Back in the USA

We arrived back in Chicago a week ago yesterday. Although it's good to be home, we REALLY miss Uganda and our friends. Of course, this was entirely predictable. Still, I think of something that I'd like to tell Cecilia or Elizabeth and they're not around to tell.

I miss avocados, pineapple, beans, and tomatoes. Yes, we have most of the stuff, but it doesn't taste as good as what we ate in Uganda. I miss friends and the beauty of the green hills. I miss drums at mass. I miss the view of Lake Victoria from the front gate of UMU.

I don't miss cats yowling at night, the electricity going out just as I step in the tub on a dark night, and teenage boys who won't take a hint and go home.

Right now I'm actually at the Woods (motherhouse of my community--the Sisters of Providence of St. Mary-of-the-Woods). It's good to be with my community. I missed them when I was in Uganda. Of course, now that I'm here, I miss Uganda.

I guess that's life.

Time to Leave

In less than 24 hours we'll be on a plane heading back to Chicago. It seems weird that the year is almost over.

We've had a lot of good-byes the past few days, a whole lot today. I gave the homily (OK, reflections) at mass this morning. I couldn't believe the number of people who came up to me or came by the house to say they would miss me and Bry'Chell.

All the visitors have made it difficult to get any work done--including grades and packing. I hope we'll be able to wrap everything up in time. Of course, we don't have much choice. It will get done. I just hope it gets done well.

Uganda, or at least Nkozi, has become home. I can't even walk to the trading center without seeing familiar faces. We will miss the people who have become our friends. We will miss the life we have here. We will miss the beauty of the countryside.

It's hard to leave.

The Last Class

Thursday evening was the last class and final exam for Social Work Practice. The pace of the class has been a bit hectic. It was an intensive that met twice a week, three and a half hours for seven weeks. If I had taught the course before it might have been OK. I know the subject matter, but have not taught the course. It was intense to try to get power point presentations and lectures ready twice a week for a class that meets for three and a half hours while still wrapping up stuff from the previous semester since there was no time between the end of one term and the beginning of the other.

Even though I know some of the students have been frustrated, they have been good sports about the intense schedule.

Last night they gave me gifts--a very cool Ugandan outfit and a carved map of Uganda. I will cherish both, more because of the thought and sacrifice that went into the gifts. I took a bunch of pictures of the students and will post them when I have a faster internet connection--like the day after we catch up on our sleep once we get to Chicago.

One of my students, Sarah, was a bit distracted during the exam. She told me that her fourteen month old daughter was in the hospital. The doctor is concerned that the little one might have meningitis. Please keep the baby in your prayers.

Well, we're in the middle of packing and a bit crazed.

Posta Uganda

Yesterday I went to the main Uganda Post Office to mail some drums to the US. I'm mailing them to the Woods rather than Chicago since that's where I'll be when they're expected to arrive.

At home, although I really like our local mail carrier, I do not like the post office in Chicago. At best you get indifference, at worst gross rudeness. The latter is more common than the former.

I was not anticipating a good experience at the Uganda Post Office. Was I ever wrong. At first we (Paul, my driver, and I) went to the wrong place. The main post office is a large complex with many entrances, each providing a different service. However, the clerk at the Information Desk, quickly and efficiently pointed me to the right place. ("Stand right here, look straight ahead. Do you see the letters EMS? Go through that door and turn right. That's it.")

The parking lot by the EMS office, where you mail packages and stuff, is small, but the guards were friendly and helpful. They were directing traffic to make the most of the space. Paul got us in and we unloaded the crates with the drums.

The evening before, the carpenters on campus had built three sturdy crates to hold the drums. It was all scrap lumber, but they're solid. I'm sure they'll protect the drums.

On inside, a couple of guys decided that the crates needed to be tied up with string, which they did with string they provided. Walter, the supervisor, provided forms and a pen. I filled out the forms, he checked them, let me know what was missing and walked me through the whole process. He weighed the crates, let me behind the counter to actually see the weight, and put me in line to wait for the clerk to take my payment. Walter even gave me his card with his email so he could follow up the tracking to make sure the drums get home.

The entertaining caveat was standing behind a university student, also mailing drums to her mother who is a social worker in Norway. She is finishing up a year as an exchange student at Makerere University. Ordinarily she attends University of Bergen at home.

All in all, it was a good experience at less than half the price of FedEx, even less than the cost of carrying them with us on the plane.

Hurray for Posta Uganda!

The Last Time

These days I find myself saying things like, "This is the last time we'll be riding our bikes to the Equator."
"This is the last time I'll be going to the American Embassy."
"This is the last time I'll be attending mass in Luganda at the Cathedral."

Sometimes I say it with relief and other times with regret.

Traveling from Kabale to Nkozi

Bry'Chell and I are getting pretty good at public transportation. Not pros or anything, but we can get from one place to another without totally freaking out.

Sunday we left Lake Bunyoni to go to church in Kabale. We had the same driver who brought us there pick us up and take us to church. I had forgotten it was the feast of Corpus Christi. Here that means a procession. A procession means the next mass starts late, like half an hour late. No sense getting upset about it. It's not going to change anything.

We cooled out heals with the rest of the crowd outside of the church.

Mass finally let out and we went in. This was the English mass which meant the mass was said in English but all the music was still in the local language. That was OK. Even if we don't quite know all the words, we're pretty familiar with most of the local music.

After mass Dennis, our driver, came and took us to the taxi park to catch the bus. As we got out of the car we were mobbed with guys trying to get us to take their bus, the one each of them was selling tickets to board. I told them to back off. I would choose the bus I wanted. One guy tried to take my bag--not as in steal, but as in carry to the bus. I gave him a dirty look and told him to take his hands off my bag. He did.

We chose the bus most likely to leave most quickly. This was, of course, the fullest bus, so we didn't sit together, but were across the isle from each other. I shared my seat with two guys. Somehow guys seem to think they deserve more space than women. I figured I paid the same price they did and deserved my seat.

After a few stops, things thinned out a bit and Bry'Chell and I could move and find a seat together. We did.

At each stop, vendors would crowd around the windows selling their goods. At most stops, these were food vendors, but some places there were other goodies. At one stop Bry'Chell wanted to buy some roasted bananas. I figured they were potentially among the least harmful food available. I've been warned not to buy the meat on skewers. It smells good, it looks good and most of the time it is good. Occasionally, it's not and that's a bad thing. The best bet is to avoid it. The roasted bananas were good. We had some snacks with us, but they needed some rounding out. The bananas filled the bill.

One of my students was on the bus. It was funny to think you're boarding an anonymous bus only to find it's not as anonymous as I expected.

After about five and a half hours, the bus stopped at Kayawbe and we took boda-bodas to the campus--about three kilometers from Kayawbe. It worked.

Saturday at Lake Bunyoni

Saturday was our only full day at Lake Bunyoni and we decided to make the most of it. The lake is a pretty quiet place. Although we heard one party at a nearby resort on Saturday evening, it's not a wild party place. It's more of a peaceful, relaxing place.

I suspect the economic downturn keeps things a bit quiet. There weren't a lot of Mzungus where we stayed at Crater Bay Cottages and Camp. There was an older Austrian couple with their daughter and the daughter's friend. The daughter and friend were working as interns in Kampala and the parents had come for a visit.

There were two Canadian guys, Hershel and Rocky (who also have a blog), from Vets without Borders who were in Uganda for a few months working to vaccinate goats and help orphans raise goats. They are both just out of vet school and decided to do some volunteer work, even with their student loans hanging over their heads. They were pretty entertaining. Rocky was down most of the time with a stomach virus--he probably ate something he shouldn't have.

Saturday morning we arranged for a guide and a dugout canoe to go for a spin in the lake. Hershel came with us since Rocky was down for the count. (Sorry for the pun.) I had thought about going out on our own, but dugouts didn't look quite like the canoes I know how to navigate. It turned out the paddles were about three times as heavy as the ones I know. I was impressed when we were handed life jackets and the guide put on one as well. Safety impresses me in a country where the boda-boda drivers generally don't wear helmets outside of Kampala.

We took a spin around the lake--a very slow, peaceful spin. We stopped at Bushara Island where the Church of Uganda (Anglicans) run a camp. I was impressed with their commitment to sustainable development--their tree planting projects, hiring local folks and support of local crafts. Bry'Chell and I each bought a hat. They may not be winter hats for Chicago, but they will help in the fall and spring.

We paddled past Punishment Island where unmarried pregnant women were sent to die. The guide book says that many women died trying to swim back to shore, however, Fr. Max told us that men would go at night to get the women from the island. A woman from Punishment Island was a free wife in the days of bride price and all that. A poor man could get a free wife. Probabaly better than dying.

I learned later that June, July, and August are the dry months in the area. The winds kick up on the lake which makes paddling a bit more difficult. I paddled in worse waves in the Boundary Waters, but I don't know the dugout canoes. The canoe we were in was very stable. We were safe.

We came back and had lunch. Our cabin was right on the lake. I wanted to hike up to the top of the hill so I could get some pictures of the whole lake. We started off following the road, but ran into the manager of Crater Bay Cottages. He pointed out a trail that went straight up the hill. It was a lot faster. Bry'Chell pooped out about halfway up. Well, she didn't really poop out, she can run me into the ground. It was more that she was concerned about getting down without breaking her neck--the trail was steep in places. I figured people climbed this everyday and I would be just fine.

As we were hiking up the hill we ran into three little girls. At first they ran away shouting "Mzungu", but curiosity brought them back. They were carrying dolls made out of grass. They were cute--the girls and the dolls. Their babies meant as much to them as American Girl dolls mean to their American counterparts. I took a couple of pictures.

Further up the hill, after I left Bry'Chell, I ran into another couple of kids--a boy about seven and a girl about three. The boy was a great guide. He kept pointing out and naming the islands. He told me there are 29 in all. I forget how many are inhabited, but additional ones are used for cultivation even if no one lives on them.

The view was breath taking. It was worth the climb.

