Phase Two

Reality Check

2005-04-23T07:29:00.000+03:00

Family and Friends,

Tomorrow I will board a bus for Gulu in Northern Uganda. My research continues of course, but more and more I find myself feeling so insignificant amidst a problem which is larger than I could have ever imagined. I have been doing some work with Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors w/o Borders) in the Lira and Apac district looking at the sanitary and environmental conditions of some of the camps. I came across this report, and think it gives a decent picture of the situation. It is titled "Life in Northern Uganda: all shades of grief and fear," published by MSF in December 2004. Here's an excerpt:

Sarah and her family were forcibly moved to Pabbo Camp along with 33,000 other people from her hometown, which lies just ten kilometres away. The people were confined into an area within a half-mile radius of the military barracks, which were at the centre of the "protected village". "I was forced to come to Pabbo in 1996. I was 19. The government forced us to leave our village. They said that if we stayed that meant we were rebels and we would be killed. Even before the government made us leave, the rebels had been disturbing us. They came to my village and abducted ten children from my family. One was my brother and the rest were my father's other children from his other wives. Later, two returned. The rest, including my brother, never came back. We never told anyone. We were afraid that the rebels would come back to get us if we told anyone. Soon after we left our village, the government bombed it. I knew then that I would never see my brother again".

By 2004 Pabbo has become the largest camp in Gulu district with a population that ranges from 55-65000 people, living in a same small, overcrowded area. A humanitarian aid worker in Pabbo described the situation: "Every time I walk into the camp it smells unhealthy. Frankly, it just smells of disease. Sanitation conditions are simply unbearable (...) Families of five to seven people live in huts just centimetres from each other. People still talk about the amount of space they used to have despite that eight years have passed ".

When Sarah was forced to move to Pabbo in 1996 she was unmarried and without children. Eight years later, she is married and a mother of five. "Now I am forced to stay because I have nowhere else to go. I don't like it here but it is not safe to leave. I have only been back to my village once in 1997, I think. A group of us went back to collect firewood. It was scary as we had so many encounters with the rebels that I didn't try again after that. Now our life is in the camp. We struggle for food. We fear the rebels and the soldiers".

Although a few have access to small plots of land within the camp, the produce of those small gardens is not enough to feed a family. The majority of the people rely entirely on food aid. Food distributions take place about five times a year and are based on a monthly ration to be consumed over time, and supposed to last until the next distribution. However, people are reluctant to store food in their huts. Fear of LRA attacks and looting often results on people selling part of their ration, which leaves them with nothing after two or three weeks. "There is so little food", Sarah says, "There are seven of us and we rely on the UN to bring us our food. We are never sure when it will come. Sometimes three months can pass and then they bring it and then it only lasts for three weeks. After food distributions, we fear that the LRA will come and steal it. We don't like to keep food in the house. To supplement when the food runs out, I work in one of the camp gardens to get some extra money. I only go when it is safe. In the last weeks (October 2004) the rebels have been there. The soldiers tell us that they are there and then we don't go ".

Overcrowding, lack of clean water and limited sanitation led to a serious cholera epidemic in Pabbo in October 2004. There is only one latrine for every eleven households and clean water within the camp is limited to twenty protected water points. Over 3,000 people depend on each point to cover all their water needs. Unprotected water sources are used on a regular basis and contamination has led to the easy spread of cholera. Sarah told us "There are so many diseases in the camp. I constantly worry that my children will get sick and die. I am not sure how to protect them. My neighbour has lost two of her four children to disease in the last two years. Now her other child is very sick and she doesn't know what is wrong with him".

Attacks, incursions, and abduction of children by the LRA are commonplace. The army responds to the insecurity by imposing a strict curfew on the population at night. If anyone is found outside their hut after dark they are routinely arrested and accused of being a rebel. This has lead to a strained relationship between the people and the army, with a lack of respect and trust on both sides. "On the one hand, we fear the LRA will abduct our children. Just a few days ago they came in and abducted three boys. Later, two came back. One is still missing. Children are abducted all the time. These are not reported to the army. They don't follow up on them". On the other hand, says Sarah, " Women in the camp are hassled by the soldiers. During the day, the soldiers beat them if they are working in the gardens in the camp. They tell the women that that they are working in their gardens to feed the rebels and make them stronger. At night, the women are hassled by the drunken soldiers. Sometimes they come to the women's hut at night and rape them".

Every night Sarah sleeps with her children close to her. She keeps close watch over them, in fear that the same fate that befell her brother eight years ago will also happen to them.

::End Quoted Text::

Now, in the last few weeks, I have seen many things--soldiers beating and even abducting women, children dying in front of me, tremendous sanitary disasters, and a humanitarian crisis that most of us know very little about. The situation here boggles my mind. When a child dies of something as ridiculous as dehydration because the army soldier that is supposed to be protecting her has taken over the camps water source, I have a problem with this. I have been told numerous times by camp leaders that this war has defeated the Ugandan government. One woman told me, "our government is feeding off our blood, they want us to die."

She's right. The government here is over half funded by international sources. This means we are funding the perpetuation of this problem. This government is taking the money we give them for aid, and buying limos and protecting their party platform (they call it "the movement") instead of providing mosquito nets and clean water to hundreds of thousands of children that are dying. As in the United States, the army here gets more money than the people, and yet they are most of the problem. As I said, I have seen women beat by Ugandan soldiers, I have seen them denied access to their own water source by Uganda soldiers, I have seen women being pulled from the camp to be raped by Ugandan soldiers, and I have even seen the knee deep, shallow graves people are being forced to bury their dead in because these soldiers will not let them take the bodies home for a proper burial.

