You've Been Lost

Well be back from In-Service Training, or IST.  For 2 weeks my cohort has been held captive at a guest house in Entebbe that was fitted with an abundance of matooke, mosquitos, and friendship.  Captive is the wrong word.  But it was mandatory.  For once, I actually really liked training.  The sessions were long, some boring, some incredibly helpful, and some perfect for tic-tac-toe competitions.  But the thing I liked best was getting to be around my fellow PCVs again.  I finally realized that these people are wonderful, amazing, uplifting humans, and I genuinely need them if I want to get through these 2 years alive.

For the first week, it was just the PCVs.  We woke up too early, took too many cold showers (but showers nonetheless!), ate too much, and sat through beaucoup sessions.  But in the evenings, we’d fill up taxis to go to Nakumat for some alcohol buying or KFC eating (yeah, KFC.), and play some volleyball or football, or even do some yoga.  It was great having the gang back together.  Also, yinz are going to LOVE our Christmas video!  Coming to a computer screen near you. 

Me, Osman, and Sylivia, my counterpart

The second week of IST, our counterparts joined us for teambuilding and action planning the next 2 years.  I finally saw how much my counterpart wants to accomplish.  And it’s a lot.  HIV Prevention workshops, World AIDS Day events, Child and Maternal Health workshops with a demonstration permagarden to promote healthy eating, RUMPs and Menstrual Health workshops with a possibility of an Income Generating Activity (IGA) for the community, Malaria Prevention Awareness etc. etc. etc.  But I’m up for the challenge, and I’m thankful to work with someone who has just as many ideas as I do.

But after many hugs and future plannings to meet up, we had to part ways and go back to our respective sites.  I was so looking forward to getting back to my village and get out of the mosquito infested Entebee (19 bites since my last count. Ouch). 

Getting home was great.  Mama K’s friend Godfrey drove us home from Masaka since I had too much to carry for a taxi, and once we pulled up to my house, out ran Brenda, Katherine, and Benja to greet me.  You want to know how much your village likes you?  Just leave for a while.  Everyone notices and greets you warmly when you’re back.  People at my center and around the village would come up to me and say,

“Ah, Nakajubi, you’ve been lost.” 

Meaning, you know, I’ve been gone for a bit.  

I like to respond with, “But now I am found.”

Now I'm back in the village, coming off a togetherness high, ready to get to work, let’s go, do work, son.  Right?

Nope.  I spent the week taking early lunches, naps, and hiding in my house.

Being back at site made me anxious.  Everyone knew I was coming from an extensive training event, and now they’re looking at me to make changes.  Like now now.  I kept getting inquires of a new water pump, an IGA group, RUMPs trainings to all the schools and all the students, a priest sat me down and told me all about a volunteer who’s been here for around 7 years and created an organization to help bring light (like electricity, not light from God, I had to check) to rural sites all around Uganda, and how can we do something similar to that? 


Um…well…I have a French degree, so...

Being is here tough, I won’t lie.  I’m crazy homesick somedays.  Facebook is like a cesspool of all that is wrong in the world mixed with babies and “who’s engaged now?”  Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m going to win the “Worst PCV of All Time” award and that my projects are just going to fail.  There are as many lows (usually more lows) as highs, but what’s great is knowing I have a support system here and back home that are cheering me on. 

As volunteers, we’re told that coming to a developing country and serving for x-amount of time is a selfless act.  We’re sacrificing our time from joining the millions of other college grads in search of employment, health insurance, and 401k’s (what even are those?), to try and share differences in cultures, build a foundation of relationships, and hopefully, fingers crossed, improve the current situation in even one person’s life.  Selfless, right?  Not entirely.  Peace Corps is a great resume builder.  You get a lot of street cred:  People hear you went to the Peace Corps and think, “Wow, what an amazing experience.”  And they’re right, it is.  What they don’t see, though, are the selfish moments we take.  I’m on season 6 of the West Wing.  I don’t eat lunch with the staff.  I take personal days to call home, visit Masaka, eat western food, etc.  Not every day here is wonderful amazeballs Peace Corps life that you see online.  Some days, it’s me drinking evening tea all alone on my front step, thinking about all the major life events I’m missing back home with my family and friends.  So it’s kind of a mix.  Some days, I feel useful at my center, planning positive living lessons in Luganda, counting ARVs for patients, taking blood pressure, entering data files.  Attempted selfless acts.  None of these things are really what I’m supposed to be doing, but when my staff sees it, they’re appreciative, and I feel part of the team.  Other days, I stay in my house all day and mope around.  The selfish acts.  I try to keep it a balanced mix, but I’ve only been here about 6 months, so we’ll see how this ends up.

So anyway, by reading this blog, not only do you get to hear about the day to day life of Nakajubi, the story teller, but you also get an exclusive pass into my head and the random incoherent thoughts I write down.  I really should’ve stuck with that English degree.  Maybe then my rambling would have some sort of pattern, ebb, flow, anything other than the word vomit I end up typing.  But here we are.  You are most welcome.

