Raining Ash

I sat outside as the scorching sunshine covered the vast savannah.  I was waiting for the community so my Counterpart and I could begin our community dialogue on childhood diseases.

Cracking sounds filled my ears and for a hopeful second I thought maybe rain was beating upon the tin roofs.

Pieces of black ribbon seemed to occupy the smokey sky and that is when I realized that it was not string but rather ash.

There was a fire. 

The woman at the health center said that the fire was controlled as some man in a neighboring village purposely set it to make hunting the Anyeri, swamp rat, easier. 

“This way the rats will have no place to hide.”

My first thought was, “A controlled fire in the African bush?  This will be interesting.”

I could smell smoke.  I could see flames.  The fire was just across the dirt road, where tens of od lums, huts, took place.  These huts are constructed of mud, local bricks, and dried grass that make the thatched roof.

A fire’s perfect appetite.

The dialogue was well under way when smoke filled the area and ash covered every possible surface.

Something was not right.

A couple of words were exchanged in the local language and without thinking twice a woman in attendance ran out in a panic.

Her hut; her home; her everything was engulfed. 

Some community members watched from afar.  Some ran towards the flames but with what intention?  The borehole is conveniently a kilometer away.  By the time they pump the water, fill it in various jerrycans and buckets and run it to the home it would be too late.

There is no fire department to race to the scene to help prevent the inevitable.

All that was left was to watch.

Within minutes the thatched roof imploded and the flames continued to burn the inside and the surrounding grass. 

The surrounding community members whose huts neighbored hers stood outside fanning the flames away with scorched tree branches.

Sixty minutes later and the flames turned to smoke.  Soon the village was consumed in a grey hue, which it wore for the rest of the evening.

As I left, the village becoming a distant image in the rearview mirror of the truck I could only think about that woman.

Where would she stay the night?

Where would she eat from? 

Did she have pictures lining the curved walls like most other homes do? 

Her memories are lost forever in flames set ablaze and carried by the wind.

A tradition od lum, with onlookers watching the flames, seen to the left

Not A Pet's Paradise

I apologize in advance if this sounds like a Sarah McLachlan SPCA commercial. 

Uganda is home to many animals.

 Elephants, giraffes, zebras, lions, mountain gorillas, buffalo, warthogs and other wild animals take shelter in protected parks.

Chickens, cows, goats and pigs roam the streets avoiding the inevitable encounter with the local butcher.

As I walked to the office this morning, trying to avoid the encroaching wall of dust thanks to the passing matatu, I saw something that broke my heart. 

Now there are two animals I left out: cats and dogs.  What we in America consider to be pets are considered to be pesky animals to many Ugandans living outside of Kampala.  You usually see these animals taking shelter from local kids, who are usually throwing rocks at them for fun.

Today on my way to work I saw this old man with a long stick beating a small sized animal.

If it were a rat, I would have continued on my way.

But it was a puppy. 

A PUPPY!

I quickly approached the old man and using my most basic Lwo language skills told him to stop.  From our short non-verbal conversation I concluded that someone threw the puppy on the Post Office steps to abandon it, the old man did not want it and when the puppy didn’t get up on its own he began to beat it.

As that is encouraging sign to leave…

I begged him to stop hitting the puppy and even as I bent down to pick the little guy up he continued to swat at it.

Off I went with this puppy tucked under my arm.  His body was shaking and his legs were stiff.  For a slight moment I thought to myself, “Oh my gosh, I am holding a dead dog.”

Luckily I was wrong.

When I got to the office I was able to clean him off.  He finally got the courage to walk around without fearing that someone would come along with the intent to hurt him.  Obviously I also named him.

Little Finn after my beloved Glee character.  May real life Finn Hudson/Cory Monteith RIP.

I now desperately needed to figure out what to do with him.  I could take him back to my compound but there are two full-grown dogs living there and I was not sure how they would get along.  I could call my family asking to pick up some anti-flea shampoo and send it here as soon as possible.

I can only imagine that conversation.

I decided to trust a staff member who had wanted a dog for her compound.  She promised that she would not ever beat it.

I caved.

I believe that Little Finn will be just fine.  After he plumps up a bit from some milk and posho, I know he will be king of the village.

All The Small Things

Today got me thinking as I was writing to a prospective Volunteer coming to Uganda in June.

This young woman and her husband are weighing their options as they have found themselves in a great neighborhood and with great jobs. 

Of course their Peace Corps invitations come at a perfect time. 

I shared with them the good, the bad, and the ugly of my 20-month experience.  I wanted to paint a realistic picture and not sugarcoat life in The Pearl, which can be easy to do.

This is not to say I did not include the most wonderful things and surprises about this country.

For those that I forget, please read below.

- When you have to go on an outreach in the village and you get to travel by a USAID vehicle, fully equipped with working air conditioning and seal belts.

