Tag: Uganda

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Life in one day (June 20, 2011)

I realize that I only post entries that were inspired by extremely stressful days, or emotional learning moments. I haven’t been able to share my experience as fully as I could, and so I copy and pasted one entry from my personal journal to share the daily experience of living in rural Uganda. Life here is culturally different from life back home, but the realities of living in Africa is nothing like the images which we are exposed to on Western media and charity campaigns.

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12:20pm Kindergarten

Now that our kindergarten has only registered students, 3-5 years old, it’s been going much better. These kids who were too young and shy to speak out when 30 other older kids were in the classroom are now able to show their interest and excitement when they’ve accomplished something. One really notices the difference between the 3 year olds and the 5 year olds. The children are all excited to be participating, getting a chance to learn English, muluzungu, and all try their very best. It’s also obvious that the kids are able to share with other students their artwork, talking to each other and learning with each other in the kindergarten environment. These kids are learning valuable skills in

We have around 11 children now. We teach them how to write the alphabet, how to count in Lunyole and English, and also try to give them fun things to do. Stephanie’s come up with some brilliant ideas, the children are all really engaged with everything, though some get mischievous and sly.

Esekenire! I am finished! The kids are so cute, proudly showing us their finished artwork, the little cutout versions of themselves. Jebale! Well done! The children beam.

3:45pm the afternoon rain

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 by the 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.

In Vancouver, I do a lot of planning and anticipating. I look forward months ahead at a time, always trying to fulfill a desire to accomplish something greater than just school. Dad always insists that I should focus on school first, and other things second to it, but I am always drawn towards opportunities and new experiences. Here in Africa, I’ve never felt so content with living in the moment. I have so much to absorb, and have learned so much in such a short time by just living my everyday life here. I will miss this peace when I am back in Vancouver, though I suspect it might be something I will take away from this experience. I am more sure of what I want to do than ever. Education is my passion, and my goal is to be as best of an educator as I can be, and touch as many students’ lives as I possibly can.

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entropy

There is always a pattern among even the most chaotic situations. It took us a month to accustom to the busy bustle of the towns and ‘cities’. Though it was intimidating at first, I realized that the hustle bustle was mostly due to the fact that there are so many people, and the busy atmosphere is really just a flurry of activity from all those individuals packed in a small space. What seemed odd merely a month ago is now something normal, even something to take comfort in. Every swerve on the streets, whether on the matatu’s, in a truck, or on a bike, is carefully calculated though it feels the complete opposite. When people yell in the taxi parks, Kampala, Kampala! Butaleja! Soroti! Jinja! Hey Muzungu, Kampala Kampala??! it is a normal occurrence, perfectly polite and in line with what their job is for—to me during our first visit to Mbale, every yell was an assault, as if they were all pouncing and pushing and vying for us to get onto their bus, no, that bus, no that one… etc.,… but now every yell, every approach is calmly dismissed if they don’t shout the destination I want. Who am I to blame them for the assumption that we are headed to Kampala? We are foreigners, after all, what business do they know we have in the small towns? I am fairly sure of the fact that we are all primed to be on guard in any new situation, more alert and sensitive to comments and actions from those who we are unfamiliar with. Unfair assumptions on my part have helped me deal with the situation during that time, but it took reflection and discussion with my team mates to realize that those assumptions were not truth.

While men jostled to get us onto their matatus, beggar children begged for alms, and men leered at us, I thought that they were just rude people in general, trying to get the most out of any mzungu they see. In hindsight, and having followed the same weekend routine for the past month, I’ve come to realize that all this activity is simply a way of life for them. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary—though I felt like everyone treated us mzungus with extra attention (and ulterior motives), in reality they treated all potential customers in the same way. Knowing that I am extra self- conscious, and also more sensitive, I’ve learned to sit back, breathe, and just observe. I keep the assumptions popping into my mind at bay, so that I limit my anxiety, and also maximize my learning in the new environment. It’s easier to notice the pattern of life in a new culture by exercising patience, accommodation, and to distance oneself from quick judgment of others.