Let’s go back to that story telling thing.  Last weekend I was in Fort Portal with about 15 other volunteers to celebrate Hope and Becca’s birthdays which lie just a day apart.  Fort Portal is also the hometown of the one and only Papa K (Linda’s dad for those who forgot).  I was so proud to see the place he calls home and to be a part of it, if only for a weekend.  Fort is in Tooro Kingdom, Land of the Mountains of the Moon.  On the obnoxiously long taxi drive there, we got to see the Rwenzori Mountains and drive through Queen Elizabeth National Park!  Kenzie and I were fortunate to have window seats in the back (sorry, Janet), and we spent the majority of that trip with our heads out the window.  The central region, where I live, is beautiful.  Fields on fields of matooke trees.  Clouds you’d see in a Pixar movie.  Wonderful sunsets with friendly people who love tea as much as I do.  But central is flat.  And most times, there’s nothing to look at.  Go out west, though.  Holy cow.  Rolling hills on rolling hills, mountains off in the distance that try to kiss the sky, wild zebra, springbok, and baboons if you look quickly.  (AND WE SAW 2 ELEPHANTS ON THE WAY HOME!)  That’s the stereotypical beautiful picture I had in my head before I got here.  And that’s what I saw.  And it rocked. 

The weekend was full of dancing, drinking, hiking, and picture taking.  If you’re on my facebook, you’ll have seen the picture of Crater Lake I put up.  If you’re too cool for that (I wish I was) and don’t have one, here’s what you missed:

The infamous Crater Lake

Becca, Mackenzie, Ndu

Mackenzie, Becca, Yours Truly

"Do it for the picture"

Katie, Becca, Me, Mackenzie

The ever wonderful Katie J

Back at site this past week has been better.  I’m getting some stuff done.  I’ve translated a big book (book made of grain sacks tied to a plastic pipe) into Luganda with the help of my tutor.  I’m starting to plan out lessons for RUMPs to teach to the nurses here at the center before I go out in the field.  And, I got a cat!  PCV Alania, up near Villa Maria, is COSing (close of service…ing).  Meaning her 2 years are done!  And she didn’t want to just ditch her loveable pet, so she put up a notice on the facebook, I saw it, called dibs, and here we are! Cat!  Yinz, meet Bilbo:

Mosquito Net Chilling

He’s cute as all get out, somehow cuddly, likes to bite my ankles in the middle of the night, and climb on top of my mosquito net.  Yes.  On top.  And just hang out there for a while.  I haven’t had a pet since good old Flopsey bunny, so we’re both learning to adjust together.  I buy him silver fish and avocado, he wakes me up at 4AM.  It works out.  I can already tell that I’m becoming that lady that doesn’t talk about anything besides her cat.  It’s really hard to avoid.  He’s now around constantly, so I have something to talk at instead of talking out loud to no one. 

One last thing and then you can move on with your life.  Ok I’m probably lying, I have like 3 other last things to write, too.  According to my countdown calendar app, there is only 1 month and 15 days until the one and only Susan Drummond steps off the plane in Entebbe Airport to spend the holiday with me.  That’s only 46 days!  I can’t wait.  We’re gonna chill at my health center for the majority of the time, she’s gonna meet my nuns, drink homemade passion fruit juice, eat boatloads of matooke, and see what I do on a day to day basis.  It’ll be about 7 months since I’ve seen her, and I’m so thankful she’s coming to visit me.  She is my rock in this crazy, unpredictable world, and I wouldn’t be here without her.

One mooooore thing.  Shoutouts!  I’ve been getting an abundance of letters and packages lately and I’ve just gotta say thanks.  Aunt Joan and Uncle George, I LOVED the amazing care package!  Those cheese crackers were gone real quick.  To Alex’s parentals, the wonderful Pattersons, I can’t tell you how much I love wearing the Pitt tee shirt and inhaling the peppermint patties.  Really, I’m not sure how I’m losing weight in country.  To Mark and Susan Shopland, my second parents, the pictures you sent me of the two of you in PC Botswana back in the day are the most precious things I have here in country.  I look at them and feel strengthened to keep going.  To Aunt Nat, Aunt Deb, Aunt Carol, Bonnie, Gingie, and so many others, a million thank you’s for the letters and cards.  I’m really running out of room in my house finding places to hang them up.  Reading them over again are wonderful reminders that I'm loved from such a far distance.

Merci beaucoup, weebale nnyo.

That’s all for now.  Gotta stop Bilbo from knocking over the trash can.  Again.

Kelly

Sweeties for Museveni

 9 October 2015

Happy Independence Day!  Uganda’s that is.  Museveni is all over the TVs around town and people everywhere stop what they’re doing to watch the ceremony.

I’ve just come from Kyotera, the town about 2km from my village, just down the road.  I was on a mission this morning:  a RUMPs mission.  I needed to buy supplies to start teaching lessons on how to make and use RUMPs.  RUMPs stands for
Re
Usable
Menstrual
Pads
And they’re part of the initiative Let Girls Learn to help keep girls in school.  Regular pads you get at the store are expensive, and when a family has 5 girls, like my neighbors do, staying home a week from school while you have your period is cheaper than buying them.  Thus, RUMPs.  If it sounds gross, it’s not.  They’re made by cutting scraps of fabric (usually kitenge for the cool patterns) into a pad shape and sewing them together with ribbons on either end to hold in a towel or rag which can be washed and reused over and over.  Zing.  Girls stay in school another week, learn more stuff, take over the world.  Girl power.

