Hodgepodge

I had an incredible week, interviewing with Save the Children, UNICEF, the Hunger Project, and doing a bit of souvenier shopping in Kampala. But that's not what this blog is about - it's about a bunch of random pics I wanted to share and didn't have time to explain. Some are the little P1 kids at Arlington, don't you love that in the deep mountains of Uganda, you can find someone wearing a Texas shirt? IT was the 3rd I had seen in 4 days. And a mug. I saw a Texas mug. We are taking over the world! :)

One pic is of me sitting with some kids in their "classroom" that was barely 5 people wide. Another is me with cookies we made at Sam and Norahs. they had an oven. We had to give it a whirl. Without a recipe and using soy flour instead of wheat (heck, I couldn't tell which bag was what when I bought it), they didn't turn out so bad! And a pic of the falls I forgot to include in the rafting blog.

Enjoy!

Happy Easter!

Highlights:

- WE GOT TO GO TO CHURCH! And I even had a new easter african dress made just for the occasion. Everyone at church loved that Amy and I were trying to "fit in".

- We snuck into Primary to sing "Head Shoulders knees and toes" with the darling little kids. A little "The wise man build his house upon the rock" and I was in heaven. One darling little girl snuggled up right next to me on the piano bench and leaned right into the craddle of my arm while playing with my hand. I love these kids!

- Judith, a 20 year old member, invited us over for Easter dinner. Even though it was a total gamble with what we would be served, I just love being in the homes of the people here. We had rice and chicken (I passed on matoke) which was actually really good! We ate on reed mats spread on the floor. In my african dress I was feeling very "native".

- Back at Bujagali falls where we stayed to raft the river, we waited for our taxi to take us to Kampala. AMy and I sat on the back porch of the restaurant there, overlooking the Nile and gorgeous trees, when a little monkey popped into view. Just hanging out right in our line of sight, staring straight at us.

- I had the most comfortable taxi ride ever, not squashed 4 or 5 to a row, but 3, just as the japanese intended those little things to be packed.

- that night I slept in a double bed. Heaven.

The Nile

Beautiful river, green green foliage, 12 rapids 5 of which are class 5, a bunch of misplaced ex-pat river guides looking living life from one river to the next, and 7 unsuspecting little rowers on a big red boat = one heck of a time.

- Training lasted about 20 min

- The first rapid we hit with enthusiasm, confidence, and deaf ears becuase we never heard Peter (who told us he was Muzungu before he moved to Uganda, but since he's been living here so long the sun has turned him African) yell "GET DOWN!". Which meant we flipped right off the bat. It's amazing in all the tumbling water, tumbling people, and tumbling oars that I bumped right into the boat and found the rope to grab on to (for dear life). Much struggling later we all managed to get back into the boat to find someone's oar hit Peter smack in the nose on the way down. Happy Birthday Peter. This is our gift to you - a gash on your nose. You won't soon forget us. :)

- The coolest rapid was going down a 4 meter drop waterfall, and surviving. We almost landed on another boat that was stuck in the fall but they got out just in the nick of time. We, or course, had no idea there was any problem. We were just trying to get ourselves stuck off a rock. Good thing we were stuck...

- The worst rapid was just ahead. Class 5. Hard forward, then get down. We got down this time. It's quite the rush to see yourself speeding uncontrolably at a giant wall of angry water thinking you are going to go over the top of it with no problems. Right. Mother Nature demands respect. I can believe why a cat would never make it in a washing machine. Certain death. And that is what I thought - not about the cat, but about teh washing machine. I may have even said to myself "This could be the end". Tumbling, tumbling, around and around not moving toward the top of the water. I had to remind myself to stay calm. Eventually my life jacket would do it's job. Don't panic because that just makes it worse. After what seemed a literal eternity I felt myself being pulled to the top (all in slow motion but I'm sure it happened within a matter of 45 seconds) and I popped to the top, gasped for air and was greeted with another giant slap of white water and under again. wash, rinse, repeat about 4 more times.

