My boyfriend says I don't talk much. And he's right, I don't.
In the past few years, so much has changed about myself and the life I am living that sometimes I look in the mirror and hardly recognize the girl standing in front of me. Five years ago, I started classes at uni with no particular goal in mind. I was naive, a little westcoast hippy, and largely unhappy.
Two summers ago, I lived in Uganda for three months. I came home in shock, not sure of anything and overwhelmed by everything. Africa had blown my mind. This blog tracked my story, so if you have come looking for that, I suggest filtering through the archive. For a long time I have been telling myself that I should write a post-internship piece, something that tells people how the experience of living and breathing Uganda has changed me. One year and three months later, here I am.
No longer am I the uncertain and unhappy girl I was. I have moved off my rock, fallen in love with the city and the boy I came here with. My life is headed in a direction, an actual direction, and I simply couldn't be more excited. I know better who I am and what I want from life, and that makes me truly happy.
I am sure that by now people will have lost interest, that no one still links to my page, checking if I have updated it. I am ok with that. As I mentioned, my boyfriend says I don't talk much. So often I get lost in my own thoughts that I forget to open my mouth and let the words out. For now, I'll let my fingers do the talking and see where that gets me. These are my thoughts. Welcome to Lindsayville.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
At the end, you return to the beginning.
Tuesday, July 15th and I have no idea where to start.
Perhaps the beginning would be most fitting...
“It is a surreal world I am living in,” I wrote on the 16th of April, “I have to tell myself over and over that before I know it I will open my eyes and find myself underneath a mosquito net. Perhaps the countdown is an attempt to wrap my head around this all. Never before have I gone so far, leaving so much behind.”
This morning I awoke yet again to find myself beneath a mosquito net. As the haze of sleep cleared from my mind, I found it drifting once more to that looming countdown. Much as before I left, it has consumed my thoughts as the day draws nearer and nearer. As of today, I have five days left here in Uganda. The thought is bittersweet.
Two and a half months ago, my thoughts were much like they are now. I was positively thrilled to depart, but the uncertainty of what sort of world I would find myself in made me slightly nervous. But this is an unfamiliar anticipation I find myself with now. Never before have I been uncertain as to what to expect by going back home. There is no question that living here in Uganda has changed me and the way I view the world. I then wonder, will going back change me back? I somehow doubt that it will. And yet, will my home feel quite like home? As I think about life in Canada, I know that there are aspects of the culture I will certainly struggle with. People will surely look at me strange if I reach to hold their hand as I walk beside them, or when I sit directly beside them on a couch with seemingly plenty of room. And I doubt it will go over well if I stroll in half an hour late for everything. These are habits to which I have grown accustomed.
At the same time, however, there is so much about home that I can hardly wait for. I am so lucky to live where I do, in that returning home will not leave me missing the stunning landscape, great people, and laid back lifestyle – I get all of that from the Island. I can’t wait to play tourist in the place I grew up, taking day trips out to Tofino, down to Victoria, and riding my bicycle out to Coombs. (Is anyone with me?) I have plans to go to Calgary, to go to the Radiohead concert, and am excited for my birthday. So although I will miss Uganda, I have so much to look forward to. I have jokingly coined my recently acquired mixed nationality as Uganadian.
As I write, I am sitting in the Backpacker’s Hostel in Kampala. Mike and I said our goodbyes to Mbarara on Saturday, and left the following morning on the early bus. We made the decision to come to the capital city a few days early to get started on writing our reports in a different setting and to take some time to get our heads wrapped around going home. In comparison to Mbarara, Kampala is a bustling metropolitan core. The hostel has a constant flow of white faces, and the music is reminiscent of home – (they even had Radiohead on yesterday!) It has been beneficial even after two days. The change of setting has us shifting gears and getting ready to go. It’s the final leg of our trip, and being here has us fully aware that we are close to the finish line.
It has also been wonderfully fun to meet new people and just relax. Last night, Mike and I met two really cool guys – one was travelling from Amsterdam, here visiting family (Jon), and the other works here at the hostel (Frankie). The four of us, the last ones up, broke into a jam session with Frankie playing guitar, Jon (who is actually a DJ at a huge club in Amsterdam) beat boxing and impressing us with his reggae skills, Mike rapping, and me (the hippy I am) playing a drum and singing. It was one of the greatest moments of my life.
And, I may have mentioned to some of you, but as a rather hilarious side note: last week I was bit by a monkey and am now on anti-rabies treatment. I wish I could say it was all for some crazy reason, but the monkey was just the pet of a friend who suddenly turned aggressive. The money has had all of its shots, so the anti-rabies is just precautionary. Everyone I tell here thinks it’s hilarious, and apparently it’s very rare. I guess it’s just another thing to tick off the list of things to do before I die – #632: Get attacked by a monkey...check!
I will sign off for now but, with all the free time I have here, I will probably write again before retuning home. I now feel justified in saying ‘see you all soon!!’
My love and best wishes,
Linds.
Perhaps the beginning would be most fitting...
“It is a surreal world I am living in,” I wrote on the 16th of April, “I have to tell myself over and over that before I know it I will open my eyes and find myself underneath a mosquito net. Perhaps the countdown is an attempt to wrap my head around this all. Never before have I gone so far, leaving so much behind.”
This morning I awoke yet again to find myself beneath a mosquito net. As the haze of sleep cleared from my mind, I found it drifting once more to that looming countdown. Much as before I left, it has consumed my thoughts as the day draws nearer and nearer. As of today, I have five days left here in Uganda. The thought is bittersweet.
Two and a half months ago, my thoughts were much like they are now. I was positively thrilled to depart, but the uncertainty of what sort of world I would find myself in made me slightly nervous. But this is an unfamiliar anticipation I find myself with now. Never before have I been uncertain as to what to expect by going back home. There is no question that living here in Uganda has changed me and the way I view the world. I then wonder, will going back change me back? I somehow doubt that it will. And yet, will my home feel quite like home? As I think about life in Canada, I know that there are aspects of the culture I will certainly struggle with. People will surely look at me strange if I reach to hold their hand as I walk beside them, or when I sit directly beside them on a couch with seemingly plenty of room. And I doubt it will go over well if I stroll in half an hour late for everything. These are habits to which I have grown accustomed.
At the same time, however, there is so much about home that I can hardly wait for. I am so lucky to live where I do, in that returning home will not leave me missing the stunning landscape, great people, and laid back lifestyle – I get all of that from the Island. I can’t wait to play tourist in the place I grew up, taking day trips out to Tofino, down to Victoria, and riding my bicycle out to Coombs. (Is anyone with me?) I have plans to go to Calgary, to go to the Radiohead concert, and am excited for my birthday. So although I will miss Uganda, I have so much to look forward to. I have jokingly coined my recently acquired mixed nationality as Uganadian.
As I write, I am sitting in the Backpacker’s Hostel in Kampala. Mike and I said our goodbyes to Mbarara on Saturday, and left the following morning on the early bus. We made the decision to come to the capital city a few days early to get started on writing our reports in a different setting and to take some time to get our heads wrapped around going home. In comparison to Mbarara, Kampala is a bustling metropolitan core. The hostel has a constant flow of white faces, and the music is reminiscent of home – (they even had Radiohead on yesterday!) It has been beneficial even after two days. The change of setting has us shifting gears and getting ready to go. It’s the final leg of our trip, and being here has us fully aware that we are close to the finish line.
It has also been wonderfully fun to meet new people and just relax. Last night, Mike and I met two really cool guys – one was travelling from Amsterdam, here visiting family (Jon), and the other works here at the hostel (Frankie). The four of us, the last ones up, broke into a jam session with Frankie playing guitar, Jon (who is actually a DJ at a huge club in Amsterdam) beat boxing and impressing us with his reggae skills, Mike rapping, and me (the hippy I am) playing a drum and singing. It was one of the greatest moments of my life.
And, I may have mentioned to some of you, but as a rather hilarious side note: last week I was bit by a monkey and am now on anti-rabies treatment. I wish I could say it was all for some crazy reason, but the monkey was just the pet of a friend who suddenly turned aggressive. The money has had all of its shots, so the anti-rabies is just precautionary. Everyone I tell here thinks it’s hilarious, and apparently it’s very rare. I guess it’s just another thing to tick off the list of things to do before I die – #632: Get attacked by a monkey...check!
I will sign off for now but, with all the free time I have here, I will probably write again before retuning home. I now feel justified in saying ‘see you all soon!!’
My love and best wishes,
Linds.
Monday, June 30, 2008
A Lesson in Patience
Admittedly, this blog thing is rather new to me, and I feel as though I’m about to launch over a hurdle. I have been at odds with what to write of late – do I continue to play to storyteller as I have been, or do I expand into new territory. Herein lies the problem: after the chaos of the first half of my trip, life has settled into a more subdued rhythm. Each day does not differ much from the last, something I am personally thankful for; however it does not lend itself to a thrilling update:
“Hey all! I did the same thing today as I did yesterday, and tomorrow will likely be much the same as today...”