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Boundaries

(May 22, 2011)

In the most recent semester leading up to our placement, we had many conversations about the ethics of development work. Specifically, we went through several situations that could arise, and even role played to gauge our understanding and critical thinking skills. Despite how much preparation we had, it was definitely not the same as the actual experience of being confronted with an ethical situation.

There are several kids on our compound who live with their families. I grew fond of this one little girl who was always eager to learn her alphabet and practice her spelling. Plus, she has an amazing sense of responsibility and always seemed honest. These couple days, I’ve noticed that some of the homestead kids had been asking for more and more things. They would come in and ask for snacks, becoming bolder and taking more each day. Today, the aforementioned girl, C, came up to me and explained, “I am starting school again tomorrow, and I don’t have a book or a pencil”. First thing that went through my head was the fact that books and pencils are essential things for a child to have, how can I refuse it?

Our team of three has been really in sync during our placement so far, and we usually are on the same page as things. What makes us work well together is the fact that we can talk to each other about almost everything, and we always have each other’s backs. When I was confronted by C for some school supplies, I gave her a temporary answer, ‘I don’t have any for you, but you can go to the library and ask Ivan the librarian’. It’s true, I didn’t have a book specifically for her. We didn’t bring anything specifically for anyone—we are here to help the community at a higher level than just simple, ineffective aid. I hoped that directing her to a local community center (library) would be the best bet for now. Plus, we worked at the library, and would be able to see how things progressed. Still unsure about what I answered her, I talked to Hannali behind closed doors when she came into the house, and we agreed that it was the proper thing to say to her. We also agreed to not think too much into it, that maybe C was just bringing it up sort of curiously, as if asking casually, ‘do you happen to have a book or pencil for me?’. So we left it at that.

We three girls joined in the living room to recollect our thoughts of the day, as we usually do, and so Hannali and I brought up the small incident. We started to go through our collective memories and came up with several instances where she would do extra chores for us, or be extra sweet, then ask for a treat like chocolate or candy. Then, Hannali brought up another issue regarding another of the older girls in our homestead, who had been expecting Hannali to pay for her transport all of last week. We were all really uncomfortable with these situations, because they were similar to our experiences in Mbale and Kampala, where people expected us to spend our money and share it simply because we’re muzungu and thus have money to waste. This was supposed to be home, where we could retreat from that treatment. Plus, these were kids that were asking us for things—kids with whom we’ve developed good relationships. We came to realize that we had to lock all the treats and goodies away in our rooms, and to keep our living space area as bare as possible so the children don’t expect special treatment from us. It’s tough having to take these small measures… we don’t want to think of them as manipulators, or children who are out to take advantage of us. They aren’t. But, the reality is that we do have more accessibility to the things that they need, and so they would naturally ask us for them. It’s unfair for them not to have the essentials, but it’s unfair for us to be put in these situations.

As we were discussing this, we heard calls outside in the dark, followed by shuffling. Then, the small opening in our door was opened (it can be opened from the outside). Naturally, we ask, ‘what is it?’, though we were less inviting than we usually were given our suspicions. The girl who led the children over was C, and she replied, ‘food’. Hannali went over to the opening to confirm, ‘you want chocolate? You want treats?’, to which they eagerly reply, ‘yes!’. Normally it’d be adorable, and we’d let them in within a heartbeat. But Hannali pressed on, ‘but it’s so late, you cannot have so many treats in a day!’, which prompted C to ask for what she was here for, ‘but mama (mama is a form of endearment, used especially when people want something from you), I start school tomorrow, no notebook or pen’. It was at that moment when we all breathed out a sign of relief that we were right, and that we didn’t suspect them for nothing. At the same time, we thought to ourselves, ‘now what?’.

It’s quite a sight to see the kids all crowded around the little peep hole of our padlocked door, telling us that they would like some candy and a pen and a notebook for their first day of school tomorrow. We should have drawn boundaries earlier, and could have been more wary of their intentions. Being in a new community, getting to know the children around the house, we wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. We trusted that people wouldn’t take advantage of us, especially not children. It takes a lot of boldness, hunger, or desperation to ask more than three times. Even so, we had to tell them, ‘no, you cannot have these things from us’. We drew the boundaries right then and there. Treats are for rare occasions, not for them from us simply because we come from a ‘wealthier’ world.

Thoughts?

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