RUMPs packets in the works

I’m back in my office now since I couldn’t write with 7 children pounding on my screen demanding for sweeties and threatening to break down the door.  I’ll explain.  When I came back from Kyotera, I had the three minions in my yard, Katherine, Benja, and Brenda.  Since today’s Independence Day, wouldn’t that be a good time to break out the Warheads mom gave me in a care package?  Yeah, I thought so, too.  Here’s where I throw in a cliché about bees to honey or flies to vinegar or something like that because these kids can scream, and when they scream, they call for more friends, especially when there’s sweeties involved.  So, with my camera ready, I opened the pack and put one in each of their hands as they eagerly downed the warheads.  These weren’t ordinary warheads.  These were extreme sour, make you cry, what-did-I-just-put-in-my-mouth?? warheads. 

Check out the damage:

Benja isn't a fan

That's the look of betrayal 

Katherine's not too sure about these.

Kevin and Brenda

It's ok, Katherine, I don't like them either.

And since I had just come from town, I had a bag full of RUMPs material (and some fabric I got to make a new dress).  The girls grabbed the fabric, wrapped it around them like dresses, and kept saying “Mugenda Kyotera, byeeee!” (We’re going to Kyotera) imitating me earlier that day.  They’re goof balls and I love them.  Ok, well I don’t love them when it’s 7am and they’re at my door and I’m wearing my pjs and am trying to make tea or breakfast, and I’m like what the actual hell are you doing here this early?  Then, I don’t love them as much.  And even when I say in Luganda, “I’m cooking now, I’ll see you later,” or “I have to go to work, bye my friends, see you later,” or something along those lines, I KNOW they understand me.  My Luganda isn’t that bad.  But they don’t care because they’re kids.  And the whole town is their playground.

Divas

So now I’m hiding in my office as I write this.  Hiding is the wrong word.  More like taking cover. 

This week has been weird.  I didn’t really have an itinerary of things to do but even without one, I keep getting shuffled around from church to school with a sister to introduce myself and tell them what I would like to teach their students.  Even though I’ve never contacted them prior to the meetings.  That’s all my org’s doing, and I’m really thankful for it.  The sisters here have been calling the headmasters of schools and the doctors of health centers to say they have a volunteer who would like to come and talk about HIV prevention and RUMPs making.  And without them doing this, I would have a lot of ideas with nowhere to execute them.  But at the same time, I’m starting to feel overwhelmed with the amount of places they want me to teach.  I try to keep reminding my org that I’m not a teacher, but I can give talks, workshops, camps, etc. about the material.  When it comes to coming back a certain time every week to the same kids to continue the lesson, that’s where I’m stumped.  But it’s still early, I’m sure things will fall into place over the next few months.

Monday was my birthday!  Wooo!  I got to celebrate with the Biikira Babes plus Andrei at our favorite local restaurant, Bonanza, in Kyotera (Yeah, Bonanza like the TV show).  They were so sweet to take me out and gave me a few gifts that I loved.  They also gave me a Smirnoff Ice.  Yeah.  I was iced.  Again.  This is the 3^rd time since being in country.  I mean, really?  C’mon.

This past weekend was great, too.  It was Welcome Weekend for the central region volunteers.  It’s where the veteran vols and the newbies come together to say hi, relax, eat, drink, and be merry.  We went to Entebbe and it was the first time I had seen it in the daylight (Last time I was there, I had just arrived in country and it was 11pm).  And wow, Entebbe.  It’s so different than what I’ve seen as far as cities here.  Entebbe has money, and it shows; it’s a big tourist spot.  We stayed at a modest backpacking hostel and got to eat Thai and Indian food, swim in this gorgeous pool with a 30ft diving board, and check out some local clubs at night.  The club we went to Friday night had music videos being played on a blank wall and Wiz Khalifa’s Black and Yellow came on.  I almost started crying when I saw all the shots of the bridges, Mount Washington, and the waterfronts' towers, but I had to keep it together to sing the whole song.  412 represent. 

The Masaka Clan surprised me on Saturday with a Hakuna Matata gift bag that had Pringles, Hershey’s syrup, and Snickers bars in it, and also a giant birthday hat.  The Clan is pretty great.  I wore the hat all night, even at dinner.  It was a good thing I did, too, since there was another table of Americans at the Indian restaurant and they bought a drink and sent it my way since they saw my hat.  Having a giant hat has its perks.  Overall, I felt really special for my first birthday in country.  Although, nothing can top last year’s fake dinner with the guys into a surprise dinner with Alex, book of Mormon, Southside drinking, and the Pittsburgh Zoo.  Sorry, Uganda.  You’re great, but the boy can’t be beat.

Hat!