The situation is enormous, and it makes me feel very overwhelmed. There is so much work to be done here, and the outlook is very grim. I can come home and pool resources, send letters, lobby, and all the usual things, but people have been doing that for over 18 years, and nothing has happened. When I reach Gulu tomorrow afternoon, I will stand in awe of the mass of children moving into the city for protection during the night, and wonder how I fit into all of this, wonder what I can do.

I'm expecting many of you to reply with words of encouragement, and they're much appreciated, but until you see the extent of this situation, you can never know how absolutely awful it is. I will never give up fighting of course, I will never lay down the sword of justice, but in those few moments when you watch a child slip away from life because she is starved and malaria stricken, you have to wonder...who will ever stop this.

Until later, my love and greetings from Uganda,

--Nate--

Alive

2005-04-15T07:26:00.000+03:00

Family and Friends,

I just wanted to drop a quick note to say I am alive and well. This past week has been very intense as I have been moving around to different camps and visiting the people our country has neglected for over 18 years as this war continues. I am back in Kampala for the weekend to prepare for another week in the north. I may not have much contact within the next few weeks, so please don't worry if you don't hear from me.

I will explain more about my travels when I get time, but for now it's 90% work and 10% contemplating life. I will have some small access to the internet while in Lira, so please feel free to email me, I could use some encouraging words these days. Take care, and get ready for my list of things you will be doing this summer to help.

Much love from here,

--Nate--

Rwanda--a rushed email

2005-03-21T19:13:00.000+03:00

During my time here in Africa, it is becoming increasingly obvious
that I know very little about the world. My experiences over the last
few weeks have been very powerful, and I imagine this email will
express a lot of that. I had an amazing time visiting Rwanda and the
West of Uganda and my stories in the following will range from
hilarious to life-changing. Be warned that some of what I am about to
write about will be both emotionally and graphically disturbing.

Preparing for our journey to Rwanda, our group began reading a book
called "We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our
Families" by Philip Gourevitch. The book tells about the tragedies of
Rwanda's history by telling personal stories of those who lived
through the 1994 genocide. In the first few pages, the author tells
about visiting churches and religious compounds and having to step
over the bodies of children, elders, and anyone in between. He
describes in detail the way their flesh still hung from parts of their
bodies nearly a year and a half after they had been killed. Hundreds
of thousands of people died in Rwanda during the mid nineties, and
what is most distrubing are the stories the author writes about in
which people inside Rwanda contacted United States Government offices
to tell them about the heaps of bodies laying in the streets, and
still we did nothing. The book did a great justice to the disturbing
story of Rwanda, and it left me wondering what my experiences would
be.

What would the people be like? Would there be a lot of tensions only
a little over ten years later? How would people look at me as an
American? Would there still be signs of the genocide on the streets?
Why would I go to a country that still has refugees outside of it
because of safety concerns? So many questions were running through my
head, but with no other choice I prepared myself for our journey.

I woke at 5am on Sunday morning after getting very little sleep. I
tossed the night through wondering what I would see, how I would
react, and of course all of the little things you worry about before
you leave for somewhere; did I change enough money at the forex
bureau, did I pack my flash-light, will I remember my toothbrush, and
questions of the like. As I got out of bed, our neighborhood rooster
began his daily alarm--cock-a-doodle-doo! Once he starts crowing at
5am he refuses to stop until sundown regardless of rain or shine, wind
or calm. I kicked my water bottle over and I heard the dog stir just
outside my window. In Uganda it is pretty typical to have a few guard
dogs lying around outside at night--with a lot of poverty in the
streets comes a lot of temptation so it's better to be safe than
sorry.

I began what has become my daily routine here in Uganda. I moved
quietly to the kitchen, made myself some tea and sat down for some
bread and butter. After contemplating life and what lay ahead for me
in the day (the typical coffee thoughts) I put on my house slippers
and made my way outside to the pump for some bath water. I filled the
basin and began scooping the water and shivering with the first pour
over my head. I got dressed, packed the rest of my things into my
hiking pack, made my bed, and said goodbye to my host-brothers. My
host-mother gave me a glance that without words told me she was
nervous and sad that I was leaving. In the last few weeks my
host-family and I have become very close and they love hearing my
stories from the day, and like having a visitor in the house. She
stood up from the kitchen table and opened her arms to embrace me.
This was the first person I have hugged while here in Africa, so it
took me a bit by surprise. She held on tightly and said, "please be
safe, and come back to us next week with lots of stories."

I slung my pack around my shoulder and made my way to the inner city
of Kampala. I arrived at the Ambassador House around 8am and threw my
bag in a pile with everyone else's. This day we had a paper due that
mapped the socio-economics of our host-family's community and the
effects of city planning on our village. I made my way to our
Resource Center to hand mine in, and the room was crowded with voices
expressing fear, excitement, and anxiety, and I immediately joined in.
"What are we doing, why are we going to Rwanda, have we truly lost
our minds" and a hundred other questions buzzed around the room.

"Okay, it's time to go!" shouted our director and everyone made their
way down the three flights of stairs. We piled all twenty of us that
were going into two vans and with a jerk into first gear, we were off.

After a while, everyone in our van began dozing off. I myself was
beginning to feel a bit tired, so I put on my headphones and rested my
head against the window. I watched as we left the city the air became
less dense, the ground began to move upward to form a gorgeous
panoramic, and the bustle of the city became only a mere memory. In
my ear sang Jazon Mraz:

"Was it you who spoke the words that
things would happen but not to me?
Oh things are gonna' happen naturally.
And taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing.

