Transition Time

Keeping oneself occupied in a developing country is reasonably easy, as there are many organizations working in various sectors. 

Well, I have been “site less” for almost three weeks and in between packing my life back into suitcases and cheap Ugandan plastic bags, I have been able to identify some areas that I could be a resource to.  Andrew, a fellow PCV in Bushenyi, who has graciously opened up his home for me to stay in, has also allowed me the chance to help out at his site.  His organization is under USAID and works in the area of health insurance although rather than being the provider; they serve as an intermediary between the groups seeking care and the health providers.  It is an excellent run program that proves to be very successful and sought after in the community.  This past week I was busy preparing the identification cards for the new individuals who have joined the plan in addition to attending some of the outreaches that include sensitizations on the plan. 

The office environment has been incredibly welcoming and everyone there has been keeping me busy, which I greatly appreciate.  I think this past week I worked 40-hours.  Come 8:00p on Friday night, I was exhausted… In a good way. 

Andrew has recently moved to a new house.  A huge house with running water (hot water!), electricity, four bedrooms, a living room, dining room, garage, and kitchen.  And thank gosh for the move!  Just yesterday another PCV moved in.  She is one of the newest Volunteers, who just swore in on Thursday, yet she does not have a home so instead of staying in Kampala she is staying here.  This gives her an opportunity to visit her site, as it is about forty minutes away by taxi.  Plus it makes cooking meals so much easier!

On Monday I will check in with Peace Corps for an update.  Hopefully they will have good news.  Or any news at all.

Cross your fingers and please pray for the best!

The Envelope Please

Is it the Oscars, VMA’s, Grammy’s, Tony’s, or Kids Choice Awards?  Nope. 

It’s better. 

After being in Uganda for just over a year (yikes!), it is time to announce the first annual “Tarawards”.  Thanks Meish!

Here you have it ladies and gentlemen…

Snail Mail Master: While I have received many cards of various sorts… Halloween Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Birthday… This award has to go to Mrs. Linda Copeland.  Linda’s letters brighten my days as I find myself reading all about her family and the everyday happenings of life in Novato.  Close runner-ups include Baba Mila and my wonderful sisters!

Skype Star and FaceTime Fan:  Well I actually haven’t Skyped anyone since I left home, so if you want to be considered, let’s plan a date!  Mommy Matthews and I managed to FaceTime once, which I was able to see her face and a quick tour of my newly painted room at home.

#1 Package Provider:  Mama and Papa Matthews.  Everything from beef jerky and razors to pictures and money wrapped and sealed in protein powder, they have done so much!  I am always in shock when I get the email saying, “Here’s a tracking number for a package we sent off.”  I don’t understand why I got blessed with awesome parents.  Notable mention to Nana Matthews and her awesome Halloween package and Christmas care box.

Most Unexpected Package Provider:  Mrs. Parker and Emily.  When Scovia, the post office lady brought out thebox my jaw dropped.  I was in shock at its size and the generous thoughts that filled the box with love, pixie sticks that make the village children so happy, Trader Joe’s delectable goods, toys, magazines, Emily’s save the date, and the awesome letter that continues to inspire me day to day.  Notable mention to Baba Mila for your shipment of molasses chips that managed to stay fresh in its month and a half journey to Uganda.

Finest Facebook Follower:  Too many to name.  All I know is that when I upload new pictures or a status about Ugandan life, I always receive comments, likes and shares, which reminds me how closely connected our worlds are, even given the different lives we may be leading. 

Top Blog Aficionado: Although I cannot tell from my blog who is reading it, I can only imagine that my Dad is my #1 supporter.  He has encouraged me to write and whenever I do I am always reminded of his support in this experience and how much I miss him and everyone at home.  I know my mom, sisters, my neighbor Nancy, and many others are up there as well… Including those in Germany, Iceland, and Russia.

Looking for a shout out of your own?  Feel free to make a trip out and be bestowed the “7 Time Zones Later Award” or be the top person to comment on or share my blog to win the “What Do Ya Have to Say Award”.

Honestly though, thank you to everyone who has sent letters, pictures, packages, prayers, support, and thoughts.  I could have not made it through the past 13 months; 57 weeks; 400 days; 576,000 minutes; 34,560,000 seconds without you.

Halloween candy and Christmas love in one.  I'll take it!

Blessed packages traveling halfway across the world.

Oh the joy!  America in a box!

Welcome home little man!

Dry Spell

The rain has officially left the Southwest. 

