As some of you may know, and for reasons I'm not going into here, I'm at home in Wales. At the moment, I intend to fly back to Africa next Thursday (5th) to start my trip.
To cut a long story short, I have more luggage allowance than I need.
I want to use the additional allowance for children's clothes and shoes which I intend to give to a charity based in the Namatala slums area of Mbale.
I know I have spoken about the corruption that exists in Uganda which may make some of you question why, but I can hand on heart say I trust the people who run this 100%.
Please see here for further info - http://www.childofhopeuganda.org/activities
So I'm asking for children's clothes and shoes in good condition that range from about six months old to 12 years old.
If anyone from work has anything to donate, please can you give them to Luke Merlini (Corporate Services, Rivers) or Kira Hutchinson (Comms, 4th floor, Ty Cambria) by no later than midday on Wednesday 4th as that's when I'll be collecting them.
If non work people anything to donate, please let me know. However, I'm only using my UK WORK mobile number at the moment (the one that ends in 94). Otherwise, drop me an email or Facebook message. Only problem is, I haven't got a car here so I'm afraid you'll have to get stuff to me.
Once I've collected everything, I'll select a mixture of girls and boys clothes in a variety of sizes. I will split any surplus between a local charity shop and a local organisation that works with underprivileged families.
If you are kind enough to make a clothing donation, please can you consider the conditions over there.
Summer clothes would be best but if you have any lightweight cardigans etc, that would be great too.
Dark clothes would be better as they won't show the dirt so much.
Some people have asked me about making financial donations to charities here, particularly after the fire. This site has a donation facility so if you want to, you could give via this. No pressure but if you can, I am confident funds will go directly to those that need it the most.
You can see more about financial donations (and hopefully be reassured your money will be used properly here -
http://www.childofhopeuganda.org/about-coh/great-facts
Thank you in advance, particularly to Luke and Kira who I've just dumped this on without asking them first!
X
Saturday, 31 March 2012
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
Very long and disjointed blog entry that ends with a true story
(Second blog of the day, but only because the electricity was off last night)
So many amazing things have happened to me since being here that it's only when I look back on photos that I think, 'Wow, how did I forget about that? That experience / conversation / pool party was brilliant / totally random / like a scene out of an RnB video!'
I'm getting concerned that the more I do, the more I'll forget.
When I get back, I'm going to print all of my blogs and favourite photos into a photo book as a reminder of my time here, so the next few posts are going to be very long, self indulgent and focus on things that mean something to me but will probably mean diddly squat to you!
(Don't say I didn't warn you! Chris, I wouldn't bother if I were you!)
Here goes with some stuff that I don't think I've mentioned in previous blogs.
* Greeting is big and pretty consistent in Uganda
I probably have the following conversation with random adults anywhere between 20 - 30 times a day.
Them : Muzungo, how are you?
Me : I am good. How are you?
Them: I am good. How is life?
Me : Life is good. How is life?
Them : Life is good. (Smiles at you, not saying anything else)
Me : Ok, well it was nice talking to you. Bye.
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye! (Stands there, still smiling as you walk off with a wave)
The following conversation happens at the same frequency, only with children.
Them : Hi Muzungo, hi!
Me : Hi!
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye!
Me : Bye!
I was told this would start to get on my nerves after a few weeks, but to be honest, I haven't tired of it yet because :
a. It makes me feel like a minor celebrity and
b. The monotony and predictability of such conversations genuinely amuses me.
* "Look, there's a kid with that condition - what's it called again?"
"Umm, I think you'll find that's Gerry, not an albino"
* The Kitchen Drawers of Doom, so named because every time you'd open them, a little surprise (usually a cockroach) would run out towards you.
In a similar vein, I have learned the hard way to wear flip flops at all times - including when I get up in the middle of the night for a wee. Squishing a cockroach under my bare foot wasn't pleasant.
* Despite it being very much frowned upon for men and women to show any sign of affection towards each other in public and the horrendous attitudes towards gay people here, male friends holding hands is a very common sight. The first time I saw it, I thought people were making a stand against the prejudice, but no, sadly not.
* We've ended up spending far too much time and money in a restaurant called Delicious Dishes (Delicious Delights according to Sue!). Despite having the charisma of the Nantgarw Makro, it is one of the few places that makes tasty food in the whole town. I thoroughly recommend anyone staying in Mbale visits there, Nurali's or Chat n Chino sooner rather than later.
* In some ways, western culture has infected even the most remote of places. In the middle of villages with horrendously pot-holed dust track roads, mud huts and people collecting drinking water from stagnant lakes, you'll suddenly see a brick house or shop painted bright red with the Coke logo emblazoned all over it or a lurid yellow building encouraging people to sign up to an MTN mobile phone contract.
It really is strange to see ugly advertising that is so at odds with its surroundings.
* This is something I'd never thought of before, but condoms here are black!
And before anyone jumps to any conclusions, I received this information second hand!
Alex went to a club that had a promotion where you buy a beer and get a pack of three 'The Big O' condoms free. And as the dipstick was running low on clean tops, he bought a t shirt with The Big O written all over it.
"What do you mean I can't wear it when I'm around you? It's only a brand name. Outside of Uganda, nobody will know what a Big O is. What's the problem?"
Poor, naive Alex!
* "Bloody hell! Look at the size of that goat's balls - they're massive!"
