Saturday, October 25, 2008

Snapshots from daily life: #1)



In this picture, taken looking out from the Buddukiro drop in center (located in Nyendo’s slum area), you can see some of some of the most common household items used here in Masaka. There are the ubiquitous basins, used for anything from washing clothes or dishes, bathing, and carrying away clippings from the garden. You have your little wooden stool- the perfect height for sitting next to one of those basins as you wash! (This is the rectangular model- I prefer the circular one myself.)

Next to the basin, you have the yellow ‘jerry can’, used for toting water from the neighborhood faucet back home. You can see even very little kids carrying full cans on their heads. You also have some black dress shoes. You may notice that they are very ‘smart’ (think British meaning) and perfectly polished. Ugandans put a high priority on looking smart, and most press their clothes and polish their shoes before each wearing. (I’ll try to get a snapshot of the charcoal-powered iron next time…)

Bonus- in the background you can see a chicken. They, like the goats, tend to roam freely during the day, foraging for themselves, and then somehow remembering where to return home come evening.

Hooray for my fellow FSDers

Have I mentioned how much I appreciate the staff and my fellow interns at FSD? It’s been so great to share the highs and lows of this experience so far with them, and the FSD office has served as a little oasis amidst all the cultural adjustment. Here are a couple pics:

Hagar, Brock, me and Karen, the four interns this term, help ourselves to a typical meal of starch, starch, and starch.


Ned (outgoing international coordinator), Amy (former intern and incoming coordinator- more on her later-she’s awesome!), and Anita, the program director. I'll have to post another pic of Sarah, the in-country coordinator.

MPC - church home away from home

I’m very happy to report that I think I’ve found a church to attend in Masaka. The first week I had attended a catholic church with my host family. There was lovely African style music and smartly dressed people. There was also a baptism ceremony for like 30(!) babies all in one pop. It was nice, but it’s just not my style, especially in a language I don’t understand.

The next week, both Sarah, who works for FSD, and Aida, the social worker at Buddukiro, recommended that I try the English service at their church- Masaka Pentecostal. It’s where the ‘Born Agains’ go (I’ll write more on my impressions of religion in Uganda in a later blog entry.)

It was pouring rain the following Sunday morning, but I was so ‘thirsty’ that I was determined to get to church even if I had to build an ark to do it! I was glad I did- there was something very powerful about the worship, out in the open air of the half completed church building (thankfully the roof was in place at least!) Some of the songs were familiar, and it made my spirit sing to be instantly part of a family, even among strangers in a strange land.

The teaching was good, and later in the service, they of course welcomed the first-time visitors from up front. The pastor said, “Ah, on my way here this morning, I saw someone walking with an colorful umbrella, but when I saw that it was a muzungu I thought, ‘no, she wouldn’t be going to church!’, but here you are! That’s the thing about you muzungus, you’re easy to spot!”

The following Thursday, I was also been able to check out the church ‘cell group’ (or small group) that meets in my neighborhood. It seems that will be a great way to get to know people better and learn what’s on their hearts and minds. I also got to have a great chat with Pastor Sam about potential ministry opportunities, and the church’s vision for working with orphans and others in need. There are some parts of the ‘Christian culture’ here that will take some adjustment, but praise God for providing a place to call home!

Pic- the front of the church (which is actually located a two minute walk from Buddukiro.)

The two faces of Mukiibi

In one of my early blog entries, I mentioned that Mukiibi, the four year old grandson of my host mom, and I have an interesting relationship. You might chalk it up to a clash between two ‘strong-willed’ people. Here’s the story of how things have developed so far.

The first day I arrived, Friday, Mukiibi was very shy, so I approached him. He subsequently started to cry (freaked out by his first Muzungu sighting.) The next morning, he had warmed up a bit, and knocked on my door. I was in the middle of unpacking, but eager to win him over, I let him in. He was extremely curious, and before long had commandeered my headlamp, glasses, and digital camera. It was the beginning of a good day together as he and the other kids enjoyed the toys I had brought them, including Hot Wheels, crayons, balls, and some small dollar store flashlights. (By the way, all these toys, except the Hot Wheels, were decimated into little pieces within hours.)