The once muddy dirt roads are now made up of sand, which instantaneously turns to dust when a speeding matatu or boda drives by, thus making the ice cold shower you just took pointless. 

The collection tanks that house our precious supply of rainwater for our daily living activities slowly empty; leaving the community searching high and low as our mouths quench for hydration. 

The sun will play a game of hide and go seek behind the clouds, deceiving everyone as to what kinds of clothes to wear for the day.  Note to self: wear a short sleeve and always wear sunscreen.

When the mercury rises on the thermometers, everyone will stop their work.  Boda drivers will sleep on their motorcycles under mango trees while the women and children at the market will hide from the sunshine in their individual vendor slots. 

The quality and variety of vegetables lessen but you can always count on onions, tomatoes, and avocadoes.  You quickly learn how to incorporate these into any meal.

You pray and pray and pray for the rain to return.  You ponder under the full moon of those traditional Indian rain dances you learned about in elementary school. 

Then it comes.  The drip drop sounds on a tin roof at three in the morning. 

Those dusty roads transform into muddy swamps. 

The collection tanks fill with ease.

Your rain jacket will be your best friend and can always be found in your messenger bag or around your shoulders.

Everyone will still stop work when a storm comes because of his or her fear for rain. 

The selection of produce will increase, which you notice as the markets are a rainbow of colors… Eggplant, carrots, fresh beans, peppers of diverse colors, and watermelon. 

You have to carefully plan laundry day because clothes could take days to dry.  Worst case, they get an extra rinse from the soap you were not able to get out with your handwashing skills.

Your shoes will be coated with mud, which Ugandans will always point out as it is not smart to wear dirty shoes.

You will cross all your fingers and toes for the sun to come back and the dry season to begin yet again.

It is a vicious cycle that is Uganda.  

Back At Home Plate

After a 10-year hiatus of playing softball… Minus the occasional pick up game or weekends spent umpiring with the Pops, I have finally made it back onto the field.  One may think that after playing the sport for 10-years, including Spring, Summer, and Fall ball, competitive play, local leagues, Sunday hitting trainings, and weeklong camps, that the sport is embedded in your muscles.

You’re right and thank gosh it is.

One of my main reasons to journey way up North was that I was invited to help assist in a softball training of trainer’s workshop.  Some of the Volunteer’s had started a softball team but as their service is coming to a close, they decided it is time to pass this knowledge on to the teachers so that the program can remain sustainable long after they are gone.  Hence the workshop.

Luckily the training was not until Saturday so I got a couple days to practice the moves that have been out of commission for some time.  As we arrived for practice, which takes place on the pitch (football [soccer] field) because there is no softball field, the girl’s were warming up by running the bases. 

Now if you are like me you may be wondering where all this equipment came from.  I am taking suitcases filled with mitts, 11 and 12-inch balls, whiffle balls, rope, bats, bases, helmets, and full catcher’s protection gear.  Well, Joey was an avid softball player back in the States and when she was home she was able to bring a lot back.  As you may also know, Uganda’s baseball team went to the Little League World Series this past year and one of the coaches is an American who has been incredibly generous in sharing his stuff. 

As I slipped on the mitt and started playing catch with the girl’s, memories started flooding my mind.  Early car trips with the windows painted in Novato’s Heat colors.  Weekend tournaments where our team would come back from a not so good Saturday to a first place trophy on a very long Sunday summer day.  Sneakily handing Stan a Snicker’s before going to bat.  Disneyland trips with the All-Star team. 

I was thoroughly impressed by the girl’s skills.  The quick snap and release of the ball as they relayed against one another, the sounds of  “Mine, mine, mine” when they were chasing fly balls, and the cracking sounds of mitts catching the balls that flew quickly through the air, and the girl’s informing their team of where the play is each time a new person was up to bat. 

Towards the end of practice we got to practice my favorite aspect of the game.  Hitting.  We took small groups of girls and helped them work on the basic fundamentals… Loading up, stepping forward, weight back, watching the ball, turning your back foot, and following through.  Thanks to Mike Wills, I think I was able to pass along some helpful hints and useful information.  I then had to pitch to the girls… Not my best attribute to the game but luckily everything came back.

The hours under the hot equatorial sun, sleeves rolled up, mitt on, and chasing balls brought me back to the years that I spent on the field. 

Some essential pieces were missing, including my Mama manager, my sister’s watching from the bleachers, and memorizing the signs that Coach Dad would give from the third base box.  Not to mention my awesome teammates.    

Needless to say, I felt at home.