I dozed off wondering how I got here, how I came to be a part of
something so amazing, and how the next few days might be the most
interesting days of my life.

I woke as the vans came to a jolting halt. I blinked my eyes a few
times and realized we were parked on a line that marked the equator.
"Wow," I thought to myself, "I'm sitting on the equator." Not exactly
a huge revelation, but I had just woken up. We got out for a few
photo opportunities and even had a little demonstration using funnels
and buckets to show that on one side of the line the water flows the
opposite way than on the other side. After a few gasps and even some
yawns, we piled back in the vans and made our way to the border.

The tumultuous history between Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda has not only
affected Rwanda but has spilled over into the surrounding countries
with refugees and even instability. As you approach the border
between Uganda and Rwanda the areas become more and more unstable and
even more impoverished. The giant hills that spill from every
direction with landscapes that make you never want to close your eyes
still have a hard time masking the slums and children that should be
in school. This is not to say that the Rwandan conflict has
everything to do with poverty in SW Uganda, but it has made an impact.

We stopped along the road for another opportunity to take some
pictures and to stand in awe of the beauty that is rural Uganda. As
we stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a giant valley, a young
boy began to climb up from a small house just below us. "Hello," he
said in a hushed voice.

"Hello, how are you?" I replied.

"I am fine." he replied and slowly outstretched his hand as a prompt
for me to put money into it.

Now, one thing that you should know about what I am studying is that
hand-outs are a crutch that only extend the problem. If I were to go
around the city and the countryside handing money to everyone I saw
then when would they ever begin to be self-reliant? It is much more
effective to give that money to an organization that will go to that
community and help them set up a school, or a community based
organization that takes the money and decides what is most needed in
their own community which would help the young boy in a more direct
and empowering way.

In development, many organizations and religious groups make the
mistake that it's okay to go around giving out money any which way,
when in fact they are merely perpetuating the cycle of dependency.
And besides, most people here agree that money isn't the answer to
Africa's problems. What is most effective is not to tear native
cultures, religious beliefs and customs away from the people, but to
empower them to make choices for themselves, and to help them become
self sustaining communities built on the roots of their own culture,
not ours. Because of my strong commitment to self-sustainability, I
instead sat down next to the boy and started a conversation. We
talked about his home life, the farm, his family, and eventually he
went to get his mother and his brothers to say hello. (Most people
here speak English by the way)

What breaks me down the most in terms of development is to see the
children. They have done nothing to deserve the conditions that
Europe and the United States have put them in. They didn't ask for
outsiders to come to their country, set up capitalism, ruin their
environment with factories that dump chemicals into their farms and
destroy their chances of living off the land, run their traditions out
of existence with western religions, and then have the audacity to
call them primitive. It is the children that suffer the most here,
and I often ask myself why most people in the United States do nothing
to lobby for justice yet stand behind the flag claiming democracy.
Trust me, I have seen some things here that are a direct result of the
United States and each time I see something it kills a little more of
my pride and my faith in what everyone back home calls American
Justice. The children have nothing to do with where the cycle has
found them, but they will have everything to do with its effects.

Sometimes I find that people have this strange view that the people
here in Uganda are responsible for the disease and poverty that sweeps
across the country. In all actuality, they were doing rather well
before the West colonized the area, set up government systems that
went against tradition, brought in religion that pits one neighbor
against another, and demolished the natural environment. Before the
West got here, things were running rather smoothly and people were
actually wealthy in terms of land and resources. I find many
similarities between what has happened and continues to happen in many
African countries and what happened to the indigenous populations of
the Americas. This isn't to say that their stories are parallel, but
I have been able to draw some comparisons. Anyway, I digress.

As I waved goodbye to the young boys, all of these things rushed
through my head. I held a smile on my face, but inside I was furious
and incredibly anxious to help them be part of their own solution.
All I could do though was clench my fists, bite my teeth, and drive
away.

As we approached the border of Uganda and Rwanda, many shops started
popping up along the sides of the road. We approached a gate and got
out just after we pulled through it. We got our passports stamped to
leave the country, and headed for "no-mans-land" (the area between
countries that no one really owns, or at least no one really watches).
We pulled into Rwanda, got our stamps to enter the country and headed
for Kigali. On our way, the hills turned into sloping mountains of
green tea and fruit trees. Women in gorgeous bright clothing lined
the fields harvesting, and the air became drastically cleaner. It was
a lot to take in, and I almost felt like I was in a National
Geographic special, which I guess wasn't far from reality.

On our drive through Rwanda, we were stopped 8 different times by
police roadblocks. Each time we stopped, I remembered the stories
from "We Wish to Inform You" that told of the mass killings and
stream-lining of the genocide at military roadblocks. The police were
pleasant though, mostly checking for seat-belt use, and once they saw
we were all Americans, they usually assumed we weren't up to any
trouble.

As we pulled into Kigali, the hills still surrounded us but now they
were lined with orange and red roofs, and even hillside gardens. The
center of the city is mostly a strip of area where many people have
started some small farms, and just as in Kampala, the further up the
hill you look, the more beautiful the houses are.

As we drove through the central part of town, no one said a word in
the van. We were all pre-occupied with the beauty of the city, and in
the back of our minds we were all thinking about what had happened
here, about the bodies that used to line these streets only a few
years ago. As we drove into our new home, the St. Etiene House, I
could sense a sort of nervous vibe running through everyone's
non-verbals. We were all a little scared to be there, but no one
would admit it or say anything off the bat.