Pic- Mukiibi wearing my glasses and head lamp.


Unfortunately, I soon found that I may have sent the wrong message by my Saturday open door policy. The next morning, Sunday, the mosque ‘went off’ at 5:00am. I managed to fall back asleep, but at 6:12am, I heard another knock at my door. Mukiibi. He was up and ready to play with ‘his’ muzungu. I groaned and ignored him for a few minutes, but when he kept knocking, I finally let him in.

I humored him for about 15 minutes, showing him pictures in my Lonely Planet Africa book. Finally, I motioned that he should leave because I wanted to get a little more sleep. He wouldn’t leave. So, I physically picked him up and set him outside my door. In order to close the door, you have to lock it, so that’s what I did. I figured that would be the end of that, at least for another 45 minutes while I finished my last REM cycle. I was mistaken, and about to learn that if you frustrate this child on one front, he just ups the ante.

He started by knocking on my door, and this quickly switched to pounding, as if to break it down. When I told him to stop, he ran outside and started shouting at me. He screamed, “Something something something MUZUNGU!” as he tried to climb up the bars on my window. When he came back inside, and I could hear that he had my umbrella. He started threatening to do something to it if I didn’t let him in. Meanwhile, I’m lying huddled in my bed thinking, “Where is the grandmother, why doesn’t she stop this kid, and what am I doing in this country??” (She had already left for church- there seems to be an unusually high correlation between Mukiibi’s misdeeds and her absences. ;)

Finally, after about 20 minutes of tantrums and general mayhem, I came out, locking my door behind me. I tried to remember everything I ever learned on Supernanny- get down to his level, use a low firm tone to communicate that the behavior is unacceptable. I gave up on getting any more sleep, and went to sit out in the living room, staying in his line of sight so he would calm down. Hmm, this wasn’t working out like it does on for Jo on T.V….

Over the next week, we had more of the same- both delightful moments and tense run ins. Now granted, he is only four years old, but he really added to my already high cultural stress, making my host family situation less than comfortable. Other examples of the two “faces” he presented:

Face 1 – Jenipher sends us out together to get milk from the woman down the street who owns a cow. As we head down the path, Mukiibi slips his hand into mine and looks up at me lovingly. Awww!!
Face 2 – Mukiibi gets mad because I won’t let him draw on the table with his crayon. He looks at me defiantly, holds up the crayon, and very deliberately breaks it in half. Argh!!

Face 1 – Mukiibi and I sit together and go through the story book I brought him. He points to the three bears and Goldilocks and says the words I taught him, “Daddy, mommy, baby, porridge,” and tries to teach me those words in Luganda. Awww!
Face 2 – Mad that I won’t let him throw his Hot Wheels into the coal cookstove, Mukiibi picks up a pan of matooke as if to throw it. I in turn pick him up, put him out of the kitchen, and lock the door. He proceeds to run down the path and almost into the busy and hazardous street. I run after him, and carry him back to the house as he kicks me and pulls my glasses off my face. Argh!

Face 1 – Mukiibi turns up his collar and dances like a little hip hop star to the music on the radio, too cute for words, and totally rivaling Joshua on SYTYCD (if you don’t know that show, you need to watch!) Awww!
Face 2 - There is only a shower curtain covering the bathroom door, and after a near miss, I ask Jenipher to tell Mukiibi to please stay away while I am in the bathroom. That evening, just as I finish my bath and slip a towel around myself, I spy a little Peeping Tom at the curtain. Argh!
Pic- Mukiibi dancing with his Uncle Bonnie (my host brother)


That last run in with the shower curtain was both the low point, and the turning point for us. Afterwards, I very calmly told Jenipher, “I really don’t want Mukiibi near the bathroom while I’m bathing.” In response, she pretty much went ballistic on him, spanking him like crazy and sending him to bed without supper. Oooh, not quite the response I wanted. It made me cry, actually, to have been part of that conflict- as much as he was being a brat, it broke my heart to hear him sobbing “Jia jia sonyiwa!” (Grandma, I’m sorry!) She saw my distress, but said, “Let me do this so he learns.”