* Women carry babies in the cutest of ways so that they can carry on with their everyday lives. They basically strap a piece of cloth around their back, tied at the front and bundle the babies into it. None of this BabyBjorn, BabaSling or Papoose nonsense, just a flimsy, threadbare piece of cloth. And do you know what? It does the job perfectly!
(Man, how the hell do I know about different types of baby carriers? I need more childless friends!)
* I'm going to end this blog with one of my (in a weird way) favourite stories.
One of the girls we've met over here is half Indian / Ugandan. Her mother (who was born here) and her family were thrown out of Uganda under Idi Amin's rule. The family was friends with a very successful businessman who was also given a matter of days to pack up whatever possessions he could and move his family out of the country or they would probably have been killed.
The businessman gave away vast sums of money, possessions and property to his workers in the days before he left as he knew Amin would keep the money for himself and decimate the businesses he and his family had spent so many years building.
As anticipated, Amin destroyed a lot of his factories, but whenever he would stay in the area, he would use the family home as his own.
During Amin's reign, the Indian businessman would risk his life by travelling back to Uganda every so often to keep an eye on what was happening to the country and to make sure his workers were ok. This happened for years.
When Amin was overthrown, the businessman returned to the area within a few days to reclaim his property and land.
Over time, he rebuilt his businesses and is once again exceedingly successful with a very well known business (I'm not naming it as this isn't my story to tell).
He again employs thousands of people and provides them with housing, medical care and a school for their children.
How inspirational is that?
Am not going to apologise for the War and Peace style blog - I did warn you!
Expect more long and rushed self indulgent blogs to act as a memory jog within the next few days!
So many amazing things have happened to me since being here that it's only when I look back on photos that I think, 'Wow, how did I forget about that? That experience / conversation / pool party was brilliant / totally random / like a scene out of an RnB video!'
I'm getting concerned that the more I do, the more I'll forget.
When I get back, I'm going to print all of my blogs and favourite photos into a photo book as a reminder of my time here, so the next few posts are going to be very long, self indulgent and focus on things that mean something to me but will probably mean diddly squat to you!
(Don't say I didn't warn you! Chris, I wouldn't bother if I were you!)
Here goes with some stuff that I don't think I've mentioned in previous blogs.
* Greeting is big and pretty consistent in Uganda
I probably have the following conversation with random adults anywhere between 20 - 30 times a day.
Them : Muzungo, how are you?
Me : I am good. How are you?
Them: I am good. How is life?
Me : Life is good. How is life?
Them : Life is good. (Smiles at you, not saying anything else)
Me : Ok, well it was nice talking to you. Bye.
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye! (Stands there, still smiling as you walk off with a wave)
The following conversation happens at the same frequency, only with children.
Them : Hi Muzungo, hi!
Me : Hi!
Them : Bye Muzungo, bye!
Me : Bye!
I was told this would start to get on my nerves after a few weeks, but to be honest, I haven't tired of it yet because :
a. It makes me feel like a minor celebrity and
b. The monotony and predictability of such conversations genuinely amuses me.
* "Look, there's a kid with that condition - what's it called again?"
"Umm, I think you'll find that's Gerry, not an albino"
* The Kitchen Drawers of Doom, so named because every time you'd open them, a little surprise (usually a cockroach) would run out towards you.
In a similar vein, I have learned the hard way to wear flip flops at all times - including when I get up in the middle of the night for a wee. Squishing a cockroach under my bare foot wasn't pleasant.
* Despite it being very much frowned upon for men and women to show any sign of affection towards each other in public and the horrendous attitudes towards gay people here, male friends holding hands is a very common sight. The first time I saw it, I thought people were making a stand against the prejudice, but no, sadly not.
* We've ended up spending far too much time and money in a restaurant called Delicious Dishes (Delicious Delights according to Sue!). Despite having the charisma of the Nantgarw Makro, it is one of the few places that makes tasty food in the whole town. I thoroughly recommend anyone staying in Mbale visits there, Nurali's or Chat n Chino sooner rather than later.
* In some ways, western culture has infected even the most remote of places. In the middle of villages with horrendously pot-holed dust track roads, mud huts and people collecting drinking water from stagnant lakes, you'll suddenly see a brick house or shop painted bright red with the Coke logo emblazoned all over it or a lurid yellow building encouraging people to sign up to an MTN mobile phone contract.
It really is strange to see ugly advertising that is so at odds with its surroundings.
* This is something I'd never thought of before, but condoms here are black!
And before anyone jumps to any conclusions, I received this information second hand!
Alex went to a club that had a promotion where you buy a beer and get a pack of three 'The Big O' condoms free. And as the dipstick was running low on clean tops, he bought a t shirt with The Big O written all over it.
"What do you mean I can't wear it when I'm around you? It's only a brand name. Outside of Uganda, nobody will know what a Big O is. What's the problem?"
Poor, naive Alex!
* "Bloody hell! Look at the size of that goat's balls - they're massive!"
* Women carry babies in the cutest of ways so that they can carry on with their everyday lives. They basically strap a piece of cloth around their back, tied at the front and bundle the babies into it. None of this BabyBjorn, BabaSling or Papoose nonsense, just a flimsy, threadbare piece of cloth. And do you know what? It does the job perfectly!
(Man, how the hell do I know about different types of baby carriers? I need more childless friends!)
* I'm going to end this blog with one of my (in a weird way) favourite stories.