I like to think I'm all hard core. But sometimes it's just more fun to stay in the boat and not feel like you are drowning and this was exactly what it was like last time you were caught in a rip tide in the Atlantic OCean the day after a hurricane - no relief from the waves always being pushed under. But all things in life, it came to an end and I'm still alive. :) I knew I would be. Not being able to breath can just make you forget a bit of logic every once in a while.

- The people I met were awesome. We had a boat of kids staying in Kenya. Just when you think you are living a pretty cool life, you meet someone who has been to Pakistan for the earthquake and Thailand for the Tsunami, and Liberia and here and there and Sudan and Chad and then you think "This is the person who wants the same job I do". IT's always funny to meet a muzungu in Africa. We're so displaced that you have to be doing something cool or have some crazy story to tell. I just love meeting people and hearing all about their incredible lives.

- Rafting was great. I got a wonderful gospel analogy out of it, a serious bruise on my bum from meeting a rock going Mach 3 after falling out at "The Bad Place" on our last rapid, matching bruises on my shins and arms right above my elbow (odd), new friends from S. Africa and Phildelphia, and the right to say "I rafted the Nile". It was totally worth it. My bum is already starting to feel better and it's only been a week. :)

This is Africa

I've been visiting other government schools this past week – to compare with Arlington and see what a government school is really like. Wow. No wonder every teacher in the area has their children at Arlington. One school I went to every single teacher there had a child at Arlington, the Headteacher of another has hid kid here, and others are waiting for vacancies.

I asked "What's good about government education"? "More children are in school. There are some permanent buildings at most schools". And that was that. "What are the challenges"? Open the flood gates. These children go from 8 in the morning until 4 without eating a single thing. There is no money allocated for food and they don't bring it from home. Some teachers don't even eat lunch. Children are writing with pencils the size of one digit on your pinky finger. One school had an entire class sitting on the floor because there were no desks. There can be up to 100+ children for one teacher. When it rains, you can't hear because of the noise on the tin roof and the rain coming in through the windows. Most meet in mud structures. One building looked like a WWII bomb site. There is one book per 4-5 children. Maybe 5 people in a class of 60 would have shoes. Attendance drops dramatically on market days. Parents don't care. Government funding is about 2 dollars per student for a 3-month period. And often the money doesn't come for months at a time. Teachers earn 100 dollars a month. The list goes on and on and on.

These kids at Arlington have it soooooooo good. Every single teacher at the other schools told me the number one reason the performance at Arlington is so much better is because the children get breakfast and lunch.

I have to admit, I had a blast taking pictures at these schools. The children are so beautiful. And I actually really like the mud huts. This is Africa.

The Preacher Will Now Bless the Children

Distance is relative. I once asked a woman where her church was. "It is near near (when the say that, you know you are in trouble). Just up. Not even an hour's walk!" AN HOUR?! And that is supposed to be "near near".

We left the house at 10:00 headed for Nandutu Doreen's church. She's a student in P6 and her father sent me a note inviting me to come for church (he's the pastor) saying the Sunday school had been practicing songs for 3 weeks now to welcome us. How can you say no to that? I was under the impression it was just in the next town, a 30 minute walk away. Just near near. I have since learned my lesson. That was the point where we turned off the main road and then climbed the mountain for an hour. We didn't reach the church until 12:30…much delusioned. I thought we would never reach. Even before we came into view of the church, I could hear the singing and feel the drums beating. We were greeted into the little one-room mud church by a room full of jumping, clapping, dancing, singing, yelling men, women and children. I was overwhelmed with the excitement the little church poured upon us. Pastor Patrick introduced one lady as the head of the mothers. She prayed for us, thanking God for sending us, the first visitors they have ever received in their church. I'm not surprised at all we were the first! You must really want to praise God to walk 2 and a half hours up a mountain to go to church.

Doreen's Sunday school group ran out of the church to prepare for their presentation. All of a sudden, 16 children marched through the back door carrying giant guns made of banana tree stems and fibers. We're talking serious guns! It was actually quite disturbing, then I understood they were singing about being the army of God. Ok, it was still disturbing! I love the dancing, the singing, the drums, the well placed Hallelujah or yell. They sang, "Welcome, Teacher Hollie. Welcome Teacher Julie. Welcome!" The last song was traditional. At the very end two little girls, no more than 8 years stepped forward and danced up a storm! They do this thing with their shoulders where they move them up and down incredibly fast – like the Tahitian hip dance, but with the shoulders. It's incredible. Then the women of the congregation presented 4 songs. At the end of the last song, Pastor Patrick leaned over to me and said "After this, you will address the congregation." I will do what?! I swear, everywhere I go I have to "give a word". But a spiritual sermon to a Born Again church?