I have to say, as much as child rearing in Uganda involves more corporal punishment than I am generally comfortable with, Mukiibi hasn’t given me any other problems since that evening. In fact, he’s been very polite, sweet and helpful. Maybe it’s because he now knows that I’ll tattle…or maybe it’s because we’ve both somehow learned how to best ‘handle’ each other.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

The road home for F, F, and M

Note – whenever talking about a specific child, I will not give the full name, just to protect their identity as a vulnerable child.

Last week, three boys walked into the drop in center. Although they said they were 11 and 12 they looked about 8 or 9. One was M, who had been to Buddukiro before. When he was on the streets before, he was hit in the head by one of the townspeople, and almost died. The other street kids got him to the police, and Buddukiro was able to help with him to get medical treatment and to prosecute the person who injured him. After recovering, he was resettled back in his home village. Unfortunately, he decided that he liked town better than his home situation, so he returned, bringing two friends with him.

F and F were friends of M’s from his home village. They each had a very dramatic story about why they left home, neither of which was true, as we found out later. (In her database, Aida actually has special pages to record each new version of the child’s story as they tell it, and as she observes it during home tracing.) Buddukiro places a large emphasis on resettling the children back in their home communities as soon as they are willing to go. After a counseling session with Aida, all three boys indicated that they did indeed want to go home, so we arranged to resettle them the next day.

The next morning, when they didn’t show up, one of the staff was able to find them in town. They had been waiting for reimbursement for some small work they did for a shopkeeper, who was now refusing to pay. They finally came along to the center, and the journey home began, and as it turned out, it certainly was a trip.

Pic- The boys taking part in the music lesson with Robert just before their departure. It was amazing to see them light up and express themselves. F, F and M are the small boys.


Taxi I
Me, Aida, and the three boys left the center, walked down the road, and piled into one of the white taxi cars that is constantly running on the main road between Masaka and Nyendo. This was the first of several stages of the trip. We had been driving for a few minutes when the driver realized that there was a police check point set up ahead. He apparently didn’t have his license in order, because he proceeded to throw the car into reverse at full speed, in search of an alternative route.

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that the brush on the side of the road was concealing a huge ditch, and suddenly we were sliding backwards straight down the hill! At the bottom we were all fine, but the car was pretty well stuck. We got out and headed up the hill in search of another. From the distance, I saw about 10 of the workers who were around that area lifting the car straight up out of the ditch, and sending the driver careening off again on his way.

Boda I
No other car wanted to take on as many people as we were, given that there was the police checkpoint ahead. We walked for a little while, and then finally found some boda boda drivers willing to take us. Boda bodas are motorcycle taxis that can comfortably fit the driver and one other person on the back seat, though I’ve seen a family of four squeezed on there. We put me and one boy on one, and Aida and the other two boys on the other (we ladies of course very properly seated side-saddle.)

Taxi II
The boda bodas drove about 10 minutes down the road to the place where the next set of white taxis depart for the town we were going to in the west. As we dismounted, there were about 15 ‘handlers’ who swarmed around us trying to arrange our transport. We followed one, and piled in for the 2 hour drive to the main town near the boys’ village. Now, when I say piled in, I mean piled in. In that normal-sized car, we were seven people in the back (4 adults, 3 kids), and four in the front (including the driver). One of the Ugandan men sitting next to me commented that he had rarely ridden so comfortably- usually there are 8 adults in the back!

As we started down the road, we noticed how grey and heavy the sky looked. “Uh oh”, I thought. Sure enough, it soon started to POUR down rain, just as we left the paved part of the road. As we started slip-sliding up and down the hilly and rutted roads, I started to pray. Aida later told me that she did also! While we prayed, the Ugandan guy next to me started to doze off, obviously completely comfortable and at ease! The windows had been closed and were soon fogged up on the inside and mud-coated on the outside. I won’t even mention how uncommon deodorant is in Uganda, because mine failed even me at that point. About halfway through the drive, the boy on my lap started to look mighty green around the gills, and I got him a plastic bag just in time to catch his breakfast.