One of the girls we've met over here is half Indian / Ugandan. Her mother (who was born here) and her family were thrown out of Uganda under Idi Amin's rule. The family was friends with a very successful businessman who was also given a matter of days to pack up whatever possessions he could and move his family out of the country or they would probably have been killed.
The businessman gave away vast sums of money, possessions and property to his workers in the days before he left as he knew Amin would keep the money for himself and decimate the businesses he and his family had spent so many years building.
As anticipated, Amin destroyed a lot of his factories, but whenever he would stay in the area, he would use the family home as his own.
During Amin's reign, the Indian businessman would risk his life by travelling back to Uganda every so often to keep an eye on what was happening to the country and to make sure his workers were ok. This happened for years.
When Amin was overthrown, the businessman returned to the area within a few days to reclaim his property and land.
Over time, he rebuilt his businesses and is once again exceedingly successful with a very well known business (I'm not naming it as this isn't my story to tell).
He again employs thousands of people and provides them with housing, medical care and a school for their children.
How inspirational is that?
Am not going to apologise for the War and Peace style blog - I did warn you!
Expect more long and rushed self indulgent blogs to act as a memory jog within the next few days!
Matatus & Seven Waving Willies
(Posted today as electricity was off yesterday. Connection is slow so will try to load photos when it improves)
The local buses here are known as matatus. I think I've written about them before but I can't be bothered to check as the internet connection here is SLOOOOW today and the electricity is so intermittent, it may as well have been off all day.
Matatus are basically blue and white battered up old minibuses that have seen better days. They are officially licensed to carry 14 passengers.
However, this being Africa and all, they frequently carry 21 passengers, possibly up to 30 if you include live chickens and goats that can travel on the roof.
Sue and Alex are a bit more savvy on how to bag the best seats as they catch them a lot more than I do.
Unfortunately for me, the last time we all travelled together, they took full advantage of their insight and my matatu-related ignorance by jumping straight (whilst whispering, giggling and nudging each other) into the comfortable, one person per seat front seats, leaving me to negotiate a three seater row with four others in a most undignified manner for the next five hours.
Despite the fact I spent four of those hours next to a man with an exceptionally bad BO problem whilst sitting on my left bum cheek with my neck on the wonk, my head and right arm hanging out of the window like some sort of labrador, my hair flapping about in the wind and hitting me in the face, my upper left arm nestled diagonally in between my boobs with my hand holding onto the outside of the minibus window for dear life, Sue and Alex insisted I had been lucky and that wasn't as bad as it could have been.
I disagreed. Strongly.
Every now and again, I'd catch Sue and Alex's eye as they were looking back at me in the mirror and their shoulders would start shaking uncontrollably whilst laughing at both my misfortune and the mouthed profanities and scowls directed at them from underneath the wind swept hair hanging out of the window.
(I think the little shits may have had a point about it not being too bad actually. The matatu the girls caught back was carrying a woman in the full sing of labour - the bus just stopped and left her there at the side of the road, just crowning away!)
This particular matatu ride home was pretty similar to the taxi ride we experienced on the way to Sipi Falls (see previous blog) - just as perilous but luckily, this time we had God on our side.
Most matatus have little slogans written across the top of the window, most of them religious. Ours encouraged us to Trust in God.
To be honest, I didn't have much choice but to trust in Him as I didn't have an abundance of faith in the brakes, suspension or tyre tread.
Some of my other favourite slogans include :
* This taxi is protected by the blood of Jesus (me neither)
* Second chance (judging by the look of most matatus, they are more like cats, going though nine lives rather than two)
* No gain, no pain (?! - I can't decide if that philosophy is fundamentally flawed or spot on!)
* God is AWESOME!
Whereas others just have Liverpool, Arsenal or Chelsea emblazoned across them.
Well, footballers are practically deities here so I guess it makes sense in an Only In Africa kind of way!
One of the benefits of sitting in such an uncomfortable position for so long is that you have no option but to take your mind off the pain and discomfort and concentrate on soaking up the scenery and atmosphere.
(Elin, Rhian, Del and Caroline - roedd rhaid i fi ddysgu ymdopi a theithiau hir ers siwrne'r Traws Cambria 'na nol ym 1998!)
Some of the more common scenes you see whilst driving though cities and villages alike are :
* Cow or goat carcasses hanging (often still dripping) from wooden shacks at the side of the road. Ych, they make my stomach churn every time I see them all covered in flies and dust.
(I tell people I'm a vegetarian as the meat really does look so awful. Someone said to me the other day, "You're a vegetarian? Really? I thought only Germans were vegetarian"!)
* Boys and men sitting at the side of the road chipping at large rocks to create aggregate to sell. They sit there ALL day, just chip, chip, chipping away.
* School kids running round in luminous school uniforms that clash so badly with the natural landscape. I'll try to post of photos of the school uniforms. They are truly revolting, but somehow kids manage to look great!
A less common scene is having seven boys, between eight and twelve who had just been swimming in the river, waving at you excitedly from the roadside.
Nothing unusual about that - except they were totally naked and their bits were waving as much as their hands!
Not much surprises me here any more - after all, TIA!
* * *
This was my view before the bus filled up. I didn't have room to manoeuvre and get my camera out by the time it had filled up.
The local buses here are known as matatus. I think I've written about them before but I can't be bothered to check as the internet connection here is SLOOOOW today and the electricity is so intermittent, it may as well have been off all day.
