Ants in the Oatmeal

It's time to take a break from culturally enlightening and educationally informative input. I'll write about the Introduction Ceremony later.

This morning Bry'Chell found ants in the oatmeal. Now, this isn't a surprise. We find ants everywhere all the time. At first, I had visions of Ant Bully going through my head every time I wiped out a line of ants. Now I don't.

I've tried to appreciate the ants. They're very efficient. They can completely dismantle a dead bug or crumb overnight. By the next morning the offending mass has completely disappeared along with the ant work crew. They're great team players.

My appreciation has worn thin. Ants apply this same principle of efficiency to anything they can attack in the pantry. Even Zip-Lock bags sometimes fail the test. I've seen ants wiggle through the zip part of Zip-Lock. I don't know if the zipper was not fastened securely or if the little buggers managed to loosen the seal or what, but they manage to get through somehow.

I've been on-line to find out how to get rid of ants. Maybe vinegar works in the US, but Ugandan ants must be of sturdier stock, because it only slows them down for an hour or two. My next step is to get my hands on some boric acid. I know it works for roaches. According to the web page I checked, the same principle applies to ants.

Back to the oatmeal. Bry'Chell was really disgusted to find ants in one of her favorite breakfast ingredients (eggs being her other favorite). I wasn't going to throw away a whole bag of oatmeal just because of a few ants. I went through the bag, and cleared out the ones I found then I made oatmeal muffins. I think I got all the ants. If not, oh well, the muffins have a little extra protein.

Uganda Martyrs Shrine

Fr. Henry had asked if Bry'Chell and I would like to attend an Introduction Ceremony, the traditional ceremony where a groom-to-be is introduced to the bride-to-be's family. Sure, I like pretty much anything that gives me a better understanding of the culture here.

As a side he said we could go to Namugongo, the site of the Uganda Martyrs shrine. I've been wanting to get there since we've been in Uganda. The shrine is just east of Kampala. Since the feast of the martyrs falls on my birthday, I've always had some interest in them. Besides, how can I not like a place where my birthday is a national holiday?

Living and working in an African American community in Chicago, the martyrs offer fairly modern (OK, the 1800s) example of black saints, young black saints since they range in age from 14 to about 35. They're useful when I teach the Confirmation class at St. Ailbe and need examples of saints. They're young, they're black, what's not to like? OK, they died horrific deaths.

The basilica is built in the form of a traditional Ugandan house. Inside the main altar is built over the site where the martyrs were burned to death. Outside there are two shrines. One shows Kizito, the youngest of the martyrs, being instructed by Charles Lwanga. The other shrine shows in graphic detail, Charles Lwanda wrapped in sticks being roasted over a fire. The fire was set to burn him starting with his feet so that he would stay alive and feel the pain. It's pretty ghastly.

In the US, the Ugandan Martyrs are known as Charles Lwanga and the Ugandan Martyrs, with the other twenty-two being sort of anonymous. Here each of the martyrs is known by name. Many men in the country have the name of one or another of the martyrs and many schools and parishes are named after them. Kizito, the youngest, is especially popular as a name for boys and primary schools. Of course, since boys grow into men, there are many men with the name Kizito.

Boxing Day and Mom's 80th Birthday

In the British tradition, the day after Christmas is a public holiday in Uganda known as Boxing Day. No one I spoke with seemed to know the origins of the term, but with a little Internet search I found it. It's a day when gifts are given to the less fortunate. The day is also known as St. Stephen's Day for the feast day of the first Christian martyr. For me, it's my mom's birthday. This year is a big one--80.

Once again, the day started with mass. While the church wasn't packed today, all the seats were taken. This is not the same as saying the church was full since the back third of the church doesn't have seats. When the seats are filled, people spread mats on the floor and sit on their mats.

I tried to sit in an obscure pew, but the catechist motioned me forward to sit in the sanctuary. I would have ignored him, but then he would have sent someone to get me. I sat up front.

There were actually more people in church when we arrived today than on Christmas Day. When we pulled up in the car the now familiar beating of the drum began, summoning the faithful. The drum serves the same purpose as church bells at home.

The catechist had told Fr. Henry that there would be a few baptisms, like maybe five. Right. Henry asked the parents of those who were to be baptized to bring their children forward. Over thirty babies and a few toddlers were brought to the front. I've never seen that many infants in one place outside of a maternity ward.

Moms and dads were dressed in their best and babies were in their baptismal finery. "Best" varies from traditional Buganda dress--the Gomesi--for the women and the men in their robes and suit jackets to thoroughly modern fashions that would blend in on the south side of Chicago. The men's traditional clothes look more comfortable than the women's traditional dresses--why am I not surprised?

Most of the babies were quiet, looking totally disinterested in the whole affair. As might be expected, some were howling their little hearts out. Surprisingly, the howlers didn't set off the rest of them.

Fr. Henry went around to each one in turn--signing them with the sign of the cross, anointing them with oil, baptizing them with water poured from an enameled metal cup into a basin, doing the thing with the white cloth and finally, passing the candle telling them to keep the light of Christ burning brightly until the day of judgment--or whenever.

Today, Henry had sent Dominic, a local teacher, to sit with me as a translator. Besides translating key points, he explained that people wanted Fr. Henry to baptize their children since he came from the community, sort of local-boy-does-good. They consider it an honor to have Fr. Henry baptize their little ones.

Christmas time is a popular time to have children baptized since many family members have come home from the city (translation: Kampala). Finally, many people bring their babies home from places like Kampala to have their children baptized in their home parish. All told, this makes for lots of baptisms.

I remembered my camera, so I took a few pictures and had my picture taken with other folks, including a group of women in traditional dress. I'll try to post some once I get them downloaded. After a minimum of protesting, Bry’Chell took the picture.

In general, I have found people to be incredibly warm and welcoming. It was even more so at church.

After church Fr. Henry took us--several nieces and nephews, Bry’Chell and I--back to the house while he had a meeting with the Board of Directors of the parish health center. I'll say more about the health center in another blog. The meeting lasted longer than he expected so I had some time to go for a walk.

Pontian, Fr. Henry's ward, and I went for a walk. Pontian went to the high school seminary for "O" level but then Fr. Henry decided he should go to a co-ed school for "A" level. Basically, "O" level is the first four years of high school (8th grade through 11th) and "A" level is the last two years.

Pontian was not happy about leaving the seminary, even for a couple of years. I don't know Henry's logic--whether academic or just social--but I think it's a wise choice. The kid needs to be around girls. He's as normal a teenage boy as you'd find, but being around girls as an equal is healthy for a young man who wants to be a priest.

Pontian is pretty focused. He told me that the parish priest took him to his new school and told the girls to keep their hands off him because he was going to be a priest. The girls, of course, thought that was pretty funny and proceeded to tease him to no end. He, in turn, encouraged them to become altar servers and to attend mass more often. In the mean time, they've become friends.

I told him that I though it was good for him to be around girls. If he was going to be a priest he'd better know how to relate to women as human beings or he'd be in trouble since more than half of his congregation would be women. Strangely enough, he seemed to believe me.

Pontian is an orphan. Both his parents died while he was very young. I don't know the whole story, but he asked Fr. Henry to be his guardian some years ago. Henry agreed.

This is no small responsibility. Henry has several of his own nieces and nephews who have lost parents. I know he helps his own family as much as he can. His mom is elderly and frail, but still, he's taken responsibility for another child. This means he pays Pontian's school fees at boarding school and sees that he's taken care of during school breaks. Of course, he also keeps the boy on the straight and narrow.

Henry's family has taken Pontian in as one of their own. At first I thought he was another nephew, he's treated the same as all the other boys. He's not family by blood, but the family has taken him as one of their own.

When we returned from our walk it was lunch time. Once again, we ate leftovers, pretty much the same pattern as at home.

After lunch Pontian asked me if I would go with him to the family cemetery to pray for family members who were buried there. Sure, why not, I'll pray for anybody. I figured it would be Pontian and me. Not so, by the time we headed off it was a regular procession of probably a dozen people. I prayed and lead the others in the usual Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory Be. After the prayers and a moment of silence people started pulling weeds from around the grave sites. I asked Gerard, being the eldest present, about some of those who were buried.

First, was Gerard's father who is also Henry's father, their father's first wife, who didn't have any children, five of Gerard and Henry's siblings and five of Gerard's children. The children who had died ranged in age from 3 to 27. Several had died while they were away at school--either primary or secondary school. One of the siblings was Henry's immediate older brother. He died at age 39 and left behind 16 children. One of them, Timothy, was present. He was a student at Makerere University, but had to drop out for lack of funds. He hopes to go back but needs financial help. There is no financial aid here, only private sponsors. He doesn't have one. Because of the way the course work is set up, it's not realistic to work and go to school at the same time. University is three years and students take seven classes at a time.

Henry was stuck in his meeting longer than he expected, so he didn't get lunch until he returned about 4 PM. By the time he ate, packed and stowed everything in the car, it was after 5. Several nieces and nephews wanted rides--actually needed rides--since there is no taxi (read: mini-bus) service to their village. Henry's car is a Toyota RAV4. It seats five. There were seven of us and a ton of luggage in the car. Four crammed in the back and Bry’Chell on a pillow between the bucket seats in the front. It was cozy to say the least. Add to that twenty miles of rutted dirt road before we reached the highway (read: paved two-lane, pot-hole-studded road) and you have quite an experience.

When we arrived back in Nkozi after dropping off the assorted passengers, the power was out. Joy. We'd been gone since Wednesday so this meant no hot water. I had turned off the water heaters before we left. Oh well, I heated up left-over tuna casserole on one of the gas burners and we ate by candle light.