We got settled into our rooms (modest to say the least--beds and a
sink with community toilets and showers) and went for lunch. After
lunch we had a city drop-off much like the one we did in Kampala. Our
driver took us into the city, dropped us off, and told us to meet back
at around 7pm after we had gathered information about specific topics.
My friend Liza and I were to report back to the group about the
education system in Rwanda, so naturally we headed to an outdoor
restaurant for a quick drink to think out a game plan.

The difficult part about this drop off was that I don't speak French,
and Liza does, but has a speech challenge and so it was difficult for
many people to understand either of us. Somehow we gathered enough
information to give our presentation and snagged a taxi-bus back to
our meeting place. One thing in life you have to experience is the
taxi system here. It's probably more exhilarating and even
frightening than white water rafting as you dodge cars, holes in the
pavement that lead many meters down to the sewer, sometimes goats, and
of course it's always a race to see who can cut off who first! It's
growing on me though. The taxis in Rwanda are a bit different from
here in Kampala. Here they will drop you wherever you say "Masouw"
(which means "right there, just ahead"). In Kigali though, you had to
ride the taxi-bus until it got to the taxi park (a taxi park is a
large parking lot filled with taxis going to all parts of the city,
shops surrounding it, and most importantly an abundance of thieves).
We got out, turned our backpacks around to the front, zipped all of
our goods up tight, and marched out like we knew where we were going.
The only problem was that we actually had no idea where we were. On
our way out of the park, the system for thieving was to push us into a
crowd of thieves, gather around us and just start grabbing.
Thankfully we were pretty much used to this by now, so we made our way
out with everything we had come in with.

We made our way down to what seemed to be a main road and walked in
the direction that looked most lit. Amazingly it turned out to be
exactly where we needed to go, and we soon met up with the rest of our
group—all telling similar stories about getting lost, and attempted
robbery. I will miss the everyday thrills of Africa. Each day is
something different and no matter how regular you try to be, something
new always happens.

By now, I should probably describe the general feeling you get when
you walk through the streets of Kigali [chee-gah-lee]. In a broad
sense, the majority of people were pleasant as we walked around. In
Kampala everyone will say hello to you, laugh with you while you try
to speak Luganda, and are generally very welcoming. In Kigali there
was another undertone that none of us could ever really pick up
completely. People never said anything rude or nasty to us, but they
never really acknowledged us except to stare and occasionally point.
It was an awkward feeling because in Kampala it is easy to get
information by asking anyone, but here no one really wanted to talk to
us, even the children who surrounded us in mass numbers were only
making fun of us. Also, the city seemed much more quiet than Kampala.
Of course it was loud in the sense that there were taxis everywhere,
construction sites all around, and the general noise of a city. But
no one was really talking, or shouting, or laughing. Most people were
generally quite, only talking to one or two people, and never really
shouting or asking us to come into their store, or buy their
newspapers, or anything of the sort. It was an eerie quiet; something
I can't explain was lingering over us.

So, after excitedly chatting about our experiences in the city while
we waited for our ride, we headed back to our guest house to process
the information we had all gathered.

In the interest of time, I am going to wrap this email up in bullet
form. It has taken too long to write and I'm running low on time to
send it.

--got chased by a guard dog at the guest house, and had to climb a van
and wait for someone to rescue myself and my friend Jackie who had
climed up with me.
--visited a mass grave (which was open and still being filled) bodies
are still being found in backyards, in farm fields, etc and being
brought to these graves
--saw the memorial site in the city which is a museum. the skull of a
child made me lose it, and I had to sit down while sobbing and write
the following:

"The room is dimly lit. I sit under a dome speaker as the soft voice
remembers the names of the many that no longer walk the streets of
Kigali. An empty feeling looms over the room as I look around at the
cases of skulls and bones. Bullet holes and machette wounds visible
through the softly lit glass. The remains of a child penetrate me and
I can no longer hold back the tears I have been fighting. Alone in a
room so full of death and torture, I cry. The voices of thousands
ring in my ear as my tears fall to the ground full of pain, anger,
grief, and frustation. Their stories swirl around me as I recall the
faces of hundreds I have just seen lining walls and walls of photos
families have come here to hang in memory. This place has laid to
rest over 256,000 people as one of over 200 other sites just like it.
It serves as a reminder and a warning, a tool of education, and a
place for all to grieve without shame. Among the bones and skulls of
so many, I sit and wonder what each of their stories are, where each
of them came from, what they would have contributed, and why our
country did virtually nothing. Their story is no longer simply words
on a page for me. It has sunk deep within me and I will never forget
this moment."

After visiting this place, which was intense as you can see, we
travelled to the unity commission followed by the traditional gacaca
court system which is a mix of modern and traditional ways of
punishing the men and women who carried out this horrible deed.

many many more things happened, but I will write about them later.
you now have the basics of the rwanda trip, and I will be working on
an email that details my experience in the East where I lived in a
grass hut and killed farm animals and was chased by a pack of wild
monkeys--no joke. Oh, and somehow Kenya got thrown in there too.

Much love from Africa,

--Nate--

Short Update

2005-03-09T19:37:00.000+03:00

Just dropping a quick note to say I'm doing fine. I'm working on an
email about Rwanda still, so be looking for that. I'm headed to East
Uganda on Sunday for a week to live in a hut and such, but I'll be
back for quite some time after that. My research is going well, I'm
working on making some contacts in a few IDP (Internally Displaced
Persons) camps in the north so I can research and analyse sanitary and
environmental conditions (access to clean water, air pollution,
treatment and disposal of wastes, refuse sanitation, food sanitation,
disinfectants and insecticides, insect and rodent control, public
bathing space, living structure sanitation and environmental planning
or a lack thereof) and applying these conditions to the environmental
and social consequences of poor sanitary planning. It's a lot of
work, but so far so good in terms of both work load and contacts to
get into some of the camps. Anyway, I'm safe and sound--take care,
and write back.