I climbed back down, left my guide when his mother called him, and I found Bry'Chell. We walked down the rest of the trail. Near the bottom we met an older Ugandan woman wearing a South Dakota t-shirt. I see t-shirts from the strangest places. I was quite taken and told her that my dad was born in South Dakota. She responded, saying, "Well then it is a good place, no?" I told her it was, and refrained from saying it was a good place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there.

Lake Bunyoni

Time is getting short. We can't see everything we (or at least I) would like to see, but I wanted to see one more place before we left.

Lake Bunyoni is billed as the most beautiful place in Uganda. With so many beautiful places, that's a difficult measure to meet. I was curious just how beautiful it is.

Beauty is difficult to compare, but Lake Bunyoni is definitely one of the most beautiful places in the country.

Fr. Max was going to Kabale for a meeting on Friday. We went along for the free ride with good company. We left at 5 AM. I'm not by nature an early riser. When I get to bed late, I'm even less of an early riser. However, I was up at 4:15 AM. I woke Bry'Chell at 4:30. We were ready by 5. Max was on time.

It doesn't get light until about 7 AM, so we were well into the trip before the sun came up.

The roads were really bad in places, so it was slow going at times, but the countryside was absolutely gorgeous. We left the green swamp and hilly river lowlands around Nkozi for the high desert/savanah with trees look of the area around Lake Mburro and headed up into the foothills of the Rwenzori mountains, the southern end towards Rwanda.

Bry'Chell either slept or pretended to sleep for a good part of the trip. We stopped for breakfast about 8 and arrived a bit before 11. Max connected us with Sr. Beatrice before he went to his meeting. Sr. Beatrice, in turn, introduced us to Agnes who arranged for a drive and a place to stay.

I love the networks. You never just go some place and find a room. There's always somebody who knows somebody. Personal connections are important here. I find it pretty entertaining.

Our driver, Dennis, took us to Crater Bay Cottages. It was a great place--clean, reasonably priced with very attentive service.

I will say, the beauty of Lake Bunyoni is breathtaking. The drive took us down a winding dirt road. The view of the lake is magnificent. It's a crater lake that meanders through the hills and around the mountains. It's dotted with green islands. Some of the islands are inhabited. Most that are not inhabited are cultivated. They are terraced with crops. A significant effort has been made to plant trees, so many of the islands has patches of woods between the fields.

Every picture could be a postcard. The only problem with pictures is that they don't provide the sense of panorama that the human eye can take in.

We were pretty tired when we arrived so we crashed for a bit then we went down to the dock to check out the lake. We didn't bring our suits, so we had an excuse for not going in. It was a bit cold for my taste.

That first night we literally ate dinner and went to bed. We were whipped.

Two Weeks and Counting

The countdown has begun. It's hard to believe, but we leave Uganda two weeks from today. Assuming all goes as planned, we'll be home in fifteen days.

Over the weekend we started some serious packing. We made our last trip to the equator for gifts which are now mostly packed.

It's more difficult to pack from this end. In Chicago, we packed most of our clothes well ahead of time and just wore other clothes. This time, the clothes we are packing are all the clothes we have. Some clothes we are giving away, but others we need for home. (It's hard to find jeans that fit Bry'Chell--she's thin and long legged.) Either way, we still have two weeks of wearing to do before the clothes can be packed.

While we are leaving many things here that we brought, we still have a lot of luggage. Fortunately, one of the things we are leaving is most of the books. They're heavy and would cost a fortune to ship. The Federal Government helps us ship them over here, but not home. It's not big deal because the reason we brought them was to leave them. The head librarian came over this morning to get the books. She was glad to see them. I'm hoping they provide some basis for the social science programs.

We're also leaving linens--sheets and towels. I brought some that have seen better days, although they are perfectly good. I will give them to St. Mary's Secondary School. Sr. Sanyu has many students who are orphans and show up without the necessary supplies. I know she'll put them to good use.

We've also used up a lot of stuff--toothpaste, shampoo, lotion, insect repellent, sunscreen and other personal type items. That's less to take back.

The only additional stuff we have is gifts. So far we have one footlocker full of gifts. Most of them aren't that big, but we have a lot of people to remember.

Hopefully, we will travel back with less than we had when we arrived. My goal is eight pieces of luggage. We arrived with thirteen pieces of luggage plus the four boxes of books we shipped.

Real Chocolate Chip Cookies

On Thursday, as I was walking over to catch the UMU bus for the trip to Rubaga, I ran into Emma Fineblit. Emma's a student here on an exchange program of some type. I don't know the details, but I was in touch with her mom when the VC asked me to reassure her that Uganda is really a safe place. Since I know my folks had some misgivings early on, I understood and sent Emma's mom an email.

Emma and I say hi every now and then. She fits right in with the students and seems to be having a good time.

Anyway, it seems that Emma's aunt read in the blog that we don't have chocolate chips here and brought Emma some. Emma gave them to me and Bry'Chell and I mixed up a double batch of chocolate chip cookies today. We haven't finished baking them, but we've made three trays full. They're just about gone.

Sr. Elizabeth had a few--she took two home for her niece. Maria came over for a little tutoring (she finally said her multiplication tables correctly--hurray) she ate some and I sent her home with some cookies--two for her, two for her sister, Joyce, and two for her mom. Maria tried to convince me that the cookies should all be for her--one for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. I remained unconvinced and told her to be sure to give them to Joyce and her mom. She will, but only because she knows that Joyce with talk to me and will be very unhappy if she finds out Maria ate all the cookies.

The next two trays of cookies have serious dents where Bry'Chell and I indulged. We rode to the equator and back this afternoon, so we can afford a few cookies. Bry'Chell can always afford a few cookies.

Bry'Chell will take some to school tomorrow to share with her friends. They have developed a taste for American cookies. These will top the charts.

Chocolate chip cookies are pretty wonderful. A taste of home before we actually get there. Thanks, Emma's aunt. I hope you read this.

Pumpkins

This seems to be the season for pumpkins here. Pumpkin is usually available, but I haven't bothered to buy one to eat. This past week, however, people have given me two. Don't think huge Halloween Jack-O-Lantern-type pumpkins. Think small, even oblong green pumpkins. Think about pumpkins that actually taste good.

Bry'Chell loves pumpkin. When I'm gone teaching, she will actually steam a piece of pumpkin in the microwave to eat for dinner. That's about the only vegetable she goes out of her way to eat.

We had an early dinner this evening. One of Bry'Chell's classmates, Sylvia, was over. I asked her if she wanted to stay for supper. It wasn't fancy, just rice and beans and pumpkin. Sylvia stayed for the meal. I had to cut the two pieces of pumpkin into four pieces. They were generous-sized pieces before, so they were still more than adequate cut in half. Of course, that left one extra piece which Bry'Chell scored at the first opportune moment.

Bry'Chell and I were talking about how much better the pumpkin tastes here than at home. Sylvia observed that maybe the soil in Uganda is better. Since most kids take agriculture, not to mention actually work on the family plot, they have some clue about how food grows.

Bry'Chell and I looked at each other. How do you explain, that no, our soil is fine, our country grows pumpkin mostly to observe an annual ritual where we carve up what could be perfectly good food and turn them into ghoulish, candle-lit apparitions for the night?

How do you explain Halloween? Here Halloween is the eve before All Saints Day. Nothing more.

What do you say to help someone understand that a whole industry is built around carving up pumpkins and giving out candy? What's more, the pumpkins aren't even that good to eat. Actually, they're OK, I may be the only person on the south side of Chicago who actually peels and cooks my Jack-O-Lantern after Halloween is over. I put the puree in the freezer and we eat it all year. While we like it, Ugandan pumpkin is way better--sweeter and more flavorful.

Honestly, which society appears more advanced--the one who grows healthy food to eat or the one that grows large gourds for the purpose of carving them with scary faces once a year?

Go figure.

The Trip Back from Jinga

Sunday Bry'Chell and I returned from Jinga. We did it all by ourselves--no driver, no UMU coach, just us. Well, that's not entirely true, we did hire a driver to get from the place we were staying to the taxi park in Jinga.

From the taxi park we caught a coaster to Kampala. By this time we were hungry so we walked over to Shop Rite and had a hamburger at Mr. Tasty. It wasn't really that great. We found a bathroom and walked back to the taxi park.

It took us a while to find the right bus, but we found a bus to Masaka that would drop us at Kayabwe. This wasn't a coaster, it was actually a coach bus, but it had seen better days. I've since been told that Gaso--the company name on the bus--is not the most dependable.

Waiting wasn't as much fun this time. The windows on the bus are higher than those on the coaster, so it's not a convenient for the vendors to come by the window. Since we were off in a corner, it wasn't as central for the vendors.

However, the vendors did come inside the bus. They were squeezing past each other in the isle to try and sell us everything from food to undershirts. They didn't have Bry'Chell's favorite, rings. Well, we did find a couple of vendors with rings, but they weren't the type Bry'Chell, the queen of cheap jewelry, wanted. (Actually, she would be the queen of expensive jewelry if I let her.)

The bus finally filled up and we were on our way. For a while. The bus died about 30 minutes outside of Kampala. The driver assured us that we would be on our way shortly. I've experienced similar events, so I decided to sit tight and wait. I didn't exactly sit, I went outside to get some fresh air.

We waited and we waited. Several people were getting restless. It started raining, so I figured just sit and wait for a while. The rain let up. Finally, Bry'Chell said it was time to find another ride. I figured she was right, so we got off the bus. In less than five minutes a half-full coaster--a nice new one--came by and offered us a ride. We had to pay again, but with both fares, it was still cheaper than taking the Metra to downtown Chicago.

The coaster dropped us off at Kayawbe and we caught boda-bodas up to Nkozi. All in all, I felt it was a pretty successful trip.