It is not so much that life here has taken a turn to the doldrums – perhaps it is simply that what seemed unreal when I first arrived, now seems rather run-of-the-mill. More than that, I feel as though the second half of this trip has become less of a shock-and-awe forced learning experience, and has settled enough for me to grow on a more subtle and personal level.
I was told before leaving, that Africa would teach me patience. I assumed this would occur simply because things move more slowly here and I would constantly be forced to wait around. I thought that was what patience entailed – waiting for something without growing restless or agitated. However, I quickly found that I did not have to become more patient in order to accommodate the slow moving “Africa Time.” Rather, it is so hot here, that one simply slows down. Similarly, without fancy appliances, such as laundry machines and dishwashers, one must take the time to do all of this by hand. It is not so much that time here moves slower, tasks simply take longer to do. I could not necessarily say, however, that this has taught me to be more patient; all I could say with certainty now would be that I simply move more slowly. Instead of showing up “on time” only to grow impatient with waiting, I take just as long as any African to get where I’m headed.
Instead, as I mentioned, such lessons in patience have been on a more subtle and personal level. Taking the culture in stride has perhaps been one of the more difficult things for me. At home, I prefer to keep a relatively low profile. I quite like keeping to myself, and, although some may not believe me, I have in the past year embraced the introvert in me. I’m the girl who would much rather stay at home watching a documentary on a Friday night than go out to the club, and love to spend my time holed up in the library. I realise now that these are luxuries I am not afforded here.
With my shining white face, I am a beacon for attention anywhere I go – from the moment I leave the house, I constantly have “MUZUNGU!” yelled after me. The call is entirely harmless, people just want to get my attention in hopes that I will return their wave; however, when one goes for a twenty minute walk to town, the yells of muzungu every thirty seconds quickly compound to being hollered at some forty-odd times. Town is no better, where the street vendors and boda drivers start yelling to ask where I am going combined with some variation of hey baby. Some days, I can take the attention in stride – I will wave when someone calls for my attention, or will give a quick, no thanks, I’m walking, to the drivers. There are other days, however, where I desperately want to be left alone. They are the days where I find myself walking with my head down and my shoulders hunched, longing for the Canadian streets where no one gives me a second glance.
In this sense, I have had to learn immense patience. On a bad day, it takes all my will power not to snap at those who yell incessantly at me as I pass – “Muzungu! Where are you going Muzungu?” Why does it matter?? I realised that getting angry about it would only make the situation worse and have since had to dig deeper than I ever imagined to walk with my head high and a smile on my face. I still miss the anonymity of home, but find myself vastly more patient with those who are just trying to catch a hello from the White.
And it has been in an entirely different setting that I have had my patience stretched and strengthened even more. It has been on the home-front that I have again been faced with trying situations. In Canada, I share my apartment with a roommate who is not often home. I thus spend the majority of my time on my own. Therefore, living with three other people, full time, has been a strange experience. More than that, however, has been the type of personalities within the home. Of my three roommates, each has a very different personality. Some characteristics are very easy to live with; others, unfortunately compounded into one individual, are not. Some days, I find myself at odds – do I brave the streets and get some breathing room from the house, or do I stay in for the day, biting my tongue or hiding my nose in a book?
Once again, I quickly realised that being angry at all times was only going to exacerbate my frustrations. Living and working with people is hard – having to do so with a difficult personality is even harder. I knew I did not have to perhaps like everyone in the house, but I was certainly going to have to live with them. Again, my patience was forced to grow. Rather than adding fuel to the fire, I have learned to keep a smile on my face and a kind tongue in my mouth while perhaps fuming on the inside. When I am having trouble with this, I quietly take a day for myself down at Lake View Hotel where I can work on my computer in the lounge and watch Aljazeera on the tiny bar television. I just have to keep reminding myself that I do not have much longer to go, and laugh to myself at the prospects of a group reunion once we are all back.
And with that I find myself one more blog post down, and alarmingly close to returning home. Three weeks from now, I will be on a plane – although not exactly with lightning speed, as I will spend over 30 hours in layovers – back to Canada. As I mentioned at the outset of this post, I feel as though I have breached new territory with this particular blog. Not ever being the one to talk feelings, I ran out of day to day thrills on which to write and wrote something more from the heart. It’s an odd concept, having my thoughts and opinions posted onto the internet to be read by, well, I don’t really know who is reading at this point. Who knows, perhaps I may end up being one of those people who blogs regularly with some thought provoking discussion; however, the introvert in me is nervous as to who becomes privy to what I have to say. Already my mom prints off my blog to pass about the office – its ok, Mom, think it’s really great that you do. :) Hopefully everyone has enjoyed reading what I’ve had to say enough to keep listening. I suppose when it does come down to it, I have enough I would like to get out that I will continue with this blog business for now. The rest, however, I will leave for another day.
Love to you all,
Linds.
“Hey all! I did the same thing today as I did yesterday, and tomorrow will likely be much the same as today...”
It is not so much that life here has taken a turn to the doldrums – perhaps it is simply that what seemed unreal when I first arrived, now seems rather run-of-the-mill. More than that, I feel as though the second half of this trip has become less of a shock-and-awe forced learning experience, and has settled enough for me to grow on a more subtle and personal level.
I was told before leaving, that Africa would teach me patience. I assumed this would occur simply because things move more slowly here and I would constantly be forced to wait around. I thought that was what patience entailed – waiting for something without growing restless or agitated. However, I quickly found that I did not have to become more patient in order to accommodate the slow moving “Africa Time.” Rather, it is so hot here, that one simply slows down. Similarly, without fancy appliances, such as laundry machines and dishwashers, one must take the time to do all of this by hand. It is not so much that time here moves slower, tasks simply take longer to do. I could not necessarily say, however, that this has taught me to be more patient; all I could say with certainty now would be that I simply move more slowly. Instead of showing up “on time” only to grow impatient with waiting, I take just as long as any African to get where I’m headed.
Instead, as I mentioned, such lessons in patience have been on a more subtle and personal level. Taking the culture in stride has perhaps been one of the more difficult things for me. At home, I prefer to keep a relatively low profile. I quite like keeping to myself, and, although some may not believe me, I have in the past year embraced the introvert in me. I’m the girl who would much rather stay at home watching a documentary on a Friday night than go out to the club, and love to spend my time holed up in the library. I realise now that these are luxuries I am not afforded here.
With my shining white face, I am a beacon for attention anywhere I go – from the moment I leave the house, I constantly have “MUZUNGU!” yelled after me. The call is entirely harmless, people just want to get my attention in hopes that I will return their wave; however, when one goes for a twenty minute walk to town, the yells of muzungu every thirty seconds quickly compound to being hollered at some forty-odd times. Town is no better, where the street vendors and boda drivers start yelling to ask where I am going combined with some variation of hey baby. Some days, I can take the attention in stride – I will wave when someone calls for my attention, or will give a quick, no thanks, I’m walking, to the drivers. There are other days, however, where I desperately want to be left alone. They are the days where I find myself walking with my head down and my shoulders hunched, longing for the Canadian streets where no one gives me a second glance.
In this sense, I have had to learn immense patience. On a bad day, it takes all my will power not to snap at those who yell incessantly at me as I pass – “Muzungu! Where are you going Muzungu?” Why does it matter?? I realised that getting angry about it would only make the situation worse and have since had to dig deeper than I ever imagined to walk with my head high and a smile on my face. I still miss the anonymity of home, but find myself vastly more patient with those who are just trying to catch a hello from the White.
And it has been in an entirely different setting that I have had my patience stretched and strengthened even more. It has been on the home-front that I have again been faced with trying situations. In Canada, I share my apartment with a roommate who is not often home. I thus spend the majority of my time on my own. Therefore, living with three other people, full time, has been a strange experience. More than that, however, has been the type of personalities within the home. Of my three roommates, each has a very different personality. Some characteristics are very easy to live with; others, unfortunately compounded into one individual, are not. Some days, I find myself at odds – do I brave the streets and get some breathing room from the house, or do I stay in for the day, biting my tongue or hiding my nose in a book?
Once again, I quickly realised that being angry at all times was only going to exacerbate my frustrations. Living and working with people is hard – having to do so with a difficult personality is even harder. I knew I did not have to perhaps like everyone in the house, but I was certainly going to have to live with them. Again, my patience was forced to grow. Rather than adding fuel to the fire, I have learned to keep a smile on my face and a kind tongue in my mouth while perhaps fuming on the inside. When I am having trouble with this, I quietly take a day for myself down at Lake View Hotel where I can work on my computer in the lounge and watch Aljazeera on the tiny bar television. I just have to keep reminding myself that I do not have much longer to go, and laugh to myself at the prospects of a group reunion once we are all back.