- The sound of wind rustling through the corn and sorghum fields, signaling a light 5-minute rain during the peak of the dry, dusty season.

- When you wake up a 6:30a to find a warm shower thanks to the sun that shined all day on your rain tank from the day before.

- Being given soda and biscuits in the village because you were not prepared for an all day adventure.

- Not finding gecko droppings in your house after a nights sleep.

- Having consistent power for 3 days.

- Being welcomed home each night with the smiles of neighbor children and dogs waiting on your porch.  Yes; dogs can smile.

- Having a friend in town deliver a baby girl and name her Tara simple because, “You are my friend.”

Even at my most challenging moments these hidden gems bring a smile to my face.

Hopefully to yours also.

Family Matters

Two years in a developing country brings oodles of emotions and experiences. 

Some would you find in America.

A majority you would not. 

I mean.  This is Africa.

A great way to bridge the gap of Volunteer life to our family and friends in America is to share it directly through an in-country visit.

Another is writing a blog. 

(Wink, wink.)

Sam, a fellow Volunteer and a good friend of mine in country has her parents here for the next two weeks.  They made the journey up North to Gulu and since I was here for a meeting we got to meet up.

In my opinion, family is at the apex of our emotional and mental well-being and Mama and Papa Sgourakes were the perfect pickup.  We met at a very Western friendly restaurant, Sankofa, where we shared drinks, Greek salads, pizza, and cupcakes.

Note: Gulu has a high number of expats, one of whom opened up a bakery that sells cupcakes.  #brightlightsbigcity 

Note: Kitgum does not have this.  #villagelife

We sat under the African sky by candlelight talking about Uganda, projects, what we expect life to be post-PC, the happenings in America, and family.

As the mosquitoes started to make their buzzing music Mrs. Sgourakes made a comment about Volunteers and the life we live.  Often times it is so different than those in America can fathom yet we consider it everyday life.  She said that all the pictures and status updates on Facebook in addition to blogs are what keep things interesting.  Mr. Sgourakes even shares all of Sam’s crazy stories with his family and co-workers.

Obviously my mind immediately went to my Dad and the rest of the Matthews clan.

Sam and her parents are off to a safari today and I am sure they got to witness the beauty that this country holds.

While I will complete my service without my family making it out here I know that we will have so much to share.

Over a night at Finnegan’s.

And maybe someday I will return here with or without them.  All I know is that this will lead to more stories, cultural sharings, and a strengthening bond.

West Coast Friendship

Traveling is exhausting in this country, which is ironic still all you do is sit and pay people out of the window for food and water.

275 miles takes 9 and a half hours to travel, double the time of what it should take.

This is contributed to the road condition, random pickups, and bathroom stops.

Dad, you’d go crazy!

Most often I end up sleeping or singing along to some Mumford and Sons song from my iPod. 

Today I made a friend.

As I boarded the Post Bus I took a window seat crucial to your survival.  Minutes later this man can up and asked if he could sit next to me.  I was curious why he decided not to take one of the other 30 plus empty seats behind but I welcomed him.

Then we started talking.

Daniel, pronounced Danielle, was traveling up to Gulu today to be with his wife and sons after some time in Kampala searching for schools.  Throughout our conversation I found out that he has not been to his home area in Gulu since 2007 as he was working in Somalia and Nairobi doing child protection and social work.  He went on to share about his travels throughout Africa and in the States, including San Francisco.  His wife, who also works in child protection, was based out of Monterey some few years back and they absolutely loved the Bay Area.

We definitely talked about seafood for a good twenty minutes.

We discussed everything from politics and family to work and culture.  I felt so comfortable talking with him because I felt like he could somehow relate.  He did not doubt me when I said that the weather of the Bay Area is similar to Uganda because he lived it.  He did not argue with me about my observations in Uganda and rather we had a healthy discussion. 

It did not stop there. 

He was an open book.

He told me about when he was younger and how his promiscuous behavior led him to drinking heavily and loosing focus in school.  It took the death of four of his six siblings in a five-month period to get him back on track.  He explained that sometimes a bad situation has to come about for us to recognize the path we are on and change our behaviors.

I could not agree more.

We talked about the cultural norms of Ugandans and Americans.  In his experience many Americans are individualistic and shut themselves off from others, except Californians.

California for the win!

I then shared that Ugandans are some of the most welcoming of people and will do anything to make others happy, even if money is not there.  They figure it out.

Case and point: Throughout the 8 hour ride to Gulu this guy bought me water, maize, and shared his Gonja, which are sweet roasted bananas.  Now I had money with me and even pulled it out to pay for the water but he insisted as we had become friends and this is what friends do.

It was sad to see him leave in Gulu as I continued on the dusty, unpaved road to Kitgum.

I hope to make it down to visit him and his family before they leave for Nairobi in two weeks.

This time I will bring the water.