Martyrs Day (and my birthday)

What's not to like about a country where my birthday is a national holiday? June 3rd is the feast of the Uganda Martyrs, and a public holiday. Like most holidays here and in the U.S., it can be a party day, but here there are also about a million people who make the pilgrimage to Namugongo, the site where 26 young men (14 Catholic, 12 Anglican) were burned to death on this date in 1886. There were 18 killed before June 3 and one killed later--45 in all. Of course, these are just the ones that can be identified. There were others.

So, June 3rd is a big deal. People start off on pilgrimage from all over Easter Africa--and beyond--many walking for weeks to arrive at the shrine in Namugongo by June 3rd. People come from Kenya, Tanzania, Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, and of course, from all over Uganda. Some of them walk hundreds of miles. By the big day there are about a million people at the shrine.

I was not one of them. First, I don't care for huge crowds. Second, given my teaching schedule, it would have been just about impossible to hook up with the UMU group. They left Nkozi at 4:45 AM and I was still in Rubaga after teaching the night before. To connect at the shrine would have been nearly impossible and to miss the UMU group would have been a bit disastrous in terms of getting back to Nkozi. So I decided to come back to Nkozi and have a relaxing day. I did go to mass at the cathedral. It was packed at six in the morning.

When I got back home to Nkozi, Bry'Chell baked me a birthday cake and made pizza for lunch. Making pizza here means making the dough from scratch, making the sauce from scratch, browning the meat, and grating the cheese. She did it and she did a good job. Pretty impressive for a 13 year old.

The VC (UMU President), who shares my birthday had invited Bry'Chell and me over for dinner to celebrate our mutual birthday. He also invited a few of my friends--Sr. Elizabeth, Fr. Henry and Sr. Cecilia. We had a great time. Food, drink and company were wonderful. There was a fine assortment of all.

The day before the feast day, Sr. Cecilia had given me a photo of the martyrs taken in October of 1885 when they went to Tanzania for the consecration of some bishop. They're just boys. The youngest, Kizito, was only 14 when he was killed. The oldest was 26. I've seen paintings of them, but not a photo. Somehow, the photo makes them more real.

This year, my birthday was definitely a unique experience.

Rafting on the Nile

Saturday was the day of our big adventure outside of Jinga.

Well, we didn't exactly go white water rafting, it was more like floating. I had wanted to go white water rafting on the Nile, but the company we were using--Adrift Adventure Company--said Bry'Chell had to be sixteen. Since she wasn't all that excited about going (read: dug in her heels and refused.) I figured it was just as well. However, they had a two hour family float--a shorter and gentler version of white water rafting.

The family float was a two hour trip with a few small rapids, the biggest one was a class three. There was plenty of calm water where we could swim in the river. Bry'Chell, ever the cautious soul, would not go in the water the first time. However, once our guide went in, she was willing to try. Of course, this was with life jackets on. We can both say we swam in the Nile River.

There are plenty of rafting operations in the area around Bujagali Falls, but these guys have been around the longest and had a good, if not the best, safety record. The safety issue is a big deal to me.

The day was perfect, sunny and warm, but not hot. It had rained the night before, so things were pretty muddy, but once we were on the river, that was irrelevant. The river was beautiful. There were lots of birds--eagles, king fishers, darters, and others I can't name. We saw an eagle catch a fish in its claws.

The rapids were just enough to get a few screams from Bry'Chell and for both of us to get soaked. It was fun.

On the way back from rafting we passed a place that did four-wheeler tours. Basically you follow a guide on a four-wheeler ATV. This caught Bry'Chell's eye. She's right at the age where driving a vehicle is pretty exciting. I thought about it and since she was such a good sport about the rafting, I decided we'd do the short trip. It was an hour.

Once again, these folks were into safety. We were outfitted in overalls, gum boots, and helmets. We rode around on back roads for a good hour, saw a couple of beautiful views of the Nile, some typical rural scenes--cows, goats, chickens, fields of bananas, maize, cassava, and sweet potatoes.

We finished our ride just as it was beginning to rain. Bry'Chell said that was her favorite part since our guide rode faster trying to get back before the sky opened up. And in fact, we made it back just before it started pouring rain.

We waited until the rain let up and called the boda-boda guys to take us back to our cabin--euphemistically called a chalet.

When we arrived back at the base camp, there were people bungee jumping. It was fun to watch, but holds no personal interest for me. Jumping head first off a platform with only a rubber cord to keep me from crashing into the shallows of the river below does not strike me as a good time. I was perfectly content to watch others bounce around.

Taxis and Coasters

Thursday afternoon Bry'Chell and I took the UMU coach (think Greyhound-type bus minus the toilet) to Kampala and spent the night at the Grail in Rubaga (the neighborhood where the Catholic Social Training Center is located).

Friday morning we caught a taxi near Rubaga to the New Taxi Park. From the New Taxi Park we walked to the Old Taxi Park and caught a coaster to Jinga.

Some definitions might be helpful here. First, a taxi is not a car that you hail to take you to your destination. A taxi is a van that seats fifteen people--but not like an American fifteen passenger van. It seats three across including a fold-down seat on the end that uses what would be the isle space. The taxi follows something of a route. You can pretty much guess where it's going from where you catch it. It's not quite a bus service, but close enough for practical purposes. It's also cheap--prices vary by destination, but from Rubaga to the New Taxi Park is 500 schillings--just under twenty-five cents at the current exchange rate.

Tha Taxi Park is a veritable zoo of taxis, buses and people. It's a huge lot with taxis, buses and people going every which direction. It's important to keep an eye on your pockets, purse and knapsack in the taxi park. However, people are also incredibly helpful. You can ask just about anyone, worker or traveler for information and they will take time to point you in the right direction.

We exited the taxi at the gas station by the New Taxi Park and were given directions to the Old Taxi Park, which is quite near the New Taxi Park. I had been given instructions to take a coaster (translation: small bus that seats about thirty people) to Jinga rather than a taxi. The coasters are more comfortable, cheaper and safer. Buses, taxis, coasters don't leave on a given schedule. They leave when they're full. Since taxis are smaller, they fill faster. The disadvantage of a coaster is that it takes longer to fill.

In this case we were one of the first ones on the coaster, so we had a while to wait. The waiting was entertaining. There are vendors wandering the taxi parks selling stuff. They sell EVERYTHING. There were food vendors selling cookies (bisquits here), yogurt, pop, juice, plates of hot food, and meat on skewers. Other vendors were selling handkerchiefs, watches (which will work for about five minutes if at all), suit jackets, jewelry, undershirts, hats, air time for cell phones, newspapers and probably a million other things. It's sort of fun. The vendors walk by, or come up to the coaster windows and show their wares. Being a muzungu, I merited extra attention. Everyone figures muzungus have money. I bought some air time for my phone and a couple of handkerchiefs since I had forgotten mine. Bry'Chell bought two rings. They were 500 schillings each--handkerchiefs and rings. We spent fifty cents on air time and a dollar on everything else combined. It was better than the Dollar Store.

The ride from Kampala to Jinga took about two hours through beautiful countryside. Right before we arrived in Jinga we crossed the River Nile. Bry'Chell was a little impressed, being the longest river in the world doesn't mean that much to her. She was less impressed when she found out the place Moses was put in the river was probably over 3,500 miles downstream. Oh well, it's hard to impress a 13 year old.

Once we arrived we found a place to eat and use a bathroom. Our expectation of bathrooms has really changed. Bry'Chell was pleased with this one because it flushed. It was just the squat type, but it did flush.

We ate and called a friend of a friend. Lacey, a staff person from Notre Dame University, had given us the name and number of a former student of hers, Dennis. We called Dennis and he came to get us and show us around town.

We went to the source of the Nile--the place where the river exits Lake Victoria. It was cool. I'll write more about it in a separate entry. Each of the sights deserves its own write-up. From there were went to the Nile brewery, then we had a late lunch at a fancy resort place. We went to Bujagali Falls--which was beautiful and finally ended up at the place we were staying--Adrift Adventure Company.

It was a long and very full day.

Back from Jinga

Bry'Chell and I went to Jinga for a long weekend. I had traded class meeting times with another instructor at his request, so I had a long weekend. I figured Bry'Chell is only doing a few weeks of this school term, so seeing the River Nile would be more educational than learning agriculture.

We rode the UMU bus into Kampala on Thursday afternoon, stayed the night at the Grail and took a public bus--a small bus known as a coaster--to Jinga on Friday morning.

We also road public transportation back to Nkozi. It was quite an adventure, but I'm whipped and on my way to bed. I'll fill in the details in the next few days.

Kevin is a Girl's Name

One of the more revered women in the modern history of Uganda is Mother Mary Kevin Kearney, OSF. She was an Irish immigrant to the U.S. who then came to Uganda and founded the Little Sisters of St. Francis. I've written about the Little Sisters before, they're one of the largest congregations in Uganda with sisters all over East Africa.

Because of Mother Kevin's beloved status, many girls are names after her. Sometimes they are called Kevina since Mother Kevin is affectionately known as Mama Kevina, but often they are named Kevin.

The first few times I heard someone call out Kevin, I looked around for some guy to respond, but it was always a girl or woman who responded. So I learned, in Uganda, Kevin is a girl's name.

Water is Life

Here in Uganda, and I suspect in most of Africa, if not much of the developing world, people use the phrase, "Water is life." Its meaning is very literal. A person can do without food for a time, and many people do, but water is a necessity. Without water death rules.

In our area, water is plentiful. However, getting the water can be another story. Water does not come piped into homes from the central municipal water supply. Well, water may be piped in some places in Kampala, but not here in Nkozi, or in other rural areas.

People get water from lakes, streams, swamps, boreholes (what I know as pumps), and tanks that collect rainwater as well as the few fortunate souls who have water piped to the house.

Living on campus, we are among the few who have running water at home. At least we had water until three days ago when both of the pumps broke down at the same time. Now we don't.

Fortunately, Bry'Chell had just filled the drinking water jerry cans so we're in good shape for drinking water.

However, drinking water is a small part of our water needs. Usually I use water from the tap for cooking. Water that is boiled is safe for consumption and I figure water we use for cooking ends up being boiled, so the drinking water supply goes further by not using it for cooking.