And with that I find myself one more blog post down, and alarmingly close to returning home. Three weeks from now, I will be on a plane – although not exactly with lightning speed, as I will spend over 30 hours in layovers – back to Canada. As I mentioned at the outset of this post, I feel as though I have breached new territory with this particular blog. Not ever being the one to talk feelings, I ran out of day to day thrills on which to write and wrote something more from the heart. It’s an odd concept, having my thoughts and opinions posted onto the internet to be read by, well, I don’t really know who is reading at this point. Who knows, perhaps I may end up being one of those people who blogs regularly with some thought provoking discussion; however, the introvert in me is nervous as to who becomes privy to what I have to say. Already my mom prints off my blog to pass about the office – its ok, Mom, think it’s really great that you do. :) Hopefully everyone has enjoyed reading what I’ve had to say enough to keep listening. I suppose when it does come down to it, I have enough I would like to get out that I will continue with this blog business for now. The rest, however, I will leave for another day.
Love to you all,
Linds.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Lost: Sandals, Qualms, and Pounds
I agree; it has been more than the week I promised between posts, but hopefully the following will help explain why:
The first week since I wrote was absolutely unbelievable. It was an adventurist’s/traveler’s/adrenaline junkie’s dream. Within our five day mini-vacation, we somehow managed to do the following:
1. Survive the terrifying bus trip to Kampala;
2. Meet some incredible friends at the hostel in Jinji;
3. Go white water rafting on the mighty, mighty Nile;
4. Survive the worst storm the company had ever rafted through, complete with ferocious wind, pelting rain, and lightning striking the nearby bank (keep in mind, we’re in t shirts and a rubber dingy);
5. Sleep with rats crawling on our bug nets (happy thoughts, happy thoughts...);
6. Go bungee jumping, plunging head-first into the Nile River;
7. Find Paradise – aka Sipi Falls;
8. Go Abseiling (repelling) down a 100m cliff face, only 10 m from the falls;
9. Go rock climbing (Mike didn’t want to leave);
10. Watch a Ugandan National Football Match at the huge national stadium (Uganda won 3 to 1 over Angola, one of the top ranked teams in the league!);
11. Visit a Cultural Centre to see a vivid performance of traditional Ugandan music and dance;
12. Survive the bus trip back (even worse than the way there! I was sure we were goners!)
As well as see the following:
1. Wild monkeys;
2. A spider as big as my two fists put together;
3. A chameleon;
4. A horrifying display of what feet look like after a few days in Africa without shoes (I lost my sandals after rafting)
5. The most passionate display of national pride I could possibly imagine;
6. Exactly why Uganda is called the Pearl of Africa!
It was a whirl wind trip and undoubtedly some of the best consecutive days of my life! See me for the extended edition :)
But I suppose with every up, must come a down...
Upon our return, we were troubled to hear that Obed had taken a turn for the worse. He had neglected to tell us this, as he didn’t want to disrupt our few days for ourselves. When Mike went to see him the morning following our return, Obed was lapsing into minor seizures every few minutes. He was having difficulty maintaining concentration, and his memory, even of the project, was a little uncertain. We consulted our Canada Director and decided that Mike would drive him to Kampala as soon as possible. We began to worry that perhaps his condition was something more like a brain tumour or muscular degeneration. Mike left with Obed and Sarah to see the neurologist in Kampala the following morning.
The three of them returned three days later, but I remember little of what occurred during that time. The night before Mike left, I woke up feeling rather sick to my stomach, but thought it was simply a matter of being over-hungry. I tried munching on a few crackers and crawling back into bed. Yet within a few hours, and for the following two days, I had hot and then cold fevers and perpetual nausea. The cold cement floor kept my fever down, and Gravol settled my stomach while making me drowsy enough to sleep for at least a few hours before being sick again. With Mike in Kampala, and the girls working in Kinoni for most of the daytime, it was a rough few days to weather alone.
The last thing I wanted to do, however, was see a doctor about it. My experience with Obed taught me that unless I was most certainly dying, it was best to wait it out as they would either prescribe me something random, or would put me on an IV. I didn’t want to take my chances with ennie-meenie-minie-mo-medication, and there was no way I was getting stabbed or injected with anything.
By about the third day, I was feeling over the worst of it, and by the fourth I was fine. My appetite is still off, but I can understand that my stomach needs a few more days to recuperate. I have been thinking that perhaps I had extreme heat-stroke, as I was outside for much of the day prior to getting sick. I have never had heat-stroke before, but I can recall that my Canadian roommate had it last summer and, from how she had described it, it sounded somewhat similar. Before we left Mbarara, it was still the tail-end of the rainy season and the sky was cloudy for most of the time. I realise now that the sky is perfectly clear and the temperature is much higher than it has been. Lesson learned, and I will make sure to be more cautious from now on.
Although it’s an unreal experience living here, I am thrilled that we have finally reached the home stretch. As of today, there is less than one month until Mike and I come home. So with that said, Ill say goodbye for now, and see you all soon! :)
Lots of love,
Linds.
The first week since I wrote was absolutely unbelievable. It was an adventurist’s/traveler’s/adrenaline junkie’s dream. Within our five day mini-vacation, we somehow managed to do the following:
1. Survive the terrifying bus trip to Kampala;
2. Meet some incredible friends at the hostel in Jinji;
3. Go white water rafting on the mighty, mighty Nile;
4. Survive the worst storm the company had ever rafted through, complete with ferocious wind, pelting rain, and lightning striking the nearby bank (keep in mind, we’re in t shirts and a rubber dingy);
5. Sleep with rats crawling on our bug nets (happy thoughts, happy thoughts...);
6. Go bungee jumping, plunging head-first into the Nile River;
7. Find Paradise – aka Sipi Falls;
8. Go Abseiling (repelling) down a 100m cliff face, only 10 m from the falls;
9. Go rock climbing (Mike didn’t want to leave);
10. Watch a Ugandan National Football Match at the huge national stadium (Uganda won 3 to 1 over Angola, one of the top ranked teams in the league!);
11. Visit a Cultural Centre to see a vivid performance of traditional Ugandan music and dance;
12. Survive the bus trip back (even worse than the way there! I was sure we were goners!)
As well as see the following:
1. Wild monkeys;
2. A spider as big as my two fists put together;
3. A chameleon;
4. A horrifying display of what feet look like after a few days in Africa without shoes (I lost my sandals after rafting)
5. The most passionate display of national pride I could possibly imagine;
6. Exactly why Uganda is called the Pearl of Africa!
It was a whirl wind trip and undoubtedly some of the best consecutive days of my life! See me for the extended edition :)
But I suppose with every up, must come a down...
Upon our return, we were troubled to hear that Obed had taken a turn for the worse. He had neglected to tell us this, as he didn’t want to disrupt our few days for ourselves. When Mike went to see him the morning following our return, Obed was lapsing into minor seizures every few minutes. He was having difficulty maintaining concentration, and his memory, even of the project, was a little uncertain. We consulted our Canada Director and decided that Mike would drive him to Kampala as soon as possible. We began to worry that perhaps his condition was something more like a brain tumour or muscular degeneration. Mike left with Obed and Sarah to see the neurologist in Kampala the following morning.
The three of them returned three days later, but I remember little of what occurred during that time. The night before Mike left, I woke up feeling rather sick to my stomach, but thought it was simply a matter of being over-hungry. I tried munching on a few crackers and crawling back into bed. Yet within a few hours, and for the following two days, I had hot and then cold fevers and perpetual nausea. The cold cement floor kept my fever down, and Gravol settled my stomach while making me drowsy enough to sleep for at least a few hours before being sick again. With Mike in Kampala, and the girls working in Kinoni for most of the daytime, it was a rough few days to weather alone.
The last thing I wanted to do, however, was see a doctor about it. My experience with Obed taught me that unless I was most certainly dying, it was best to wait it out as they would either prescribe me something random, or would put me on an IV. I didn’t want to take my chances with ennie-meenie-minie-mo-medication, and there was no way I was getting stabbed or injected with anything.
By about the third day, I was feeling over the worst of it, and by the fourth I was fine. My appetite is still off, but I can understand that my stomach needs a few more days to recuperate. I have been thinking that perhaps I had extreme heat-stroke, as I was outside for much of the day prior to getting sick. I have never had heat-stroke before, but I can recall that my Canadian roommate had it last summer and, from how she had described it, it sounded somewhat similar. Before we left Mbarara, it was still the tail-end of the rainy season and the sky was cloudy for most of the time. I realise now that the sky is perfectly clear and the temperature is much higher than it has been. Lesson learned, and I will make sure to be more cautious from now on.