Matatus are basically blue and white battered up old minibuses that have seen better days. They are officially licensed to carry 14 passengers.
However, this being Africa and all, they frequently carry 21 passengers, possibly up to 30 if you include live chickens and goats that can travel on the roof.
Sue and Alex are a bit more savvy on how to bag the best seats as they catch them a lot more than I do.
Unfortunately for me, the last time we all travelled together, they took full advantage of their insight and my matatu-related ignorance by jumping straight (whilst whispering, giggling and nudging each other) into the comfortable, one person per seat front seats, leaving me to negotiate a three seater row with four others in a most undignified manner for the next five hours.
Despite the fact I spent four of those hours next to a man with an exceptionally bad BO problem whilst sitting on my left bum cheek with my neck on the wonk, my head and right arm hanging out of the window like some sort of labrador, my hair flapping about in the wind and hitting me in the face, my upper left arm nestled diagonally in between my boobs with my hand holding onto the outside of the minibus window for dear life, Sue and Alex insisted I had been lucky and that wasn't as bad as it could have been.
I disagreed. Strongly.
Every now and again, I'd catch Sue and Alex's eye as they were looking back at me in the mirror and their shoulders would start shaking uncontrollably whilst laughing at both my misfortune and the mouthed profanities and scowls directed at them from underneath the wind swept hair hanging out of the window.
(I think the little shits may have had a point about it not being too bad actually. The matatu the girls caught back was carrying a woman in the full sing of labour - the bus just stopped and left her there at the side of the road, just crowning away!)
This particular matatu ride home was pretty similar to the taxi ride we experienced on the way to Sipi Falls (see previous blog) - just as perilous but luckily, this time we had God on our side.
Most matatus have little slogans written across the top of the window, most of them religious. Ours encouraged us to Trust in God.
To be honest, I didn't have much choice but to trust in Him as I didn't have an abundance of faith in the brakes, suspension or tyre tread.
Some of my other favourite slogans include :
* This taxi is protected by the blood of Jesus (me neither)
* Second chance (judging by the look of most matatus, they are more like cats, going though nine lives rather than two)
* No gain, no pain (?! - I can't decide if that philosophy is fundamentally flawed or spot on!)
* God is AWESOME!
Whereas others just have Liverpool, Arsenal or Chelsea emblazoned across them.
Well, footballers are practically deities here so I guess it makes sense in an Only In Africa kind of way!
One of the benefits of sitting in such an uncomfortable position for so long is that you have no option but to take your mind off the pain and discomfort and concentrate on soaking up the scenery and atmosphere.
(Elin, Rhian, Del and Caroline - roedd rhaid i fi ddysgu ymdopi a theithiau hir ers siwrne'r Traws Cambria 'na nol ym 1998!)
Some of the more common scenes you see whilst driving though cities and villages alike are :
* Cow or goat carcasses hanging (often still dripping) from wooden shacks at the side of the road. Ych, they make my stomach churn every time I see them all covered in flies and dust.
(I tell people I'm a vegetarian as the meat really does look so awful. Someone said to me the other day, "You're a vegetarian? Really? I thought only Germans were vegetarian"!)
* Boys and men sitting at the side of the road chipping at large rocks to create aggregate to sell. They sit there ALL day, just chip, chip, chipping away.
* School kids running round in luminous school uniforms that clash so badly with the natural landscape. I'll try to post of photos of the school uniforms. They are truly revolting, but somehow kids manage to look great!
A less common scene is having seven boys, between eight and twelve who had just been swimming in the river, waving at you excitedly from the roadside.
Nothing unusual about that - except they were totally naked and their bits were waving as much as their hands!
Not much surprises me here any more - after all, TIA!
* * *
This was my view before the bus filled up. I didn't have room to manoeuvre and get my camera out by the time it had filled up.
Sunday, 25 March 2012
Lessons Learned & Drinking Games
Since being here, I've learned, done and seen lot of things that have changed my outlook on life and will probably have huge implications on both my personality and career (There I go, being all hippy dippy again).
I'm pretty confident that a lot of these leanings will stay with me for life, but there are certain things I have to write down in order to remember them.
One of these is a drinking game called Kings that we've played far too often for my liking - mainly thanks to Nathan, Rachel and Tenille. I'd never heard of it before which is surely evidence of my sheltered tee-total life?
I've had to write the rules down so I remember them for future drinking sessions. I couldn't remember the rules at the start of the game so I had no chance of remembering them by the end!
So this blog entry can act as a rule book for my return from Africa / Cath's First Drinking Session Since Having Baby Danielle / Daniel session!
You need an empty glass and a pack of cards.
Every player pours some of their drink into a glass in the middle of the table. This known as the King's Cup.
The cards are shuffled and put into the middle of the table and one person starts off by picking the top card. Each card has an action associated with it which are listed below.
Ace - Waterfall. Everyone starts to drink. The player to the left of the person that picked that card has to drink until the picker stops. This continues around the table
Two - Whoever picks this card can make any other player drink two fingers worth of drink
Three - Whoever picks this card must drink three fingers worth of their own drink
Four - Dicks. Ie, all blokes drink
Five - Rhyme Time. Whoever picks this card picks a word. To the left, the other players must say something that rhymes. If they take longer than three seconds, they must drink.