Since it was Mom's 80th birthday, I tried to call. I guessed that she and Dad would be at my sister Kathy's house, but it was too early in the morning and they had yet to arrive. I told Kathy I would call at 7 PM. That meant 6 AM our time, so I went to bed.

Christmas Day Revisited

Christmas Day was memorable in many ways. It was one of the few Christmas Days in my adult memory when I didn't help with meal preparations or clean-up in some way. I didn't even help clear the table. That was sort of weird for me and I felt like a bit of a bum.

The meal was a real feast, all cooked over an open fire. Since there were about fifty people present, the quantities were massive. I've never seen so much matooke in one place. Matooke is traditionally steamed in banana leaves which are wrapped around the matooke. Matooke, for those who may not remember, is cooked bananas. Check out the link if you want more details. Of course, it was served with ground nut sauce. Since I despise peanut butter, it would be reasonable to assume I don't like ground nut sauce, but it tastes nothing like peanut butter and I really do like it.

It gets a little embarrassing to be treated as the guest of honor, but once again Bry'Chell and I were seated at a table with a few other adults, which can only be described as the head table, although it would be more accurate to say it was the only table. The other family members were seated on mats or in chairs under a canopy or under a tree. It's fair to say everyone looked comfortable and happy.

The weather was warm and sunny, although things clouded over for a while and it rained. The rain wasn't much. It did help cool off the day and cut down the dust which made for a nice change.

After the meal, Bry'Chell, Immaculate (a grand niece of Fr. Henry's) and another girl headed off for a walk. They left about 4:00 PM with instructions to be back before dark. From what Bry'Chell said, they walked quite a distance. It's a good mile and a half to the church and I know they walked to the local trading center, probably another two or more miles beyond the church and back again.

In typical adolescent fashion, they made it back just as it was getting dark. On the way back they had stopped to play volleyball with some other kids.

I spent the afternoon chatting with other adults or staring off into space when the conversation shifted to Luganda.

Gerard, Fr. Henry's older brother and the one who lives on the family land, told his sons and nephews to wash the dishes since the women had cooked. That might not sound like much, but in a VERY patriarchal society, this was an incredibly egalitarian move.

After the meal Henry and some of his nephews strung up lights and set up music for dancing and listening. I listened. The children danced, even the little ones. Once evening turned into night some of the teens joined in the dancing. Bry'Chell returned in time for some dancing and a turn at being DJ.

Bry'Chell is developing a real appreciation for local music, both the more traditional and the pop music. As she says, Ugandans listen to American music, but Americans don't know Ugandan music and artists. We're going to try to get some music on CDs or tapes to bring home.

We had another light meal late in the evening. Like at home, it was leftovers from earlier in the day. They were just as good the second time around.

I gave Fr. Henry's mom one of the pictures of Mother Theodore that Jody made for me. The family pretty Catholic, so I thought she would like it. I'll try to take a picture of it and put it on the blog. It's not the holy card picture, but a mixed media composition that I really like.

The living room and dining room had family pictures, pictures of Jesus and Mary, and soccer posters. Oh yeah, there was a picture of the bishop. I suspect all say something about family interests and values.

The guest room where Bry'Chell and I stayed had two twin bed, complete with mosquito nets and linoleum on the floor which is a step above the bare concrete at our own house.

The house has solar panels which power the electric lights and a black-and-white television in the evening. There's indoor plumbing, although no piped-in hot water. It's a very comfortable house with the usual corrugated metal roof.

It was a long day and when we finally went to bed we were pretty whipped.

Christmas Day

Christmas Day was a bit different this year. We were at Fr. Henry's house outside a small rural village. It's beautiful country, lush green rolling hills as far as I could see.

As usual, I woke up fairly early on Christmas morning but instead of hearing kids telling each other to be quiet so they don't wake up the adults, I heard women outside beginning to prepare Christmas dinner over an open fire. I heard chickens squawking, but I don't know if they were the ones in the process of becoming our dinner, or just some of the chickens that were running around. Bry'Chell slept through everything until I actually woke her.

When we got up--some time after the women began cooking--Fr. Henry had heated water for us to take a shower. Don't think of standing under a shower head with steaming water pouring out. Think a basin with hot water on a stool in the shower stall. If you want water out of the shower head, it will be cold. Still, Henry heated water for us every morning and evening so we could wash. He was a very kind and accommodating host.

Once we were up and moving, it was time for mass. No surprises here. Christmas morning mass is one tradition that was no different here than at home. OK, it was a little different. When we arrived at the church someone started beating the drum telling people that the priest--Fr. Henry--had arrived. The church had just a few people when we walked in, but they started arriving in droves.

By the time mass started, the church was half full, by the time of the first reading the church was full. By homily time the church was packed and the kids started spilling over onto the mats around the altar. I would guess there were about a thousand people in the church.

Unlike Midnight mass, when I sat as anonymously as the only white person in a Ugandan congregation can, Christmas morning I was invited to sit up in the sanctuary. This was meant to be an honor, which I understood and respected, but it also served the purpose of keeping people from turning around to stare at me. Now they could stare to their hearts content without appearing to be ignoring the liturgy.

After mass, Fr. Henry dropped Bry'Chell and I along with several nieces and nephews back at the house while he went to another outstation to say another mass.

We hung around. Well, Bry'Chell went to our room and buried her nose in a book while I did my best to chat with Fr. Henry's mom who doesn't speak English--that's not entirely true, she could greet me in English, but that's about it. Strange as it might sound, the language barrier was not as insurmountable as it might sound. All the children and grandchildren speak English and were kind enough to translate when I looked totally lost and confused.

Henry's older brother arrived and had all kinds of questions about American politics beginning with Obama and covering the entire structure of American government. I'm glad I paid attention in sixth grade school civics. Of course, helping Bry'Chell in social studies the past few years was probably more useful. We covered the three branches of government with all the balance of power stuff. We talked about how elections worked--although I managed to skip the electoral college--how laws get passed including how vetoes work and what the Supreme Court does. He found it more interesting than I did. I was fascinated that he cared. During this conversation the eldest brother and a few adult nephews drifted in. They were either being very polite or actually cared, but they sure listened.

When Henry returned at about three in the afternoon, we ate. We had chicken and goat, matooke, rice and potatoes. There was beer and pop to drink. Since I don't care for pop, I was very happy with a beer. I won't go into detail about the beer, except to say that Ugandan beer is good.

Of all the things I've mentioned, there has been no mention of presents because there weren't any. They weren't completely absent, but there was no pile of gifts under the tree. There was no mad ripping of wrapping paper. There was a small--very small--artificial tree in one corner of the living room that was decorated with a few balloons. Bry' Chell and I did each exchange a gift in our room before we went out for breakfast. She gave me earrings. I have her a necklace with her initial on it carved out of bone.

I'll continue with a second installment since it's late and I need to get to bed.

Midnight Mass

Last night, as we were driving into Kitongo, Fr. Henry greeted the local catechist who going the other way on his bicycle. The catechist informed Fr. Henry that he had Midnight Mass. He had known that he had two masses the next day, but the information about Midnight Mass was new. He told the catechist he would be a little late, but that he would be there.

Midnight Mass, which like many places at home was not at midnight, but rather 9 PM, and started when Fr. Henry arrived. As soon as we pulled up, the drum started beating, letting people know that mass would be beginning shortly.

The church was lit by candles and lanterns, not for mood, but because there was no electricity. It felt much closer to the original Christmas than my usual urban/suburban experience. There were a bunch of kids sitting in the front. They listened with more attention to Fr. Henry's homily than many American kids would give to Saturday morning cartoons.

The church is simple, very rustic, but beautiful. As usual, the kneelers were not padded. I've sort of become used to that, I haven't seen a padded kneeler since I arrive here, not even in the cathedral. Personally, I would be happy to stand, but kneeling seems to be the custom here, and I'm not going to argue.

The mass was in Luganda, so I didn't understand a word, except when Fr. Henry interjected a bit of English for my benefit. Other than the readings, the difference in language is no big deal. I pretty much know how the mass goes.

Christmas Eve

Merry Christmas to all. Bry'Chell and I will miss being with all of you--or whichever group of you we would have been with this year. While we don't miss the cold and snow, (OK, Bry'Chell just said she misses walking abound the house in thick socks, a big sweatshirt and jeans with a cup of hot chocolate--all without sweating), we do miss family and friends.

December is the warmest or one of the warmest months here. The weather is beautiful, as usual. Campus is quiet as most folks have left for home. Fr. Henry will be arriving this afternoon to take us to his family home for Christmas.

Christmas here is not nearly as commercial as in the United States. Bry'Chell noticed that there are no lights in people's houses. Of course, there is no electricity in most people's houses. People do give gifts, but mostly little things or homemade things and then only to family or maybe a close friend. I'm told a traditional gift to give your mother on Christmas--from a grown child returning home--would be a kilo of sugar, salt, tea and two bars of soap. This would insure that body and clothes would be clean and there would be something to drink with the Christmas meal.

Christmas is more about gathering with family and friends and having a festive meal. Fortunately, we will be sharing in that tradition.

Who is in the Pictures?

Publishing pictures is such an iffy proposition that I wait until they're up before I venture a description. The top picture in the previous blog is Marie with her mother, the lower picture is Joyce, Marie's older sister, who is learning computer.

Marie's mother is wearing the tradition Buganda dress for women. Notice the puffy sleeves. To me the dress looks quasi-Victorian. There is much discussion about its origins. Prior to the British colonization, the women wore bark cloth dresses, but the missionaries thought they were not decent, so they modified the dress to something much more European. The result is what Buganda women wear to this day as their traditional dress.

Joyce Learns Computer

A while back I wrote about Marie, the girl who sells bananas, and about the visit Bry'Chell and I paid to her house. I think I mentioned that her older sister, Joyce, asked if I would teach her how to use the computer during Christmas vacation. I said I would.

