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.