 The next few weeks here should be pretty standard.  Help where’s needed, work in the HIV clinic Mondays, enter data files, teach at Kasaali HC Thursdays, work with Sylivia on a RUMPs schedule, and greet absolutely everybody.  That’s important.  My Luganda is great for greetings.  Go anywhere beyond that and I say, “Wangi?” a lot (yes, please? It’s like ‘wut?’).  I’m sporting my sheep skirt today and absolutely every time I wear it, I always hear “Oh, Nakajubi, you are smart!” meaning I look good.  Forget when I wear my modest floor length skirts and tops that reveal nothing.  It’s the sheep skirt that gets the praise.  But have they seen it?  It’s covered in sheep.  Wearing sunglasses.  It’s supposed to be a joke.  I don’t understand Uganda sometimes.

See? Sheep.

At the end of the month, I’ll be traveling to In-Service Training or IST with Sylivia.  She’s so excited to go and watch all the presentations.  I’m excited because this is the next water station in the marathon.  The one after that is in January, when mom comes to visit!! That’s going to be a blasty blast.  We’re going on safari in Queen Elizabeth National Park where we’ll see elephants, lions, and hippos.  Weee!

Last thing:  I’ve finished 4 seasons of The West Wing.  3 seasons of The Legend of Korra.  I’ve watched the King’s Speech and O Brother, Where Art Thou more times than I can count.  I’m on the Wild Thornberries now but I know they’ll be done soon, too.  Right now I’m waiting on Sister Priscilla to come back from Kampala, stop in Masaka at the post office, and bring me the packages, letters, and cards sitting there for me.  And one of those packages should contain more flash drives of President Bartlet and Blanche, Rose, Dorothy, and Sophia.  So a big thank you shout out to all yinz that sent well wishes, I just don’t know who you are yet.  I’ll have a follow up post when I get them to formally say thanks.  And then ask for addresses to send out thank you postcards.  Who doesn’t love post cards!?  Time’s flying by.  I’ll be back home before you know it.  Hopefully I’ll have accomplished something by then but it’s still up in the air at this point.

Benja's a cutie

Family photo kind of

Cheers,Kelly

Sick but Settled

7 September 2015

The ice cream man is on my neighbor’s compound today.  I can tell because an off key version of “My Heart Will Go On” is playing on repeat from his stereo.  The kids run out with the pocket change they have to buy some overly sweet shaved ice from the cooler tied down to his bike.  At least it’s cold on this scorcher of a day.  I’m finishing up some documentation in my office.  It’s the first room when you first walk in to the center, so my window looks right out into the front parking area and the road.  For now it’s pretty bare; just a desk, chair, bench, and small cabinet.  I hung up my Pittsburgh Marathon calendar.  Today’s the 7^th.  Not my favorite day, but then again, it’s just another checked box closer to cold draft beer and real ice cream every day.

I’m starting to get into a rhythm here at the center. At least I think I am.  Most days are usually filled with language barriers (but my Luganda lessons continue nonetheless, twice a week, every week) and plenty of tea breaks – a must for me.  Today was difficult when I was filling prescription bags with ARVs and when the nurse told me, “Thirty, thirty thirty, thirty,” I asked if she wanted 30 pills in each bag, alternating between the 2 different kinds of medicines.  She said yes.  That’s not hard.  When I was done, I saw her dumping the smaller pill bags together to make them into bags of 60.  Apparently the second “thirty-thirty” meant sixty.  I mentioned to my counterpart later that I had some trouble understanding the nurse to which she replied,
“Yes, I know.  I heard.”
“Oh, did she bring it up to you?”
“No, the sister did.”
“Oh…good.”
Just another example of how things aren’t directly dealt with here.  If someone has a problem with you, you’ll never hear it from them, always from someone else.  For me, that can be frustrating.  Don’t tell me yes when the answer is no.  I’d rather get it right than have someone fix my mistakes every day.

Besides that, though, things here are good.  The staff found out I can type pretty quickly, so they’ve put me on permanent data entry duty.  I don’t mind, it makes me feel useful.  From that and mingling around with the patients and staff, running errands around the center, having weekly Luganda lessons, and learning all about the HIV Clinic, my time is filled   I found walking around the village after the heat has subsided (usually around 530 or 6) is pretty relaxing.  That’s when I don’t mind waving and greeting everyone within a 50yd radius.  The matooke trees line the horizon, the sun starts to go down, and I’m happy.

But you know what sucks?  Being sick.  You know what sucks more?  Being sick alone.  But the worst of all?  Being sick, alone, 7,000 miles away from home in Africa.  I don’t do sick well.  If I have to work and can’t get out of it, I’ll do it, but I’ll cry all day on in the inside and mope around.  So when I woke up at 3:30AM Wednesday morning running back and forth to the bathroom like “Bathroom, toilet, now now,” I knew I was in for a rough day.  

              Side note:  I am so so so so so times infinity thankful for an inside bathroom and toilet, especially for emergencies like these where I don’t have to use a poop bucket.
Back to it.

Technically I wasn’t alone when I was sick.  I called my counterpart to tell her I would be sleeping until lunch to see if I felt any better, but she insisted on coming to check on me every few hours.  She even made me ramen for lunch (the only thing I could think of eating).  Then both Sister Immaculate and Sister Priscilla came periodically throughout the day to check on me.  That was so sweet and caring except when they’d come mid-nap, and I’d roll to the door looking like a miserable kid down in the pediatric ward.