Joyce has been coming over to the house the past couple of weeks at about four in the afternoon to learn the computer. The first time she was here it was clear that she had never laid hands on a computer. She put her hands so heavily on the keyboard that it went nuts--a long jumble of letters poured onto the screen.

When I first met Joyce I thought she was about 15 or 16. I've since found out she's 18. She is going into Senior 6, the last year of advanced level high school. She attends Kiayabwe High School. There are no computers there. It's less expensive than St. Mary's where Bry'Chell attends, but not nearly as good a school. I'm realizing more and more that St. Mary's is really quite a good school. I take computers in schools for granted, but here, computers are a luxury. Few schools, even high schools, have them.

Kiayabwe is also further than St. Mary's so Joyce walks about 5 kilometers each way to school. Given that school starts about 7:30 AM and doesn't end until after 5:30 PM, that makes for a long day.

Joyce has been very committed to her computer lessons. I've started her on Ms. Mavis Beacon, a typing program that I've used with Bry'Chell. Joyce has just about caught up with Bry'Chell. She's pretty much mastered the keyboard. I should give Bry'Chell more credit, Bry'Chell doesn't look at the keyboard but Joyce still does. However, Joyce can type ten words a minute. (Bry'Chell just informed that she types 12 words a minute.) I think ten words a minute is pretty good for a kid who's only been typing for two weeks. Each day I teach her something new. She can now turn the computer on and off, she knows how to open and close programs. I started her on Microsoft Word yesterday. I prefer Word Perfect, but I think Microsoft Word will be more useful for her. It's the standard for word processing, even here in Uganda.

Computer skills are just about as important here as at home. Without computer skills Joyce has few options--mostly farming and housekeeping. Neither pay well.

Joyce knows how to use the touch pad and the mouse. She can click and double click, although she doesn't always know which one to use when.

I've shown her a couple of other programs, Excel and Powerpoint. Friday I had Bry'Chell take her out and show her how to use the digital camera. After taking pictures they came in and we printed them. Photos are a big deal here. The term for photos here is "snaps"--as in snapshots. Fortunately, Bry'Chell knows the local terminology.

Sunday, Marie came over to visit with her mother. Of course, they wanted pictures as well. We took the obligatory pictures and printed them out. Everybody was happy.

Marie came by again today and just left. Her mother sent her with some mangoes and an avocado. I'm sure they should sell them, but it would be wrong to refuse such a generous gift.

Weather Report

While we may not always have electricity and the water goes out from time to time, we do have wonderful weather. After reading the weather reports for Chicago, Indiana and even Las Vegas, I can tell you that the weather here is beautiful and nothing like what the U.S. is experiencing right now. I don't know the temperature since I don't have an outdoor thermometer, but I just stepped out in flannel pants and a t-shirt and it's delightful -- sunny and just a little bit cool with the promise of a mild day ahead.

Although this is supposed to be the dry season, we still get enough rain that I haven't had to water the garden. The tomatoes are coming along nicely. We've already harvested one crop of beans and the peas. We're not talking huge amounts here. We had enough beans for a couple of meals with leftovers and the pea pods went in the fried rice to add variety to about three meals. However, when the tomatoes start to ripen, we should have a bumper crop with plenty to share with our friends and neighbors.

Saturday Bry'Chell and I put in three more rows of peas and tied up a couple dozen tomato plants. We hunted up some string and went in search of sticks, both of which we found. It was good to get out and work in the dirt. I like having a garden. Bry'Chell says she wants to plant a tree when we get back to Chicago. I told her we have to check with our landlord, but I have no objections.

Campus is quiet. Most folks are gone to wherever home happens to be, usually some small village several hours from here. We're leaving Wednesday afternoon to go to Fr. Henry's home it's not really that far, but it will take a couple of hours since it's mostly dirt roads. He asked if we had any special needs. Other than boiled or purified water, we really don't. I'm looking forward to getting off campus. We'll be back on Friday.

With most people gone, the birds have arrived. I mean big birds, carnivores--although we're in no danger since they eat carrion, not live things. Bry'Chell was hoping they might take care of our yowling cats. Unless the cats stay very still, it's not likely. Too bad.

Two UMU Christmas Parties

Yesterday was the UMU staff Christmas party. We went to a farm west of Kampala for a meal and tour. The food was good, as usual. The tour of the farm was interesting.

The place is a combination of a working farm and a recreation area. The farm hires 70 local adults and children. The children are school drop-outs, or as they're called here, early school leavers. The adults are mostly women who have no way to earn a living.

In Uganda only 48% of the children finish primary school--that's 7th grade here. Even with Universal Primary Education, many children can't afford to attend school. Families need them to work. Sometimes parents can't afford uniforms or notebooks. Some areas don't have government-supported (not operated, just minimally supported) schools. Even though school fees are low compared to American tuition, still parents can't afford to pay. Several of the children working on the farm have returned to school. This is a big deal since drop-outs seldom go back.

The farm is former swampland. The local environmental officials permitted the farm because it has water-ways that allow the swamp water to continue to flow. The farm has three fish ponds where they are hoping to raise Tilapia, a favorite fish in the area, although not unique to the region. They have hogs, goats and cattle. With the cattle they have a bio-gas operation that is just beginning where they produce methane to fuel the cooking on the premises.

They have a field--really just a large garden--where they grow cabbage, carrots and other stuff.

There is a lot of work in progress. It has an unfinished look about it, but there's much activity.

The recreation area includes tables and tents on a field. There's a playground for the children. Playgrounds are rare in Uganda and a real treat for kids. Unfortunately, Bry'Chell was a bit too old for this playground. It was geared more for pre-school and primary.

There was a game that provided gifts for all in attendance. You pulled a number from a jar and you received the gift associated with the number. I received a little knick-knack of a dolphin. Bry'Chell received a half-pint of local gin. Neither of us was particularly excited with our gift, but it was pretty funny.

The other party, the one the students sponsored was last week. This was more of a show where students performed Christmas carrols and Christmas skits. The orphans from Kankobe were there. They sang and danced. The Kankobe orphanage has the school-age children--from about five to thirteen. They are considered too old to be adopted, although they're available for adoption (anyone interested?). The babies are at another orphanage and the high school kids at still another.

Sister Beatrice is in charge of the orphanage. She has 70 kids. She struggles to provide for them as there is no government support. This country has lots of orphans and those at the orphanage are among the luckier.

Sr. Beatrice told me that she doesn't want the kids to be sorry they came to Kankobe. She manages to provide one teaspoon of sugar for their porridge every other day. Sometimes she can't even to that. This woman hustles to care for those kids. She brings them to the university because the students provide some support for the orphans. When they come they also get a snack and a bottle of pop, a big deal for these kids. They drained that pop like they thought somebody was going to take it away from them.

Mosquitoes

Mosquitoes and I have a love-hate relationship. They love me and I hate them.

This relationship goes back to my childhood. If there was one person in a crowd that the lone mosquito would find, it would be me.

At camp, when we had contests to see who had the most mosquito bites, I would win every time. At times I've had over a hundred bites on my body. While I don't like getting bitten and all the itchy-itchy scratchy-scratchy that goes with it, it's never been a big deal. I've learned that if I get enough bites, I develop some immunity to them. By the end of the summer bites would appear and most would be gone in a couple of hours.

However, things are different here. Mosquitoes carry malaria. Malaria is really nasty. While it's usually just miserable, it can kill you. It kills lots and lots of people, mostly children.

There are actions to take to avoid getting mosquito bites and malaria. First and foremost, sleep under a mosquito net, a treated mosquito net--a net treated with some nasty insecticide. What it doesn't keep out, it kills. It's not just enough to have a mosquito net, you have to use it. You must tuck it in all around the mattress every night. I do. So does Bry'Chell.

Unfortunately, only eleven percent of Ugandans sleep under a net. Many who don't can't afford one. Others have different priorities. Some would rather buy minutes for their cell phone than buy a net. Since a cell phone can mean a job and a job means food, this is not as foolish as it might sound. There are many competing priorities for survival. Most people are just too poor to afford a mosquito net.

Mosquito repellent also helps. I brought a whole case of time-release repellent with DEET. We wear it. Daily. However, unless I take a bath in the stuff, some enterprising mosquito will find the one tender spot on my body that I missed. You'd be surprised where I have found bites. Yep, even there. These are some pretty ingenious mosquitoes.

Finally, there are anti-malarials, medication that provides some protection against malaria should an infected mosquito bite. I take mine faithfully. Some medication I can be less earnest about, but I take that doxycycline every day without fail. Bry'Chell would skip hers if I didn't remind her (translation; nag her unmercifully).

So, take that you nasty mosquitoes.

Grasshoppers

Early yesterday morning, Sister Rose (one of my students) and I were walking back from mass at the cathedral. We don't usually go to the cathedral, but there's no more mass at the Social Center since most of the classes are over and the students gone.

It's not far, maybe a couple of blocks, if there were blocks. It's right up the street at the top of the hill. In the old days the Buganda king gave a hill to each of the major religious groups, so the Protestants have a hill, the Muslims have a hill and the Catholics have a hill, each with their respective edifices perched at the top.

Anyway we were walking back from mass when we saw a grasshopper leaping/flying through the air. Rose asked if we have grasshoppers in the United States. "Yes," I replied. "We do."

"Do you eat them."

"No, we don't."

I wasn't especially surprised by the question since my friend, Fr. Modest and I had had a very similar discussion a week or so ago. Actually, that conversation was about the scarcity of grasshoppers this season and how it was creating tension in some communities. People were upset because some people had grasshoppers and others didn't. Grasshoppers are considered something of a delicacy and those who missed out were unhappy about their loss.