Six - Chicks. Ie, all girls drink
Seven - Sevens. The person that picks this card starts off counting. For numbers including seven and multiples of seven, you must clap. If you get it wrong, you must drink (Thisone in particular ain't my forte)
Eight - Thumbs. At any time in the game, this players can place a thumb of the table. The last person to notice this and copy has to drink
Nine - Free Pass. Whoever picks this card has a free pass which means they can go to the toilet whenever they want
Ten - Rule. Whoever picks this card can make up a new rule for the game. Eg. All British people have to drink on all red cards
(Harsh rule, Tenille, harsh rule! And I'm Welsh first so I shouldn't have had to drink!)
Jack - the person to your right has to drink
Queen - the person to your left has to drink
King - whoever draws a king card has to drink a quarter of the vile concoction in the middle of the table.
No wonder I've been so pissed!
I'm pretty confident that a lot of these leanings will stay with me for life, but there are certain things I have to write down in order to remember them.
One of these is a drinking game called Kings that we've played far too often for my liking - mainly thanks to Nathan, Rachel and Tenille. I'd never heard of it before which is surely evidence of my sheltered tee-total life?
I've had to write the rules down so I remember them for future drinking sessions. I couldn't remember the rules at the start of the game so I had no chance of remembering them by the end!
So this blog entry can act as a rule book for my return from Africa / Cath's First Drinking Session Since Having Baby Danielle / Daniel session!
You need an empty glass and a pack of cards.
Every player pours some of their drink into a glass in the middle of the table. This known as the King's Cup.
The cards are shuffled and put into the middle of the table and one person starts off by picking the top card. Each card has an action associated with it which are listed below.
Ace - Waterfall. Everyone starts to drink. The player to the left of the person that picked that card has to drink until the picker stops. This continues around the table
Two - Whoever picks this card can make any other player drink two fingers worth of drink
Three - Whoever picks this card must drink three fingers worth of their own drink
Four - Dicks. Ie, all blokes drink
Five - Rhyme Time. Whoever picks this card picks a word. To the left, the other players must say something that rhymes. If they take longer than three seconds, they must drink.
Six - Chicks. Ie, all girls drink
Seven - Sevens. The person that picks this card starts off counting. For numbers including seven and multiples of seven, you must clap. If you get it wrong, you must drink (Thisone in particular ain't my forte)
Eight - Thumbs. At any time in the game, this players can place a thumb of the table. The last person to notice this and copy has to drink
Nine - Free Pass. Whoever picks this card has a free pass which means they can go to the toilet whenever they want
Ten - Rule. Whoever picks this card can make up a new rule for the game. Eg. All British people have to drink on all red cards
(Harsh rule, Tenille, harsh rule! And I'm Welsh first so I shouldn't have had to drink!)
Jack - the person to your right has to drink
Queen - the person to your left has to drink
King - whoever draws a king card has to drink a quarter of the vile concoction in the middle of the table.
No wonder I've been so pissed!
Saturday, 24 March 2012
Site visits & black albinos
Over the past few days, I’ve been out and about and ‘in the field’. Only this time, I accompanied Rebecca on spot check visits of how our beneficiary organisations are spending TACC money and the progress they have made.
As I’ve mentioned on many previous occasions, the roads here are terrible. Being in a 4x4 with a careful driver makes barely any difference – I was being tossed about like a rag doll despite wearing a seatbelt.
It was like going white water rafting where you’re bouncing all over the shop with no control over what your limbs do or where they go but I loved it! I was constantly chuckling away to myself in the back whilst the others thought I was mental. When I told them people at home pay a lot of money to go 4x4 driving like this, they thought we were all mental.
One of the organisations we visited was ARDI (African Rural Development Initiative) based in Manafwa. I’d been there a few weeks earlier when I was on my fact finding tour and got renamed Nasimiyu (see previous blog). The welcome I had there was wonderful. I was greeted with open arms, cwtches, kisses, never-ending handshakes, cheers, welcome back prayers, the whole shebang, like some sort of long lost daughter!
They were very impressed with the Lugisu I have learned since my last visit. I could say the equivalent of “Alright butt, what’s occurring?” to men, women, children and friends, ask them, “What’s the gossip” and say “See ya tomorrow” which I did by mistake. I was supposed to say “See ya soon”.
Dammit.
Going back there reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to mention. ARDI is one of the great Community Based Organisations here. It started in 1999 as a home for pregnant young girls (some as young as 12).
If a girl gets pregnant out of wedlock, regardless of any tragic circumstances surrounding her pregnancy, they are usually thrown out by their families so have nowhere to go and no income to live off.
As a result, many turn to all sorts to get money, including prostitution.
ARDI pretty much takes them in and looks after them and their babies whilst the young mothers learn a trade, such as tailoring, and continue with ‘life skills’ education.
But it’s not just a place for single young mothers now. It’s grown significantly and morphed into a much bigger operation with many programmes, one of which is a school. The school takes in children whose parents can’t afford to look after them or that, put frankly, are not wanted by their parents.
The first time I went to ARDI, I had a tour of the school and noticed that in every class, there was at least one albino child in each classroom, sometimes two and on one occasion three.
Some of these albino children have been abandoned by their parents because of the perceived social shame of having a ‘different’ child, whilst some are raised in dire poverty by single mothers because the father believed she had an affair with a white man.