The next day, I had to go to Kampala.  I had an appointment with the Peace Corps Medical Office to pick up some meds and get tested for a suspected parasite from when I zip-lined into the Nile.  Crap.  I caught a taxi around 730 and tried not to puke everywhere like I had earlier that morning.  I’m sucking down the ORS I’m supposed to take still just feeling miserable, but I can make it.  So my taxi conductor asks where I’m going and I say “Old Taxi Park.”  From there I can grab another taxi to Kamwochya up near Kololo and walk to the office.  Well the first taxi park we get to, my conductors like, “Here ya go, Taxi Park, see ya,” and ushers me out.  I’m looking around thinking, “Is this it?  It’s a taxi park, but where am I?”  Before I can turn and say I’m at the wrong place, my taxis gone.  And it’s not like I said “Old Taxi Park” wrong.  That’s what it’s called.  The locals know it as such.  But here I am, alone, in some unknown taxi park, being heckled and pushed by boda men all shouting at the same time “muzungu, where are you going?” and “you first come and we go.”  I looked at all of them with hollow eyes, and I really wished I knew how to say “I’m about to puke/poo all over you,” in Luganda.  No such luck, so I find solace in a quiet corner of a shopping center next door.

When Maama K was here, I met her close friend, Sully.  He’s a driver in Kampala and since I was in a pickle, I thought I’d give him a call.  Well then I realized that Sully had a thick accent and wherever he was it was quiet noisy.  So after many calls and failed texts messages, I said screw it and found a guy with a car.  “Are you a driver?” I asked.  He paused before he said “Uh…yes.  I am.”  I told him I needed to go to Kololo.  He gave me a price to pay.  It was way too much.  But I wasn’t about to haggle with this dude if he’d drive me straight to the office, so I said, “Yes, we go now now.”  And by some miracle of God, we got to HQ in once piece.  And then I left my PC phone on the seat of his car.  Double crap.  This is not my day.

Got to the PCMO, the nurse gave me a hug, then tried twice to draw blood out of each arm, and I cried giant big embarrassing baby tears.  Like “I want my mommy” tears.  Oh man.  I promise, it hurt.  But more on that was just being stressed and sick, thus, excessive crying.  Francis the doctor came in, propped me up on the exam table with a pillow behind my head, and talked to me in that soft soothing voice that Ugandans do really well as he got the needle in my arm. 

HQ has a volunteer lounge.  I found some other PCVs who were going to lunch, and by this point, I was finally hungry for something.  We went to Acacia Mall, a hot muzungu place to chill, and I got some apple juice and a roast beef sandwich.  Heaven.

The one PCV, Kelsey, asked me how it was going at my site.  I said, “Well, every day has its struggles, but in the end, everything’s ok and I have a lot of time here to really connect with people.”
She smiled and said I had basically just summed up Peace Corps.  And that was a really nice moment.  So even when I’m crying and sick, maybe there’s a chance I’m doing this thing right.

That was until I got back to HQ and the nurse told me she tried calling my phone and a man answered and said I had left it on the seat of his car.  Cue more crying sniffles.  This wasn’t my day.  Not to worry, though.  Pius was on it.  He’s head of Safety and Security.  They told me to relax, stay at Fat Cat (a hostel), and come back the next day for it.  It was too late to start traveling back to my village;  PC doesn’t want us traveling at night.

I found more PCVs and basically asked them to be my friends as we went to the hostel, booked a bed to sleep in, and went to dinner in Centenary Park down near Garden City.  They took me to a Turkish place, we had kebabs and a day bed as a table, and even though it was cold and raining at this point, I felt a lot better.  A lot a lot.

I’ve just started my fourth month in country, and fourth week at site.  I didn’t believe them when they said time really flies here.  But it’s starting to feel more real every time I flip the calendar page back.  And even though September 7^th shows up like gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe in every data file I enter and every form I start for a new patient, I have to remember that it’s just another day, and the gum can be picked off and forgotten.  Tonight, I’ll make some pasta with veggies, maybe peel some obumonde and have fries as an appetizer, watch an episode of The West Wing, wash my feet, and listen to the bats fly around inside my ceiling before I fall asleep in my little village.

All’s well here.
Until next time,
Kelly

Taylor's dog, Smart, giving me a smooch

Just outside my house before the sun sets

My cute little office

Haaaaah

American loving in the matooke trees

I have visitors almost every day.

Take a Trip to My Yard

16 August 2015

Guess where I am?  Hanging out on the couch in my new house in small town Biikira.  I just finished an episode of The West Wing and some homemade vegetable soup (that I cooked! Can you believe it??  I cooked something!) and now I’m starting to acclimate myself with all of my lizard and spider friends.  I’ve named 3 lizards so far, Tobias, Charlemagne, and Steve.  Steve is the littlest one.  I don’t name the spiders, though.  I usually leave them alone since they eat the other bugs that roam around.  But man, this morning, there was one as big as my palm hanging out on the wall.  I didn’t want him around my person in any way, so I took a card, swiped him, and then squished him.  I am Nakajubi.  Destroyer of Creepy Arachnids. 