Love from here,

--Nate--

Second Sunday

2005-02-14T18:47:00.000+03:00

Yesterday marked my second Sunday here in Uganda. (no pun intended
Josh) So much has happened in the last few days, but I'll try to be
brief. When I last wrote, I was just getting accustomed to my new
home, and settling in with classes. Last night I went out with some
friends and some locals and experienced a drink they call Bannana Rum
(very local brew). We had a great time at a bar called the Blue Nile,
while we were supposed to be at dance class. Unfortunately our
program director gave us the wrong directions, so we just stayed at
the Blue Nile and mets some locals for some drinks.

My host family is great. I couldn't have asked for a better family to
be a part of. On Saturday they took me to an introduction ceremony,
which is a traditional ceremony introducing the groom to the brides
family. There is a lot of dialagoue between the familys and it is
honorary to have a muzungu (someone from the states) there which meant
my family and I were invited to sit in the front where there were
cameras around me the whole time. I was pretty nervous, but I kept my
cool.

Here in Uganda, it is customary to not introduce your finance to your
parents until the introduction ceremony, so it was extremely
interesting. I had to dress in traditional clothing and although I
had to sit through the four hour ceremony not understanding the
language, it was amazing to say the least. The ceremony is like a
very long play. There is a porting of the "drama" where the father of
the bride asks the grooms entire family to leave until they come back
with gifts, and so the ENTIRE family got up and came back several
minutes later with TONS of gifts. Included in the gifts were two
goats, a HUGE slab of cow which took five men to carry in, a pile of
gifts (literally) and about 30 cases of local brew and drinks.

At the ceremony, I had my first experience eating with my hands.
Traditionally the people here don't use any sort of silverware, so I
was eating mashed substances and even a soup with my hands trying not
to spill on the Kanzu (traditional skirt thing) that I borrorwed from
my "brother." I took some great pictures and as soon as I figure out
how to upload them, I'll send some your way.

Classes have been going great. Our program has the most interesting
contacts including top government officials and the highest intellects
in the country. I'm not saying this to brag, but damn do I get
nervous when some of these people come in the room. It's bizzare to
have the man who runs the health care system in Uganda come into class
and lecture about hospitals, and then following him the woman who
wrote the gender policy for NGO's and government offices come in and
lecture about the inequalities that exist in developing countries.
We've also done some great site visits to places like Concern
Worldwide today.

Tomorrow we're going the the Buganda palace to tour the tombs of the
Kings, and next weekend we're touring Rwanda and getting lectured by
the "Post Genocide: Unity and Reconciliation Commission" followed by
not one but three private tours of national parks. It's all surreal,
and I can't believe it's happening. I'm slowly getting over my
culture shock, but life here is absolutely the opposite of everything
I've ever known. (Even growing up in Brutus didn't prepare me for
some of the things I've seen.)You name it, and it's probably done
differently. I'm anticipating the first time I have to slaughter a
goat, but I'm prepared sinse I already saw one sacraficed into a
waterfall.

All-in-all things are going well. I'm slowly developing my
independant research project and am leaning toward a project in
subsistance farming or possibly doing something in terms of the
domestication of agriculture and the struggle to preserve indigenous
knowledge in the face of modernization. We'll see though. I still
have a lot of planning to do.

Language classes are going well, and I'm actually communication some
with people. They still laugh when I break out my skills, but they
tend to screw you out of less money if you make them laugh. Here are
some examples of basic Luganda:

Nze Nate: "I am called Nate"
Nva United States: "I'm from the US"
Mbeera Busega mu Uganda ne Moses and Mirium Nsubuga: "I live in Busega
with Moses and Mirium Nsubuga."
Nsoma mu Makerere mu Uganda: "I study at Makerere here in Uganda."
Ndi malaya: "I am a prostitute" (haha--just kidding, we made our
professor teach us that one sinse I keep getting offers daily from
bamalaya)

I know that more has happened, but I'm just too tired to think of it.
Happy Valentines day, and I will write more of my adventure in a few
days, or maybe after I get back from Rwanda.

Much love,
--Nate--

Love from Uganda

2005-02-13T20:19:00.000+03:00

I experienced some traditional bannana rum tonight, and will write more later.

Much love from Uganda.

--Nate--

Culture Shock

2005-02-09T15:47:00.000+03:00

Today I have officially entered "Culture Shock Phase Two." For those
of you who don't know what that means, let me explain. Initially when
you enter a place that's very different, you go into a state of
euphoria. Later, though, you move into phase two which is
irritability and hostility. When you're cut off from cultural cues
and known patterns of living you begin to enter a state of annoyance.
Being continually put into positions in which I'm expected to function
with maximum skill and speed, but where I actually have no idea what's
going on, and no clue what the rules for the game are, has entered me
into a new phase of "cultural competency." Eventually, I will become
aware of my cultural incompetancies, reflect on their causes and
reactions, observe the situations, and develop culturally appropriate
expectations. But for now, the entire group and I have just become
annoyed.