What's weird about the whole discussion is the sheer normality of the conversations. Modest and Rose are intelligent, well-educated, entertaining folks. They're friends of mine. It's just that they have a broader perspective on edible protein than my American palate recognizes.

If anything, I feel sort of ignorant in not appreciating the delicacy that is clearly valued by some perfectly normal, rational human beings.

By the way, grasshoppers are served fried.

The Little Sisters of Mary Immaculate of Gulu

Yesterday, Sister Cecilia invited me to the celebration of her sisters' community feast. They were anticipating the Immaculate Conception, which falls on Monday. However, on Saturday the sisters could actually get together, so they did and invited some guests. I was glad to be included, although it made me miss my own community.

Cecilia usually wears blue--polo shirt or blouse and skirt with a white veil. However, yesterday the sisters, Cecilia included, were in white habits with blue trim. I'll try to find a picture and post it. It was pretty cool--not that I have ANY interest in personally adopting a habit. I can appreciate it in others without feeling any need to have the thing for myself.

I was taking the pictures, but not with my camera, so I don't actually have any of the pictures.

We started with mass in the university chapel at noon. I love the combination of music and liturgy that seem fairly traditional by Catholic standards until one sister after another lets out with a ululation--the high shrill sort of yodeling sound common in African singing and dancing--which, of course, is very traditional in African celebrations. It was just fun, reverent and still fun. It brings an incredible energy to the celebration.

Afterwords, there was lunch. The meal was great--no matooke--chicken, fish, rice, potatoes, pineapple, greens and chapattis. There was cake for dessert--the usual dry Ugandan cake--which looks beautiful, but tastes like it should have been eaten last week and a chocolate cake that I had baked that morning. I think people were surprised at how moist the cake tasted. Several people asked me if they could learn how to bake it. It's a really easy recipe. I found it when we had all kinds of sour milk and I was looking for recipes to use it up. This was one I found. The only confusing thing about it is that it mentions vanilla in the directions but not in the list of ingredients. I solved that by adding a teaspoon of vanilla. We like it so much I've made it several times. If people knew how easy it was, they would be less impressed.

The Little Sisters of Mary Immaculate of Gulu have their motherhouse in Gulu, as would be expected. Gulu is in the north where much of the violence and war has been taking place. They had years when the war was all around them and a part of their lives. I've heard references to it, but not much detail. It seems to be a part of life that people would rather forget about, but it has had an influence nonetheless. The war is still going on, but the violence appears of have subsided for the time being.

Bry'Chell was invited, but she didn't want to hang out with a bunch of nuns. Oh well, she missed a good meal and great company. I did bring her a bottle of pop.

Sustainability

Sustainability is a much-used word around here. In the US when people talk about sustainability it usually has overtones of environmental responsibility. Here sustainability is more about survival. Yes, folks are aware of the environmental implications, but there is a very practical aspect.

Last night I stayed with the Grail Sisters as usual for Thursday nights. When I was walking toward the house, thre were two sisters outside washing bottles. I know from a previous conversation with Sister Marie that the sisters make their own wine--banana wine and, I believe, pineapple wine. They wash and sterilize the bottles and then fill them with the homemade wine. It's part of being self-sufficient.

Even more interesting, although they are in Kampala, the capitol city, they raise livestock. I've seen chickens that I'm pretty sure are theirs and I hear cattle and I've been told they have hogs. Urban agriculture is fairly common around here, so although it's impressive, it's not surprising.

What is cool is what they do with the manure--animal poop--they make methane that they use for cooking and heating water. It's not like they have a hot water heater, they heat water on a burner and use it for washing--dishes and personal. The left-over methane is piped to the neighboring canteen at the Uganda Catholic Social Training Center where it is used for cooking.

What is sustainable is also economically sound. Since utilities and both expensive and undependable around here, being "off the grid" has many advantages, both in terms of being less expensive and being more dependable.

I admire the ingenuity of people here. I'm impressed with the ways they use technology to make their lives better while protecting the environment. Way cool.

Thank God I was a Girl Scout

This morning I had to get up extra early since I was part of a team going to Kisumi Brothers Center, one of the centers that UMU operates. We were evaluating the facilities and programming to recommend whether it can become a stand-alone university. We were leaving at 6 AM since another group we were traveling with had an earlier meeting. I was up at 5.

I don't like getting up early. I do it when necessary and only when necessary. This morning my alarm went off and I dutifully got up and went in the bathroom to start my shower. I turned on the water and--nothing came out. Joy. No water.

This doesn't happen very often, and sometimes we have some warning so I can fill a few containers. This time there was no warning and there was no water. However, I was a Girl Scout so I know how to wash up in a miner's cup if necessary. It wasn't that bad.

The water heater in our kitchen leaks. It was supposed to be replaced about a month and a half ago, but it's still the same old leaky water heater so we have a large pot under it to catch the drips. I turn it off at night so it doesn't leak, but it pretty much has to be on during the day, so it leaks into the pot. Fortunately the pot was about half full. The electric tea kettle was also a bit more than half full. I had water. I turned on the kettle and pretty soon I had hot water.

I took the pot of water and dumped it in one of the large plastic tubs we use for laundry, added the hot water and I had enough water for a bath of sorts--the kind where you stand in the bathtub and wash up with soap and enough water to get the soap off. It works.

Since I had a meeting today I didn't want to head out all funky and smelly. I got my bath. Given that my natural tendency is to take looooong showers--anyone who has lived with me can testify that I am perfectly capable of emptying the hot water heater--it's nice to know that I can also make due with what I have. Backpacking with Girl Scouts taught me how to bath with a minimum of water. Who knew that it would pay off some forty years later.

An Honest Man

Today I went to buy some pork from the stand where I've been buying it. The usual cost is 3,600 shillings per kilo, less than a dollar a pound.

Today I thought the guy selling it said 4,000 shillings per kilo. It looked a bit more lean than usual, so I didn't question the price. I asked for two kilos. (By the time I cut off all the fat, it's not that much.) He said 7,200 shillings. I corrected what I thought was an error and said, "Don't you mean 8,000 shillings?"

He in turn said, "Sister I wouldn't cheat you, it's 7,200 shillings."

I know this guy is poor because I've been to his house and he has a bunch of kids. He could have used the few extra shillings. Still, he's honest.

I was impressed. I'll buy from him again.

Happy Thanksgiving

There was no way I was going to teach on Thanksgiving evening so I gave my students an independent assignment and accepted an invitation for dinner at the home of the Embassy Public Affairs Officer, Lisa Heilbronn.

While Thanksgiving is one of those very American holidays, Ugandans are familiar with it. Barnabas, one of the deans at UMU told me that Americans would shoot you if they couldn't celebrate Thanksgiving. I don't feel near that violent about it, but I did feel a strong need to eat turkey and stuff myself to the gills preferably in the presence of others who are doing the same.

Lisa had set up probably eight tables (I should have counted) with about six chairs per table under a large canopy. The evening was warm even if Bry'Chell did have her sweatshirt zipped up to the very top.

The food was great--turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes, white potatoes, baked apples, green beans, bread and butter and even two kinds of canned cranberry sauce. For dessert there was pumpkin pie and apple pie. The only useful thing I did all evening was to whip the whipping cream.

The other Fulbrighters were there some with spouses, some Ugandan Fulbright alumni--Ugandans who have studied in the US as Fulbright scholars--and some embassy staff--those people who make my life easier when I get confused navigating life in Uganda.

Lisa, her housekeeper, Bernie, and Bernie's niece, Judith prepared the meal. They did a fantastic job. I can't believe they came up with all the ingredients. Most things were pretty easy to find, but some, like the cranberry sauce (even if it was the canned variety) took a bit of ingenuity. As I often say, any meal I don't have to cook is a great meal. This is the case a hundred-fold on Thanksgiving.

All in all, it was a wonderful evening. Thanks, Lisa.

Travelling on Something Besides my own Two Feet

Yesterday afternoon Bry'Chell and I put our newly purchased bicycles to use. Bry'Chell said she didn't want to go, but I told her she was going. This was followed by a discussion about helmets. The helmet discussion was entirely predictable. We have it every time she gets on her bike in Chicago. Equally predictable, she wore her helmet. I don't know why she bothers to bring it up. Helmets are non-negotiable. OK, I had to threaten to not do her hair in order to get the helmet on her head. I'm not above threats.

We rode quite a ways--I'd guess about five miles each way over hilly terrain. I've been away from California too long and Bry'Chell has never ridden hills. We both had a good workout.

The countryside was beautiful, but we pretty much had to keep our eyes on the road. Except for the main highway, all the roads are dirt. I wouldn't ride a bike on the highway. It's way, way too dangerous. Once we were off the main dirt road most of the traffic was pedestrian. There were some boda-bodas and two trucks--lorries as they're called here. Lorries are generally not big trucks, just open bed trucks a bit larger than a pickup truck.

Many of the people we saw were on their way to get water. They carried large plastic jerry cans. I would guess they hold five gallons. Getting water is mostly a job for kids and teenagers. Some had bicycles to carry their cargo, but most were carrying them. Many were coming a good distance--a kilometer or more. The pump was along the road and people streamed to it from both sides. Those cans must weigh at least 40 pounds when they're full.

The hills were fun to ride down and less fun to ride up. A couple of times we just couldn't ride all the way up the hills and ended up pushing our bicycles. I usually hung on to riding a bit longer than Bry'Chell did. I have a little more practice with using bicycle gears than she does and more experience on hills. I didn't grow up in flat Chicago. Still, I'm out of practice and Bry'Chell is pretty determined.

Bry'Chell actually admitted that she had a good time. She did run into five different classmates and was totally mortified to be seen in her helmet. I was unsympathetic, but did buy her a bottle of pop at the trading center on the way back.

Today I'm sore in all the predictable places. I don't mind.