So Preacher Hollie got up and gave a word. J I read the story of the man of palsy. Faith heals us. Faith will show us a way when it seems to be blocked. Belief in the power of Christ will give us the strength to climb the roof and come through another way. When others are too weak to carry themselves, we can be their support and bring them to Christ. I would say a sentence, Patrick would translate, the congregation would give an Amen and I would continue. I cried. I am such a baby here! I cry over the littlest things. It's so embarrassing! I closed with Philemon 3-5. I'm so impressed with the faith of the people here. They strengthen me.

At the end of the service, Patrick had all the children face the door and kneel. Now comes my favorite part. I hear him say "And now the preacher will bless the children." Excuse me? Does he mean me? Bless the children?! What, does he want me to touch their heads, give some apostolic blessing? He turns to me, HANDS ME A BABY and says "Now you will pray" bowing his head. So what can you do? I prayed and blessed the children.

We left the church is 4 pictures from the church photographer, a million handshakes from all the children, a few kisses of babies, and 2 big bags of avocados, 1 bag of peanuts, 6 eggs, one giant papaya, half a jug of milk, 1 bag of bananas plus another bunch, and two live chickens. Yeah, try carrying that down a mountain for 2 hours.

4 hours round trip – and totally worth it. They made me feel like a queen. Like I was someone important – someone very very loved. And hey – Teacher Hollie is now Preacher Hollie. You can't beat that.

Niarobi or Bust

For the bargain price of 10 dollars and 11 hours of your time, you can get a bus all the way from Mbale to Nairobi. We boarded at 5 and left on African Standard time at 5:30/5:45. Watch out Kenya, here we come!

You know you meet the funniest people on buses. I tried sooooo hard to keep the seat next to me "saved" but it just didn't work out and a very chatty man finally took the seat. I'm all about meeting new people and learning about other's so it was interesting to hear about the life of this man. Oddly enough, he knew all about Arlington Academy of Hope and even had some family members schooling there. I don't know why it is, but every time you have a conversation with someone on a bus that automatically want to keep in contact with you and give you their phone number, email, whatever. I'll take, but I won't give. No worries, mom. J

Anyway, a woman boarded the bus close to the boarder and had to stand in front because all the seats were taken. Apparently her seat was taken by my neighbor, but she didn't seem to mind. After a bit of standing, she sat down on the armrest of Amy's chair across the row and snuggled right in. I about died. You should have seen Amy's face! That picture would seriously have been worth a thousand words. She was all up in Amy's business, not even caring, like it was no problem, an every day occurance and she wouldn't even think there could be an issue with her sitting half in someone else's chair/face. After much confusion and a few words, Amy communicated how she felt about the woman sitting in her seat. The woman moved to the neighbor's armrests with a laugh. My neighbor surprisingly commented how he thought Amy seemed a bit upset about the incident. I said, "In America, there is something we call 'personal space'". For better or for worse, personal space is something African's don't have.

At the border we were less than politely informed that we didn't have Kenyan visas and we would have to pay 50 dollars to get one. This was great news, as I neither Amy nor I had 50 dollars. We may or may not have fought with the "official government employee" over the fee as experience has taught us some Africans see white skin as dollar signs and try to get money out of you any way they can. We of course assumed this was the case, "official government employee" or no. It never occurred to me we would need a visa to get into Kenya. After much patronizing from our favorite govt employee a few choice words back and forth, and some discussion, Julie bailed us all out of trouble by paying the fees. Lesson learned: everyone takes American dollars and it is always a good idea to have some when you travel. Just in case you get stopped at the Kenyan border and have to produce 50 dollars out of thin air.