BodaII

We pulled into the town and extricated ourselves from the taxi. One of the shopkeepers was kind enough to offer us a place to wait out the worst of the rain before boarding our next set of bodas up into the boys’ village. After about 30 minutes, we got on headed a ways up the path to the first boy’s home. Now, I’ve been told that Ugandan women have even been seen breast feeding on boda bodas, but I’m not quite so adept yet, and so I held on for dear life as we bumped up and down the dirt path.

The great escape
We came to M’s house first. Aida went inside with him and his father, leaving me outside with F,F, and the two boda drivers. At one point, I saw F start to go up the hill to the brush. I thought to myself, “oh, he must have to go to the bathroom after such a long ride, I’d better avert my eyes.” Silly, gullible Tammie. Aida came out and said, “where’s F.” Oh dear, he ran away! I felt awful, and then of course it started to pour down rain again, and I’m thinking “this kid is going to get pneumonia and die, and it’s all my fault!”(Thankfully it turned out he ran home, so we found him there when he went to visit his family. Chalk it up as a lesson learned I guess!)

As we visited each boy’s home, Aida did a lot of counseling to them and their families in Luganda. She was warning them of the dangers of the street, reminding them of the their responsibilities as parents, and strategizing with them about ways to prevent the child from returning. It was pretty emotional and challenging.

Pic - F, the "runaway", standing in front of his home with his brothers and sisters.


Main reflections/realizations from the day:

Wow, I can see why follow up is a challenge. One of the areas where Buddukiro came out weak in their recent program evaluation was in the area of follow up services. Now I can see why this would be a challenge. Five hours, three homes, and many layers of mud later, as well as several thousand shillings lighter, I came home pretty exhausted. With Aida as the only social worker on staff at the moment, giving the kids the follow up needed to make it a successful resettlement is a huge task.

Wow am I gullible.
I tend to wear rose-colored glasses, but those need to come off. This is a tough population, and the kids are very traumatized and tend to pick up bad habits on the street. In her database, Aida actually has several different pages to record the different versions they give of their stories. It takes a knowledge of the way they operate to find the balance between being approachable and kind, but tough enough not to be bamboozled (like that word, eh?)

Wow, this is for real. Seeing the homes the boys returned to broke my heart. I could see why they would find some appeal on the streets, where at least they can earn a little money to eat well. I was struck by how these are real lives being affected, right now, and into their future. Providing a quality intervention is really important to helping the kids find their way through their present difficulties so they can conceive of greater possibilities for the future.

Introducing “You know you’re not in Kansas anymore!” Moments

Moment 1
You know you’re not in Kansas anymore when:

You have just waved hello to the cow who provided you with the milk for your morning tea (and it’s still body temperature warm…)


Wait a minute, maybe some people in Kansas do do that?!?

Getting to know Buddukiro Children's Agency

Since coming to Masaka, I have been working with the Buddukiro Children’s Agency (BCA), which is dedicated to helping street kids, child laborers, and other vulnerable children in Masaka District. “Buddukiro” means “refuge” in Luganda, and is a name that was chosen by the street children themselves when the agency was first founded.

I’ll write up a separate entry about the children we serve themselves, some of the reasons they have for coming to the street, and the challenges they face. In the meantime, I’ll introduce you to the services and staff of BCA.

Buddukiro works in the following areas:
- Rehabilitation, which involves: withdrawal from the street or child labor situation; provision of access to services at the drop in center (counseling, cleaning facilities, food, ‘catch up’education class); home tracing, family counseling, and resettlement back home.
- Resettlement, which involves: after the return home- assistance with entry into the formal school system or a vocational training program, and follow up counseling and advising.
- BCA would like to do more advocacy/networking with other child protection agencies, and would also like to start doing some prevention activities to address the root causes of kids coming on the streets.This is an area I may be able to work on while I’m here…

So far, I really enjoy the environment at Buddukiro, and the people I’m working with.Introducing some of my new colleagues:


Pic - Aida and Cissy in the Nyendo classroom

Mr. Cassim Wamono, project manager Mr. Wamono is originally from a different tribe in eastern Uganda, so Luganda is his second language.He has been with Buddukirofor several years.So far, he strikes me as a very logical thinker, and it feels like we’re somehow on the same wave length as we discuss issues.I really appreciate this, because it helps things to flow smoothly.