Giant Flying Cockroaches

The insect life here is interesting and varied. Many of the bugs come in a variety of sizes--ants, for example, come in small, medium and large. The small ones are everywhere, especially in the house. However, they're easy to control. One swipe of a hand wipes out the whole line making their way to the sugar bowl. The medium ones are occasionally inside and definitely outside. The large ones bite. They're not fun, but they're fairly easy to avoid.

About cockroaches--they also come in many varieties. I don't mind the ones that are like the US ones. We really don't have those, although I have seen a few. The giant ones I strongly dislike. I, who despise poison, actually put some down to get rid of them. I've never seen more than one or two, but you can hear them moving around knocking things over. At this point they're dead and I feel no compunction about their untimely deaths.

Just recently I've run into the giant flying cockroaches. They are disgusting. They're about four to five inches in length with large translucent wings that overlap on their backs when they're crawling around. The wings act like armor. They can move pretty fast, but mostly they're almost impossible to kill because the wing seem to protect them. I tried to kill one by stepping on it but was unsuccessful. Fortunately that was at the Grail, not in our own house. I found one in our house last night and used a copy of Alexis de Tocqueville's Democracy in America to smash it. (de Tocqueville's book is a sociological classic of about 800 pages.) It worked. I'll skip the gross and gory details. It won't bother us anymore. So much for the litany of Non-Violence. I figure roaches and mosquitoes are exempt.

Graduation at UMU

Yesterday's graduation, while long, was really nice. Having graduation outside reminded me of being in California. It was a beautiful day, a bit warm but considering that it could have rained, I'll take heat over rain any day. It was warm, but not nearly as bad as St. Mary-of-the-Woods (Indiana) in August.

The American Ambassador was the guest speaker. He was good. His talk was about uniting as a country and moving beyond tribalism. It can be a real issue in the country. Unfortunately, the divisions were exacerbated by the colonial rulers who played one groups off against another and played favorites.

He mentioned my name--being the first regular Fulbright lecturer to be at UMU--and he actually pronounced Birgen correctly. That's rare.

More impressive than the ambassador pronouncing my name correctly were the deans pronouncing all the graduates names correctly. There were over 1,000 and all those who received degrees had their names called.

One of my neighbors, Bill (a Peace Corps volunteer who helps at the Gardens--local eating and drinking establishment catering to students and Muzungus) has some good pictures on his blog.

A Rough Day

Joseph, the purchasing officer was supposed to get my work permit taken care of and renew our visas which expire today. Neither one happened.

I filled out the paper work for the work permit the first or second week I was here. I was assured that it would be taken care of. Now, Joseph blames the folks at Immigration, but I'm not real sure when he actually filed the papers. The folks at Immigration claimed they lost the paper work, but yesterday one of the staff at Immigration suggested to Joseph that things might go smoother if I paid a little something to grease the wheels. I don't likes bribes and corruption, so I said no.

Tomorrow I call the American Embassy. I know they'll help, but I was hoping to get it taken care of without bothering them.

A much greater tragedy occurred today than my visa problems. The parents of one of our graduating students, Adong Christebella, were killed today on their way to graduation. Graduation is tomorrow and they were on their way. Both parents were killed instantly and her two younger brothers were critically injured. Please keep them in your prayers.

Buying Bicycles in Kampala

Yesterday I finally bought bicycles. We went for used mountain bikes. Fortunately, Connie, another professor-type was along. She did the negotiating. I just stood around and looked pathetic. Well, I did pick out the bikes and go for a trial ride or two on each potential bicycle.

It was pretty entertaining. I'd see a frame I liked, but it might be missing a seat and peddles. The sales guy would point to the mechanic guy who would go and scavenge peddles and a seat from a pile of parts or from another bicycle. I'd ride around the brick parking lot, come back and make my comments. The mechanic would make more adjustments and I'd go for another ride. We got it down to about four bikes and Connie started negotiating.

Since it was in Luganda, I didn't understand a word but Connie translated for me later. The sales guy started at 190,000 Ush per bike, that he said in English. Connie pulled me aside to ask what I was willing to pay. I told her I thought 120,00 would be fair. He told her that since I was a Muzungu I could afford 190,000 and that's what they were worth. Connie told him that I was her guest and that what he charged me he was really charging her, besides, I was buying two bicycles, so I should get a better price. She finally got the price to 150,000 per bike. It seemed fair. I bought two bikes for less than one new one would cost at Game and they're probably better bicycles.

It's not like at home where you find an ad on Craig's list from somebody who wants to clear a dusty bike out of their garage and get some extra cash for Christmas. This is what these guys do for a living. The bikes have to be imported, so that adds to the expense. These aren't used bikes that were used in Uganda. They're used in Japan, Korea and even the U.S. and imported to Uganda from there. Fortunately, I do know a little bit about bicycles, so I knew I wanted a Shimano derailleur, heavy duty knobby tires and a few things like that. I got what I wanted.

By getting the bikes used I actually got better bikes and paid way less than new ones would have cost. They'll serve us just fine.

My next stop was Game for helmets and locks. It's never considered safe to buy used helmets even if you can find them since you never know if they've been in an accident and therefore are useless. (End of sermon.) Bry'Chell doesn't like to wear a helmet. Too bad. She can wear one anyway. She says she doesn't want to stand out any more than she already does. Oh well, such is life.

We may not need the locks, but I think they're a good idea. I prefer to avoid leading others into temptation.

I also did my monthly shopping for the stuff I can't get in Nkozi. We're stocked up for the near future. Even better, I went to a real bookstore. Bookstores are dangerous places for me. I could easily spend way more money than I could afford. I didn't, but I did get a couple of books for Bry'Chell. Books are not easy to find in Uganda. There's not a culture of reading. American kids may not read that much, but most American kids who are good students do read. Here, even the good students don't read because they can't get books. If they can get books they often don't have electricity to read after dark which may be the only time they aren't busy with work or school.

Bry'Chell runs a mini library with the books she does have. Right now, all her books are out on loan. Some students give up because the books are too long or too difficult to read--remember these are kids who are in secondary school. Still, some enjoy the books and pester her for more. She's fairly strict in her lending practices. She checks up on her books and makes sure the borrower has not passed them on to someone else. So far, one book is missing in action, but there's a tracer out on it.

Chigger, Jiggers or Whatever

Sunday night as we were finishing up supper, I realize my foot was itching like crazy. I figured it was a mosquito bite, but I was sitting at the table and couldn't be bothered to look.

After dinner we were sitting in the living room and I remembered to look. It wasn't a mosquito bite. It was a bump, sort of infected looking with puss and stuff with a little black spot in the middle.

I remembered Marie Ester and some other folks talking about "jiggers". I figured it was just a local mispronunciation of chiggers. I went on-line and found that the mispronunciation is more than just local, but being a good Girl Scout, I know the word is chigger and I had one in my foot.

After draining the gross gunk, I put a band aid on it and went to bed. The next morning I mentioned it to Sr. Cecilia after mass and she sent me to the infirmary. The nurse at the infirmary gave me a little lancett thing, a cotton ball soaked in betadine iodine and sent me home to fix my own foot.

I don't mind gouging out my own foot, but I don't like someone else cutting my foot. That nurse was smart. I dug it out, the chigger is gone and my foot has stopped itching.

The Garden

We have a garden on the side of our house. I hesitate to call it "my" garden. For it to be my garden, it seems that it would be necessary for me to be doing the work. I've done some work in the garden, but not enough to call it my garden.

When we arrived there was this large, overgrown garden beside the house. I wasn't sure if it belonged to anyone, so I pretty much left it be. A few weeks after I arrived, some of the grounds staff cut it down. I figured it didn't belong to anyone. A couple of weeks after that I checked around and found it didn't belong to anyone and that, if I wanted, I could plant stuff. Cool.

I found that for a mere 5,000 shillings, one of the men would dig it up so it was ready to plant. He did. I bought a rake and was diligently raking when another guy came by and offered to rake it out for me. Sure, for another 5,000 shillings he raked the whole thing.

I bought seeds during one of my visits to Kampala and planted tomatoes and watermelon. I've never grown tomatoes from seed, so I wasn't sure how many to plant. It turns out I planted way too many and I planted them too close together. I had hoped for maybe a dozen plants. The men again came back and offered to weed the garden. Sounds good to me. I asked them to transplant some of the tomato plants. They did and when all was said and done, I counted sixty plants.

One day I bought some fresh beans in the trading center. A couple of days later I noticed a few of them had sprouted. I figured it they sprouted, they would grow. I planted the beans and now I have beans growing. They look like green beans, but I think if I let them grow they grow into a red bean/pinto bean type of bean. I need to ask. They looked like pinto beans when I bought them, so that's what they'll grow into. What I don't know is that if I pick them early will I be able to cook them like green beans? I'll find out.

The same thing happened with some fresh green peas. A few were sprouting. I planted them and now I have peas growing. There aren't that many pea plants, but I figure a meal or two.

After my beans were growing, one of the guys came back with a bag of beans and offered to plant them. Sure, why not. He dug up another section of the previous garden and planted more beans. I will have enough beans to feed the whole campus. The leaves on the second set of bean plants look a bit different from the first crop.

Some of my neighbors have asked if I plan to sell my produce. I don't. I figure what we don't eat, I'll give away. Now that I know how to make tomato sauce, I can use some tomatoes that way. I'm not planning on getting into canning. We're only here for one year and that's too much of a commitment.

I'm still having fun.

Saturday Mornings

Saturday mornings have become our sleep-in day of choice. It's the only day we can sleep in. However, my idea of sleeping in has changed over the years. I can no longer sleep until noon. It's mostly an age thing, although here there are many reasons. The people next door have two small children--Hakima, age four and his sister, Ieka--age two. Small children have yet to discover the joys of sleeping in.