These past few weeks have been a blur.  The last you heard from me, I was off for a tech week immersion in Jinja.  Mama K came to pick me up and took me to Kampala with her and bought me lunch as a send-off.  She’s even coming to visit my house this week!  Afterwards, I got to the old taxi park to meet up with some other trainees to grab a ride to Jinja.  When we finally got to the hostel, some of the other health kids were there waiting for us.  It was great to have some of the group back together.  The majority left the next day to either go to Mukono or Mbale for their tech weeks, while I and five others stayed in Jinja with our awesome tech leaders, Steph and Brie.  The point of tech week was to get an idea of how to independently facilitate a lesson in front of an audience and visit and learn about other health centers in the area as well as seeing our tech leader’s sites and what they do there.  It was all to help us get a better understanding of what we’re to do at our sites.  Teaching the lessons is fine, but I still hardly have a clue as to what I’m going to do here.

Anyway.  Jinja was cool.  There was a lot to do in terms of touristy things.  I had a full kitenge dress made, ate a lot of Mexican food (and Indian) ((and local)), and got to go boating on the Nile.  That part was probably my favorite.  We got on a boat from the Jinja Sailing Club, which is a total muzungu spot, and sailed out to the official marker of where the Nile begins from Lake Victoria.  We even got to get out and stand in the water and visit the gift shop that was in the middle of the river.  I didn’t buy anything, though.  Can you say inflation? 

Halfway through the week, I presented to an orphanage in the middle of absolutely nowhere about HIV/AIDS.  My group and I were greeted as soon as we got out of the van by a traditional music/dance ceremony.  Here’s a picture:

And after we met everyone and had lots of introductions, I was on.  I was supposed to teach to maybe 20 people but once I started, and word got around that a bunch of white kids were in town to talk to them, my audience grew to almost 50.  And it was hot.  Real hot.  For the most part, I think it went well.  I was being evaluated on how I presented, so I tried not to bomb.  I was working with a translator, Mackenzie, who really knows a lot about HIV, so that was helpful.  He would jump in if I couldn’t properly word what I wanted to say.  It was difficult, because I learned that these people had never had anyone come to talk to them before.  About anything.  So their knowledge on the subject was pretty limited.  I stood in the sun for about an hour, talking about the types of doors where HIV can enter the body and the fluids that can carry it, when I realized, holy crap it’s hot.  And I haven’t drank any water.  And ok remember to not lock the knees, I learned that on stage during A Cappella concerts, and holy crap is that guy talking to me?  Oh, he’s thanking me for coming.  I speak Luganda, not Lusoga, and my Luganda is really limited anyway, and ok now I can’t hear him, and ok now I’m wobbling, my vision is spotty, yep, yep definitely going to fall over, ok buddy, wrap it up, mmhm, ok gonna walk over here now, thanks, gotta go, bye.

And I stumbled over to the first seat in the shade where my friends immediately handed me water bottles and snacks to get my blood sugar up.  But besides that, I think it went pretty well minus the whole near fainting spell.  I mean, they clapped, so that was nice. 

Tech week was a good experience; I got to learn a lot and hang out with my cohort.  We were kind of all over the place towards the end.  From the hostel, to sleeping in tents at the hostel, to the same hostel company but in a different town (Bujagali) that had an amazing view of the Nile.  Someone found a zipline hanging off the embankment and were trying it out as I sat out on the booze cruise boat with some other trainees, just relaxing hanging in the dock.  It wasn’t until I went up the hill to read and people asked me if I wanted to try it out that I said, “Eh why not.  TIA.  This is Africa.”  And I kicked off my shoes, threw my jeans on the ground and grabbed on.  It wasn’t too fast, but it sent me sailing right into the Nile.  Totally worth the fear of getting Schisto. 

weeeeeeee

After hostel hopping, we made it to Lwesa training center about 10km outside Kampala for our Supervisor and Counterpart’s workshop.  Both my super and counterpart came all the way from Biikira to come learn about how to have an effective 2 years with the Peace Corps and I learned how to make the most of my time serving as a volunteer.  Mostly though, it was like muzardi where we had to sit in a big room and listen to presentations.  The best part?  Swearing in.

Invited formally to the US Ambassador’s house in Kampala, we dressed in our best kitenge fabrics, ready to become volunteers.  Except the 10km drive took around 45 minutes with the city’s traffic.  Top Gear wasn’t kidding when they were stuck in that 24 hour traffic jam.  At least they had banana sellers come by their windows.  Our ceremony was beautiful.  Our supers and counterparts came dressed in their Sunday best while speaker after speaker came up to say how proud of us they were and how they have the best wishes for our next 2 years.  We raised our right hands, said our pledge, and that was it.  Trainees to Volunteers.  It’s a really good feeling.  Training was rough at times, but I’m thankful to be here and to have made it.  Looking back, it really flew by.  I think these 2 years are going to be the same way.  I’ll be back in the burgh eating Primantis and singing at Gdoor before you know it.  Until then, I need to figure out what I’m going to be actually doing here.  The beginning of any job is tough.  But this one is kind of up in the air.  I’m going to spend the next few months just getting to know everyone, how the clinic works, and looking for ways to help with what they need.  That’s what great about being here for this amount of time.  I can really try to make a connection and a sustainable impact.  That’s the goal, anyway.  Sustainability. 

