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.