Aunt Aida
, primary social worker.(We are all called ‘Aunt’ or ‘Uncle’ by the kids.)Aida has been with BCA for about a year.She is responsible for all aspects of outreach, intake, assessment, counseling, hometracing, vocational training placement, etc (a big job!).She is also 29 and also a believer (anyone else sense a really cool friendship potential here??) She is from the same tribe as Mr. Wamono, and she is the first woman from her village or any of the surrounding ones to complete a university degree (having studied social work/social administration).

Aunt Cissy, education coordinator.Cissy has been with Buddukiro since the very beginning over ten years ago.She is involved with all aspects of education, including conducting ‘catch up’ basic education classes at each of the two drop in centers, and with working with the teachers of kids who have been placed back in school.

Uncle Robert ,the music/drama teacher. He teaches the kids to play local instruments, has them recite poetry, and teaches them songs that he himself has composed about issues like HIV/AIDS, respecting the environment, and faith. During these kids of activities, it's so great from seeing the kids go from looking quiet or traumatized to laughing and enjoying themselves like kids should.

Other folks I’m still getting to know better are the nurse, the sports teacher, Sarah the accountant, and Jarrod the ‘everything’ person!

For my first week, I mostly read up on organizational literature, and shadowed staff as they delivered services at the two drop in centers in Masaka and Nyendo town.It's important that I try to learn Luganda ASAP, because the boys (the kids are all boys so far) mostly do not speak much English, not having had much formal schooling.
It's a little awkward, but sports and games have been a great way to communicate even without words.



Pic- me giving the boys the sports equipment I brought along- they really love the soccer ball, and had never seen badminton before!

I also discussed my potential role with the project manager, and have been developing a work plan to guide how I spend my time. As of right now I’m thinking that maybe I will spend about 20% of my time on direct service (sports or English lessons with the kids, participating in home tracing, outreach, and resettlement trips); another 30% on organizational development for BCA (trying to identify new funding sources, grant writing, maybe giving some in house training).

I’m thinking that I will spend the remaining 50% of my time on my ‘mini’ project I am supposed to develop for FSD.I could really use prayer for wisdom and creativity as I move through the ‘needs assessment’ phase of the project during these next few weeks.In talking with all the folks at Buddukiro, it looks likely we will try to design and implement some kind of pilot prevention project (to work with the communities where the kids largely come from, to avoid having them come to the streets in the first place.)It feels like just a small spit in a big ocean though, so prayer for an idea that leads to effective use of time and resources, for maximum impact, would be greatly appreciated!

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Top Five Special Moments So Far

Lest I give the impression after that last post that I am anything less than thoroughly thankful and excited to be here, here are a few of the moments I’ve experienced so far that I will likely remember fondly for years to come:

1. Waking to the sound of torrential rains as I lay cozy in bed underneath my mosquito net. The rainy season makes everything lush and green.

2. Sharing evening meals and listening to the radio with my host family by the light of Jenipher’s little ‘Firefly’ solar lamp.

3. Joining Jenipher and her ‘Good Life’ team to give a session on family planning in a local village, and seeing them take pride in and ownership of the well-being of their community. I didn’t say much myself, but they got a real kick out of it when I introduced myself as ‘Nabatanzi” from the Lugave clan. (pic - Jenipher and I in our gear)

4. Taking time out of the busy chore schedule to sit down with Jenipher, Justine, and Mikiibi over a lively game of Uno, and taking turns slamming each other with the dreaded ‘Draw 4.’

5. Bonding with the street kids at the Buddukiro Children’s Agency drop in centers over Uno, badminton, soccer, and ‘zoomie zoomie.’ More to follow next week on my work so far with BCA.