Although it’s an unreal experience living here, I am thrilled that we have finally reached the home stretch. As of today, there is less than one month until Mike and I come home. So with that said, Ill say goodbye for now, and see you all soon! :)
Lots of love,
Linds.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Rasta Beats and Gravity Defying Motorcycles
Today marks exactly one week and one month since Mike and I left Canadian soil. It also marks both the farthest away from home I have ever been, as well as the longest period of time away from family. Yet having great friends around has made living here a breeze.
Mike, Shannon, Lindsay and I have settled into a daily routine that makes each day fly by. Once again we find ourselves at our weekend (we take Sundays and Mondays off work) and are astonished as to where the week went. We are more comfortable both in our own home and around the city. We have made a few Ugandan friends which comes in handy when we feel inquisitive about the cultural differences. They are happy to oblige our curiosity, and it often leads to some long conversations.
The other night we felt brave enough to go to a reggae night at the club in town. Although there were a few incidences that made us a little uneasy – some guy tried to follow me into the ladies room, and Mike caught some guy trying to pick his pocket – all in all it was so much fun to go out dancing. We had invited one of the friends we had made, Abel, to join us and he seemed to take on the role of bodyguard for the evening. If ever anyone approached one of us girls, he would come over to make sure everything was alright. After my first bathroom incident, he made sure to come and guard the door for me. Rumour has it that Friday nights are the best night to go (surprise, surprise), so we plan to maybe go again, this time on a Friday night.
For the past week, the Western Regional Trade Fair has been in town. It’s a fair that travels all over the East-African Community (Tanzania, Uganda, and Kenya) with goods from each region. We went to check it out on its first evening, but it had only just begun to set up so there wasn’t much there. We wandered around for a bit from tent to tent, and happened upon a tall, cylindrical wooden structure with people standing around the top on a platform. My first thought about it was, “Oh god, is it a cock fight or something??” But as we walked past Mike suddenly exclaimed, “There’s a guy with a bike in there!!”
We paid the thousand shillings to get up to the top of the rickety structure just in time for the show to begin. We stood on the edge of the platform and looked down to the young man on a motorcycle about 25 ft below. The wooden walls to the structure were rounded to form a large cylinder (maybe 15 ft in diameter), and there was a small ramp all around the base (at most about 3 ft up the wall). They closed off the door at the base, and the young guy started up his bike. He started driving around the base of the structure, and then, as he started shifting gears and picking up speed he began to drive around on the ramped part of the walls. I was watching, horrified. The walls started to rock as he went round and round with such force that we had to hold onto the rails to remain standing up. I was thinking, “This thing isn’t going to hold together. And why isn’t he wearing a helmet?!”
But around he went, and suddenly he cranked the throttle to come flying up onto the walls. He shifted into fifth while parallel to the ground below. He came up higher and higher toward the crowd, where nothing stood between us and him - nothing would have stopped him from flying out at us. As I held onto the railing to keep from falling over from the shaking walls, his handlebar hit my fingertips. When he was going his fastest speed, he let go of the handlebars and had his arms hanging by his side as he went round and round. Lindsay was screaming and wouldn’t come near the edge. Mike was also standing back. He said after that all he could think was, “This guy is going to hit us! He’s going to fly out at any second and hit us!”
He slowed quickly and went back to the ground, but then came up again for a short encore. We were all in complete shock, clapping with our eyes wide and were laughing in disbelief. The Ugandans were, I think, laughing more at us and our stunned faces. “Did that really just happen?” was all I could think as I made my way down the wobbly staircase to the ground. The young daredevil was standing outside the structure as we made our way down. I made eye contact with him as I walked past, gave him a thumbs-up and enthusiastically said, “That was the coolest thing ever!” He seemed sort of grateful for the complement. It seemed as though the man who took our money was his seedy father, and he was the son who was trained to do this trick to travel around and make the family some money. I sort of felt bad for enjoying the spectacle so much at his expense, but we defiantly plan to go back and hope to take a video of it! The fair runs until the 4th June, so we plan to go back when everything else is set up.
I have been having trouble sleeping lately, but can’t seem to figure out why. I most certainly do enough physical activity during the day, so it’s not due to pent up energy. Mike had mentioned that it could be either a side effect of our Malaria medication or a strange manifestation of culture shock. I suppose either is plausible – curses culture shock, you sly devil, you. But on the up side, I get a ton of reading done while up until three in the morning. I’ve made my way through three books on microfinance and international development over the past week, each of them 250 – 400 pages.
Today is the birthday of our friend Sarah, an intern working for the NGO ACTS. We met her at our favourite restaurant, City Top, when we heard her explaining to her dinner company about different regions in Canada. In a nosy fashion, I had leaned over to ask her where in Canada she was from, and we have been friends with her since. We plan to meet her for a day at the Lake View Hotel pool-side and then take her for a birthday dinner in town.
Next week, we have arranged to take a few days off to go White Water Rafting on the Nile River. We are getting very excited to go exploring a bit more of Uganda. Rather than driving ourselves, we plan to take one of the huge, crazy busses (praying for our lives the entire time!) The whole trip should be an unreal experience and will undoubtedly yield some fantastic stories and photos. Mike and I plan to take advantage of being in a different region to also contact some microfinance organizations outside of Mbarara. This will save us having to make two trips out of the city, and will broaden our understanding of microfinance in Uganda as a whole. Provided we survive the journey, that is – you’ve gotta love crazy Ugandan transport!
Wish us luck, and I will write again upon our return.
All the best!
Linds.
Mike, Shannon, Lindsay and I have settled into a daily routine that makes each day fly by. Once again we find ourselves at our weekend (we take Sundays and Mondays off work) and are astonished as to where the week went. We are more comfortable both in our own home and around the city. We have made a few Ugandan friends which comes in handy when we feel inquisitive about the cultural differences. They are happy to oblige our curiosity, and it often leads to some long conversations.
The other night we felt brave enough to go to a reggae night at the club in town. Although there were a few incidences that made us a little uneasy – some guy tried to follow me into the ladies room, and Mike caught some guy trying to pick his pocket – all in all it was so much fun to go out dancing. We had invited one of the friends we had made, Abel, to join us and he seemed to take on the role of bodyguard for the evening. If ever anyone approached one of us girls, he would come over to make sure everything was alright. After my first bathroom incident, he made sure to come and guard the door for me. Rumour has it that Friday nights are the best night to go (surprise, surprise), so we plan to maybe go again, this time on a Friday night.
For the past week, the Western Regional Trade Fair has been in town. It’s a fair that travels all over the East-African Community (Tanzania, Uganda, and Kenya) with goods from each region. We went to check it out on its first evening, but it had only just begun to set up so there wasn’t much there. We wandered around for a bit from tent to tent, and happened upon a tall, cylindrical wooden structure with people standing around the top on a platform. My first thought about it was, “Oh god, is it a cock fight or something??” But as we walked past Mike suddenly exclaimed, “There’s a guy with a bike in there!!”
We paid the thousand shillings to get up to the top of the rickety structure just in time for the show to begin. We stood on the edge of the platform and looked down to the young man on a motorcycle about 25 ft below. The wooden walls to the structure were rounded to form a large cylinder (maybe 15 ft in diameter), and there was a small ramp all around the base (at most about 3 ft up the wall). They closed off the door at the base, and the young guy started up his bike. He started driving around the base of the structure, and then, as he started shifting gears and picking up speed he began to drive around on the ramped part of the walls. I was watching, horrified. The walls started to rock as he went round and round with such force that we had to hold onto the rails to remain standing up. I was thinking, “This thing isn’t going to hold together. And why isn’t he wearing a helmet?!”
But around he went, and suddenly he cranked the throttle to come flying up onto the walls. He shifted into fifth while parallel to the ground below. He came up higher and higher toward the crowd, where nothing stood between us and him - nothing would have stopped him from flying out at us. As I held onto the railing to keep from falling over from the shaking walls, his handlebar hit my fingertips. When he was going his fastest speed, he let go of the handlebars and had his arms hanging by his side as he went round and round. Lindsay was screaming and wouldn’t come near the edge. Mike was also standing back. He said after that all he could think was, “This guy is going to hit us! He’s going to fly out at any second and hit us!”
He slowed quickly and went back to the ground, but then came up again for a short encore. We were all in complete shock, clapping with our eyes wide and were laughing in disbelief. The Ugandans were, I think, laughing more at us and our stunned faces. “Did that really just happen?” was all I could think as I made my way down the wobbly staircase to the ground. The young daredevil was standing outside the structure as we made our way down. I made eye contact with him as I walked past, gave him a thumbs-up and enthusiastically said, “That was the coolest thing ever!” He seemed sort of grateful for the complement. It seemed as though the man who took our money was his seedy father, and he was the son who was trained to do this trick to travel around and make the family some money. I sort of felt bad for enjoying the spectacle so much at his expense, but we defiantly plan to go back and hope to take a video of it! The fair runs until the 4th June, so we plan to go back when everything else is set up.