There is a tank by the administration building that collects rain water, so, when the water goes out, we can get water there. Tank is something of a misnomer. Yes, the water is stored in an underground tank, but there's an electric pump on the side. You turn on the switch and water comes out of a pipe. That's the easy part.

The challenge is carrying the water home. It's a bit of a hike. Nothing outrageous, but it is several hundred years and water is heavy--eight pounds to the gallon if Dad's information is right--so a five gallon bucket is 40 pounds. Two buckets are 80 pounds.

Saturday evening when we arrived home we had some water in the house, so we were OK. However, Bry'Chell was starting back to school on Monday and not wanting to send off a stinky kid to school, we needed water for Sunday baths.

Sunday evening we took our buckets and jerry cans and went to fetch water. It was no big deal. We filled two buckets and a small jerry can. Since the buckets have lids, we carried them back with a minimum of spillage. Even so, the sides of our trousers were soaked by the time we arrived home.

Later in the evening Carol and her little sister Bonnie brought us two more small jerry cans of water. We were set in comfort. I appreciated their kindness. I'm sure Sr. Prisca sent them over.

We had enough for baths and dishes. Of course, we minimized our usage for those purposes. It's amazing how little water you can get by with for dishes and bathing. We bath by putting water in a plastic basin (one ordinarily used for laundry) in the tub, standing in the tub and washing up. It works. We heat water in the electric kettle and add it to the basin.

We even had enough water to flush the toilet once. I won't go into details there. Suffice to say, I see the value of an outhouse.

Monday is usually the day Specioza does laundry. I was out getting some class material copied when she arrived, but I was home shortly afterwards. I told her not to even to try to do laundry. It just takes too much water and carrying all the water is unnecessary since the water should be on in a couple of days. We have enough clothes to see us through until then. The nice thing was that Specioza arrived with her own jerry can of water so she could at least mop the floors.

A few minutes after that, Richard, our gardener, arrived with a large jerry can of water. This was great. Now I could flush the toilet again and have some for dishes and general use.

Early afternoon I went to get another bucket of water, so we would have enough water for baths and dishes in the evening. However, later, in the early evening, Richard returned with two more large jerry cans of water.

I didn't ask for any of this, but people here are kind and know the importance of water. In some ways, I would prefer to do things myself, but how can I refuse such generosity?

Most people here, including Specioza and Richard, do not have running water. They carry water everyday. It's good for us to have this authentic Ugandan experience. I'm sure that most of Bry'Chell's schoolmates at St. Mary's carry water when they get home. And I'm also sure they carry it further then we do. Some people have to go several kilometers to get water. The quality of the water supply for many people is not as good as ours. We're fortunate to have good quality water. Water is part of life. Water is life.

Rodents and Grasshoppers

I saw my first mouse in Uganda on Friday in the slum by Nsambya. I saw my first rat today on campus--dead in the mouth of a cat. I haven't really thought about it, but given the climate and the availability of food, I would have expected to see more of a rodent population than I have. Shoot, I've seen more rodents in Chicago than here. The rats in Chicago are bigger than the one I saw this morning the the cat's mouth.

The most interesting thing I have learned about rodents is not part of my personal experience (thank God). People talk about edible rats. It sounds like an oxymoron to me. Edible and rat do not belong in the same paragraph, let alone in the same sentence.

Evidently, there are rats in some parts of the country that people eat. I guess meat is meat, but edible rat does not sound appetizing. I'd have to be really, really hungry with no other options to even consider eating a rat.

There is another delicacy I have no desire to try--grasshoppers. Saturday when Jessica, Hope's mother was showing us through the market there was a vendor sitting on the ground by her stand cleaning grasshoppers--cleaning, as in taking off all the appendages and putting them in a basket. People were coming to buy them. Grasshoppers are considered a delicacy. One that I will take a pass on.

Later on Saturday when Bry'Chell and I were in the bus, Richard, the driver, passed two bags to grasshoppers to his son, Michael. I think Michael was taking them home to his mother. I believe they're served fried.

Michael is one of Bry'Chell's friends. He's a nice boy who has been over to visit a couple of times. I told Bry'Chell that before she kisses any Ugandan boy she might want to think about what goes in his mouth.

Back to School for Bry'Chell

Bry'Chell's month long holiday comes to an end at 7:15 AM tomorrow when the new term begins at St. Mary's. Just about the time her peers in Chicago are getting ready to begin their summer vacation, Bry'Chell is heading back to school.

Her holiday wasn't much of a holiday. She spent a good bit of the time studying math, US History and vocabulary words. However, she did it at her own pace with a lot less structure than the regular school day. Every week she had twenty words, she did one or two sections of history a day and whatever math Fr. Henry assigned.

Bry'Chell also watched more than her share of movies and increased her collection of local Ugandan music. Her schedule was pretty reasonable.

Today when we went to St. Mary's to check in for the new term, I was talking with Sr. Sanyu about Maria, the girl who sells bananas. Maria is in 5th grade. She wants to go to St. Mary's when she finishes primary school. It's more than her family can afford, even for a day scholar. The tuition for the year is about $200 American dollars and that includes the uniform. Maria's family has plenty of bananas, cassava, sweet potatoes and even a few chickens and eggs. What they don't have is cash. Cash is needed for sugar, salt, tea and school fees.

Maria has been coming for tutoring everyday during the break. Bry'Chell does most of it. I've been working with Maria on her times tables. She wants a pair of earrings (called pins here -- don't ask me why.) I told her that she could have them when she could recite her times tables -- 2 x 2 to 12 x 12 without any mistakes. She's still making lots of mistakes, so she didn't get the earrings today. She was pretty mad at me. I think she wanted the earrings for her first day back at school. Oh well, guess she'll have to study more.

Bry'Chell was sympathetic. She remembers when she didn't get the promised bribe for memorizing her times tables because she failed to take me seriously. She told Maria that she should study more.

I'll be she has them down before the end of the week.

The Slums of Kampala

Kampala has many slum neighborhoods. The morning after our arrival I walked outside our very cool, very expensive fake-rustic motel room to look down the hill into a slum neighborhood. The first thing that crossed my mind was that Kampala must not have much by the way of zoning laws. I've since learned that zoning laws are non-existent.

The sociologist in me really really wanted to go into the slums. The responsible guardian-type of a now 13 year old, thought it might not be the best idea to do by myself.

It took a while but I finally had an offer for a tour of the slums. Henry, Bry'Chell's school mate lives by one of the slums--his mother has a small hotel on the edge of the slums by Nsambya (the Kampala neighborhood where the American Embassy is located).

Bry'Chell and I were invited to stay at the hotel and Henry offered to show us around the slum. Bry'Chell was less interested in this little adventure than I was. (What else is new.) I agreed to let her stay home and I received the grand tour.

This isn't a slum like the projects of Chicago, or even Watts in south central L.A. The closest thing in my experience is the areas on the edge of Tijuana.

While I was only in one slum, the pattern is similar. Slum neighborhoods are often where poor families moving from rural areas first locate. Rents are cheap--you can find a one-room place for about 10,000 Ugandan schillings a month (about $5), slightly better housing for 20,000. These are not the better places in the slums. Even the slums have levels of housing.

The sights of the slums are not the most obvious characteristic--rather it's the smell. That they have in common the with projects in Chicago, although there's a greater variety of smells in the Kampala slums. Not only are there human smells, there are also animal smells.

Of course, there's the open sewage smell, but there's also the smell of cattle and goats kept in very confined quarters.

There are cooking smells. Most cooking seems to be done on the ubiquitous charcoal stoves that are outside every compound. The food smelled good, but I was a bit concerned about the proximity of open sewers.

During the rainy season, the water washes through the neighborhood, flooding latrines (outhouses) and homes, mixing rain water with sewage and making an all-round unhealthy mix of liquids.

Usually I wear sandals. For the slums I wore gym shoes.

Henry did a great job of showing me the neighborhood. Like any other neighborhood, the kids are curious about me--there's all the bye-muzungu stuff, but these kids seemed to have a greater need to touch me. I'm not sure what that was about, but I try to be friendly to the children so I shook many grubby little hands. In many ways the slum kids were dressed better than the rural kids--well, except for those running around naked.

I stayed at Henry's mom's hotel. It's a small fenced-in compound with several rooms that open into a dirt courtyard. Henry's mom is in the process of adding some rooms in the middle of the courtyard. The rooms are simple but clean. The hospitality was great. His mom is a good cook. I think I had the best matooke with g-nut sauce that I've ever had.

The rooms were not self contained, meaning there was no bathroom in the room. However, the latrines were clean--no smell at all and the bathing facilities, while spartan, were clean and they heated water so I could have a warm bath. Again, this is the bath-in-a-basin type bath. The water was warm and I got clean. That's all I ask.

This is my own personal weirdness, but I found the slums as interesting as many of the more touristy sights we've been to see.

World Vision

When you turn on the road to Nkozi at Kayawbe there's a sign that says World Vision, Nkozi. Unfortunately, World Vision closed their office and left a bunch of kids high and dry. Like many organizations, World Vision pays school fees for needy children. Of course, "needy kids" can define much of the area population.

Given that the median age is 15 and that the average per capita income is about $453 per year (and with the world economy being as it is, income is projected to decrease next year), most residents of the area can be defined as needy children and youth.

The first we (meaning folks at UMU) knew about World Vision closing their office was when kids started showing up on campus looking for work. One teenage girl came to the house of Sr. Cecilia and Sr. Lucy wanting to know if they needed someone to clean and do laundry. Sr. Cecilia talked with the girl and found out that she needed money for school fees. Unfortunately, the school year had already started, the first term was well underway and there was no way for the girl to catch up so she has lost the year. Sr. Cecilia said she will talk to Sr. Sanyu at St. Mary's and arrange for the girl to go there next year. The girl will work for Srs. Cecila and Lucy as a way of earning her school fees.