Top Five Triggers of Culture Shock

If you’ve ever left your home country, chances are that you may have experienced the confusion, fatigue and overall irritability that can accompany your encounter with a new culture. This ailment, commonly known as culture shock, has already afflicted me here in Uganda. In these moments, I stand there, having chosen to come here of my own free will, full of noble aspirations about loving the people here, and all I can think is, “What on earth is wrong with these people?!?”

In my travels across the years, I’ve noticed some common ‘triggers’ of these feelings of culture shock, at least for me:

1. Feeling like a child. In a new place, because there are so many things that are done differently, and because you don’t speak the language, you can feel like you’ve reverted to nursery school. This is actually what my host mom told me after I finished my first mat weaving lesson the other day. I felt pretty good about my first strip of woven material, but I noticed that hers was much wider. This was because she started me with a much simpler version, which involved fewer strands. Starting me at ‘nursery level’ mat weaving was probably wise of her, but it sure took some of the air out of my pride! Or the other morning, I wanted to help out with some chores, and not be a lazybones, so she let me stir the millet porridge for breakfast. I stirred like a champ, but when she came in to check on me, instead of noticing the lack of lumps, she said, “This has become too thick, why didn’t you add water to it!” Um, maybe because I’ve never made millet porridge over a charcoal fire before?? Everyone likes to feel competent, but the fact is that in a new place, sometimes you just aren’t! (Pic - me weaving)

2. Lack of control over food. There are so many cultures, including this one, where it seems to me that anything less than a superhuman feat of consumption is a source of major disappointment to your host. Case in point, I consume a plateful of matooke (steamed, veeery dense plantain), half my weight in beans, and a heaping pile of rice, and still my host mother wonders what’s wrong that I didn’t take more. Being overweight is desirable here, and she’s determined to send me home twice my original size! Fully recognizing the good intentions behind this kind of hospitality, for me personally, this pressure, and the related pressure of not having much say over when, where, and what you can/have to eat tend to make me feel out of control and a little irritable.

3. Conflict within the host family. Sometimes when you don’t understand the language, all you have to go on is the tone of voice. Here in my host family, there are four small kids. I’ve noticed a lot of differences in the philosophy toward child-rearing. I hear both Jenipher and Justine using such a harsh tone with them at times, or hear the kids screaming and crying without really understanding what’s wrong with them. If this catches me at the wrong moment, it just makes me want to hide away in my room with my pillow over my head!

4. Subtle (or not so subtle) negative comments about my home country. I don’t mind a little cultural comparison, or even debate. Where I come from, and where I now live are very different places, each with their positives and negatives. However, there are certain people that always seem to insert a little dig into every comment. For example, the college-aged grandson of one of Jenipher’s friends was comparing family size in the U.S. and Uganda (the average number of kids here has got to be at least 6-7…). His take on it: “People have fewer children in the U.S. because they are greedy and want to keep all their money for themselves.” Even if these types of comments may have some grain of truth in them, they rub me the wrong way and put me on the defensive.

5. A language/culture lesson when I’m already sooo done for the day. I have a lot to learn, I get it. But there’s a proper time and place for every lesson. Today, after a long day already filled with many new experiences and lessons, I was walking home through the “gauntlet” that is Villa Road (it’s just lined with kids and boda boda drivers, the two main sources of ‘bye Muzungu’ comments). A young Ugandan man fell in step next to me and greeted me in complicated Luganda fashion (more on greetings later). That was fine, but he continued on walking with me for awhile, trying a little patronizingly to correct me and teach me new intricacies of the language. I’m thinking, “Okay buddy, I’m sooo not in the mood right now, my brain is done!” I just kept saying, “Uh huh”, with a polite smile plastered on my face until he went away.

A few bonus triggers:



  • Too much down time.

  • Not enough down time.

  • Not being completely understood for who I am, due to language/cultural barriers.

  • Being viewed as if I had a big $ on my forehead.

