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!!

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.

Fear not,we are fine!

Well, everyone, we have made it!

Mike and I flew into Entebbe airport after 48hours of travel sunday afternoon, so thankful for the warm Ugandan sunshine and cool Lake Victoria breeze. It is absolutely stunning here, far more than I could have ever imagined. We have spent the last few days settling into our place as best we can, although by next monday will pack up to move once more. Ainembabazi has a larger apartment for us to live in, but it is not yet ready for us.

Mbarara is crazy! Bustling, busy, crowded and hot. At first it was a bit overwhelming - everywhere we walk people yell "Muzungu!" (white person!) after us. But we have started to learn some words in the local language, Rukiga, to say back. Now when they yell at us, we say "Webale, Omiragu ju!" which means "Thanks, Black person!" They laugh soo hard when we do this!

Yesterday we went to the village, Kinoni, for the first time. This is where we will actually be working while we were here. Mike and I got to play with the kids and meet the Guardian Committee (the elders we will work with for the microfinance project). They kids here are so wonderful! Most of them speak english well and love to play with our Ipods and cameras. They are remarkably careful and trustworthy with our things, it is funny to see the random photos on our cameras at the end of the day. We taught a group of them how to play 500-Up, and by the end of the day we had a group of about 30 kids out playing with us. They like to call it Jackpot!

But here I sit in the african style internet cafe, a stuffy little room with flies buzzing about. My time is nearly up as the pages took a while to load. Even the computers run of Africa time! I shall leave you for now, but thank you so much for everyone who has sent me emails to read while I am here. I really appreciate that! I will keep in touch as things progress.

Love you all,

Linds.