World Vision left the kids high and dry. This girl said no one told her that the office was closing until she found out her school fees were not paid. No offense, but World Vision went way down on my list of reputable charities. I can understand closing an office, but I cannot understand doing it without making some plans to assist the children who are being helped, or at least informing them of the plan.

Fortunately, the sisters will pick up the slack, but the kid still loses a year of school and the sisters really don't have those kind of extra resources. School fees for a day scholar (non-boarding student) are less than $200 per year. For $200 a kid can get a uniform, shoes, socks, go on the school trip and have all their tuition paid. It's not right for World Vision to drop kids like that while painting a rosy picture of what wonderful work they do. Figures the nuns pick up the slack.

The River Nile

Yesterday I went to Jinga as part of the research project I've been working on with some students. On our way there we crossed the Nile River.

Jinga bills itself as the source of the Nile. I'm told a few other places do as well. Whatever. The river is big and really quite beautiful. It's much prettier than the Mississippi River, which as the Great Muddy is, well, muddy. The Nile is a beautiful blue with what looked like a significant current.

Given that the Nile is a river of literally bibical proportions, it was cool to see it.

The other landscape feature we navigate yesterday was part of the Trans-African Highway. It is one of the better roads I have been on since arriving in Uganda. It is the first divided highway I have seen in the country. The Trans-African Highway is actually a system of highways linking the continent. However, I'm told that parts of it are still dirt roads. That doesn't surprise me too much. Dirt roads are still the most common type of road in Uganda, and much of Africa from what my sources tell me. Paved or tarmac roads are something of a luxury. Even the road that connects UMU to the main highway is a dirt road--a bumpy, rutted dirt road. Main roads and most artial roads in cities and towns are paved. Other roads are generally dirt roads.

Jinga is a nice town. I'd like to spend more time there, but I was there for business and had to return right away. Oh well, maybe in a couple of weeks.

Harriett Wants to be a Sister

Harriett is 11 years old. She's in P. 6 (6th grade). Her brother, Andrew, a friend of Bry'Chell's, brought her over the other day to talk to me because Harriett wants to be a sister when she grows up.

The kid is brilliant. She was at the top of her class in 5th grade. Her ranking dropped a bit because she had to stay home for three weeks during the first term of 6th grade to care for her mother after the last baby was born. After missing three weeks of school she was only the fifth highest in her class.

Unlike many kids here she likes to read and reads well. I gave her one of Bry'Chell's books to read and she sat down and was absorbed in it before I turned around. She is very focused on whatever she does and very serious about being a sister.

This is not to say that she's not a perfectly normal kid. Unlike many of the girls here, she likes to play soccer with Bry'Chell and actually makes Bry'Chell work at defending the goal. It's funny to watch the two of them--Bry'Chell is her very American jeans, t-shirt and gym shoes and Harriett in a bright orange organdy dress and bare feet--running around kicking a soccer ball.

Harriett also is known to disagree with her older brother, not something Bugandan girls do. While she is polite, she knows how to speak her mind even to boys, not a common characteristic in a culture that expects girls to be obedient and subservient (they would say humble).

Kids here--girls and boys--talk freely about being sisters or priests. It's not weird. There are lots of them. Most of them will never have the opportunity because communities cannot afford to take them. Communities, especially communities of sisters, don't have the resources to nurture and educate all the young women who want to be sisters.

However, being a sister is not an easy choice. In some Ugandan cultures (and each tribe has their own culture), a woman is not really considered a woman unless she has child. Becoming a sister means that one's culture may never really recognize the woman as an adult, she is forever seen as a child. Still, there are many sisters and many young woman who really want to be sisters. Their sense of call is stronger than their attachment to that part of their culture.

I've introduced Harriett to Sister Elizabeth and Sister Cecilia. I figure she needs to meet more communities. When I met her she only knew the Little Sisters of St. Francis. They're a large congregation and a fine group of women, but I figured she needs to broaden the scope of her knowledge. Even here, different communities have different personalities and it's a good idea to look around and find a community that fits. The Little Sisters of St. Francis seem to take obedience a bit more literally than some other communities. I can't quite see Harriett fitting in with them. She's a little too feisty.

Taking a Taxi to Kampala

First, let me define taxi. Don't think yellow four-door sedan. Think fifteen passenger van. Here a taxi is a van. It picks up people along the route it travels. Taxis are privately owned. You can also hire a taxi--the whole thing, like chartering a bus.

On Saturdays the university has started providing transportation into Kampala so people can do their shopping. It's a nice service. I haven't taken advantage of it because I usually do my shopping when I have to go to the embassy for something.

Yesterday we received an email saying that the electricity would be off this weekend due to some electrical upgrade on campus. I figured it might be a good day to go into town. We couldn't do much here anyway.

Since all the university buses and vans were occupied Sister Warden (actually Sister Justine, who is the campus warden--manages transportation, housing and such) hired a taxi to take whoever was interested to Kampala. Bry'Chell and I were among those going. We left shortly after 9 AM.

We arranged to meet Henry at the Shop Rite where the taxi dropped us off. I didn't want to do too much shopping because I'd have to carry whatever we got until the taxi returned at 3 PM.

We walked to Quality Cuts for lunch--they have good sandwiches--and stopped at the Embassy Supermarket to get some more Cadbury cooking chocolate to make more chocolate chip cookies. Since Henry was with us, I didn't worry about getting lost.

Knowing that the taxi would probably be late, I figured we should still be back on time. The one time I was late would be the one time the taxi was there on time. We were waiting for a few minutes when Christine (another passenger from UMU) came by to say that the driver had called her to say he'd be back about 4 PM (of course, this could mean anything between 4 and 5). Christine went to do a few more chores, but we decided to stick around. We'd finished what we had to do, so we--Bry'Chell, Henry and I--were sitting on plastic milk crates reading our books.

As I'm sitting there I see the university bus drive by. I recognized the driver as Peter. I'm wondering if there's been a change of plans and the bus has been sent to get us, but it drives right past--although not very fast. I pulled out my cell phone and called Peter--fortunately I had his number. He was stopping about a block or two away (not a real block, just about that distance) to drop off someone.

He got out of the bus to look for me. I waved and he waited. About now, Sr. Cecilia, who was on the bus called me to confirm that it was me. It was. We caught up to the bus and had a much more comfortable and quicker ride back to campus.

Six months ago I would have just sat there with a dumb look on my face wondering what the heck was going on. Today, I didn't question the circumstances, I just acted. Providential as we would say.

Of yeah, if you're wondering how I'm on the internet when the power is out, it's because my laptop is fully charged and my internet connection--slow as it is--uses cell phone technology. Neither relies on the campus electrical grid. Now, I don't have unlimited power, but enough to get on my blog. Since my email is based on the campus servers, I can't access that, but general internet is fine.

Night Dancers

Today Bry'Chell's friend Michael came to visit. Bry'Chell was telling him about the route where we run. Michael--a tall, well-muscled sixteen year old--told Bry'Chell that he wouldn't go that way because there are Night Dancers in the banana fields.

Night Dancers are a piece of culture here that I don't have a clear grasp of, but which are sort of a combination of boogie man and witchcraft. They're a mix of fantasy and reality. Most often they are used to scare children into behaving, but they do exist. A Night Dancer is a person--normal appearing during the day--who dances naked, digs up and eats corpses at night. They are described as cursed or bewitched. Exactly how much is true depends on who you talk to. Some people see Night Dancers everywhere, others see it as a rare practice mostly used to scare children into behaving. As in--don't stay out after dark or the Night Dancers will get you.

Still, practices like witchcraft and night dancers are not entirely imaginary and include things like child sacrifice--which is basically a get-rich-quick scheme. Sacrifice an innocent child and you will get rich. Sick, but it happens. It's, of course, more complex than I can describe, but that's the gist of it.

The Malaria Test

No, neither of us has malaria. We're fine, really.

This afternoon Bry'Chell threw up. It would not be a big deal except that Bry'Chell NEVER vomits. She's had cramps the last couple of days--probably the worst ones I can remember her ever having. I took her temperature last night just to make sure it was normal. It was. I gave her an advil and sent her to bed early.

This morning she was feeling marginally better, but still pretty lousy. I wasn't especially worried. She skipped breakfast but ate lunch. We went for a little walk thinking that some exercise might help.

A little while after we returned from the walk, Bry'Chell tossed her cookies. That was enough to call for a trip to the campus infirmary. The nurse checked her out, said she thought it was related to her cramps, but just in case we should get a malaria test for Bry'Chell at the hospital. The hospital is right next to campus, so it's no great distance.

We went to the private side of the hospital--where they charge. I could have used Bry'Chell's insurance, but it would probably cost more to call the company to file the claim than the visit and test cost. The nurse took her temperature (Bry'Chell's first experience with an old fashioned thermometer) and weighed her (she's gained about five pounds, if the scale is to be trusted). The doctor came in. Here doctors are required to have a bachelor's degree--this guy looked just barely old enough to have his. He confirmed that a malaria test was in order.

The nurse came back, told Bry'Chell not to look while she pricked her finger--Bry'Chell looked anyway. The nurse wiped some of Bry'Chell's blood on a microscope slide and gave Bry'Chell a piece of cotton to mop up the rest of the blood. She then walked the slide across the compound so someone could look at it under a microscope to see if there were any pathogens in her blood.

The nurse came back about fifteen minutes later with another doctor (as young as the first one) who told us the test was negative.

The cost for a doctor's visit and the malaria test came to a wopping 9,600 shillings--at the current exchange rate, about $4.30. Can you imagine a doctor's visit and medical test for less than five dollars at home?

Still, the cost is out of the reach of most Ugandans.

Oh yeah, while the nurse stepped out I weighed myself, the first since I've been in Uganda. Again, if the scale is to be trusted, I've lost about fifteen pounds. I sure don't feel like it. My clothes fit the same as ever.