The birds outside start making a racket about six. I can often sleep through birds, but the noises these birds make is not firmly enough engrained in my psyche to allow me to sleep through their cacophany.

I consider myself lucky if I can sleep until eight. I came close this morning. I managed to stay in bed until 7:40 AM. I got up, did some reading, checked my email and and corrected some school papers. That took me to about 9:30.

Bry'Chell has end of term exams starting next week, so she has a weekend of studying ahead of her. Lucky kid. Just as I can't sleep in like I used to, she is at the other end of the spectrum. She's at the age where she has discovered the joys of sleeping in. When she was nine years old, I would often wake up to see a face peering around my door, just to check if I was awake. Now, she can sleep the day away if I let her.

I've developed a sort of bah-humbug attitude about sleeping in. If I can't, neither can she. Besides if she sleeps in too late today, it will be impossible to get her up tomorrow.

I let her sleep in some, but there's a limit. Bribes are my preferred means of coaxing her out of bed. This morning it was pancakes. I mixed them up and then went to wake her.

"Sweetheart, it's time to get up. I made pancakes for you."

She sees right through my facade of kindness. She knows that it's just beyond me to allow her the total joy of staying in bed for the whole day. Too bad.

She did roll out of bed with a minimum of grumbling and staggered out the the kitchen. We had pancakes. They were good. Now Bry'Chell is studying and I'm writing.

Silliness All Around

Since I had such good luck with the last picture, I figured I'd try another one. This is Bry'Chell and Sr. Cecilia. It's from the day we walked down to the Equator. We were window shopping in a few of the gift shops. They decided to try on these hats.

No Shopping Today

Every time I write, or at least most times, I try to load a picture. I'm seldom successful, as you can tell, but there's a picture of Bry'Chell with Joan and her mother. If you look back a couple of posts, you'll see that we went to visit them on Saturday.

I had hoped to go to Kampala today for what has become my bi-weekly grocery shopping. I can get quite a few things in the trading center--the stores/stalls near campus--but for some stuff I have to get to Kampala. I can buy flour, sugar, produce, eggs, margarine, fresh pork and rice at the trading center. Of course, on any given day any item may not be in stock. However, I can't get brown sugar, mustard, yeast, baking powder, oil (or at least not any that looks edible), raisins, catchup, vanilla, tuna, skim milk or macaroni. That shopping list I have to fill in Kampala. Bread is not on the list because technically, I can be bread at the trading center, we just don't like it as well as the bread we get in Kampala.

Unfortunately, today the campus vehicles are busy picking up and dropping off people at the airport. The timing is such that a trip to Kampala won't work. It's not a big deal.

My other reason for wanting to go to Kampala is that I want to trade some dollars for shillings and the exchange rate is much, much better in Kampala than at the Nkozi branch of Barclay's Bank. I find it somewhat annoying, but it's not in my control. I just try to do business with anybody but Barclay's whenever I have the chance.

I have decided that we are getting bicycles (and helmets). We've sort of hit the limit of our range on foot. I don't mind walking. I actually like it, but offers a limited range. Bicycles would extend that. Now that I'm more comfortable in the country, I will experiment with buying a bike at the market rather than at Game (the local Target-type store I've mentioned before). They will be the same quality and significantly less expensive. I will, however, pay more than the locals would--it's not just the Muzungu thing, anyone who doesn't speak Luganda would be charged more. I can't really send anyone because a bike has to fit. I need to try it for myself. It will still be less expensive than Game.

Ground Nuts

When I first heard the term ground nuts it was in relation to a sauce--ground nut sauce. My ears heard it as nuts that were ground up and put in the sauce. Wrong. Ground nuts are peanuts. They grow in the ground, therefore, they are ground nuts. They are also called G-nuts--as in G for ground. Consequently you have things such as G-nut butter (peanut butter) and roasted G-nuts.

A couple of weeks ago one of my new friends, Sr. Elizabeth came by and asked me if I liked roasted ground nuts. Sure, I like roasted peanuts. She gave me a jar. They were clearly home grown and roasted. They were quite good, so good that I didn't get very many. Bry'Chell ate most of them. In fact, I found the almost empty jar on her bed, even though she knows she's not supposed to eat in her bedroom!

Saturday Joan's mother gave me a bag with some food in it. I glanced at it quickly before thanking her and thought it was beans and bananas. That was fine. We like beans and bananas, although not usually together.

When we finally got back home, I looked more closely and realized that what I had thought were beans were really peanuts. I sampled one and realized they were raw. Bry'Chell not believing me, had to sample them as well. She had to sample two or three.

Being the typical modern American, I went on-line to find a recipe for roasting peanuts. It wasn't hard. There were probably a dozen. Anyhow, I vaguely remember Mom roasting peanuts once or twice when we were kids. However, all the recipes said to sprinkle the nuts with salt after roasting. The one's Sr. Elizabeth gave us were salted, but there was no grainy salt to suggest that they had been salted after roasting.

After mass on Sunday I asked Sr. Cecilia how to salt them. She said to dissolve some salt in half a cup of water and sprinkle it on the nuts before roasting. Ah ha! It worked. I made about four cookie sheets of roasted peanuts. The first tray was a little over done, the second was a little underdone, but they were all fit for consumption. In fact, they're about half gone as I write.

I must admit, the fresh produce, including peanuts, is superior to what I buy in Chicago. G-nuts are just the latest adventure.

I should also note that the peanuts had been shelled, that is taken out of their shells. That's a lot of work and a real sign that the peanuts were meant to be a special gift. They were.

Visiting

This weekend Bry'Chell and I went visiting. One of Bry'Chell's classmates, Joan has been asking us to visit her home. Several times it just didn't work out, but this weekend I was determined that we would get this visit done.

On Friday, I had met Joan's father. He works at a small stand that sell pork. We're talking fresh pork, like straight from the pig who was walking around this morning. I bought some pork. This was the first time I've bought local meat, except for what I buy from Stanray, the chicken guy.

The guy at the stand had this big hunk of meat hanging from a hook. He hacked off a piece with his machete and weighed it on a banana leaf. Once it balanced with the one kilo weight, I had my meat. The other customers received theirs wrapped in banana leaves tied with piece of dried vine. Mine was put in a plastic bag. I think it was in deference to my Muzungu status. I would have been happy with the banana leaves. At least they're biodegradable.

I brought it home and really had no idea what to do with it. Fortunately, Sr. Cecilia came by for some help with something she was writing. She told me how to cook it. First, cut off the skin, cut it up and fry it in the skillet. After that, put it in the oven and cook it some more. I figured for pork that was a good idea. The more it's cooked, the safer it is. Especially since there was no refrigeration anywhere in the process.

Surprisingly enough, it was really good. I was hoping to have enough left over to use it in fried rice, but Bry'Chell polished it off.

I confirmed that Joan would come and get us at 2 PM on Saturday. She came at four, because she had to go see her grandmother. We went anyway. It was a longer walk than I had anticipated, but that was fine because I wanted the exercise.

Unlike most Saturdays, I had put on a skirt since I know that when you go to visit, you wear your good clothes. During the week I wear skirts, but on the weekends I tend toward pants. However, the people in the countryside can't quite deal with sister in pants--actually, they can't deal with women in pants, although exceptions are made for foreigners. Although women on campus wear pants, it's rare for women to wear pants in the villages.

We arrived to this small house house built of local bricks with a corrugated steel roof. Joan's mother invited us in and we sat on the two low stools that were the only place to sit except for the woven mat on the dirt floor. The house had no electricity and no plumbing. It was small, but clean and neat. Joan's father was at work, so we didn't see him.

I knew we would be offered food and I knew it would be rude to refuse it. I had discussed this with Bry'Chell beforehand who told me that she wasn't going to eat, but when we were served food, she could see that we could not refuse. We were served rice with a soup-type sauce made of tomatoes and green peppers. Since they don't grow rice, the rice was a luxury.

We were also served jack fruit. I don't know how to explain jack fruit. It grows in these large thorny-looking pods in very large trees. You open them up and the jack fruit is inside, but it's buried in this other pulpy stuff that's not edible. We were given tea to drink. I was glad because we couldn't drink the water unless it was boiled and I knew the water for the tea had been boiled. We were given English Breakfast tea, but Joan and her mom drank a tea made of local leaves steeped in water.

Joan's mother didn't really speak English, so Joan translated. Joan's English isn't the best, but it's way better than my Luganda which is non-existent.

Strange as it might sound, it was fun. The company was pleasant and the food, simple as it was, was good. I took a few pictures before we left. I printed them out and will send them with Bry'Chell to give to Joan and her family.

Joan walked us back a different way than we had come. She wanted to show us the bricks her 6th grade brother was making and the crops her family had in the fields. Although they have almost no cash, they are pretty self-sufficient. They grow bananas, maize (corn), jack fruit, beans, peas, tomatoes, peppers, coffee (to sell), peanuts and sweet potatoes. They probably grow more, but that's what I could see.

Today, we went to the Equator with Sr. Marie Ester for a fruit smoothie and wraps. It's a bit of a treat for both of us. Bry'Chell took a book so she wouldn't be bored with the adult conversation.

We got a ride down in a pick-up truck and were going to catch a taxi back, but couldn't find one, so Marie Ester took a boda-boda and Bry'Chell and I walked. We were about halfway home when we ran into Marie, the girl who sells bananas, and her mother. They invited us to their house. Although I hadn't planned on doing any more visiting, we could both tell this meant a lot to them, so we went. Again, it was a longer walk than I anticipated, but walking isn't going to hurt us, so we went. Because our visit wasn't anticipated, we didn't have to eat, but they did insist on sending us home with some lemons and a mango. They tried to give us more stuff, but everyone has been giving us bananas, so we really couldn't take any more.