The bottom line on culture shock
I’m still working through it, but I think the key word is: Patience! I just have to be patient with others, understanding that they are behaving in a logical way given where they’re coming from, and understanding also that their intent is almost always to help me learn. I also have to be patient with myself, and be willing to heed the harbingers of culture shock by grabbing ten minutes of down time alone in my room, or by eating a Snickers bar!

Jenipher - An Amazing Lady

My host mom Jenipher is basically an amazing woman, with an amazing life story. My first evening at her place, we sat on the porch and she told me some of her story. She left secondary school part way through to get married, and very soon found herself with five small childen, and another on the way. Her husband was an insurance salesman, and from the photos she’s showed me, it seems they were doing fairly well for themselves in those days.

Unfortunately though, when the Tanzanian forces swept in to rid Uganda of Amin’s regime in 1979, this took a heavy toll on Masaka and the surrounding area, which was one of the first places they hit. Jennifer’s husband was shot and killed, and the house (where I stay) was almost completely destroyed. Like many of the residents, she gathered up her children and fled to the bush until it was safe to return.

In reflecting on that time, Jenipher told me, “After becoming a widow, I wasted two years crying and looking for someone to help me. Finally, I woke up one day and realized that no one was going to help, and that I had two hands and a brain in my head, and I would have to use them and work hard for my kids.” She did work hard, farming and doing handicrafts and other small businesses to rebuild her home and raise money for school fees to put all of her children through school.

These days, Jenipher is a jia jia (grandmother), and well-respected member of the community. She is the member/chairperson of a number of voluntary groups, including a women’s savings and credit group through FINCA, and a “Good Life Team” that volunteers to go out and provide training to nearby villages on health and hygiene, family planning, and HIV/AIDS prevention (see photo of Jenipher in her uniform). She takes a lot of pride in her income generating and voluntary work. I’m very lucky, because she likes to bring me along to her group meetings, which is an amazing “in” for a muzungu like me.

One other thing about Jenipher is that she loves to laugh, and to shout ‘hallelulah’ to the Jesus she credits with bringing her through some very tough times. That’s one thing the other interns and I have noticed about many of the people here- that both laughter and faith have helped them to persevere and keep smiling through some very tough times.

More Host Family Pics




Blogger wouldn't let me put more photos in the last post (where you saw my mosquito net/bedroom). Here are a few more:


- Our yard where my host mother has her banana (matooke) plantation


- Mikiibi (standing), Alex (crawling), and Justine (sitting)









First Weekend with the Host Family

We left the relative comfort of each other’s company last Friday to head out to our host families. I think all of us were a little apprehensive as we embarked on this next phase of our journey, and I’m sure our families were a little nervous about meeting us too…

My host family is located in Kylikiti village, which is about a 15 minute walk from Nyendo town, which is in turn about a 15 minute ‘white car taxi’ ride from Masaka town. All in all, it’s not a bad commute, except for the fact that I have to walk past no less than five schools on my way, making me an easy target for shouts of ‘Bye Muzungu!’ Here are a few of the particulars about my new home, and I’ll fill in more details as time goes on:

The family
Jenipher Semakuula is the name of my host mother. She is the mother of six grown children, and is of the Lugave clan of the Buganda people. (This is how I was assigned my Ugandan name of ‘Nabantanzi’, which is of the same clan as Jennifer- more to follow on clans later.)

In Jenipher’s home there are:


  • Mikiibi - her four-year old grandson who lives with her and goes to school down the street. He was one of two of the children who cried when they first saw me (scared of the weird white Muzungu). We have an interesting relationship so far. More to follow in later entries about the ‘two faces’ of little Mikiibi…

  • Bonnie - Jenipher’s 31 year old son. He used to live and work in Entebbe (where the airport is), but recently got laid off. He plays a mean game of chess, and has helped me to figure out how to get around the neighborhood.

  • Justine - a hardworking woman who doesn’t speak a ton of English, but who seems very nice. She is the ‘second wife’ of a man who sometimes comes to visit her and his kids, but it’s a tough situation since she is making do on very limited income. She has shown an innate aptitude for Uno!

  • The twins and Alex – Justine has three kids. The twins are three, and though they were shy at first, now they’re all over me. I love to come home from work and play with them! Alex is one year old, and he’s very cute. He mostly just sits placidly and takes everything in.