At first it was fun to eat rice, metoke, g-nut sauce, and the like.
It was fun to ride in the taxis and be called muzungu. It was
initially exhilarating to try to communicate using broken english and
luganda. Now, however, it has begun to take its toll on everyone, and
we yearn to know what the hell is going on around us. We yearn to eat
foods that don't give us diarrhea, and we really want people to stop
burning trash in the streets. Unfortunately it will take several
weeks for us to get over this, so for the time being, we sat at a fast
food restaurant today and expressed our frustrations over cheesburgers
and fries. Yes, we felt guilty afterward, but in some strange way, it
calmed me down, and brought me back to the reality that I have no
choice but to get over this phase of culture shock and become
accustomed to living in Uganda.

The last few days have been absolutely amazing though, aside from
culture shock kicking in. Although I'm frustrated and sometimes
hostile, it would be wrong of me to say that my experiences here are
not worth the struggle. Culture shock is something everyone
experiences, and I would encourage all of you to try it out; it's
definitely a life changing experience.

On Sunday, I was introduced to my host-family. When I arrived at the
courtyard we were to meet in, I have to admit I was quite nervous. I
didn't know what to expect, and I most certainly had no idea what my
conditions of living would be like for the next month or so.

I was escorted into the courtyard where my family was seated sipping
the free drinks and enjoying the snacks that SIT had provided that
day. They all stood up and were overwhelmingly excited to meet me.
Within ten minutes they had attached their family name to mine, and
were inviting me back to Uganda to stay with them after I get married.
It was initially sort of shocking, but you have to understand the
welcoming and nurturing character of most Ugandans.

After our introductions, we made our way to my host-father's car.
It's a modest car, a small toyota, and I was instructed to sit in the
front. This was my first experience sitting in the left-hand side of
a car and not driving, so I was kind of excited. They drove me all
through town, showing me things I had already seen, but of course I
put on an excited face, and went with it. We stopped of at "JaJa's"
house (grandmother) for a quick introduction. As we were driving
toward Busega (the area of the city where my new home is), my
host-father's brother flagged us down, and so we stopped to meet him
as well. Then we had to make a stop at the market for a few things,
and I was left in the car with Dad and Sister. Sister (Martha) was
excited to ask me a lot of questions, while Dad talked over her
telling me the history of the street-corner we were parked on.

After a while we made our way to Busega and as we pulled onto the dirt
street, my heart began racing. All around us were little stucco
buildings with tin roofs with children running around them, and young
women selling things like candy, newspapers, and the same things
people sell on the sidewalks in town. As we drove a little further,
the road became more bumpy and narrow, the dust became heavier, and
the small buildings seemed to be more and more run-down.

We pulled onto a side road off this "main" road, and approached a
large metal gate. My host-Dad honked his horn and a small woman of
about 18 came to unlock it and let the car pass through. Inside, I
was pleasantly surprised to see a modest home with some flowers and
plants in the yard, a small garage for the Toyota, and even a white
cat lounging on the porch. As the steel plated gate closed, I looked
in the mirror and saw around 15 children jumping and shouting
"muzungu! muzungu!" as they chased the car. The gate shut, and I was
left with the sinking reality that this was my new home. I challenge
myself to think positively, and concluded that I had no choice but to
put on a happy face, and plunge into the awkwardness of a new life.

Let me describe my new house to you. The exterior is a sort of
plaster that is white. The roof is made of wavy bricks that join
together in a brilliant swirling red pattern. The house is about the
size of a small home in an underdeveloped area of the US--I would
liken the size to a small modular home. There is a small cement porch
attached to the front of the house with plaster pillars to hold it up
and a metal gate around the edge. Flower boxes line the edge of the
house and some even protrude into the yard. Toward the backside of
the house, there is an empty chicken house, and two small boxes where
they keep guard-dogs to be let out at night. In the back of the house
the ground is all small rocks and cement. A small spicket offers
water into a drain and toward the opposite side of the yard as the
chicken house is another small building which offers rest to the
house-help.

The front doors are two small wooden doors that open like french
doors, but are only the size of a regular sized door requiring you to
open both to get in. When you step into the front room, there are
couches lining three of the walls, each of them a different pattern.
A small television sits on a rolling cart in the dividing entrance
between the "sitting room" and the dining room. The sitting room is
small, but accommodating.

The dining room has a small table that sits six people, and there is a
wall of cupboards lining floor under the window. To the right is a
"kitchen"--and I use the term loosely. In the kitchen you will find a
metal counter that offers a drain basin and some space to store
dishes. There is a small refrigerator and an electric stove that
seems to have been there for many years. Next to the stove is a sort
of cupboard/fireplace that, for now, offers space to store pans, but
looks as though it used to be used as a cooking device. There is no
running water in the house, and the kitchen is no exception.

To the left of the dining room is a hallway. Down the hallway are
five doors. The first door on the left is a small bedroom where my
brother Isaac and my sister Martha sleep. The second door on the left
offers space for my mother (Merium) and my father (Moses) to store
their things and a large bed for them to sleep in. The first door on
the right opens to a room that is no more than four feet wide and
contains nothing more than a toilet. The toilet has to be loaded with
water manually for flushing, and I haven't had the courage to ask
where it drains too.

The second door on the right opens to a room that has a bath-tub and a
sink. To shower, we must fill a large jug with water outside and then
dump it into a plastic basin in the tub and use our hands to move the
water from the basin to our bodies. Again, I don't know where the
water drains too. The sink also has no running water, and to brush my
teeth, I must fill a cup and use it sporadically to rinse the brush
and the sink of toothpaste.

The last door in the hallway opens to my room. It is a small room,
but offers me comfort in knowing that I have a place to call my own
for the time being. The room has white walls, two beds and a large
wardrobe. I share it with my brother Jeshua who just returned from
University housing the second day I was there.