With next to no understanding of genetic conditions and medical issues here, black albinos tend to be socially ostracised and discriminated against (some even believe it is a waste of money to send them to school as they are considered mentally ill or retarded) just because of a condition they happen to have been born with.
Seeing those beautiful little albino children running around laughing and smiling and happily waving at me because they’ve seen someone who has the same skin colour as them makes my heart bleed.
Life is tough enough here for people as it is. Because they are so young, they have no idea about the additional challenges they will face in their future.
It reminded me again of the ugly side of Africa that sits so uncomfortably next to its beauty and generosity.
* * *
Photos:
1. Buying pineapples at a roadside shack. I got three for 75p!
2. TACC staff and driver 'in the field'
3. Me in front of a real life growing pineapple. Note pineapples don't grow on trees!
4. Caro (TACC admin officer), Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) and I during our spot check inspections.
As I’ve mentioned on many previous occasions, the roads here are terrible. Being in a 4x4 with a careful driver makes barely any difference – I was being tossed about like a rag doll despite wearing a seatbelt.
It was like going white water rafting where you’re bouncing all over the shop with no control over what your limbs do or where they go but I loved it! I was constantly chuckling away to myself in the back whilst the others thought I was mental. When I told them people at home pay a lot of money to go 4x4 driving like this, they thought we were all mental.
One of the organisations we visited was ARDI (African Rural Development Initiative) based in Manafwa. I’d been there a few weeks earlier when I was on my fact finding tour and got renamed Nasimiyu (see previous blog). The welcome I had there was wonderful. I was greeted with open arms, cwtches, kisses, never-ending handshakes, cheers, welcome back prayers, the whole shebang, like some sort of long lost daughter!
They were very impressed with the Lugisu I have learned since my last visit. I could say the equivalent of “Alright butt, what’s occurring?” to men, women, children and friends, ask them, “What’s the gossip” and say “See ya tomorrow” which I did by mistake. I was supposed to say “See ya soon”.
Dammit.
Going back there reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to mention. ARDI is one of the great Community Based Organisations here. It started in 1999 as a home for pregnant young girls (some as young as 12).
If a girl gets pregnant out of wedlock, regardless of any tragic circumstances surrounding her pregnancy, they are usually thrown out by their families so have nowhere to go and no income to live off.
As a result, many turn to all sorts to get money, including prostitution.
ARDI pretty much takes them in and looks after them and their babies whilst the young mothers learn a trade, such as tailoring, and continue with ‘life skills’ education.
But it’s not just a place for single young mothers now. It’s grown significantly and morphed into a much bigger operation with many programmes, one of which is a school. The school takes in children whose parents can’t afford to look after them or that, put frankly, are not wanted by their parents.
The first time I went to ARDI, I had a tour of the school and noticed that in every class, there was at least one albino child in each classroom, sometimes two and on one occasion three.
Some of these albino children have been abandoned by their parents because of the perceived social shame of having a ‘different’ child, whilst some are raised in dire poverty by single mothers because the father believed she had an affair with a white man.
With next to no understanding of genetic conditions and medical issues here, black albinos tend to be socially ostracised and discriminated against (some even believe it is a waste of money to send them to school as they are considered mentally ill or retarded) just because of a condition they happen to have been born with.
Seeing those beautiful little albino children running around laughing and smiling and happily waving at me because they’ve seen someone who has the same skin colour as them makes my heart bleed.
Life is tough enough here for people as it is. Because they are so young, they have no idea about the additional challenges they will face in their future.
It reminded me again of the ugly side of Africa that sits so uncomfortably next to its beauty and generosity.
* * *
Photos:
1. Buying pineapples at a roadside shack. I got three for 75p!
2. TACC staff and driver 'in the field'
3. Me in front of a real life growing pineapple. Note pineapples don't grow on trees!
4. Caro (TACC admin officer), Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) and I during our spot check inspections.
Thursday, 22 March 2012
Work update
For those of you that seem to think I’m having a jolly old time here in Mbale ... well, to be honest, I am!
I love it to bits and want come back again and again and again.
(When I get back, I’m planning on telling everyone in the Welsh public sector how horrendous this experience was so I can apply again in an attempt to come back!)
But I’m also working hard, I promise! My flexi is almost as high as it was this time last year (this time last year I was working on the C word and could barely go two hours without speaking to Andy G or Norman, poor dabs!).
Stuff I’ve been working on includes a comms strategy and action plan, writing some documents that explain what the project is about and working with web designers to create a TACC website. I’ve also created a number of resources for organisations to use when they’re educating people about how to adapt to climate change.
Despite how it apparently seems from this blog, life here is bloody hard work, exceedingly frustrating and at times downright infuriating. On a number of occasions, I’ve been catapulted well outside my comfort zone and I’ve had to remind myself that’s exactly what I wanted from this experience. I didn’t for one minute expect things to be easy, but I also didn’t expect some things to be quite so hard.
I think this blog has been giving people the wrong impression of what ‘real’ life is like here. When I tell people how tough I’ve been finding things, a lot have seemed surprised. That’s because I mostly write about the good and fun stuff! It constantly surprises me how many of you read this blog - bet none of you would if I moaned constantly!
It’s sod’s law that it’s only now things have clicked and I’m really starting to get it when my assignment ends on the 30th March (Happy Birthday for then Baby Brother / Happy Anniversary for then Nan and Grandad!). That said, I’ve had some lovely feedback from people in the ‘on the ground’ organisations TACC supports on my work.