So now, I’m all cozied in my new house.  Well, almost.  I’m still adding some things and making it like home.  My next step is rugs.  And a decent broom.  I have a 6 room house complete with running water and electricity.  I’m truly living the posh corps life.  I even have a flush toilet!  And a shower!  Well, the shower doesn’t work right now, but I can bucket bathe in it.  My org supplied me with a couch, some chairs, a bed, desk, and a bookcase.  I bought canisters because I love canisters and some silverware and plates and an electric kettle and some tea because really, those last 2 things take top priority here.  Take a look at some of the pictures:

Gotta have morning tea

Right when you walk in

Desk and such

Mosquito net was put up that day

Working flush toilet

My shelf. *Note the canisters 

Kitchen

Favorite part of the house

P-I-T-T in Uganda

It’s really big for just me, so here’s the open invitation for some visitors.  I mean, it’s not like I don’t have visitors.  My first night alone, I started (attempted) to make dinner, so I went with chips (fries) because how badly could I screw that up?  when I heard noises from my front door and I found three kids all under the age of around 6 peeking through my screen.  Everyone, meet Katherine, Belinda, and Benjamin:  the three smallest trouble makers in my town.  Not really, they’re adorable, they just like to look at me for extended periods of time without saying anything and then touch everything.  Like the pan full of hot oil.  It was a close one, but we managed to divert a crisis and I promised them chips if they sat down.  Which they almost did.  Chips actually turned out pretty well!  I shared a few and told them “sula bulungi” (good evening) as I tried walked them to the door.  And they said nothing.  And didn’t move.  And I totally said it right, too, it’s not like they don’t know what I’m saying, but kiddos, I gotta keep cooking, so let’s move it along.  When they got to the front step, Benjamin just starts wailing, big tears falling down his face.  Crap.  I can’t make babies cry my first day.  So I shut the screen behind me and hang out with them, baby benja on my lap while the other two sing “Baby Jesus” to me (tune of “are you sleeping?”).  It wasn’t until my counterpart came by about 20 minutes later and told them to get home.  Since then, they’ve been back a lot, so I think I won’t be too lonely here.

So this has been a pretty lengthy post, thanks for keeping up with it if you’ve made it this far.  Let me just give a quick shout out to the people who took the subtle hint I left on my one fb picture where I made my training address visible for all to see and write me.  When I got mail at the workshop, all I heard was how I made out like a bandit with nearly 8 cards with my name on them.  I can’t tell you how loved I felt.  I love mail and random notes so if you feel so inclined, here’s my new address for the next 2 years:

Sister Kelly Drummond
St. Andrew’s Health Centre
P.O. Box 1761
Masaka, Uganda

Note the “sister” title.  My org is catholic and there are a lot of nuns here and if I’m a nun, my packages/letters are more likely to make it all the way here.  Also, my birthday’s in October, so if you have a spare birthday card laying around, write a corny joke in it, and send it my way.  Mom and Alex put together a care package (actually mom put together two, but I only got the second one) and included things like poptarts, protein bars, cards, letters, a book from Alex’s dad (thanks, Mr. P!) and blow pops.  I love blow pops.  And skittles!  Those were gone after 24 hours.  Anyway what I’m trying to say is, I love mail. 

Thanks to Jackie Kuehn, Tom Yannity, Neil and Edna, Dave and Judy Stewart, Carol and Terry, Tracee Delinger, and Dick Casssel, and of course momma d.

                                           

That’s all for now, folks.  I’ll check back once I figure out what I’m doing.  If that happens.  I hope it happens.  Please, let it happen.

Last shout out goes to the big brudda.  It’s his birthday today!  Not sure if this will get posted in time due to shoddy internet connection today, but if I do, wish him a happy birthday!  Danimal is the best.  And he’s coming to visit soon, right?  Right.  Love you, you goober.

 

Until next time,
Gros bisous,
Kelly

Smile and wave, smile and wave.

 28 July 2015

Welcome back!  It’s been a crazy couple of weeks.  Ready for a recap?

This past month with my host family has been wonderful; I never thought I could feel so at home so quickly in such a different place.  What was great about staying with the Mponye’s was there was never a set schedule.  There were always so many people coming in and out of the house, some stayed for the weekend, others for a few weeks, sometimes just for a night.  But you always had someone around to talk to or teach you something.  I think my favorite things (besides washing my feet) were hanging in the kitchen with my sisters asking “Can I help with-“ and then being cut off saying no, no, Kelly, we are almost done.  And drinking tea at night with taata wange, watching the news, chatting about politics and health care.  I’m going to miss Mityana and my family a lot, but I’ll be back to visit.  If I don’t, Jemimah said she will hate me.  So I definitely have to.

Home Sweet Homestay - Mityana

When I tell my siblings to 'smile,' I get this.

Mackenzie and her host brother. He knows exactly what he's doing.

Hanging at the Equator with my "brothers," Ben and Peter

This is Gabriel.  I met him in church.  I'm most likely going to steal him.