Every other day, the house loses power as it's part of a
"power-sharing" agreement in which one part of the town gets power at
some times, and the other parts get power the rest of the time. The
TV picks up two channels, sometimes three, and usually the shows are
either American shows from the mid 90s or are in Lugandan and I can't
understand them. It's actually really amusing to watch old show, it
sort of brings back some memories.

All in all though, the place is homey and I can't complain much. It
is much more than most people in this city have, at least from what
I've seen thus far. We do have one woman who cleans, cooks, and
washes our laundry by hand. This is pretty standard here in Uganda,
but I find it awkward because the family treats her differently than
they would treat anyone else. I feel bad for her, because she never
leaves the area where the house is, and no one speaks to her. I would
talk with her, but she only knows a little english, and my attempts
have failed miserably.

Aside from home life, classes have begun this week, and I'm beginning
to feel a little overwhelmed. We have many papers to write while
here, and a lot of research, site visits, and lectures. All of our
lectures though, are presented by a different well-known Ugandan
scholar, and each offers a new aspect of Ugandan and African life.
Also, each morning for two hours, we have intense language classes.
The language is hard, but we are making slow progress.

My group is amazing though. Each person offers a new and unique
perspective on life and development. We have fun, we laugh, we have
serious conversations about participitory development, and when the
day is done, we are all friends.

Yesterday we did a site visit to a nutrition clinic where they
rehabilitate malnourished children. We were briefed on what the
clinic does, how they receive patients, where their funds come from
and the usual stuff. But then we were invited to enter the wards to
see the patients, and this was not only a life-altering experience,
but a disturbing one. When we walked through the door, we entered a
room full of cribs. Each crib had a set of wandering eyes gazing out
in dispair, longing to be recognized. I put on a smile, and walked
over to what you could call a child, but was hardly recognizable as
such. I kneeled down and smiled at him--he smiled back and closed his
eyes. The doctor who was showing us around brought us to a child with
severe malnourishment, and whose skin was barely hanging onto its
body. It looked like a skeleton covered in a loose sheet with barely
any life left in it to even cry. I again smiled at him, and his
mother looked at me with scared eyes and I acknowledged her politely
and she smiled back at me.

So, these have been my experiences so far here in Uganda. I wish I
could better describe how I'm feeling to you through this email, but
it's hard to do. Frustration is definitely kicking in, and life here
is difficult, but with time, I will pick up on it, and eventually
blend into the ways of Uganda. Take care, and keep safe, I will write
more soon.

Much love from a guy who's both happy and sad here in Africa,

--Nate--

Oli Otya--Kampala

2005-02-06T13:26:00.000+03:00

I am quickly learning that to survive in Uganda, you have to have two
things: patience, and always be smiling. The pace here is much more
slow than the United States and absolutely no one will give you
directions, or even speak to you for that matter, unless you greet
them properly. Being here only a few days has already taught me a lot
about respect and humility.

Two days ago we were dumped on the busy streets of Kampala and given a
research topic to report back to the group about. Mine was media
(newspapers, radio stations, television, etc). Aside from being lost
for most of the day, my partner and I had a great time. We learned
the city, we met hundreds of people, and even got to use much of our
new language. When you approach someone in Kampala, especially when
you're mazungu (from the US), you have to say "oli otya sebo or
nnyabo." It's a polite greeting that everyone expects from you. We
learned so much, and even met a man who runs the "Reach the Children"
program here. He invited us to meet his family and have dinner with
him next week.

The city itself seems to be very lively. The streets are always lined
with people selling food and gifts. There is a lot of smog and dust,
which makes it sometimes hard to be outside for very long, but we are
slowly adjusting. There are virtually no traffic laws here, so the
vehicles move quickly and you have to be careful on the sidewalks
because of "boda bodas." Boda bodas are small motorcycles that dart
in and out of traffic and occasionally jump onto the sidewalk to get
people to places faster than the taxi buses. (by the way, we have
been banned from using boda bodas as transportation) The taxi buses
are many and are constantly yelling "obeera wa mazungu!?" (where to
mazungu). The sidewalks are broken up and there are many holes which
lead directly into the sewer system, which means we have to always be
paying attention to everything around us. There is a lot of trash in
certain areas of the city, and many times you will see large mounds on
fire. The stores are very colorful, and offer so many different
things. It is quite an experience just walking through the city, and
I'm sure I will write more on this later.

Yesterday we visited the Ssezibwa Falls where we saw a goat sacrificed
to the river as a showing of thanks. Later that day we saw the source
of the Nile, and my friend Brandon and I, using our broken language
skills, convinced a band to teach us some traditional Ugandan dance.
We stood only a few meters away from the Nile River as the hallowed
out tree the band was using as a xylophone began to fill the air with
an amazing African beat. We gathered quite a crowd and people began
cheering us on and even throwing money. Many photos were taken, and
as soon as I can, I promise to send one.

We made our long trek back to Kampala from Jinja, where the Nile
begins. We sat in our hotel courtyard wondering what the next few
days would bring. After sipping hot chocolate milk, we decided to
wander through the city for some food. We landed at a little cafe,
and when we were done eating, we followed the sound of loud music.
Being adventurous, we made our way into a large bar filled with people
our age. I won't say we didn't have a few drinks, because we
definitely did, but we also made some friends, and showed much of the
club some modern American dance moves in exchange for them to teach us
their modern moves.