Not the best night's sleep of my life. Incredibly bumpy roads, I had to constantly fight with the window to keep it closed and the cold air out, frequent stops, a string of negative latrine experiences, and several bus searches. At one point, probably around 3 in the morning, they stopped the bus on the side of the road, made everyone get off with their bags, lined up according to gender concentration camp style, searched the bus, then searched us and our bags with metal detectors, made us show our passports, then shoved us all back on the bus. I would not have been surprised if they kept our bags and left us on the roadside. I half expected it by the way they were looking us up and down.

But hey – I now have a Kenyan visa and stamp in my passport and a crazy story to tell the kids someday. I think I got my 10 dollars worth!

We Have Arrived!

Exhausted from a long night of bumpy roads and cramped sleeping space (imagine an 11 hour plane ride with constant turbulence, the kind where your whole body leaves the seat) we emerged in Nairobi around 6:45 in the morning. After scouting down a good Samaritan that let us borrow his phone to call our contact (our bus was supposed to arrive at 5:00 and we had waited already for 15 min with driver and no sign with our names), we were packed and bundled in the safari van – Penfam sign with the head of a warthog painted on the front passenger side door. On to the hotel!

I must say I am very impressed with Nairobi. Nairobi is night and day different from Kampala – or maybe it's just 30 years ahead. Kenya has enjoyed stable peace since England granted independence in 1963. Uganda, on the other hand, has cycled through many dictators and rebellions since it's independence from Great Britain in 1962. Nairobi is clean, well organized (the buses actually follow routes), people are dressed very well, I saw 6 Mercedes drive by in the space of less than one minute, the cars in general are in MUCH better shape; the roads are free of the pothole plague that is running rampant all over the whole country of Uganda, There are white people everywhere. Traffic lights dot the many round a bouts (and they actually work), and buildings are well taken care of. Downtown seems like a nice city, somewhere I would not be afraid to walk around alone. Kampala, on the other hand, resembles the slums of Nairobi with its makeshift tin shacks sprouting out of the roadside like weeds.

We hired Justice, or safari driver, to take us around the town for the day. Kid kills me. He switches his ls for r's and vice versa. Lunch was fantastic – I actually had a real grilled chicken breast. I had given up on grilled chicken. Grilled chicken here is some random piece of chicken with more bone than meat drenched in oil and then roasted over coals. This, however, was amazing! A real grilled chicken sandwich with tomato and cheese and lettuce on good bread. Amazing. Bomas (Maasai for "house") of Kenya is a little theater where they put on traditional dances from the different tribes all over the country. I was thinking it would be like the Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii. Not quite. L It was a bit disappointing – a round wooden floor surrounded by plastic chairs set on terraced concrete levels. The actual building reminded me of the kabbaka's hut we toured our first day in Kampala. The dances were interesting, sub-par, and even some of the dancers weren't into it. But I still loved the experience. The best part was Marvin, sitting 2 seats away from me on my right. His wife was teaching classes for USAID for the week, so he was along for the ride. And man, was he into that music. Foot taping, head bopping, face smiling. He was loving every second of it. Out of the corner of my eye I was watching him and laughing to myself. Adorable 60-year-old man loving life in Africa.

Carnivore was voted in the top 50 best restaurants in the world in 2005 and 2006. You better believe we were going to eat there. It's exactly like a Brazilian restaurant except the meat is roasted on real swords and they serve crocodile and ostrich. We're starting a petition in America to bring in ostrich meat. Dang that stuff is good! I think it might have been my favorite, then the chicken, then beef, then turkey. I ate enough meat to last me the rest of the trip. As long as your little flag was raised, the meat kept coming. My favorite carver, Austin the African Texan (He told me he was from Texas because of his name) snuck us a couple of slices of the gigantic the leg of ostrich. Apparently it's not served to just any guest. I told him he was my favorite Texan in Kenya. And wow is that ostrich meat good. The mango juice! To die for. I think I was his favorite Texan in Kenya too. J For about 32 dollars we ate like kings. The theme of the whole trip – "it was worth every penny".

Back to the hotel for a wonderful night's sleep. On a bed, not a bumpy bus. Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Justice was picking us up at 7:00 for our safari!!!