The last weekend in Mityana, we had our Homestay Farewell Party.  Basically we got everyone’s families together along with the LC1 (Local council for our town), the chief of police, and the mayor was supposed to come but he couldn’t make it.  We started off singing the national anthems (poorly) and had a few speeches given by our teachers and a PC representative.  We played charades, taught the wobble, and had a fantastic lunch.  Plus we all wore our matching dresses/shirts/vests we got for our swearing in ceremony.  I was technically allowed to only bring 4 people from my family, but my parents were busy and couldn’t make it, Junior is 2 so for food purposes, that doesn’t really count, and the others…well my family was too big for me to just pick 4 people so I brought the lot.  Whoever was around showed up.  Late, of course, seeing as how my nickname for Luganda class was Boneka – to make a rare appearance.

Not the whole family, but a good bunch. Peter became the head of family rep.  Note Junior at the bottom.

 Yesterday, Monday, we traveled to our future sites for a 3-day visit.  I’m here in Biikira at the St. Andrew’s Health Center and will stay here working as a HIV Counseling/Maternity Ward volunteer for the next two years.  I am beyond excited.  On the way here, Peter, my host brother, drove me and the fellow trainees near my area to Masaka.  There, I was picked up by none other than my lovely Mama K (Linda’s mom!).  She drove up wearing her Pittsburgh Pirates shirt, looking as flawless as ever, and drove me and two others to her brother’s house for lunch!  She’s in country for her sister’s wedding this weekend in Kampala.  It feels great to have her close by for the next few days.  It’s like having a little piece of home here.  She calls to check in now that I’m at site and we’re coordinating our ride into Kampala on Thursday when she goes in for the wedding.  Anyway, I met her brother and sister-in-law, her mother, and a few of her friends.  Then we left to go see her dad’s house, where she grew up.  The best part was the picture of Baby Linda on the mantel.  And how Mama K showed me the place she wiped out on her bike when she was like 4.  Nice going, Lin.  Afterwards she drove me and 2 other trainees to our sites.  With a hug and a kiss, she was off.  Thank goodness I’ll see her again this week.  I love having mamas that take care of me all around the world.  It’s pretty cool.

Hi Mama K!

Ok, back to my site!  I’m at the health center and my house is literally next door to the clinic.  It’s a duplex house and my side is on the left.  I have a large entry room where I’m going to put a couch, a coffee table, and some wall décor.  I have a kitchen with running water, and I’ll add a gas stove, the 3 burner kind, when I get back from tech week.  My bathroom has a flush toilet and a shower, all it needs is some spider cleaning and a shower curtain and I’m good to go!  My room has a huge wardrobe to stash all my junk.  There’s even a storage room in my house where I can horde my suitcases and everything else I don’t need.  And there’s a guest bedroom!!  I’ll get an extra set of sheets and hang the mosquito net for anyone that feels like crashing with me.  So, who’s visiting?

Welcome home!  My side is on the left.

Pretty empty now, but I'll fill it up

I’m so excited to make it my little home for the next two years.  After being there and exploring the clinic, I can tell I’m going to be very comfortable here.  I got to meet some of the women in the children’s ward.  They were next to the beds of their little ones, some with malaria, some with pneumonia, and the appearance of a muzungu in this tiny village was a site to see.  My Luganda sucks right now, so after I say hi and greet everyone, there's a lot smiling on my part.  Smiling and nodding.  And then they laugh a little either because they're impressed by my language skills or because I butchered the greetings and told them I have a Ugandan name and am part of the grasshopper clan.  Let's be honest, it's the second one.  After a day, they kept asking “Where is our muzungu?”  So the word doesn’t always have a negative connotation.  It’s nice to be someone’s muzungu.  It makes me feel wanted.  I’m looking forward to really knowing how to work in this health center and having a good rhythm throughout the days.  Here’s the catch:  since I’m in a village, not a town, hardly any of the locals speak English.  It’s all Luganda.  So communicating will be a struggle until I can really work on this Luganda thing.  Oh, funny thing:  You think American doctors have sloppy handwriting?  Try Ugandan medical personnel; it’s half English, half Luganda, half “Is that a 1 or a 7, I don’t want to overdose someone on AZT."  And yes, that’s three halves.  I was a French major, work with me.

Because of my college background, I feel real under-qualified as I watch my counterpart give blood transfusions and TB vaccines, but I guess I’ll learn.  Mpolampola.  Slowly.  Give me a few months and maybe I’ll have a better hold of this Peace Corps thing.  Maybe.  We’ll see.

Thursday, I head to Jinja (the source of the Nile!) to meet up with some other trainees for our tech week.  After that, we have a supervisor/counterpart workshop outside Kampala (don’t ask me what we’re doing then, I really have no clue), and then the swearing-in ceremony is the 13^th, where we officially become volunteers!  That’ll be a good day.  Plus, my supervisor, Sister Priscilla, is coming to the workshop with her pickup truck which will help carry all my stuff back from my shopping day in Kampala.  I’m going to get the majority of things for my house there.

 Next time you’ll hear from me will probably be after swearing-in, so I’ll take some pictures to post on here for yinz.  All is well.  Still working on that postcard thing.

Bisous,
K