I’ve also had a gem of an email from a Welsh guy I’ve met that works over here for half the year. He said, “Lots of people have noticed that about Uganda - that things start to happen just when you have nearly given up hope. Things move to a different rhythm here and it does our western heads in.”
His observation is totally right of course, but just seeing his words pop up on my computer screen made me feel relieved that it wasn’t just me that was on the verge of giving up hope of a productive assignment. The only advice I can give to people who may come over in the future is don’t expect Western ways to work in Uganda, but that persistence, perseverance and sheer doggedness will pay off - eventually!
Anyway, I only have six work days left in which to finish everything before I leave then I’m off on my travels and it’s Cape Town here I come!
For those of you interested in knowing more about Mbale TACC, go to www.taccmbale.org. It should be www.mbaletacc.org but we’re working to get this changed so who knows what it'll be this time next week... After all, TIA!
It's still not perfect and I'm waiting for a last set of amends, but it'll give you an idea of what we're trying to do.
Ps. I have to write and provide photos for a Meet a Colleague piece for the intranet. How do I do that without sounding like an utter tool?!
Pps. How many people know how pineapples grow without googling it? Da iawn Michelle, bad luck Ki! X
* * *
Photos:
1. Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) doing a spot check on one of the projects receiving a TACC grants for tree planting
2. Deforestation is a huge problem in the Mbale region. I've been working on education resources for organisations to use when they explain the reasons and impacts of climate change
3. Rainwater harvesting, another one of TACC's priority areas
4. Me in the TACC office.
I love it to bits and want come back again and again and again.
(When I get back, I’m planning on telling everyone in the Welsh public sector how horrendous this experience was so I can apply again in an attempt to come back!)
But I’m also working hard, I promise! My flexi is almost as high as it was this time last year (this time last year I was working on the C word and could barely go two hours without speaking to Andy G or Norman, poor dabs!).
Stuff I’ve been working on includes a comms strategy and action plan, writing some documents that explain what the project is about and working with web designers to create a TACC website. I’ve also created a number of resources for organisations to use when they’re educating people about how to adapt to climate change.
Despite how it apparently seems from this blog, life here is bloody hard work, exceedingly frustrating and at times downright infuriating. On a number of occasions, I’ve been catapulted well outside my comfort zone and I’ve had to remind myself that’s exactly what I wanted from this experience. I didn’t for one minute expect things to be easy, but I also didn’t expect some things to be quite so hard.
I think this blog has been giving people the wrong impression of what ‘real’ life is like here. When I tell people how tough I’ve been finding things, a lot have seemed surprised. That’s because I mostly write about the good and fun stuff! It constantly surprises me how many of you read this blog - bet none of you would if I moaned constantly!
It’s sod’s law that it’s only now things have clicked and I’m really starting to get it when my assignment ends on the 30th March (Happy Birthday for then Baby Brother / Happy Anniversary for then Nan and Grandad!). That said, I’ve had some lovely feedback from people in the ‘on the ground’ organisations TACC supports on my work.
I’ve also had a gem of an email from a Welsh guy I’ve met that works over here for half the year. He said, “Lots of people have noticed that about Uganda - that things start to happen just when you have nearly given up hope. Things move to a different rhythm here and it does our western heads in.”
His observation is totally right of course, but just seeing his words pop up on my computer screen made me feel relieved that it wasn’t just me that was on the verge of giving up hope of a productive assignment. The only advice I can give to people who may come over in the future is don’t expect Western ways to work in Uganda, but that persistence, perseverance and sheer doggedness will pay off - eventually!
Anyway, I only have six work days left in which to finish everything before I leave then I’m off on my travels and it’s Cape Town here I come!
For those of you interested in knowing more about Mbale TACC, go to www.taccmbale.org. It should be www.mbaletacc.org but we’re working to get this changed so who knows what it'll be this time next week... After all, TIA!
It's still not perfect and I'm waiting for a last set of amends, but it'll give you an idea of what we're trying to do.
Ps. I have to write and provide photos for a Meet a Colleague piece for the intranet. How do I do that without sounding like an utter tool?!
Pps. How many people know how pineapples grow without googling it? Da iawn Michelle, bad luck Ki! X
* * *
Photos:
1. Rebecca (TACC Project Manager) doing a spot check on one of the projects receiving a TACC grants for tree planting
2. Deforestation is a huge problem in the Mbale region. I've been working on education resources for organisations to use when they explain the reasons and impacts of climate change
3. Rainwater harvesting, another one of TACC's priority areas
4. Me in the TACC office.
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
Lost in translation
I thought a lot of my communication and cultural awareness problems would be with the local people of Mbale who speak Lugisu as a first language, not Americans and Canadians who speak English as a first language.
The barriers and breakdown in communications we’ve had with them have been almost as entertaining as the ones I’ve had with the locals.
Since being here, I’ve buttied up with a number of people, including two Canadians (Melissa and Rachel who are doing a work placement at two of the local hospitals) and an American (Tenille is on a placement at CURE learning how to be a brain surgeon – I've taken my friends up an academic notch or two!!)
One of my favourite all time moments of being in Uganda was when we took the girls to see a rugby match. After roughly explaining the rules and scoring system, Tenille pointed at one of the players wearing a scrum cap asking, “Why is he wearing a beany? Is it because he’s in goal?”