The house
The house is quite nice by local standards. The clay brick is fortified with cement, and it is painted a cheerful yellow in the front. Around the back is a little courtyard and row of buildings where Justine and here three kids live, and where the kitchen and henhouse are. The house is surrounded by a large yard that is home to my host mother’s banana plantation, garden, piggery, and the burial area for family members who have passed away.

Inside, it is pretty basic, but nice and clean. The walls do not go all the way to the ceiling, which is made from mats my host mother wove herself. In some rooms there is no ceiling blocking the view of the tile roof, and I’ve noted there’s some dripping action that happens with heavy rain J I have my own nice room, complete with mosquito net enshrouded bed. The bathroom is inside the house, which is a treat, but there is only a shower curtain covering where the door is, which makes me a little nervous with a four-year-old running around. There are fixtures for plumbing and electricity, but neither work at the moment, so lanterns, buckets and basins reign. The kitchen is very different from what I was used to in Boston, and will be another blog entry unto itself…

One other note about our location- lest you get too many romantic notions about our bucolic ‘village life’, we are right across the street from a huge gas station, and literally right next to a very active mosque! (Prayers 5x a day starting at 5:00am, oy!)

Home sweet home

The first weekend felt a rather long just because of the natural awkwardness involved with moving in with strangers. All in all though, it seems like a wonderful family, and nice place to call my home away from home.

Monday, October 6, 2008

Bye Musungu, you are most welcome!


Bye Musungu, you are most welcome!

First of all, a warning in advance that I’m still trying to figure out how to manage technology here, between power and internet outages (about 60% of the time), and the physical distance to the nearest internet cafĂ© (30 minutes)! I’ll try to get into a regular rhythm once my routine is more set.

So, I touched down in Uganda a little over a week ago. It was pretty surreal that first morning, to wake up from underneath my mosquito net and blink my way out into the equatorial sun. I kind of felt a mix of ‘what in the world did I do?!’ and ‘yay! It’s finally started!’

That first day I went into Kampala with some medical students from New Zealand that I met in the hotel. I was glad they invited me along, because I’m not sure I would have had the nerve to brave the minibus taxis by myself, and they were also able to pass on lots of tips for me as a newcomer (they had been here about 5 weeks already)! While there, we walked around the city, watched a Hindi movie and ate Chinese food! Not bad for the first day in Uganda!

The next day, I met up with the rest of my group. The other interns are Karen, a businesswoman from Colorado interested in microfinance who is also 29, Cornelia who is 45 and visiting all the FSD Africa sites, Hagar, a recent BU grad originally from Israel, and Brock, a Canadian biology major. The FSD staff who greeted us were: Anita the Ugandan program director, Sarah, the in-country program coordinator, and Ned, the international program coordinator. They took us into Kampala, and one of the first things we did was to buy a cell phone so we would blend in with just about every other person in this country!

After a couple days of briefing and site-seeing in Kampala, including a visit to the Buganda tombs (more to follow on the Buganda), we loaded into a ‘private hire’ taxi for the two hour drive to Masaka. On the way, we crossed over the equator (see pic). Once in Masaka, our first home was the Hotel Zebra, where the staff is friendly and the matooke is plentiful (the staple food- more to follow on that.) It was a quick walk down the green/rust- colored hills to the FSD office, where for the next week we got our introduction to community development how-to’s, Ugandan culture, and the Luganda language. Then, on Friday the immersion began as we were dropped off at our host families. Lots more to follow on that very fascinating experience!

So a note on the post title- Musungu is the word for foreigner here, and anywhere you go, kids especially will shout at you ‘Bye Musungu!’ There is no negative connotation- they are simply really interested to see you! So as a ‘hello’ to Uganda, I have received many ‘bye’s! Also, one thing that we were told, and which I have found to be very true is that Ugandans overall are extremely welcoming and friendly people. Whenever you enter their home or shop, they often say, ‘you are most welcome’, and you get the feeling that they really mean it!

Much love, Tammie