. The older women shout their high-pitched "ayayayayayayayay"s, and the men clap and sway. I was amused that, during the first offertory (there were three total), the ushers stood at the front and back of the church, and whoever wants to put money in the basket has to get up from their pews and run to the usher. It was a race. My dad passed me 500 shillings and said, "Run for it!" On the third offertory, the priest (who had, up to this point, been speaking in Luganda) said in English, "We will also be accepting US dollars on this offertory!" Given that my three teammates and I were the only white people in the rather large church, I gathered that he was talking to us. Another thing I found amusing: during the consecration of the bread and wine, instead of an altar boy ringing a bell, everyone clapped. After Mass, all the old women (called "Jjajas," as I mentioned before) came up to my teammates and me to shake our hands. Ugandan formal wear, especially for women, is very elaborate. Their dresses are typically made of silk and boast vibrantly colored designs. The shoulder fabric is elongated and stiff, giving the appearance of horns. Some wear head ties to match. It was upon meeting these Jjajas that I first realized a quirk among a lot of Ugandans: they say "you're welcome" before "thank you" is even spoken. It's funny. I think they were responding to our implicit "thanks for allowing us to attend your church service."

I will know next time to dress nicer ... problem is, I haven't seen my face in 14 days. I forgot to bring a mirror. I've started washing my face and doing my hair before work, then taking a picture of myself. It still probably doesn't give the best visualization of how appropriate my looks are. I'll figure out a way to be more presentable before this Sunday.

It was on the ride back from Bridget's school that my first bout of sickness in Uganda started. It wasn't stomach sick ... my throat started hurting, and the lethargy and weakness was overwhelming. That night I ran a fever and went to bed shaking with chills. My parents feared malaria, but thought a good night's rest would knock it out of me. Luckily it did. I was awoken at 6 a.m., however, by my mom bursting into my room, lifting up my mosquito net, and thrusting her hand onto my forehead. She exclaimed, "NALWOGA! Your fever said, 'Bye bye!'" Nevertheless, she shoved natural bee honey toward my mouth for my "throatsie." I felt completely fine when heading to work that morning, and thus was surprised when I returned for lunch that my dad hadn't gone to work. My mom explained, "She didn't want you to come home sick." So he stayed behind for a mid-day check-up on my status. And yes, she actually did refer to my dad as "she." In Luganda, there's no designation for male or female pronouns. So my mom refers to boys and girls as "she" or "her." It's confusing sometimes, but I'm catching on. My real USA mom got the opportunity to talk to my Uganda mom on the phone the other day. It wasn't much of a conversation, since Uganda mom can't really speak intelligible English, but she did end up saying, "I will pay you to keep your daughter." I could hear my USA mom yell, "SORRY! She's not for sale!"

Monday and Tuesday we did our community interviews. Part of the asset-based community development (ABCD) approach requires that we do some "appreciative inquiry" ... find out about what community members are passionate, what they think needs to be improved upon, and how they can use their individual talents or skills to affect change in their villages. So we visited three different communities surrounding St. Francis, split into groups of two, and talked to a total of 20+ people. We tried to get a variety of interviewees: elderly, young men and women, single mothers, youth. We noticed some themes. Most people were good at farming and tending to animals. Most knew about proper nutrition, but couldn't afford fruits and vegetables. The only income most people had was garnered from selling surplus crops. The number one thing most people wanted to see done in their community was the elimination of theft: since there is much poverty, thieves steal bananas and sweet potatoes from their neighbors' plots, which then means the victims have to eat less to continue selling food to make a livelihood. After most of our interviews, the interviewees offered us mangoes or sugar cane as a symbol of appreciation for listening to them. I felt awful accepting their gifts right after they told us selling food is the only way they can pay for their children's school fees. But they wouldn't have it any other way. So I got to try pure sugar cane for the first time! I first had to cut the stalk with a machete (yep, I can now wield a machete), then peel it, then bite right in. It's juicy and refreshing. I was on a sugar high after so many interviews, though.

So we looked at our project idea list, as well as the information we received from the interviews, and decided to go ahead with the mushroom project. Never did I ever think I'd say that I'd be spending 7 weeks teaching people in developing countries how to grow mushrooms as a means of generating income and improving nutrition. I will have more detailed project plans available next week, but here's a basic outline of how our project will work:

Today we designated a Jjaja to be the "leader" of the project. We wanted to work with the Jjaja community because although these women are old and many are HIV-positive, they are SO enthusiastic and will latch on to any project proposal offered. Many of them have experience in mobilizing community assets to institute new programs. The one we chose, Jjaja Judith, is the treasurer of the Savings and Loans Society started by St. Francis. She doesn't speak English, but we could tell during her interview through a translator that she was right for the job. Lots of people respect her, and for being 70 years old, she has quite the fiery personality. We are confident that she will be able to designate five families in her community to participate in this project (preferably ones that could benefit from an alternative source of income, or ones that have members who are physically limited and could benefit from a less labor-intensive way of cultivating food).

In order to grow mushrooms, the Jjaja will first have to have two large metal barrels kept at her house (to be provided by us). The mushroom seeds (which we will obtain from the chemistry department of Makerere University in Kampala) will be soaked and dried in these two barrels for 4 days. She will then hold a training session at which the participants will learn how to package their seeds in black plastic bags (the seeds have to be layered with cotton husks to grow properly). The participants will then take their bags or "gardens" home and hang them from the ceiling of their completely dark sheds (which we will help construct with materials purchased with our FSD grant). After poking holes in the bags and letting them hang for two weeks, the participants will water the bags for a week and watch as their first mushroom batches grow. Once reaching full-size, the mushrooms can be cut and sold to local vendors. The bag will keep producing mushrooms for some four months. Some of their profit will have to be funnelled back to the Jjaja, so she can pay for transportation to Kampala to get more seeds. It will also end up that she will make a living off her mushroom business, as the participants will be required to pay her a fee for soaking and preparing their next batch of seeds. We also intend to have the Jjaja host information seminars about nutrition. We hope that the participants will be more inclined to use their new source of income to buy more fruits and vegetables, improve their diets, and thus fend off disease.

We're probably a little idealistic now. But we also hope to leave an instruction manual with St. Francis upon our departure describing how this process can be replicated in other villages. We'll see how it goes!

I'm beginning to learn that if I am to stay sane for the next 5 weeks, I need to find humor in the everyday occurrences. All of my teammates have issues and annoyances with their host families, and when we bring those frustrations to the work table, emotions swell up. But I'm learning to laugh about those everyday irritations: when a cockroach surprise attacks me when I'm trying to use the restroom, when my host mom blares Ugandan gospel music at 6 in the morning, when our emphatic Muslim neighbors shout their prayers over loudspeakers at sunrise, and when I'm force-fed honey while still halfway in dreamland.

Take care everyone!