I have been having trouble sleeping lately, but can’t seem to figure out why. I most certainly do enough physical activity during the day, so it’s not due to pent up energy. Mike had mentioned that it could be either a side effect of our Malaria medication or a strange manifestation of culture shock. I suppose either is plausible – curses culture shock, you sly devil, you. But on the up side, I get a ton of reading done while up until three in the morning. I’ve made my way through three books on microfinance and international development over the past week, each of them 250 – 400 pages.
Today is the birthday of our friend Sarah, an intern working for the NGO ACTS. We met her at our favourite restaurant, City Top, when we heard her explaining to her dinner company about different regions in Canada. In a nosy fashion, I had leaned over to ask her where in Canada she was from, and we have been friends with her since. We plan to meet her for a day at the Lake View Hotel pool-side and then take her for a birthday dinner in town.
Next week, we have arranged to take a few days off to go White Water Rafting on the Nile River. We are getting very excited to go exploring a bit more of Uganda. Rather than driving ourselves, we plan to take one of the huge, crazy busses (praying for our lives the entire time!) The whole trip should be an unreal experience and will undoubtedly yield some fantastic stories and photos. Mike and I plan to take advantage of being in a different region to also contact some microfinance organizations outside of Mbarara. This will save us having to make two trips out of the city, and will broaden our understanding of microfinance in Uganda as a whole. Provided we survive the journey, that is – you’ve gotta love crazy Ugandan transport!
Wish us luck, and I will write again upon our return.
All the best!
Linds.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The dust begins to settle...
Time is a deceiving thing. With each day that passes, time seems to drag slowly by. But when I turn to look back, I am astounded to see that over three weeks have already passed us by. Someone recently wrote to me that the well wishing “May you live in interesting times” was more a curse than a blessing, and I would have to agree. Not a week can pass by here without a storm of chaos passing through. Since roughly two weeks have passed since I last wrote, I will do my best to cover as much as I can.
Things here have been mostly better since I last wrote. I am pleased to report that we are still mouse and cockroach free! It makes for a nice night when you don’t have to wake up with bugs crawling on you. The house is still taking some getting used to, although we are feeling much more at home than before. The cold showers have been taking some getting used to – I keep telling myself I am really showering in a glorious waterfall to take the edge off. We ended up having to move here because a fourth intern, Shannon, came to live with us on Friday and there is no way we would have all fit in the other place.
We spent the last week getting the house set up and Shannon’s bedroom furnished. I wish I had a photo to show you all, but we bought a bed frame for Shannon (twin size, made from wood) and had it brought back to the house on a scooter. Yes, it is just how you think – a huge bed frame on the back of a tiny little scooter buzzing through traffic, desperately trying not to hit anyone or anything with the protruding ends.
Shannon is great, but then again, so are all my room mates. We have all been getting along so well. Its a little funny to see how our personalities fit together – Shannon and Mike have similar personalities, and Lindsay and I are both very alike. It makes living with people so easy when you can understand where their reactions are based. So far all of us have been adapting well, so there are no culture-shock-induced irate personalities to contend with.
I can’t recall if I mentioned Obed, my Uganda Boss, in my last report, and that has health has been in question of late. Two weeks ago we had taken him to the hospital, but he was released the next day with some medications to take. However, a few nights later we received a late night knock on our gate. The guard opened the door as we came out of our rooms to find Sarah, Obed’s wife, desperately trying to communicate the best she could with her broken English. Obed was worse, much worse. They had him in the back seat of her friend’s vehicle, but needed our help and our support to take him to the hospital.
Sarah wanted to take him to the church to be prayed for before we took him to the hospital. We thought this was just wasting time, but we did not want to disrespect Sarah’s wishes. So Lindsay and I hopped in the car with Obed and Sarah’s friend (who was driving) and Mike followed in our project car with Sarah. I sat in the back with Obed and he was not doing well at all. We made it to the church and there was a group of people waiting for us. I do not know if Sarah had called them there, or if they worship that late into the night. Lindsay and I had to use all of our strength to get Obed out of the back seat, and both of us had to have his arms over our shoulders to carry him in. At this point, he was still barely conscious. I wanted to get in and out of there as soon as possible.
The church was a frustrating experience for me: “It is ok Sistah,” they told me, “we will get the devil out of him. He will be saved.” They sat him in a chair in the middle of a circle and proceeded to sing and pray at first, and then all swarm toward him and start screaming, yelling, howling, pressing their hands into his chest and getting him to stand up. It was so loud in there, of course Obed is going to rouse a bit and use all his remaining energy to stand if he can. “Its ok Sistah, do not worray. He is saved. He is with God.” I was desperately trying to be respectful to their culture, as this was such an integral part of it, but I could not understand why we were not on our way to the hospital. Although Obed was standing, he looked no better than he had before we arrived. If anything, he seemed even more drained.
(I have since spoken about this experience to a friend we have made down here who is on a Christian mission. Considering his religious background and strong faith, I asked him what his perspective was on it. He said he agreed with my frustration, that God had provided hospitals and medication for a reason. This made me feel a bit more at ease, as I was concerned that I was being egocentric and inconsiderate with my frustrations.)
Finally, after our strong insistence, we left the church and brought Obed to the University hospital in the heart of town. We would have liked to take him to the International Hospital (the best hospital in the region), but Sarah preferred this one. The facility was absolutely unreal; I have never seen anything like it before. There were bodies under white sheets on the lawn – dead or alive I really couldn’t tell –, sick and bloodied bodies crammed into rooms, and no doctors to be seen. Obed was moved into a room with one other man, and laid on a bed with no sheets or blankets for him. There was blood splatter on the wall beside him.
It took over an hour for the doctor to come, if you could even call her that. She looked in her early twenties, was in sandals and a housecoat, with her hair in a net. She looked like she had just crawled out of bed and couldn’t care less about helping him. The stethoscope around her neck was the only thing that marked her as a doctor. “Where is his discharge form from the other hospital?” She asked. When we said we didn’t have one, she said there was nothing she could do and would deal with it in the morning. I walked outside for some air, and Lindsay followed me in tears. She was furious with the situation – angry at Sarah for wasting our time at the church, angry that we were at this hospital and not a better one, angry that the doctors just didn’t care.
The whole thing just seemed surreal to me. I wasn’t really feeling anything, to be honest. I simply couldn’t fathom what would happen if Obed didn’t get better. I reminded myself that things are different in Africa, and that seemed to save me from getting angry as well. At that point, I understood why going to the church would seem as the best choice for people. People get better at hospitals in Canada; here, people will only wait to die. At least at church you have people around you – the illusion of hope.
Mike went with Sarah to get some bedding for Obed, and when he came back we decided it was time to leave. We walked past the lawn bodies to get to the car, and drove home. When we made it back to the house, our guard was anxiously waiting. He said that while we were gone a man had jumped our fence and was heading toward our windows when he saw the guard - or perhaps saw the guard’s shotgun - and ran. The guard chased after him, but he was too quick. “I didn’t even get the chance to shoot,” said the guard. I could not imagine what it would be like to come home to a dead man in my yard.
In the morning we went around the house to see how he had made it out. There were footprints on the wall of the shed and the wall surrounding the yard. He had scaled the wall urban-ninja style! We were so thankful to have the guard. In the nights since then, we can hear him walking about, patrolling the yard. The event seems to have given him a sense of purpose in his job. Glad we could help.
Also that morning, we got word that Obed had not received any care in the University Hospital, and was no better than the night before. Mike rushed to the hospital with the car and made the decision to take him to the International Hospital just outside town. This was where we wanted to take him the night before, but I think Sarah wanted to stick with the familiar. Mike took the stance that last night we tried it your way, so now we will try our way. At the International Hospital, he said, you could immediately see the difference. Obed was taken into emergency, given tests, put on an IV, and had nurses checking on him regularly. At one point, however, they gave him a glucose-based IV and he started having sweats and minor seizures. They did another blood test and realised that his blood sugar was soaring. He was, apparently, having diabetic seizures as a reaction to the glucose IV. They gave him insulin and he calmed back down.
Obed was in the hospital for about five days. They were having a lot of trouble stabilizing his blood sugar and keeping him conscious. Mike spoke to his wife, who is a nurse, over the phone and she said that it’s normal for that to occur. If a patient has diabetes complicated by something else – in the case of Obed, a battle with Malaria – stabilizing the blood sugar levels becomes a longer and more difficult process. While he was there they were able to run a number of tests to determine what was really wrong. It was concluded that he has diabetes, an abnormally sized heart, and has been fighting off malaria.