Marie's house was even more simple than Joan's. Where Joan's was brick, Marie's was mud plaster, more the traditional type house still used by the poorest families. I'm not sure who all lives in Marie's house, but in addition to her mother, we met her aunt and older sister, Joyce. The aunt was sick. She was laying on a mat outside. Around here, you don't lay in bed unless you're really sick. So she was really sick.

We didn't stay very long. It was getting late and I wanted to get home before it got dark. We stayed long enough to make some small talk and be stared at by all the neighborhood kids.

All this visiting made for a pretty full weekend.

More on the U.S. Elections

Tuesday night it was good to be with Americans and others who shared the excitement of the presidential election. I was sorry Bry'Chell couldn't be there, but she needed her sleep more than she needed to stay up watching the election returns. Still, I do believe that these elections were/are a defining moment for the United States in particular and the larger world in general. I did have her watch Obama's acceptance speech last night on the Internet. That was one time when I wouldn't have minded having a television.

By the time I arrived Tuesday evening, the Obama buttons were already gone. The only buttons left were for McCain. I didn't take one. Although I must admit, I had much more respect for the man after his concession speech. If he had sounded like that during the campaign, I might have considered voting for him. Well, probably not, I still don't agree with his policies. Besides, I've known Obama since he was a state legislator in Illinois. He's always been somebody we could count on to work on issues that were important to us. (In this case, we and us is the Illinois Hunger Coalition.)

The other Fulbright lecturers were at the Sheraton event. Tavis and his wife were there, Ann Nelson, the pathologist working with the hospital research stuff was there. Of course, the embassy folks were present.

When I first walked in the room, I was trying to juggle the folder and stuff I had received when I arrived and get some food since I was pretty hungry, having missed supper. In the best of times, I'm not the most graceful person. So, I'm standing there, fumbling with a drink, a plate with finger food and a folder. I was trying to eat, but both my hands are full.

I'm standing by a couple of women who start talking to me. They were being friendly, trying to include me since I'm obviously alone at that point. I'm dropping things and making a mess trying to eat. The first woman introduced herself as Susan and her companion as Kim. Cool. They asked me what I was doing in Uganda. I said I was a Fulbright lecturer. Turns out Kim works for an NGO doing something interesting. Susan didn't really offer her position at first. She seemed more interested in what the two of us were doing. However, she seemed quite knowledgeable about Ugandan stuff in general. The conversation went on for a while. Finally, in response to my comment that she seemed to know a lot about Uganda, she mentioned that she was the ambassador's wife. Of course she's knowledgeable about Uganda.

Yesterday after leaving the Sheraton, I wore the sticker I was given at the election gathering. It said "I voted". Many Ugandans saw the sticker and asked me how I could vote when I wasn't in the United States. I explained about absentee ballots. They were astounded. I really didn't understand their amazement until I read an editorial in one of the local papers. The editorial observed that ballot box stuffing would be even more extensive if absentee ballots were allowed. The editorial was pretty entertaining in the way they explained how Ugandan politicians would use absentee ballots to expand the already obscene levels of corruption that are part of elections here.

I felt proud that our elections are basically clean and fair. Yes, there are occasional local situations that make me cringe and there are definitely policies that disenfranchise the poor and marginalized, but in general, elections are free and fair. You are unlikely to be killed for voting for the candidate of your choice. That's not a very high bar, but it's one that Uganda doesn't quite reach.

Many Ugandans have been following the US elections with interest. Many have told me that if the rest of the world could vote in the US election, Obama would have been elected by over 90% of the votes--their words not mine.

Some people here (not my colleagues at the university) were surprised that I supported Obama. I'm white, why would I support Obama? I tried to explain that many white people supported Obama. If that wasn't the case, he wouldn't have been elected.

People here like Obama for two reasons, first they believe that his policies will be more beneficial for the world community in general and Africa in particular. Secondly, they are pleased that his father is from Africa. The fact that someone with an African father will be president of the United States offers a recognition to all Africans that they are acknowledged as full and competent human beings. The history of colonization has made it clear to most Africans that the Western world often does not recognize their humanity and abilities. Obama's election refutes that assumption.

Pulling an All-Nighter in Kampala

Last night was a night of firsts. It was the first time I rode a boda-boda. It was the first time in a long time I stayed up all night. And of course, it was the first time the United States elected an African American for president.

All of these things are actually related. I rode the boda-boda to the Sheraton Hotel in Kampala to watch the election returns at a gathering sponsored by the US Embassy. In case I haven't mentioned them before, boda-bodas are these ubiquitous motorcycles that weave in and out of traffic all over Uganda. For a minimal cost you can hire a boda-boda, climb on behind the driver and ride to your destination. I have avoided them until last night. However, there was no way to get from the UMU campus in the Rubaga neighborhood to the Kampala Sheraton except by boda-boda. I tried to get a taxi but there wasn't one availabe that late at night (9:30 PM) so I got a boda-boda.

It was an interesting experience to say the least. The driver was relatively safe, but relative is the operative word. I arrived at the Sheraton with my official invitation and my identification so I could get in.

At first, I didn't see anyone I knew, but as time went on all of the Fulbrighters found each other. Fortunately, we were all Obama supporters, so we had a good time watching the returns together.

However, since I literally stayed up all night last night, I think I'll finish this tomorrow when I have a good night's sleep behind me.

Gecko in Church or Late Trick-or-Treat

Bry'Chell was disappointed that Halloween is a non-event here. No costumes, no parties and worst of all no trick-or-treating with all that candy. Bry'Chell is a major candy addict. Ordinarily, we have rules about candy, but that hasn't been necessary this year. There's been very little candy around here and what there is she hasn't really found to taste like she expects.

Halloween was a bust. There was absolutely no acknowledgement of it as any kind of holiday. However, All Saints Day, being a Holy Day, found us in church at 9 AM. For Bry'Chell this was heaping insult on injury. Not only was Halloween a disappointment, but then she had to get up and go to church on Saturday. Her only day to sleep in and she had to get up. Worse, she had to get up and go to church.

As is pretty much true of every liturgy, mass was well attended. It was the usual, music from the seventies with added harmonies accompanied by drums, reasonably articulate preaching and a few babies crying.

On my way back from communion I had a little surprise. Again, the usual, semi-organized chaos, not the midwest pew-by-pew orderly procession, but random decisions by each congregant that it was now time to go to communion, with an equally random pattern of return.

As I was returning, there was a young man heading out of the pew, so I paused. Fortunately for me that I did. My head reverently down, eyes fixed on the concrete floor when all of a sudden, this gecko, drops through the air and plops right on the floor a few inches in front of my feet. If I hadn't stopped for the young man to exit the pew, it would have landed on my head! Yuck. I'm not afraid of geckos, but neither do I want one on my head, or worse, down the back of my shirt. Trick-or-treat! Happy All Saints Day.

Marie: The Girl Who Sells Bananas

A few weeks ago a ten year old girl showed up at our door one night. It was already dark, but I could see that the figure on the other side of the door was a child. I opened the door and asked her what she wanted. She had a large basket on her head wrapped in banana leaves and tied with rope.

She came in, took the basket off her head and opened up the package. She was selling bananas. I asked her how old she was. She told me she was ten. I bought some bananas since I figured any little girl out after dark selling bananas needed the money. She only charged three hundred shillings for a bunch of maybe ten bananas, that's about 15 cents. They're the little bananas which are the best tasting ones.

I've since found out that her name is Marie and she's in P. 5 (Primary 5 or 5th grade) at St. Patrick School. She sells the bananas and sometimes avocados or mangoes. She comes by a couple of times a week. I always buy something. Her prices are better than the trading center and I figure if I buy her stuff, she'll get home sooner. I don't like a ten year old girl being out after dark.

Today Bry'Chell and I went out walking, back to the hill with the great view. As we were walking along who should we see but Marie. She was pushing a bicycle with a large stalk of bananas tied to the back. She positively lit up when she saw us. Of course, she's usually smiling when we see her. I don't know if she finds us entertaining or if she's just a happy kid.

Tonight she came by again selling bananas, even though I just bought some from her last night. I bought some more, of course. This time she had the courage to ask us our names. I told her both our names. She had trouble with Bry'Chell's name. Actually, I think she's way more curious about Bry'Chell than about me. I'm just another Muzungu, but Bry'Chell doesn't fit any clear category. Besides, Bry'Chell is a kid. Even better, these days Bry'Chell is a kid who understands quite a bit of Luganda.

Well, I have to get the cake out of the oven. The last chocolate cake turned out so well I'm baking another one. I can't even take credit for baking this cake. Bry'Chell did the mixing while I dumped in the ingredients.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today my dad is 80. He's at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Dad and my four brothers hiked to the bottom of the Canyon yesterday and today they're hiking out. At least that's how I understand the travel plans.

Hiking the Canyon is a family tradition that goes back to 1967. When Bob was 10 and I was 12, we went to the Grand Canyon. Dad constructed a backpack frame from wood, put a canvas pack on it and filled it with what he thought we needed. Mom sewed straps on Bob's and my sleeping bags, we added our lunches and a change of clothes and off we went. It was our first backpacking trip.

Mom, very pregnant with Bill, stayed at the top with Kathy, Susie and Ben while Dad, Bob and I hiked down to the bottom of the Canyon. It was the first of many trips to the bottom of the Canyon. Each time we varied the route some. In 1977 we hiked from rim-to-rim. In 1988 we hiked from rim-to-rim-to rim. In 1997 we hiked from the South Rim to part way up the North Rim. In 2007 we hiked Havasu Canyon, a side canyon to the Grand Canyon. Right now, Dad and the boys (grown men aged 51, 42, 41 and 39) are in the Canyon.

Way to celebrate your 80th Birthday, Dad!

