Tag: Busolwe

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note: development

Browsed through a blog of the UBC students who have replaced us in Busolwe this term, and I realize that she is experiencing a lot of the same things I did. She is faced with the same disappointments and struggles as I was, even though each of us left behind a report outlining all the challenges we faced along with suggestions to overcome them. I think that the inefficiency of development work is similar to the inefficiency of the service projects we try to implement and sustain there, in that specific African town. Even if she has read all the challenges we listed out, there is no way for her to understand exactly what our suggestions mean, until she comes to them herself. It was the same cycle for us, when we were dealing with our culture shock and settling in, etc. It’s like the cohorts of students that are sent over experience their own individual growth, but the community bears witness to a rewind and replay of the same progress each season..

Perhaps UBC should send over masters students for a few years, rather than just a few months, so that they can actually do some work and continue the project until it is truly stable and sustainable enough to stand on its own. So that students have a chance to experience their individual struggles, grow from them, and become well informed enough to be truly community- focused and cater to the community’s needs. Because truth be told, it’s not easy to not be selfish for the first 1.5- 2 months, when students like me had to deal with a culture and environment very different from the ones we are so used to and take for granted here at home. We are too busy making first-off judgments of the community, understanding them through the existing schemas in our mind, to really deliver projects that are not selfish, either. It’s like the projects we develop in the three short months we are there are really to fulfill our sense of service, to accomplish “what we were there to do”, rather than addressing the true needs of the community.

Though for what the ISL program is, at least we raise awareness for the community, share our stories and broaden the understanding of our friends and family. Stef, Hanna, and I have connected an elementary school in Gibsons, B.C. to our newly established school in the library we worked at. We started a fundraiser that will run from Monday to Friday next week, not just to raise money, but to educate students of the reality that is on the other side of the world.

So far, we have raised $425 with generous donations from their Valentine’s Day fundraiser and the local Rotary Club, to kick start the fundraising. This money will go towards constructing a playground for the school, as well as to invest in renovations and materials for students.

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Personal

This is what I miss.

Excerpt from June 20, 2011
3:45pm

The sky darkens, and a cool breeze refreshes the sweaty afternoon. The clouds roll in casually, not intrusively this afternoon, and begin to sprinkle the dusty ground with cold droplets of water. The light drizzling wafts a clean smell into the library, and I am no longer drowsy with sleep. It smells like home, like a light rainy day in Vancouver.

The children who were playing on the dirt roads, some lying lazily in the afternoon cool, suddenly disappear into the houses. Whether they were called in to help with chores, or if they were called in by their parents, I do not know… it doesn’t seem like a Ugandan to escape the rain by seeking shelter. Today is unusually quiet, anyway, no goats are baa-ing by the library entrance, and no cows are moo-ing with restlessness. Chicken walk around quietly, and even the children are milder today. As the rain patters down with increasing strength, I see an older woman walking home at a brisk pace, with her veil tiede around her shoulder to keep in warmth. As she walks by, I see that the veil was tied to cover the head of the baby strapped to her back, to shelter it from the cold rain. I see school children walking along the same road, less bothered by the rain considering they do not have babies tied to their backs, and they don’t have a household to rush home to feed. Still, they walk faster than the usual afternoon drawl. A man bikes by on his rickety bicycle, followed by two teenagers sharing a cycle home from school. The all stare curiously at me, as I type away in the magic of the rainy moment, at peace with this calm rain. I am engrossed in this moment, moved bythe voice of Melody Gardot, reminded of home. The reminder of home somehow allows me appreciate this moment even more; this is home away from home.

The rain lazily passes by, but returns with a full, sly, force accompanied by stronger winds.  The town picks up its energy, seeing no use in wasting time escaping the rain. People ride by on the roads, on their way to the town center. Or perhaps, the rain just caught the afternoon lull, and it wasn’t the rain that caused the lull.

7:24pm

The soft hum of the crickets pulse in the evening air. It’s a cool night, peaceful after the afternoon storm. The air is clean, and the mood is light; we are all lounging in our living room, Stephanie wrapped up in her blanket, Hannali seated comfortably in her couch, and me cozy in my UBC hoodie and fern PJ pants. We spent our evening reading, and I finished the Harry Potter book that I started this morning. What a delightful read, so full of gorgeous imagery and extraordinary scenes.

It’s been one of those satisfying days, a good day as we like to call it. I haven’t felt so at peace with myself since we arrived here. Our home is cozy: there are barely any bugs, and it isn’t hot and humid as it was last night. Theis week will be another short one, because we leave early on Friday morning for Entebbe for our mid- session retreat. It’ll be a nice break, far away from Busolwe and Mugulu, and it’s come at a good time. We have just settled well into our house, and it’s appropriate during this time to retreat and reflect on what we’ve been doing.

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Wonderings (Weekend #1)

I wonder what it is that they stare at. Maybe it’s my clothes, which are clean of dirt and free of rips and holes. Perhaps it’s my light skin, suggesting an idyllic life wherever I’m from. Or maybe they are trying to gauge my attitude, to see if I smile at them, or wave, or acknowledge them in turn. Their stares are foreign to me; they stare because I’m foreign. My good friend B put it in perspective for me, challenging me to consider staring as a form of acknowledgement. It’s true that we in our Western culture tend to spend more time avoiding eye contact with strangers. We only open up to those we trust to be friendly. We only acknowledge when someone else acknowledges us, especially if they are strangers to us. Here, everyone stares. We are the attraction of the town—after a week here, villagers are still trying to figure us out. What are they doing? Who are they? Why are they here? At least they acknowledge our existence. Perhaps it’s an invitation for us to get to know them.

Why can she not ride the bike? Why do they wear pants, and not long skirts? Where did they get the money to pay for their glasses? For their nice backpacks? Why do they write in their journals so much? What do they do in all their spare time? The children must wonder, What are they saying to us? How can I learn to read like them? Will they like me? Do they know who I am? Will they remember my name? Their names are so foreign. Can I trust them?

In my head, I wonder constantly, Why are they staring? What do they see? Do they trust me? Should they trust me? How can I help? Do they need help? What does ‘help’ imply? What’s that word in Lunyole? I wish I could speak their local language so I can gather the children around and spend hours reading with them.

This week has been all about forming impressions. In any foreign place, I think we all make judgements on first instinct. At least I know that these impressions should not shape how I live and get to know the locals in the next three months. I know that these impressions are just natural instincts to help me sense what is normal and what is unacceptable in this town. The feelings of discomfort have helped me better understand, or put into perspective, what differences lie in theirs and our cultures. I think our projects will be designed to bridge that difference, to find a middle ground where we can share our experience and understanding to aid our self development as well as to guide their library mission goals.

To see someone foreign in such a tight little community must also be frightening for some villagers. Especially the children—one little baby boy always bursts into tears when he see us. The other children point at him and explain, ‘ohutia muzungu’, he is scared of you foreigners. Why? I think it is just because we look different. We must look like Martians to him.

One week has passed, it’s strange to think. In Vancouver one little week must seem like nothing. Here, it’s felt like a long month. And in reality, we have come quite a far way from our first landings in Entebbe airport. We’ve more or less formed our comfort zones, drawn our boundaries in the house and at work, and become more comfortable with our town. Tomorrow is the weekend, and we are heading to a bigger town, Mbale, where we hope to see more muzungus and share conversations with them. On Sunday we are painting the little kindergarten room that we are starting for the week after. Starting Monday we will visit schools and begin to implement the programs which we have drafted for the winter term here in Butaleja district.

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