Awww. Bless!
And as for cwtching, snogging, swotting or calling someone fit – forget it - you'll get nothing but blank faces all round. And we thought we spoke the same language!
There have been lots of funnier scenarios with the locals too.
The other day, I was either told or asked if I was 'reducing' because I walk to work and back every day. I’d like to think I was told, but my indicator trousers (which fitted me last summer - grrr!) still leave red marks on my belly which suggests it was a question rather than a statement.
(Dam that two month Christmas party period and those many January ‘Goodbye Until July” meals)
Others include an unfortunate choice of words when I was asked to look like I was cooking on an energy efficient stove for a photograph (They love taking photos of the token whitie in town!). I looked up confused and shrugged my shoulders at my host, eyes pleading as if to say, “Cook? On this? How??” only to be told, “Go down, touch my wood and then smile when you look at me”.
(Childish snigger!)
And I had to try really hard not to laugh when Alex pointed at the menu to order Fusilli Carbonara at the pool bar only for the waitress to stand there for a minute looking confused before taking the menu off him and scanning the drinks cabinet.
When he told her it wasn’t a beer, she looked thankful and instead started looking in the freezer! It took about 5 minutes to explain that we were ordering food, not a drink.
But my all time favourite Lost In Translation moment has to be from last month when I went to Bududa for the day with Matthew and Gerry. Walking back to the school, a local man lifted his shirt up and shouted at me, “Hey lady, flash me!”
I turned round to Matthew, taken aback and slightly outraged at what this guy had just said to me. All Ugandans I’d met until then had been exceedingly polite and unassuming. How very rude!
“Did you hear what he just said to me? He just asked me to flash him” (I said in outraged manner and raised indignant voice)
“What? Who? Which one? Him …?” (looks over to the men then begins to laugh uncontrollably)
“Oh Dani! He means take his photo – make your flash go off!”
“Oh, right. Ok then. Well in that case, I’ll take his bloody photo now”
(Shuffles off slightly miffed as it turned out he wasn’t desperate to see my boobs after all)
One thing that definitely wasn't lost in translation was a conversation I had with Alex last weekend. I said, "Alex, you'll have to take another photo. I look like a truck in front of that truck".
His response?
"Dani, it's a camera, not photoshop".
Charming!
Photos :
* Me trying to look like I’m cooking whilst touching wood and trying not to choke with laughter
* "Hey lady, flash me!" man
The barriers and breakdown in communications we’ve had with them have been almost as entertaining as the ones I’ve had with the locals.
Since being here, I’ve buttied up with a number of people, including two Canadians (Melissa and Rachel who are doing a work placement at two of the local hospitals) and an American (Tenille is on a placement at CURE learning how to be a brain surgeon – I've taken my friends up an academic notch or two!!)
One of my favourite all time moments of being in Uganda was when we took the girls to see a rugby match. After roughly explaining the rules and scoring system, Tenille pointed at one of the players wearing a scrum cap asking, “Why is he wearing a beany? Is it because he’s in goal?”
Awww. Bless!
And as for cwtching, snogging, swotting or calling someone fit – forget it - you'll get nothing but blank faces all round. And we thought we spoke the same language!
There have been lots of funnier scenarios with the locals too.
The other day, I was either told or asked if I was 'reducing' because I walk to work and back every day. I’d like to think I was told, but my indicator trousers (which fitted me last summer - grrr!) still leave red marks on my belly which suggests it was a question rather than a statement.
(Dam that two month Christmas party period and those many January ‘Goodbye Until July” meals)
Others include an unfortunate choice of words when I was asked to look like I was cooking on an energy efficient stove for a photograph (They love taking photos of the token whitie in town!). I looked up confused and shrugged my shoulders at my host, eyes pleading as if to say, “Cook? On this? How??” only to be told, “Go down, touch my wood and then smile when you look at me”.
(Childish snigger!)
And I had to try really hard not to laugh when Alex pointed at the menu to order Fusilli Carbonara at the pool bar only for the waitress to stand there for a minute looking confused before taking the menu off him and scanning the drinks cabinet.
When he told her it wasn’t a beer, she looked thankful and instead started looking in the freezer! It took about 5 minutes to explain that we were ordering food, not a drink.
But my all time favourite Lost In Translation moment has to be from last month when I went to Bududa for the day with Matthew and Gerry. Walking back to the school, a local man lifted his shirt up and shouted at me, “Hey lady, flash me!”
I turned round to Matthew, taken aback and slightly outraged at what this guy had just said to me. All Ugandans I’d met until then had been exceedingly polite and unassuming. How very rude!
“Did you hear what he just said to me? He just asked me to flash him” (I said in outraged manner and raised indignant voice)
“What? Who? Which one? Him …?” (looks over to the men then begins to laugh uncontrollably)
“Oh Dani! He means take his photo – make your flash go off!”
“Oh, right. Ok then. Well in that case, I’ll take his bloody photo now”
(Shuffles off slightly miffed as it turned out he wasn’t desperate to see my boobs after all)
One thing that definitely wasn't lost in translation was a conversation I had with Alex last weekend. I said, "Alex, you'll have to take another photo. I look like a truck in front of that truck".
His response?
"Dani, it's a camera, not photoshop".
Charming!
Photos :
* Me trying to look like I’m cooking whilst touching wood and trying not to choke with laughter
* "Hey lady, flash me!" man
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)