Whimpy American

I confess, yesterday I bought a small microwave oven. I swore we were going to live without a microwave this year, but I caved and bought one. My main reasons were two. First, on Tuesday and Thursday nights when I'm not home I leave dinner for Bry'Chell to heat up. Usually it's leftovers from the night or two before.

When Bry'Chell gets home from school she's tired and hungry. She leaves home at 6:30 AM and returns about 6:15 PM. For lunch she usually has a peanut butter sandwich or a chapatti. By the time she gets home she's pretty darn hungry. Yes, she should eat more for lunch, but she gets too much attention if she brings other stuff. The other students think she's a rich American, so anything out of the ordinary just confirms that belief.

When I'm not home she often just makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for supper and ignores the lovingly prepared leftovers that need to be heated on the stove in a pan that will have to be washed.

Last night Peter, my driver, dropped off the groceries and other stuff--including the microwave--that I bought in Kampala, while I stayed behind to teach. Bry'Chell saw the microwave, unpacked it, set it up and heated the refried rice I had left for her dinner. Hurray! She had a reasonably balanced dinner.

The second reason I got the microwave is actually two-fold. The dollar is stronger against the Uganda shilling than when I arrived. Yesterday I got 1990 shillings for each dollar. That compares to the 1585 per dollar I received just two months ago. The weaker shilling combined with a sale on the microwave at Game (the local Target-type store) induced me to take the leap.

Although the improved exchange rate helps me, it's really hurting local folks. Fuel prices continue to go up, so food prices are going up. Even local food has to get to the trading center. Some farmers bring their produce by bicycle, but many use a boda-boda, the ubiquitious motorcycles that transport everything from people to food to charcoal and lumber. Boda-bodas are pretty efficient, but they still take petrol--as gas is known locally.

I know from the news I read on the internet that the economy is bad at home, but as bad as it might be, it's worse here for the local people. The average annual per capita GNP here is $267 compared to $43,743 in the US. The US is the 6th wealthiest country in the world. Uganda is 211. That's out of 224 countries.

Oh well, I'm a whimp.

To the Top of the Hill

Saturday Sr. Cecilia, Bry'Chell and I hiked to the top of the hill near campus. It wasn't that far, only a mile or mile and a half. It wasn't that high--it's a hill, not a mountain. But, it is the highest point around. I've been told it has a great view and my sources were right.

From the map, it's obvious that we are near Lake Victoria, and you can see little inlets from places along the road that runs past campus. However, I've never had a really good clue of how close we are until I was at the top of the hill. We could really see the lake and some of the islands. The view was beautiful all around. To the south was Lake Victoria, to the east, north and west are forests, banana plantations and patches of tilled fields, each in a different shade of green. Further to the east and west are swamps full of papyrus. The Katonga River runs to the west with a barrier of swamps along either side. Mostly we could just see the light green of the papyrus with an occasional line of blue where the river is visible.

The countryside is a vista of beautiful rolling green hills that fade into the horizon. The hills and valleys are dotted with houses and villages along a brown line of dirt roads.

On the hill were boys watching the cows. Mostly they were goofing around, wrestling as boys tend to do, ignoring the cows until one would stray too far, then a boy would whistle and the cow would meander back to the herd--if you can call eight cows a herd.

Bry'Chell took lots of pictures, but I haven't seen them yet. Of course, even if I see them, my chances of getting them uploaded to this blog are not esepcially good.

Well, I have to go. I'm sitting on a panel discussion about research methods, a topic sorely in need of discussion around here.

Bry'Chell and School

Bry'Chell is not really keeping up with her blog, which is completely understandable since she has so little free time. Since I publish fairly regularly these days it might seem like our internet connection is all good. It's not, but at least the one I have now is better than the university's wireless. Early morning and late night are the best times to publish. While it's not exactly early now, it is Saturday, so early is relative. However, I've been trying to get into my email for the past half hour and all I get is a "page load error." Knowing UMU, it may not be resolved until Monday. Since I've forwarded my CSU email to my UMU email, that really cuts into my ability to communicate. It get frustrating when I write a nice long email and then the connection dies and I can't send it. I still haven't been able to get on the CBIS website to check my accounts, but for some reason, I can usually get into my blog.

However, what I want to write about is Bry'Chell and school. She keeps saying she doesn't want to forget things that have happened here so she can tell her friends back home. I tell her to put it in her blog. When she has access to the computer she'd rather watch a movie, so there goes the blog.

She just finished mid-term exams. Her school really is on more of a high school model, which makes sense since it's a high school. Tests include more essay type questions and are much more difficult than grammar school. Since she really is only in 7th grade, it's a bit of a shock.

A few things to know, first, 50% is passing here. Second, anything 80% and over is considered very, very good. The difficulty of the tests is measured accordingly. The grammar on the tests--that's the teacher's grammar--contains enough errors that it's sometimes difficult to understand what they are asking.

While the English teacher has the best grammar, even his test contained several errors. In fact, he marked two of Bry'Chell's answers wrong that were correct and two that were correct as wrong. Since it all came out even in the end I left it alone. At 83%, she had the second highest grade in English.

She only passed two exams, English and literature--that's out of 12 classes. I'm not concerned. The school year starts in January here, so she's coming in to the third and last term of the year. She's in a class a year ahead of the class she should be in. The teaching style is way different, there are no books, only lectures with the students taking notes. By the way, Bry'Chell's note taking skills have improved considerably.

Bry'Chell does not have good essay writing skills, yet. She tends to write the bare minimum. I'm of the philosophy that you write until your hand falls off. I also believe in my brother Bill's adage, "If you can't dazzle them with your brilliance, baffle them with your bullshit." Hopefully, you'll hit on enough concepts in all the verbiage that you'll receive some points.

I mentioned that Bry'Chell has 12 classes. They are--Math (which seems to be geometry), English, Literature, French, Luganda, East African History, Computer, Agriculture (that's entertaining for a Chicago kid!), Chemistry, Biology, Physics, and Entrepreneurship. In addition, of course, I'm teaching her American History, math and literature from her books from home. We're on a bit of a break at home. She has two months off at Christmas time, so she'll be doing the basic home-school stuff then.

You may notice that she has three, really four science classes--Agriculture is science, sort of a mix of biology, chemistry and physics, or at least mechanics. These would cover all the science that most American kids have in all of high school. They're not done in the depth that American schools cover them. There's a lot more memorization and less (or no) lab. The school has some labs--fairly primitive--but they are labs. However, the classes are real science. I've had to dig back in my brain to help her out, especially with no books. Thank God for the Internet. The physics is applied algebra and considering that she's really just starting in algebra, it's a challenge, but it's also useful because of the practice it offers for algebra.

These are the facts, but they don't really give a sense of the school. Think country school, only larger. There are 50 something kids in her class, about 360 in the school. They sit two to a desk. The desks are wider than at home. There is no storage space in the desks so the kids carry around their notebooks all day. They don't have books, so that's not an issue. However, the notebooks are big and heavy. Between classes the kids compare notes so that they make sure they have everything. Of course, being teenagers, they also talk between classes.

Discipline is sure and swift. Teachers have sticks cut from the trees. They use them. A kid flunks a test, they get "caned", as the students say. The kids act up, they get caned. Kids get caught having a boyfriend or girlfriend, they get caned. Kids get caught lying, they get caned. You get the picture. We're not talking a little swat. We're talking serious licks. Bry'Chell does not get caned. That and not cutting her hair are the agreement I have with the head teacher (principal). Bry'Chell hates it when the other kids get hit. She hates it even more than the other kids laugh at the one being caned. In some classes more than half the class failed the exams. They all received a caning. Bry'Chell came home from school upset that day.

It might help to know that, technically, caning is illegal in Uganda schools. However, I was at a PTA meeting last Sunday afternoon--three and a half hours of mostly Luganda--I understood very little and was bored out of my mind. At one point Sister Sarafina Sanyu, the principal said, "Spare the rod and" all the parents answered, in unison "Spoil the child." For many of these parents English is a foreign language, but they know that line and the vigorous nodding of their heads confirmed their agreement with the concept. I couldn't help thinking of Mother Theodore's line, "Love the children first, then teach them." A bit different pedagogical concept. I'm going to give Sr. Sanyu my Mother Theodore calendar. Maybe she'll notice that quote.

Bry'Chell did not take the Luganda test. Although she has learned quite a bit of Luganda, she has not been speaking it since she could talk as have most of her classmates. Neither did she take the French test, although she really is learning quite a bit of French. She's learned as much French in six weeks as Spanish in the last three years. This is the third term and language is cumulative.

She did take the math test, but her teacher did not post the grade since it was low. However, in my conversation with him, he said she's really learning the concepts and did well in what they have covered since she's been there.

Her sciences grades are not quite up to par, but again, they're cumulative. Whatever she learns will help her when she gets to high school at home. I don't know if the high school placement test includes science, but if it does, she'll be in good shape.

I'm a bit more concerned with English and literature. These are her best subjects at home and I don't know if she's being challenged enough here. I do not want her to lose ground. However, she does a lot of reading and writing on her own, so that will help. I'm grateful to have her Literature book from home. It has some good stories and exercises. That will also help.

Knowing Bry'Chell's experience in school helps me understand my students. Many of them are not as proficient in English as they need to be to do university level work. However, they are committed and hard working. I've never had a group of students who are as dedicated as the ones I have here. They have some deficits, but they are working incredibly hard to overcome them. Of course, CSU has many students like that as well, but the pattern is universal in my classes here.

Since I'm still having trouble putting pictures on the blog I'm trying to get a Picassa album where I can post my pictures and link them to the blog. It may take a while given my Internet connection and time constraints.

I'm aware that I often have typos and grammar errors in my writing. When possible I go back later and edit, so if you read something that grates on your grammar sensibilities, check it later, I may have corrected it.