When Obed was more stable but still in the hospital, Mike went to go visit him. When he returned, he told me something that Obed had said to him that morning. Obed said that had it not been for us, he really thinks he would have died. Since he is the core of the entire program down here, had Obed died, so too would have Ainembabazi. I can’t wrap my head around it. There is nothing about me or what I did that makes me worthy of being considered the reason that a person is still alive. That has been on my mind a lot since Mike mentioned it. He was discharged soon after. Obed and Sarah came by the other night for a visit, and he is looking much better. He was smiling and laughing at some of our Kampala stories.
So, on a lighter note, those Kampala stories are well worth the wait! Last Thursday, Mike, Lindsay and I braved the journey to Kampala to pick up Shannon. Kampala is Uganda’s capital city, and about a four to five hour drive from Mbarara where we live. The roads here leave much to be desired: there isn’t really such a thing as a lane. You mostly just swerve all over the place to avoid potholes as best you can and move over to the left if someone else is coming your way. If it’s a bus that is coming, cross your heart and hope it’s swift and painless. They are called The Elephants of the Road for a reason – each time a bus comes screaming and swerving past, I swear my life passes before my eyes. Nonetheless, we made it to Kampala in once piece as per our agreement (“just get me there with all my limbs still attached, and I’ll be happy”). Mike drove, and did a marvellous job. We blew out the front shock, but I can not say that was his fault.
Along the way, we listened to the same reggae tape over, and over, and over...and over...the entire time. The artists name was Lucky Dube (yes, like doobie) – but he was shot about a year ago, so I guess he’s not that lucky. The first few lines of our favourite song go, “Reggae in the bathroom, reggae in the bedroom, reggae everywhere!” We had a blast singing along, and now play a game making up new locations for reggae everywhere, singing the song as much as we can. (Reggae on the chair, reggae with my computer, reggae in the morning... )
I had heard much about Kampala, and was a little nervous about going there. I heard that the pollution was thick enough to chew on, and the streets were overwhelmingly busy. But as we got there, I thought it was the greatest place! We got lost only once on our way in. We took the wrong way in a traffic circle, after driving round and round a few times. We made quite the spectacle of ourselves in the process: me in the front seat with a map, Mike driving in circles, and Lindsay in the back, helpless in the confusion. None of the streets here have names or street signs, so we were so lost! We ended up finding our way to the hotel accidentally through a random back road market, the most busy street I have ever been down. All a part of the experience, I suppose.
Once we were settled, we took bodas (scooters) into the main part of town. This was probably the craziest experience of my life! Lindsay and I doubled, as I don’t have a phone and we didn’t want to get separated from each other. The bodas in Kampala are less like scooters and more like full on motorcycles which weave and fly though traffic. We cut off so many cars, and it felt like we were going to fall off the whole time.
There was one point where we were flying up a hill, passing cars on the side of the road, and came up to a huge hole on the side. I swear, if we took the boda and upended it, it would have fit into this hole nicely. The driver tried to swerve around it at the last second, but the back tire bounced in with full force. It hit the far side of the hole, and our momentum just managed to carry us up and out. I was laughing the whole time, but I’m not kidding, it was absolutely terrifying! I was sitting on the back, and would have been the first to get squashed! We hit so hard that I went bouncing backward on the bike and Lindsay had to grab my legs to hold me on! That made me laugh even harder. Here are two white girls squashed on the back of a boda, and Lindsay in the middle has her arms down holding my legs up for me. I’m sure people thought we were mental.
In downtown we found a great market with all sorts of jewellery, carvings, and clothing. I was so happy to play tourist for a while and pick up a few things to bring home. As it grew dark we found a fabulous little restaurant nearby. I am excited to say that, after at least three years, I, Lindsay Kruit, have eaten meat. But wait! That is not all. This was not any meat. I ate Crocodile tail, as well as small pieces of Kudu, Spring Bok, and Wildebeest steaks!! It was a special occasion however; I was back to veggie in the morning as I rejected my sausage over to Mike’s plate.
My boda on the way back was equally hilarious. The driver was proposing to me on the way home, and I was laughing at him the whole way. “How can I get myself a Canadian wife? That is something I would love more than anything.” I told him I would go back to Canada, round up a few girls, send them to Kampala and he could have his pick. He goes, “No, there is one very special one I would like.” HA! Then he started asking for my number and such. I gave him a pretty firm thanks but no thanks.
Picking up Shannon went well. We got stuck in rush hour traffic on our way out to the airport, something we forgot to take into account. I hope I never complain about traffic at home again – nothing could ever compare to rush hour down town Kampala. We made it out ok though, and Mike drove like a madman, or should I say like a Ugandan, to get us there on time. Shannon made her way through customs a few minutes after we arrived at the airport. Perfect timing!
Since then, I have been so very grateful for an uneventful few days. Shannon seems to be settling in well and is getting used to The Lindsies goofy personalities. I really do need to update you all a bit more often, so that these blogs are not so long to read. I send my apologies, but do hope you are enjoying reading about the trip. Mike and I finished the first draft of our Ainembabazi Lending Project manual just before Shannon arrived, and the three of us have been working hard to get the program up and running for the end of June. Cross your fingers that all goes smoothly for us until then!
Hope all is well for you all. I send my love and thanks for all your support!
Kaleé,
Linds.
P.S. A big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my little sister Christina today!!
Things here have been mostly better since I last wrote. I am pleased to report that we are still mouse and cockroach free! It makes for a nice night when you don’t have to wake up with bugs crawling on you. The house is still taking some getting used to, although we are feeling much more at home than before. The cold showers have been taking some getting used to – I keep telling myself I am really showering in a glorious waterfall to take the edge off. We ended up having to move here because a fourth intern, Shannon, came to live with us on Friday and there is no way we would have all fit in the other place.
We spent the last week getting the house set up and Shannon’s bedroom furnished. I wish I had a photo to show you all, but we bought a bed frame for Shannon (twin size, made from wood) and had it brought back to the house on a scooter. Yes, it is just how you think – a huge bed frame on the back of a tiny little scooter buzzing through traffic, desperately trying not to hit anyone or anything with the protruding ends.
Shannon is great, but then again, so are all my room mates. We have all been getting along so well. Its a little funny to see how our personalities fit together – Shannon and Mike have similar personalities, and Lindsay and I are both very alike. It makes living with people so easy when you can understand where their reactions are based. So far all of us have been adapting well, so there are no culture-shock-induced irate personalities to contend with.
I can’t recall if I mentioned Obed, my Uganda Boss, in my last report, and that has health has been in question of late. Two weeks ago we had taken him to the hospital, but he was released the next day with some medications to take. However, a few nights later we received a late night knock on our gate. The guard opened the door as we came out of our rooms to find Sarah, Obed’s wife, desperately trying to communicate the best she could with her broken English. Obed was worse, much worse. They had him in the back seat of her friend’s vehicle, but needed our help and our support to take him to the hospital.
Sarah wanted to take him to the church to be prayed for before we took him to the hospital. We thought this was just wasting time, but we did not want to disrespect Sarah’s wishes. So Lindsay and I hopped in the car with Obed and Sarah’s friend (who was driving) and Mike followed in our project car with Sarah. I sat in the back with Obed and he was not doing well at all. We made it to the church and there was a group of people waiting for us. I do not know if Sarah had called them there, or if they worship that late into the night. Lindsay and I had to use all of our strength to get Obed out of the back seat, and both of us had to have his arms over our shoulders to carry him in. At this point, he was still barely conscious. I wanted to get in and out of there as soon as possible.
The church was a frustrating experience for me: “It is ok Sistah,” they told me, “we will get the devil out of him. He will be saved.” They sat him in a chair in the middle of a circle and proceeded to sing and pray at first, and then all swarm toward him and start screaming, yelling, howling, pressing their hands into his chest and getting him to stand up. It was so loud in there, of course Obed is going to rouse a bit and use all his remaining energy to stand if he can. “Its ok Sistah, do not worray. He is saved. He is with God.” I was desperately trying to be respectful to their culture, as this was such an integral part of it, but I could not understand why we were not on our way to the hospital. Although Obed was standing, he looked no better than he had before we arrived. If anything, he seemed even more drained.
(I have since spoken about this experience to a friend we have made down here who is on a Christian mission. Considering his religious background and strong faith, I asked him what his perspective was on it. He said he agreed with my frustration, that God had provided hospitals and medication for a reason. This made me feel a bit more at ease, as I was concerned that I was being egocentric and inconsiderate with my frustrations.)
Finally, after our strong insistence, we left the church and brought Obed to the University hospital in the heart of town. We would have liked to take him to the International Hospital (the best hospital in the region), but Sarah preferred this one. The facility was absolutely unreal; I have never seen anything like it before. There were bodies under white sheets on the lawn – dead or alive I really couldn’t tell –, sick and bloodied bodies crammed into rooms, and no doctors to be seen. Obed was moved into a room with one other man, and laid on a bed with no sheets or blankets for him. There was blood splatter on the wall beside him.