Today, we will meet our host families. My family consists of seven
children, as well as a Mom and a Dad (many families are single mothers
here in Kampala). My host mama works at the Bank of Uganda and my
host father is an engineering consultant. I'm anxious to meet my
seven new brothers and sisters, but Paul, Katie, Mom and Dad, don't
think that my new family could ever replace you.

I will write more about what my new home looks like, and will keep you
posted on my new adventures. Until then, take care.

Weraba,
--Nate--

Safe and Alive

2005-02-02T17:35:00.000+03:00

I shoved my way through the baggage claim, desperately searching for
my luggage, my life for the next few months. I loaded everything onto
my back and trudged across the Kennedy Airport in search of Terminal
7, British Airways. Slowly but surely others in our group began to
show up, each asking in a quiet and unsure way, "Are you going to
Uganda?"

We gradually came together in a circle, taking over a small section of
the terminal. Where are you from, which school do you go to, why are
we doing this, was repeatedly asked. After a few awkward moments of
silence, it was time to board flight 182 with service to London. My
nerves were shattered and this being my first international flight
didn't help much.

We made it safely to London on Tuesday morning, and a group of us
loaded on to the underground and headed into the heart of the city.
The remainder of the day was spent sampling the finest selection of
English and European beers London had to offer as we made our way
around the city. After seeing the sights, hearing the sounds, and
dodging the motorbikes and double-deckers, we loaded back onto the
underground and were off to the airport again.

Our flight to Entebbe was delayed several times for different reasons
(an elderly couple lost their passports, the electrical box exploded,
and other usual annoyances). We taxied to our runway and as the jets
roared, everyone in our group gave each other strange glances as if to
say, "are we REALLY doing this!?"

A few hours later, the sun began to rise over Africa, and the plane
began its decent into Entebbe Uganda. We exited the flight directly
onto the runway, and as I stepped out of the airplane, I inhaled
deeply, looked at my friend Liza and said, "we're really doing this."
She smiled and said, "we have to be crazy." We laughed and proceeded
to customs.

After a long and grueling battle to find our luggage, we exited the
airport to find dancing and singing, palm trees, marshes and plains,
large cranes flying above us and with a lack of any explanation, the
smells of Africa.

We toured the city all day today. We were treated at one of the most
expensive restaurants in the city, we climbed an observation deck and
gasped as we looked out over Lake Victoria. We climbed to the top of
a mountain in our two vans and berated our guide with questions about
Uganda.

And now, we have been given 20 minutes to tell our friends and family
that we have arrived safely in Uganda, and miss you all dearly.
Uganda is amazing. I'm at a loss for words as to how to truly do it
justice in words, but I will say this. The dress ranges in Kampala
(the city we're in) from mute to very lively and colorful. The
children are beautiful and always smiling at us through the windows of
our vans as drive through the city. The city itself is very red. The
soil is a shade of maroon, the roofs of the houses are red brick, the
stucco walls are a mute mustard, and in the hills large expanses of
gorgeous homes line side-by-side overlooking all of this.

I will write more later, but for now please note that I am safe in
Kampala with many different plans in the next few days to see many
different things, and learn more about the world, myself as I explore
Uganda.

Much love until later,

--Nate--

Uganda-The Pearl of Africa

2005-01-31T05:26:00.000+03:00

As we pulled out of the driveway this morning my mom waived lovingly
from the front porch.  Tears had swollen in both of our eyes as we
grasped the idea that I was actually leaving.  I had been denying
myself the right to cry, the right to worry, the right to be nervous
for what lay ahead.

We drove down snow-dusted Brutus Road past our neighbors who just
found out their daughter has breast cancer, past Maple River where
three ducks sat floating peacefully, past the big red barn everyone
stops to take pictures of, past fields of snow, and half plowed side
roads; we drove past everything I think about when I think about home.
 I had no choice but to feel confused,  nervous, excited, and
unbelievably lost.  With all extremes of emotion tearing through me, I
took a deep breath, gathered my thoughts, and came to a conclusion.  I
decided that no matter how scared I was, no matter how much I knew I
would be lost, none of my emotions can possibly compare to what the
people I am about to meet feel everyday.

I have the comfort of escaping in four months.  I will board my
British Airways flight at the end of May, and come back to the
calmness and safety most of us enjoy in the United States.  On Monday
morning, I will escape our bubble of comfort to place myself in the
reality of most of the world.  To me, if someone in our world is
denied the basic freedoms of life, then I myself am not free.  I
refuse to engage in violence, and abhor the mess our government has
repeatedly caused in Africa and across the world.  Regardless about
how you feel about the killing and violence that the United States has
either ignored or ignited in many African countries, there is more to
solving a problem than guns and bombs could possibly do.  The
alternative is self-reliant participatory grassroots
development--which is what I will be learning and engaging in for the
next few months.

I would be lying to you if I didn't say I was a bit nervous, but my
excitement far outweighs my nervousness.  Some of you might also be
feeling a little uneasy about me leaving, but please understand that
not only do I need to do this for myself, but I chose a program to
study with that is considered one of the best.  My travel insurance is
amazing, our program director is not only an academic but an
incredibly street smart man.  We will do some travelling to different
parts of Uganda and Rwanda, and when we go on these excursions we will
have some of the best guides we could ask for.  I promise all of you
that I will be fine.

I wish all of you the best of luck in the coming months, and will be
in touch in a few days when I land in Entebbe Uganda.

Much love,
--Nate--

P.S.--My mailing address is as follows:

Nathan Bauer
c/o SIT/Dan Lumonya
World Learning/School for International Training
Suite 1, 2nd Floor Ambassador House,
Kampala Road
P.O. Box 23431
Kampala, Uganda