Today at the American Embassy

Today Sr. Cecilia, Sr. Elizabeth, Bry'Chell and I went to the American Embassy in Kampala. The reason for the visit was to explore educational opportunities for Cecilia and Elizabeth--specifically Ph.D. programs in the US. Hopefully, Ph.D. programs with generous fellowships.

Connie, the educational specialist was a real help. She was able to point us toward the right resources and provided a list of organizations that fund scholarships and fellowships for international students, especially graduate students.

Bry'Chell had to tag along because she's out of school and I don't like to leave her alone all day. Besides, her friend Patricia was with us. On our way to Kampala, we dropped her off at the Taxi Park outside Kampala so she could catch a shuttle back to Entebbe, her home. The two of them took forever to say goodbye. I hate to think what it will be like when we leave Uganda in six weeks.

That's right, six weeks and we'll be on our way back to Chicago. It's hard to imagine.

Picnic on the Hill

Bry'Chell's friend Patricia has been staying with us for a few days. Yesterday, Bry'Chell suggested going up to the hill that overlooks the area. It's a bit of a hike, but nothing too strenuous. The view is beautiful. Although there are many places on campus with a view of Lake Victoria, the view from the top of the hill is spectacular. Unfortunately, the camera does not catch the breathtaking panorama of the view.

We packed a picnic lunch and headed for the hill. It was a perfect day for both a short hike and a picnic. As usual, we passed several groups of children all of whom had to say--muzungu, muzungu, muzungu. I smiled and waved. Bry'Chell told me to ignore them.

We took turns carrying the knapsack with our food and picnic stuff. I took the first leg which turned out to be the easiest. By the time it was Patricia's turn we were hiking up the hill. It was a pretty steep climb. There are no switchbacks on the trail to ease the climb (or prevent erosion), it's just straight up the hill.

Once we arrived at the top I scouted out a level spot with a good view. We spread the blanket--a sheet really--and sat down to eat. We could hear kids arriving shortly after we settled in. We ignored them. The cattle were less easy to ignore and they seemed to find us a curious attraction. They kept munching their way closer and closer to us. Before long we've surrounded on three sides by half a dozen head of cattle. They didn't get too close, so we just ate and enjoyed the view.

Once we finished eating Patricia settled down with a book and Bry'Chell went off to take pictures with the camera. At this point, the kids came closer and were giving me the muzungu stuff again. Patrica told them--in Lugunda--that my name was not muzungu, but Sister Judy. From then on they politely and incessantly started calling me Uncle Judy. Oh well, it was better than muzungu.

I gave them the rest of the chocolate chip cookies--there were six kids, so it was only a half a cookie each. It's better than nothing.

We finished up, cleaned up our stuff and checked out the view from all around the hill. I took several pictures of the kids. I'll try to post some, although I'm not having much luck with posting photos these days. The connection is just too slow. I do go back and add appropriate photos from time to time, so it might be worth checking some older posts to see what I've added. When I'm in Kampala the connection is faster and sometimes I can actually post photos.

We hung around for a while and then headed back. The downhill was more treacherous than uphill, but we made it down with no more than a couple of squeals from Bry'Chell and Patricia.

Protein Enhanced Water

Ants are a pervasive fact of life around here. While there are many kinds of ants, the most pervasive ones in the house are little red ants. They're harmless, just ubiquitous. They are literally everywhere. Lately they've taken to crawling up the jerry cans where we keep our drinking water.

For drinking water, Bry'Chell fills jerry cans with filtered water from the student dining hall. When the dining hall is closed we have to boil water, but that doesn't happen very often. We keep our drinking water in five liter jerry cans on top of the refrigerator. It works. But lately, the ants have taken an interest in our water. Even with the lids screwed on tightly, some ants manage to get into the water. So, occasionally we drink ants with our water.

People pay good money for water enhanced with vitamins. Target has it on sale this week for a dollar a bottle according to the ad that showed up in my email. Here, we get protein enhanced water for free. What more can I ask?

Running

While Henry was visiting I started running again. I haven't been running since Bry'Chell and I arrived in August. It's a shame in some ways because the weather is great year round, but it took me a while to figure out the cultural stuff around women's dress. Most women don't wear shorts--OK, almost NO women wear shorts--and I had no intention of running in long pants. Now, I was willing to make a compromise and run in basketball shorts (longer) rather than my usual short running shorts. It just became a matter of making myself do it.

Henry convinced me to go for a run with him. We went out three times while he was here. The altitude and the hills are a bit of a challenge, but it's not bad. We've been living at 3,000 plus feet for eight months now, so I'm pretty used to it and it's not that high. The hills are OK if I take them slow. I'm not exactly moving very fast anyway. My goal is to keep moving, not to beat any time records.

Since Henry left Bry'Chell has been running with me. She's good. Since she's only 13, she doesn't have much experience with running any distance, but she can keep a steady pace. The challenge is convincing ourselves to get out there and run. Bry'Chell actually initiated getting us out there today. We ran for a good thirty minutes.

People don't really seem to care what we wear since we're obviously just a couple of crazy muzungus. One little boy today started laughing when he saw us and he didn't stop for quite a while. I could hear him laughing in the distance as we ran down the trail/road.

Today as Bry'Chell and I were running up the hill there were two women walking down in their traditional gomesis. We smiled and waved at each other, the Ugandans in their traditional clothes and the Americans in t-shirts and shorts.

My running shoes are trail runners. Usually I run in Calumet Park in Chicago, where 95th Street runs into Lake Michigan. I probably don't need trail runners there, but I like the extra stability they provide. Here, on rutted dirt roads that deteriorate into narrow paths, trail runners are a good idea. However, kids here--even teens--often run barefoot, so fancy shoes are not essential for running. Kids here even play soccer barefoot. It hurts my feet just to watch them.

We'll be heading home in just under seven weeks. Bry'Chell says she more than half wants to stay here. I can understand.

Chocolate Chip Cookies and Final Exams

It's been a busy week, but I haven't had much time at the computer. Final exams begin tonight for the Social Development and Counseling Program and I'm giving tonight's exam. I tend to think my exams are too easy, but the students' scores tend to follow a normal curve, so I suspect it's about right. These guys write way more on essays than do my students at CSU.

This week I've been correcting papers and assignments. Unlike their essays, students tend to write way shorter papers than I assigned. Oh well, they lose points. When I ask for a five page paper, I mean five, not two and a half.

On a brighter note, I baked chocolate chip cookies yesterday. Well, chocolate chunk cookies--I haven't found chocolate chips anywhere in the country. I should say, I haven't found chocolate chips anywhere in Kampala. If chips are to be had, they're in Kampala. While there are other towns--and nice, decent size ones--Kampala is the only real city in Uganda. Kampala does not have chocolate chips but Cadbury makes a semi-sweet cooking chocolate bar that when chopped up substitutes nicely for chocolate chips.

I made the cookies yesterday and they are a big hit. I haven't had a real chocolate chip cookie since we arrived. The one, small, outrageously expensive box of Chips Ahoy that I bought shortly after we arrived doesn't count. They do not compare to real homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Fr. Henry was over for one of his twice-weekly math tutoring sessions with Bry'Chell. The first batch of cookies came out of the oven shortly after he arrived. I passed cookies all around--Fr. Henry, Bry'Chell, Henry and me--we all ate warm chocolate chip cookies. They were great.

Somehow our house has become a popular place to hang out for the high school set. I don't know how it happened, but all of a sudden, it seems like there are always kids over at the house.

It started last Friday when the kids got out of school for the end of the first term (the school year starts in January). I had ten people over for lunch--most of them boys. Bry'Chell has developed a real following. At 5:30 PM I told her they had to be gone by 6. They were.

We've had a house guest since Friday. Musisi Henry, one of Bry'Chell's school mates has been staying with us. Henry is more my friend than Bry'Chell's. He's a bit older than Bry'Chell--too old (18)--and too serious of a student to be of any real interest to her. He's interested in math--he wants to be a math professor and a priest. I'd like to see him study in the US. He's good at math. He scored the highest in the school on the "O" Level exams at the end of fourth year. For a kid who's into math, his language skills are also really good. His English is probably the best or second best of any of the students at St. Mary's (Bry'Chell excluded, of course).

Henry rode the bus with me today to Rubaga and caught a taxi (mini-bus) home. He has offered to show me the slums of Kampala, so I will probably see him again before their month-long break is over.

Today we had another visitor. Maria, who sells bananas, has been coming over during the break so Bry'Chell can tutor her in math and English. Her grades were not the best the past term, so Bry'Chell is tutoring her. Bry'Chell can speak Ugandan English. She has the accent down cold. The kids understand her much better than they understand me. I think Maria is intimidated by me, but she likes Bry'Chell. Bry'Chell gets into the tutoring. She gives homework and everything. She's good.

There are a couple of other boys--Joseph and Andrew--who like to come over. I'm not sure who/which they like better, Bry'Chell or her computer. They spend a lot of time with both.

Eating Goat

Yesterday was Sports Day at St. Mary's Secondary School where Bry'Chell is enrolled. Bry'Chell did not compete--the altitude affects her ability to run any distance, although I'd like to see her practice more. However, her house--Nsubuga--won the track and field events. Their prize was a goat. There were actually two goats given as prizes, one to the house that won the team competitions--volleyball and soccer--and one for track and field events.

These are cute goats, the kind Bry'Chell used to say she would never eat. Well, the students slaughtered, roasted and ate the goat--Bry'Chell as much as anyone.

What Color am I?

Here in Uganda, and I'm told in most of sub-Sahara Africa, people of European heritage are not referred to was white. European types are known as pink or red. After a few days in the Equatorial African sun it's not hard to understand why, especially in the days before SPF 45.

On those few days when I have forgotten to apply sunscreen I am definitely a red person, not white by any stretch of the imagination.

The language Africans use to describe their fellow Africans' skin tone is pretty much the same as African Americans use at home--dark skinned, brown skinned and light skinned--with a few variations to specify just which version of each applies. Bry'Chell, for example is brown skinned--several shades darker than when we arrived--but definitely brown skinned.