It took over an hour for the doctor to come, if you could even call her that. She looked in her early twenties, was in sandals and a housecoat, with her hair in a net. She looked like she had just crawled out of bed and couldn’t care less about helping him. The stethoscope around her neck was the only thing that marked her as a doctor. “Where is his discharge form from the other hospital?” She asked. When we said we didn’t have one, she said there was nothing she could do and would deal with it in the morning. I walked outside for some air, and Lindsay followed me in tears. She was furious with the situation – angry at Sarah for wasting our time at the church, angry that we were at this hospital and not a better one, angry that the doctors just didn’t care.
The whole thing just seemed surreal to me. I wasn’t really feeling anything, to be honest. I simply couldn’t fathom what would happen if Obed didn’t get better. I reminded myself that things are different in Africa, and that seemed to save me from getting angry as well. At that point, I understood why going to the church would seem as the best choice for people. People get better at hospitals in Canada; here, people will only wait to die. At least at church you have people around you – the illusion of hope.
Mike went with Sarah to get some bedding for Obed, and when he came back we decided it was time to leave. We walked past the lawn bodies to get to the car, and drove home. When we made it back to the house, our guard was anxiously waiting. He said that while we were gone a man had jumped our fence and was heading toward our windows when he saw the guard - or perhaps saw the guard’s shotgun - and ran. The guard chased after him, but he was too quick. “I didn’t even get the chance to shoot,” said the guard. I could not imagine what it would be like to come home to a dead man in my yard.
In the morning we went around the house to see how he had made it out. There were footprints on the wall of the shed and the wall surrounding the yard. He had scaled the wall urban-ninja style! We were so thankful to have the guard. In the nights since then, we can hear him walking about, patrolling the yard. The event seems to have given him a sense of purpose in his job. Glad we could help.
Also that morning, we got word that Obed had not received any care in the University Hospital, and was no better than the night before. Mike rushed to the hospital with the car and made the decision to take him to the International Hospital just outside town. This was where we wanted to take him the night before, but I think Sarah wanted to stick with the familiar. Mike took the stance that last night we tried it your way, so now we will try our way. At the International Hospital, he said, you could immediately see the difference. Obed was taken into emergency, given tests, put on an IV, and had nurses checking on him regularly. At one point, however, they gave him a glucose-based IV and he started having sweats and minor seizures. They did another blood test and realised that his blood sugar was soaring. He was, apparently, having diabetic seizures as a reaction to the glucose IV. They gave him insulin and he calmed back down.
Obed was in the hospital for about five days. They were having a lot of trouble stabilizing his blood sugar and keeping him conscious. Mike spoke to his wife, who is a nurse, over the phone and she said that it’s normal for that to occur. If a patient has diabetes complicated by something else – in the case of Obed, a battle with Malaria – stabilizing the blood sugar levels becomes a longer and more difficult process. While he was there they were able to run a number of tests to determine what was really wrong. It was concluded that he has diabetes, an abnormally sized heart, and has been fighting off malaria.
When Obed was more stable but still in the hospital, Mike went to go visit him. When he returned, he told me something that Obed had said to him that morning. Obed said that had it not been for us, he really thinks he would have died. Since he is the core of the entire program down here, had Obed died, so too would have Ainembabazi. I can’t wrap my head around it. There is nothing about me or what I did that makes me worthy of being considered the reason that a person is still alive. That has been on my mind a lot since Mike mentioned it. He was discharged soon after. Obed and Sarah came by the other night for a visit, and he is looking much better. He was smiling and laughing at some of our Kampala stories.
So, on a lighter note, those Kampala stories are well worth the wait! Last Thursday, Mike, Lindsay and I braved the journey to Kampala to pick up Shannon. Kampala is Uganda’s capital city, and about a four to five hour drive from Mbarara where we live. The roads here leave much to be desired: there isn’t really such a thing as a lane. You mostly just swerve all over the place to avoid potholes as best you can and move over to the left if someone else is coming your way. If it’s a bus that is coming, cross your heart and hope it’s swift and painless. They are called The Elephants of the Road for a reason – each time a bus comes screaming and swerving past, I swear my life passes before my eyes. Nonetheless, we made it to Kampala in once piece as per our agreement (“just get me there with all my limbs still attached, and I’ll be happy”). Mike drove, and did a marvellous job. We blew out the front shock, but I can not say that was his fault.
Along the way, we listened to the same reggae tape over, and over, and over...and over...the entire time. The artists name was Lucky Dube (yes, like doobie) – but he was shot about a year ago, so I guess he’s not that lucky. The first few lines of our favourite song go, “Reggae in the bathroom, reggae in the bedroom, reggae everywhere!” We had a blast singing along, and now play a game making up new locations for reggae everywhere, singing the song as much as we can. (Reggae on the chair, reggae with my computer, reggae in the morning... )
I had heard much about Kampala, and was a little nervous about going there. I heard that the pollution was thick enough to chew on, and the streets were overwhelmingly busy. But as we got there, I thought it was the greatest place! We got lost only once on our way in. We took the wrong way in a traffic circle, after driving round and round a few times. We made quite the spectacle of ourselves in the process: me in the front seat with a map, Mike driving in circles, and Lindsay in the back, helpless in the confusion. None of the streets here have names or street signs, so we were so lost! We ended up finding our way to the hotel accidentally through a random back road market, the most busy street I have ever been down. All a part of the experience, I suppose.
Once we were settled, we took bodas (scooters) into the main part of town. This was probably the craziest experience of my life! Lindsay and I doubled, as I don’t have a phone and we didn’t want to get separated from each other. The bodas in Kampala are less like scooters and more like full on motorcycles which weave and fly though traffic. We cut off so many cars, and it felt like we were going to fall off the whole time.
There was one point where we were flying up a hill, passing cars on the side of the road, and came up to a huge hole on the side. I swear, if we took the boda and upended it, it would have fit into this hole nicely. The driver tried to swerve around it at the last second, but the back tire bounced in with full force. It hit the far side of the hole, and our momentum just managed to carry us up and out. I was laughing the whole time, but I’m not kidding, it was absolutely terrifying! I was sitting on the back, and would have been the first to get squashed! We hit so hard that I went bouncing backward on the bike and Lindsay had to grab my legs to hold me on! That made me laugh even harder. Here are two white girls squashed on the back of a boda, and Lindsay in the middle has her arms down holding my legs up for me. I’m sure people thought we were mental.
In downtown we found a great market with all sorts of jewellery, carvings, and clothing. I was so happy to play tourist for a while and pick up a few things to bring home. As it grew dark we found a fabulous little restaurant nearby. I am excited to say that, after at least three years, I, Lindsay Kruit, have eaten meat. But wait! That is not all. This was not any meat. I ate Crocodile tail, as well as small pieces of Kudu, Spring Bok, and Wildebeest steaks!! It was a special occasion however; I was back to veggie in the morning as I rejected my sausage over to Mike’s plate.
My boda on the way back was equally hilarious. The driver was proposing to me on the way home, and I was laughing at him the whole way. “How can I get myself a Canadian wife? That is something I would love more than anything.” I told him I would go back to Canada, round up a few girls, send them to Kampala and he could have his pick. He goes, “No, there is one very special one I would like.” HA! Then he started asking for my number and such. I gave him a pretty firm thanks but no thanks.
Picking up Shannon went well. We got stuck in rush hour traffic on our way out to the airport, something we forgot to take into account. I hope I never complain about traffic at home again – nothing could ever compare to rush hour down town Kampala. We made it out ok though, and Mike drove like a madman, or should I say like a Ugandan, to get us there on time. Shannon made her way through customs a few minutes after we arrived at the airport. Perfect timing!
Since then, I have been so very grateful for an uneventful few days. Shannon seems to be settling in well and is getting used to The Lindsies goofy personalities. I really do need to update you all a bit more often, so that these blogs are not so long to read. I send my apologies, but do hope you are enjoying reading about the trip. Mike and I finished the first draft of our Ainembabazi Lending Project manual just before Shannon arrived, and the three of us have been working hard to get the program up and running for the end of June. Cross your fingers that all goes smoothly for us until then!
Hope all is well for you all. I send my love and thanks for all your support!
Kaleé,
Linds.
P.S. A big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my little sister Christina today!!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
THERE’S A COCKROACH ON MY FACE!
It has been some time now since I last wrote, and I’m sure you are all curious as to how things have been going. Much has changed over the past week, so I will do my best to fill you in on it all.
This week was moving week. On Monday we sadly packed up our things from the small apartment we had made our home for the previous week to move to the other side of town. The change, in theory, made a lot of sense. The new place is much larger and is closer to the home of our Country Director. Since it came relatively unfurnished, anything that was bought for the new place immediately became the property of the organization - an investment for the future. However, these facts were not enough to get us excited about leaving the old apartment.
As we moved our things into the new place, we quickly realised how much work we had ahead of us. The cultural differences of what is liveable in Uganda verses what is liveable in Canada were also swiftly apparent. The owner had “cleaned” the place for us before we arrived, but nonetheless, the walls and floors were filthy! We spend most of the first day cleaning, while our country director, our Uganda Boss, went into town to get us bedding to sleep on. He conveniently forgot to get us pillows.
After a long and frustrating day of scrubbing, we made our beds to call it a night. We had to clean off the bed frames a bit too – the other Lindsay had a bed that was covered with a layer mould. Since the walls and ceilings are made of concrete, we had to be creative with hanging our bug nets. There are now strings going from the wooden door frame to the wooden window frames in order to tie up our nets. Monday was a rough day for all of us – we were all sad to leave our home, we didn’t like the new house, and we were frustrated that it didn’t feel homey at all – but little did we know it was nowhere near done.
I had gone to bed early. On top of all the cleaning, I had been battling with three days worth of upset stomach, traveler’s diarrhoea, and severe dehydration. Top it all off with a bout of seriously missing home, I was ready to sleep.( I didn’t know at the time, but as I fell asleep, the other two found a mouse in the house! It ran into the garage before they could catch it.) The other Lindsay and I share a room, and the bathroom is through our room, so I was roused out of sleep a bit as she came into bed and Mike went to have a shower. As I gathered my senses, I suddenly sat up with a gasp! “There are bugs in my bed!!”
We all panicked! A cockroach had made its way under my bug net and had scattered up past my face. I sent it flying out of my bed, and it met a swift death by Mike’s sandal. Lindsay and I were afraid to leave our beds, thinking that the cockroaches had come from the walls or windows, but when Mike told us that there were many more beneath our beds you couldn’t have gotten us out of there faster! We took the sheets off the beds and flipped them both up on their sides to kill the ones that were hiding under them. We were horrified when we saw several more on the frame of the bed and crawl into the cracks in the frame when they hit the light. There was a cockroach infestation in my bed!!
So there we sat at 1:30 am, wondering what on earth we were going to do. We phoned our Canada Boss, the president of the organization who lives in Edmonton, to see if we were simply sissy Canadians who were over reacting. She assured us that is was ok that we were freaking out. We came to the consensus that there was no way we were going to sleep, so we called our Uganda Boss to come get us out of there. (I should also mention that he, since we arrived, has been fighting off Malaria.) We felt terrible as he came to get us, but were so happy to check into the cockroach-free Lake View Resort Hotel.
We spent the night there, and made our way into town first thing Tuesday morning to arm ourselves for battle. We returned to the house with bottles of Africa-strength bug spray, sticky-pad mouse catchers, bleach, and scrub brushes. Lindsay had to go to the village to meet with the community children, so Mike and I started cleaning. I washed all of our bedding, while Mike cleaned the bed frames that we had taken outside. As he sprayed bug-killer into the cracks, cockroach after cockroach came squirming out. We found and killed thirteen in total, all out of my bed frame. Later that day we caught our mouse friend, and then also were pleased to discover that our couches – the only thing we have to sit on in the house – are riddled with Silverfish and Fleas. We were missing our old place soo badley!
But since then things have improved. The bugspray seems to have worked, and we are all sleeping soundly through the night. None of us will sit on the couch still, we all eat dinner on the floor instead. We bought some shelves in the market and were so happy to get our clothes out of our suitcases. I wish I could have taken a photo – we carried the five-foot tall wooden shelves on our laps as we home rode on the back of scooters. Bit by bit we are making this place into more of a home. We are sleeping better, our stomachs have settled, and we all have smiles on our faces again. And to top it off, today we discovered a restaurant in town that makes super tasty pizza.
Nonetheless, we are all exhausted after a draining week. We did our best to get some work done for the project, but were really only able to focus on it for about two days. We have had a few event invitations for the weekend, but have politely declined. Each of us wants nothing more than to just relax!!
I hope all is well in Canada. I saw a copy of The Economist in a store this afternoon and am thinking about picking it up in an attempt to keep up with the outside world. Keep the messages coming; it is so great to hear from all of you. Hopefully as things become more normal we can start sending updates a bit more often.
All the best!
Lindsay.
This week was moving week. On Monday we sadly packed up our things from the small apartment we had made our home for the previous week to move to the other side of town. The change, in theory, made a lot of sense. The new place is much larger and is closer to the home of our Country Director. Since it came relatively unfurnished, anything that was bought for the new place immediately became the property of the organization - an investment for the future. However, these facts were not enough to get us excited about leaving the old apartment.
As we moved our things into the new place, we quickly realised how much work we had ahead of us. The cultural differences of what is liveable in Uganda verses what is liveable in Canada were also swiftly apparent. The owner had “cleaned” the place for us before we arrived, but nonetheless, the walls and floors were filthy! We spend most of the first day cleaning, while our country director, our Uganda Boss, went into town to get us bedding to sleep on. He conveniently forgot to get us pillows.
After a long and frustrating day of scrubbing, we made our beds to call it a night. We had to clean off the bed frames a bit too – the other Lindsay had a bed that was covered with a layer mould. Since the walls and ceilings are made of concrete, we had to be creative with hanging our bug nets. There are now strings going from the wooden door frame to the wooden window frames in order to tie up our nets. Monday was a rough day for all of us – we were all sad to leave our home, we didn’t like the new house, and we were frustrated that it didn’t feel homey at all – but little did we know it was nowhere near done.
I had gone to bed early. On top of all the cleaning, I had been battling with three days worth of upset stomach, traveler’s diarrhoea, and severe dehydration. Top it all off with a bout of seriously missing home, I was ready to sleep.( I didn’t know at the time, but as I fell asleep, the other two found a mouse in the house! It ran into the garage before they could catch it.) The other Lindsay and I share a room, and the bathroom is through our room, so I was roused out of sleep a bit as she came into bed and Mike went to have a shower. As I gathered my senses, I suddenly sat up with a gasp! “There are bugs in my bed!!”
We all panicked! A cockroach had made its way under my bug net and had scattered up past my face. I sent it flying out of my bed, and it met a swift death by Mike’s sandal. Lindsay and I were afraid to leave our beds, thinking that the cockroaches had come from the walls or windows, but when Mike told us that there were many more beneath our beds you couldn’t have gotten us out of there faster! We took the sheets off the beds and flipped them both up on their sides to kill the ones that were hiding under them. We were horrified when we saw several more on the frame of the bed and crawl into the cracks in the frame when they hit the light. There was a cockroach infestation in my bed!!
So there we sat at 1:30 am, wondering what on earth we were going to do. We phoned our Canada Boss, the president of the organization who lives in Edmonton, to see if we were simply sissy Canadians who were over reacting. She assured us that is was ok that we were freaking out. We came to the consensus that there was no way we were going to sleep, so we called our Uganda Boss to come get us out of there. (I should also mention that he, since we arrived, has been fighting off Malaria.) We felt terrible as he came to get us, but were so happy to check into the cockroach-free Lake View Resort Hotel.
We spent the night there, and made our way into town first thing Tuesday morning to arm ourselves for battle. We returned to the house with bottles of Africa-strength bug spray, sticky-pad mouse catchers, bleach, and scrub brushes. Lindsay had to go to the village to meet with the community children, so Mike and I started cleaning. I washed all of our bedding, while Mike cleaned the bed frames that we had taken outside. As he sprayed bug-killer into the cracks, cockroach after cockroach came squirming out. We found and killed thirteen in total, all out of my bed frame. Later that day we caught our mouse friend, and then also were pleased to discover that our couches – the only thing we have to sit on in the house – are riddled with Silverfish and Fleas. We were missing our old place soo badley!
But since then things have improved. The bugspray seems to have worked, and we are all sleeping soundly through the night. None of us will sit on the couch still, we all eat dinner on the floor instead. We bought some shelves in the market and were so happy to get our clothes out of our suitcases. I wish I could have taken a photo – we carried the five-foot tall wooden shelves on our laps as we home rode on the back of scooters. Bit by bit we are making this place into more of a home. We are sleeping better, our stomachs have settled, and we all have smiles on our faces again. And to top it off, today we discovered a restaurant in town that makes super tasty pizza.
Nonetheless, we are all exhausted after a draining week. We did our best to get some work done for the project, but were really only able to focus on it for about two days. We have had a few event invitations for the weekend, but have politely declined. Each of us wants nothing more than to just relax!!
I hope all is well in Canada. I saw a copy of The Economist in a store this afternoon and am thinking about picking it up in an attempt to keep up with the outside world. Keep the messages coming; it is so great to hear from all of you. Hopefully as things become more normal we can start sending updates a bit more often.
All the best!
Lindsay.
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