Of course Europeans and white Americans pretty much just see black people, not much awareness of variation.

Trousers and Pants

Today I am wearing trousers. I am also wearing pants. No, they are not the same thing. Pants refers to underwear, not outerwear. Trousers are outerwear. I always wear pants, but most of the time I wear a skirt, not trousers. However, today it is cool and raining so I am wearing trousers.

It took me a while to get the distinction. I can't say I was ever embarrassed, since I didn't know that I was using the wrong term and Ugandans are far too polite to correct me. I don't remember when I first caught on, but now I know.

High School Speech Competition

A couple of weeks ago I was invited to and attended the District (think cross between state and county) level high school speech competition. Musisi Henry, a St. Mary's student in Senior 5, had invited me and Sr. Sanyu thought it was a good idea so I went.

The competition was on a Friday, that meant the UMU bus would drop me off at Katende, a town along the route from Kampala to Nkozi.

The first mistake was that the bus missed the stop, but Henry saw the bus go by, so Sr. Sanyu called the driver on his cell phone. Since he was driving he didn't answer it, so she called someone they knew was a passenger on the bus. She told the driver to stop. Needless to say by the time this all transpired, I was more than a bit past my designated stop. The driver pulled over and let me out on the side of the road in the middle of NOWHERE. I had not a clue where I was except that one way was Kampala and the other was was Nkozi.

Sr. Sanyu sent her driver to get me. No problem. There's only one Muzungu standing at the side of the road. The driver found me and drove me back to St. Maria Goretti where the competition was being held.

Sr. Sanyu met me and showed me around the school since she used to be a teacher there. It's a nice school. The buildings are a bit nicer than St. Mary's where Bry'Chell attends, but fairly similar. It was a bit after 8 AM and the competition was scheduled to begin at 8:30.

We went to the auditorium where the competition was to be held and got settled. We were among the first people to arrive. St. Mary's had two students participating--one in the "O" level--Senior 1 to 4 category and one in the "A" level--Senior 5 and 6. Each student had another student as their support person. It meant there would be at least one friendly face in the audience for each participant.

Needless to say, the competition did not get started at 8:30. It was more like 10 or 10:30 when things got underway. Oh well. Travel is not easy for most folks and many students were coming from a fair distance over rutted dirt roads.

The competition finally got underway. The sponsoring organization was the Ugandan version of IRS--the Uganda Revenue Authority All of the students were talking about an assigned aspect of tax law, not the most inspiring topic. The goal was to create happy taxpayers of the future. The theory is that if high school students understand the purpose and importance of taxes then they will grow up to be cheerful and conscientious taxpayers in the future. Right.

The first few speeches were interesting. I learned a lot about the Uganda tax system. After that, they were all the same. Of course, some speakers did a good job and others were abysmal. Such is the nature of high school speeches. Each of the students was the best from his or her school, so the overall quality was pretty good. Henry was one of the better speakers. He really was, but he didn't win.

None of this is the reason I'm writing about this. There was one thing that really bugged me. The adults--teachers and such kept talking while the students were giving their speeches. I thought their behavior was inexcusably rude.

Sr. Sanyu was one of the judges. At the morning break, I asked her if there was anything I could do to let the adults know they should keep their traps shut while the kids were speaking. She suggested I talk to the coordinator. I did. I figured since I was an outsider, maybe I could say something that the others could not. After all, I'd never see these people again. The coordinator seemed relieved that someone else noticed and was more than happy to have me address the group.

I started by complimenting the students on their well-prepared and delivered speeches. I complimented the other students on their respect and attention, then I lit into the adults. I was actually pretty mild, I just said I was disappointed with their lack of respect for these students who were trying so hard. I asked what impression they wanted me to carry back to the United States.

The speeches continued and honestly, after a while, they bored the socks off me. However, I listened, because I figured the students deserved that much for the effort they put into their talks. Besides, having opened my big mouth, I had to be quiet.

Sitting around me were four men--later I found out they were head teachers (principals) and teachers. They talked and talked. I gave them a dirty look. It made no impression. I'm doing a slow boil. I'm surprised that there was no steam rising from my head like in the cartoons, that's how mad I was. I shot them another dirty look--this time longer and with more obvious disdain. Still no change.

Finally, after they had talked and laughed through another entire speech, I lost it. After the speech finished, I laid into them. I chewed them up one side and down the other. How could they be so rude? I couldn't believe the bad example they were setting. I expected better from adults, especially adults who worked with these teenagers who were so committed...blah, blah, blah.

Then I did what I do with kids after I finish yelling at them--I said--"Did you hear me? I want an answer. Because if you didn't hear me I'll start all over." Finally, one of the guys sheepishly says, "Yes, we heard you."

They were quiet for the rest of the speeches. Henry who was sitting on the other side of me, just looked at me with big eyes and said, "My God, Sister Judy, I didn't know you could do that."

Yeah, now you've seen the evil Sister Judy.

Great Crested Crane

For the second time since we've been in Uganda I saw the Great Crested Crane. I was in the bus coming back from teaching at Rubaga (Kampala) and there were two of them in the UMU farm field near the cows. It was pretty cool. It's not a bird that can be mistaken for anything else.

The bird actually goes by several names: the Great Crested Crane, the Grey Crowned Crane, the Crested Crowned Crane, the Royal Crowned Crane. Whatever it's called, it's the national bird of Uganda. It's a large bird, bigger than it looks from the pictures I've seen. There are pictures of the Crested Crane all over the place--on money, the Ugandan flag, school logos, t-shirts, the side of buses--all over. It might be more common than the American Golden Eagle, but it's still not a bird you find just anywhere.

More about Easter

After the visit to the women's prison, we came back to hang out and get ready for the rest of the Holy Cross folks from the area to arrive. They have a pretty significant presence in East Africa--sisters, brothers and priests, both East African, mostly Ugandan, and as well as few Americans.

We were having turkey for our main Easter meal, one of the many they raise at the novitiate. I took a picture of it while it was still blissfully ignorant of its fate as our main attraction for dinner.

I was drafted to make the dressing. Since there wasn't any celery--in fact I haven't seen any since I've been in the country--I put in more onion. They had the usual spices, so I added what seemed helpful. Even if it is our family tradition, I did not put in raisins. Oh well.

Joe Wysocki, a Holy Cross volunteer, had a couple of mixes that his mom had sent so he made a chocolate cake and brownies. Bry'Chell had her eye on the brownies from the moment they came out of the oven. She not only had more than her share for supper, she also had them for breakfast the next morning. Only in a house of men would somebody put out brownies for breakfast.

While the turkey was roasting, we took the rowboat out on the lake. Although I'd been swimming in the lake, I had not seen how far it went around. Lake Saaka is bigger than it looks from the Holy Cross place, it goes around the hill and extends for quite a ways. I couldn't find it on our map at home, but that doesn't mean much. Maps are pretty unreliable here.

The Holy Cross folks started arriving while we were out on the lake. Once again it was an experience of the world being very small. Three American sisters were among the group. One, Mary Ann, went to St. Leo's in Chicago and was taught by Sisters of Providence from 1st through 4th grades. Another, Lilian, is from Ventura, California and actually worked at Camp Teresita Pine for a few weeks in the summer of '79.

The Ugandan sisters also have a few connections I wouldn't have guessed. One, Daisy, stays at the Grail, where I stay on Thursday nights. I'm sure I've seen her, but I get in late and pretty much crash and then leave early the next morning, so I don't see too many folks. If I did see her, I probably assumed she belonged to the Grail community.

Another sister gave me a lead for a brownie recipe using cocoa. I haven't made brownies here because I can't find baking chocolate. If I can make brownies with cocoa I will because Bry'Chell really likes them.

There were probably thirty of us gathered. It was a great group and a wonderful meal.

In Uganda Easter Monday is a holiday--what a civilized way to plan the Easter holiday. We left for Kampala after breakfast and a stop by the women's prison to pick up some more baskets. Again, the women were glad to see us. It still gets me that the vast majority of them have not even been to trial, even after a year or two.

I drove a good part of the return trip. It's just over 300 km (187 miles). I drove about 170 km. David let me drive on the part of the road that was good. I do miss driving, although driving on the rutted dirt roads around Nkozi isn't that much fun. Driving on the left side isn't that big of a deal any more.

We had lunch at a local restaurant with Claude, another Holy Cross priest who teaches at UMU and Lacey, a Notre Dame staff person doing development work through UMU. The restaurant was the one by the hotel where we stayed our first night in Uganda. After lunch we had a driver take us back to Nkozi where we had supper and I finished braiding Bry'Chell's hair. It made for a long day.

Easter

I couldn't get on the Internet yesterday. The connection in Fort Portal was incredibly limited. It's amazing I was able to post at all while we were there.

Easter Sunday was a good time. We went to the women's prison for Mass and to visit with the prisoners. There were 28 women in the women's section of the prison. I'm told there are about 400 men in the men's section. Of the 28 women, only four have been convicted, the others are awaiting trial. There were half a dozen babies with the women. Babies stay with their mothers until they are about 18 months old. One women was just released after waiting three years for her trial. She was accused of killing her husband--she was blind and has four children. She was found innocent of the charges. It's not unusual for people to sit in prison for years waiting for their trial.

The women thought it was a big deal that I sat with them on the mats on the floor. It seemed to mean a lot to them that I didn't separate myself from them. They were very kind. Of course, I don't see the day-to-day life of the prison, but, as stark as the environment was, the women themselves seemed more gentle than my limited experience of American prisons.

The women showed me their living quarters. Most of them sleep in one room, bunk beds, dorm style. There's a total lack of privacy. The space was neat, but many of the beds didn't even have blankets and nights in Fort Portal get pretty chilly since the elevation is about the same as Denver. The environment is very Spartan. The women with children sleep in a separate room. Their babies must sleep with them since I saw no sign of any cribs.

I bought a few baskets that the women had made. The craftsmanship is very fine. I'm collecting an assortment of gifts for my return to the US. The baskets are a nice addition.

Holy Saturday

Just another day in paradise. The setting here is beautiful with the Rwenzori Mountains in the background and the rolling hills in the foreground dropping down into a beautiful blue lakes.

We had a good heavy rain this morning but the sun came out in the afternoon, then it rained again this evening.

Bry'Chell and I went into town with David Burrell. The town is Fort Portal. It's one of the larger towns in Uganda, but that's not saying much. The country is largely rural.

David and I went swimming in the lake again. Although this lake is bigger, it reminds me of swimming in St. Joe's Lake at the Woods.

This evening the Brothers of St. Joseph came over and joined the Holy Cross guys for the Easter Vigil. It was a nice little group--with the two communities and various visitors there were about thirty people. Bry'Chell said it was the "funnest" Mass she's ever been at. When one of the guys asked her why she said the sprinkling and the dancing. David had a pretty good time with the sprinkling rite. We were all good and blessed. Then, at the end of the liturgy, the guys started dancing. Bry'Chell thought that was pretty fun.

The guys have been really hospitable. Once again, Bry'Chell is having a good time in spite of herself. She didn't want to come and now she won't want to leave.

Holy Cross Novitiate, Uganda

Since we've arrived yesterday, Bry'Chell and I have had a great time. The Holy Cross guys, Joe the volunteer, Bry'Chell and I celebrated Holy Thursday up the hill with the Brothers of St. Joseph, a small diocesan community. Their chapel was quite simple, but did they sing! It was fun hearing all those male voices. I'm not used to being in such a male group--I was glad for Bry'Chell, we were the only women.

The celebrant was a Trappist hermit. He's the chaplain for the brothers. For someone who said he wasn't that comfortable in English, the guy preached better than many English-speakers that I've heard.

After liturgy, the generator was turned on from 7 PM until about 10:30 PM so we could charge our electronics and even see each other for dinner and hanging out. It's funny, that was really plenty of electricity for the day. Since the hot water is heated using solar heaters on the roof top, other than changing computers and cell phones, it's not that hard to do without power. I don't know what they do about refrigeration, I'll have to ask.

Today David and I went swimming in the lake. It was great! I would not have gone in by myself--first, I don't swim alone--Red Cross training and all--second, I don't like to swim in strange water. With David, I felt quite comfortable. He's been in the water and knows it, so I enjoyed the chance to swim. I haven't been swimming since we've been in Uganda.

It's nice being with a community for the Triduum. There are four canonical novices here. They seem like really good guys. Bry'Chell has been having fun with them at meal times. They seem to enjoy her Luganda speaking skills. Since anyone is more interesting than me, she is having fun swapping stories with them about school and life in general.

The afternoon we will start Good Friday services with the St. Joseph guys and process to the Holy Cross place. It will be interesting to see how it goes, a bit different from the 8th Day Center's Walk for Justice that we usually do on Good Friday.

Driving to Fort Portal

David Burrell, a Holy Cross priest who teaches at UMU, invited Bry'Chell and me to spend Holy Week and Easter at their novitiate outside Fort Portal. I accepted for both of us.

We took the UMU bus to Kampala yesterday evening, got a ride to Cardinal Nsubaga Guest House where we were staying for the night and walked over to the Holy Cross house for supper.

This morning David picked us up, along with Joe, a Holy Cross volunteer, and we left for Fort Portal. Fort Portal is in the western part of the country, a bit north of Queen Elizabeth National Park.

I told David I'd be happy to share the driving if he wanted a break, so I drove part of the way. Unlike the Kampala-Masaka Road, the road to Fort Portal is pretty good. Now, my view of a good road has probably changed in the past seven months. A two-lane paved road with only a few potholes is a good road. This one even had a line down the middle. Amazing.

David said the Chinese built it. I never connected the Chinese with roads, but they sure did a good job on this one. The shoulders were even paved.

It felt good to drive. Since I've been here I've driven to the Equator and back twice--maybe four miles each way. This was a real drive--I drove about 150 kilometers which translates to about 93 miles. Not only that, the road had hills and curves, not like the boring straight, flat Midwestern US driving. This was more like Northern California. It was fun.

The Holy Cross novitiate is in a beautiful part of the country--well, the whole country is beautiful, but this spot is especially scenic. It's nestled in green rolling hills next to a blue lake.

Well, it's time for church.

Beans, Beans, the Magical Fruit...

Our second crop of beans are ripe. We have lots. I've been giving them away to everyone who comes to the house and a few folks I've tracked down. I figure you share what you have in surplus, people give me stuff when they have it. It seems right to return the favor.

One question everyone has asked so far is--are they fresh beans? It makes sense to me. Fresh beans taste way better than dried beans. Bry'Chell and I have improved our speed in shelling beans. OK, we're not as fast as women around here who have been doing it their whole lives, but we're faster than we were a few months ago. It's sort of relaxing to sit and talk or watch a movie while shelling beans. It's surprising how fast the pile of beans grows.

Interestingly enough, beans are more expensive around here than pineapple. Beans are protein. Protein can be difficult to come by.

Rainy Season

Seasons in Uganda are not identified as Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. Instead, there are the rainy seasons and the dry seasons. The rainier of the two rainy seasons is supposed to begin in March. This year it didn't really start until April, although we had a couple of weeks of rain in January. It rains most days during the rainy season, but it tends to only rain for part of the day, not the whole day. It rained last night or early this morning--I didn't check check my watch when I heard the pounding on the roof--but it was still dark. Yesterday, however, was blessedly dry.

In Chicago the joke is that we have two seasons--winter and road construction. To carry the analogy to Ugandan roads, there are two seasons--dust and mud.

I find the biggest challenge of the rainy season to be laundry. Since laundry is washed by hand and hung on the line to dry, rain can foil any hopes of drying the clothes. Specioza washes clothes on Mondays and Fridays. She hangs the wash on the line and I take it down when it's dry. Sometimes Bry'Chell helps, but she's usually still in school when it's time to get the clothes off the line.

In my childhood I did my fair share of putting clothes on and taking clothes off the line. In the days before disposable diapers, diapers were washed (fortunately by machine) and hung on the line to dry. With a steady stream of babies in the house, there were usually diapers to be hung out. Yes, we did have a gas dryer, but Mom thought it was a waste of perfectly free sunlight, not to mention child labor, to dry clothes in the dryer. Unless it was raining the clothes went on the line. In California it didn't rain often. In fairness, Mom did most of the work, but I know how to hang up clothes and take them down.

Friday I was invited to the district competition for the national high school level speech competition--I'll write about that another time--so I wasn't home during the day. Specioza came, did the laundry and hung the clothes out to dry. It rained. It rained hard and heavy for most of the day. In the late afternoon it finally stopped.

Bry'Chell arrived home before I did. She called, as planned, to let me know she had arrived home safe and sound. Since it was Friday, I told her she could have quesadillas for supper and watch a movie. This is the ultimate decadence--to sit in front of the computer watching a movie while eating supper. I'm big on sitting at the table to eat.

However, before this treat, she had to take the clothes down. We have a rack in the guest room for damp (or in this case, soaking wet) clothes that didn't dry before dark. If the rack gets full, the clothes are spread on the floor. Don't worry, it's concrete and clean since Specioza mops it three times a week.

When I finally arrived home, it was late and I was tired. I quickly checked the clothes. There was no chance that they would dry by morning. I knew that meant hanging them out again. Fortunately, Saturday dawned dry and sunny. I rehung all the clothes--some of which I had to ring out first--and they dried before the evening rain came.

While Specioza throws the clothes over the line and anchors them with a single clothes pin (peg here) each, I use Mom's method which mazimizes both efficiency of drying and clothes pin use. Specioza is short and the clothes line is high, so I figure however she wants to put up the clothes is fine by me. If I don't like the way she does it, I should do it myself. On those occasions when I do hang up the clothes, I fall back on the way I was taught. It works. The clothes dry faster using Mom's method than Specioza's method.

Here many people don't have clothes lines. When you walk down the road you see clothes spread over bushes, hung on trees and spread on the grass to dry. Still, the average Ugandan school kid looks neater than her or his American counterpart. Go figure.

"Ant Bully is a myth." -- Bry'Chell

When I was a kid in California we had two kinds of ants--red ones that bit and black ones that didn't. Here there are many, many kinds of ants. There are the little red ones that don't bite and are easy to wipe out but are ubiquitous. They are literally everywhere. You cannot leave any food out anywhere for more than a couple of minutes or these little buggers will find it. They seem to prefer bread and meat. They don't care much for fruit and vegetables--sort of like kids.

Bry'Chell in a fit of frustration with finding ants someplace they don't belong, said with vehemence, "Ant Bully is a myth." Ant Bully is an animated feature where a picked-upon boy turns his rage on some helpless ants. In turn, the ants use some magical powers to reduce the boy to their size wherein he learns a lesson in compassion for those less fortunate.

Bry'Chell's compassion for the ants is long gone. So is mine.

The second kind of ants are larger, also red, also don't bite, but are frenetic bundles of energy. They travel in small groups--four to eight and run around on the floor like lunatics. They appear without purpose and run around at random. Because they are larger, they are more annoying, but they don't exist in the mass that the little buggers do.

The outside ants are a bit more aggressive and can give some nasty bites. They are to be avoided at all costs. They are generally larger and live in ant hills, which may be camouflaged in the grass. Since I generally wear sandals, these nasty little dudes are worth keeping an eye on. I haven't been bit since the first few months we were here. I have good pain-avoidance instincts.

Of course, there are the huge ant hills. I don't know much about these ants, although they are fascinating to watch when they decide to leave the hill. These ants are a delicacy with folks. They catch them and fry them. No one's offered to share, so I haven't had a chance to try any. I'm not exactly dropping hints for the chance to participate in an ant feast, so that's OK.

These are only a few of the ant families. I suspect my powers of observation miss much of the ant world. Still, I see more than I want to know. Bry'Chell's right, Ant Bully is a myth.