It seems like a year ago
when I decided to fly half way across the world to begin the adventure of a
lifetime. Well. It’s actually only been 110 days.
A lot has happened. A lot has changed. And every bit has helped me recognize who I am and the potential of who I can become. Both here and when I return. In 687 days.
So. Go and grab a cup of coffee, short call (pee) if you have too, and make sure your chair is comfy. This is going to be a long one…
A lot has happened. A lot has changed. And every bit has helped me recognize who I am and the potential of who I can become. Both here and when I return. In 687 days.
So. Go and grab a cup of coffee, short call (pee) if you have too, and make sure your chair is comfy. This is going to be a long one…
After a day, or two, of a
crazy travel itinerary (SF to Philly, Philly to NY, NY to South Africa, and
South Africa to Uganda), my fellow PCT’s and I arrived in Uganda. After meeting some of the staff and locating 180
pieces of luggage, only 1 of which was lost, we were transported to Lweza
Conference Center, where we got our first taste of Ugandan food. Which lacks one very important thing. Flavor.
Matooke for example. Mashed
plantains. Boiled beyond the point that
one can imagine. It’s essentially like
eating water. We were given our malaria
prophylaxis and spent the night under our princess mosquito nets. The days of hot showers had officially
ended.
From there we moved to an
awesome organic farm in Wakiso District called Kulika. It was here that we began our training on
cross culture, Luganda, which is the language spoken around the capital,
Kampala, and talked to medical about malaria, worms, mango and Nairobi fly,
jiggers, and of course, poop. Lots and
lots of poop. We had one on one
conversations with our Country Director, Program Manager, and Program
Specialist, all of whom are incredibly intelligent and are constantly working
to help improve the program. We also were
given the language that we’d be learning, which allowed us to learn where we’d
be living during our service. I was
assigned Runyankore/Rukiga, which is spoken in the Southwestern Region of
Uganda. The land of gorilla trekking,
Queen Elizabeth National Park, tasty honey, tea fields, Lake Bunyoni, and lots
of plantain fields. This is the only
region that is located in the Southern Hemisphere, which is awesome. Also, it was rumored that this area was the
coldest in the country. I attest that
this is false. I am rocking shorts and
tanks day and night. And cold to
Ugandans is like 70 degrees Fahrenheit.
After the language
announcement, the 11 other PCT’s and I assigned to learn R/R traveled to our
satellite region in Kabwohe, where we would live with host families for one
month and study our language with PC instructors. I lived with some of the most hospitable
people I have met to date. My host
family is Muslim, but as my host mom would say, “Tara, we are Modern
Muslims.” Tank tops are completely
acceptable, shorts were a-okay, and going to the Mosque was not high on the
priority list. I had two host sisters, a
mom, and a dad. My host mom gave me a
local name, Chomhendo, which means precious.
Cute, right? The family owned two
coffee factories, one in town and one in Mbarara, which my host dad was always
at, since it was coffee season. I have
still yet to meet him. My host mom is a
caterer and would prepare food for weddings, funerals, and other large-scale
events. Ironically, she rarely cooked at
home and rather employed a friend to cook for her. 5,000 a day to cook, go to the market, clean,
and do laundry. That’s $2USD. Outside our back door, were small 1-bedroom
places that other family members lived in, so I was around family, children,
and friends. Yes, I had to use a pit
latrine. Yes, I had to bucket
bathe. As my host mom said, “Peace Corps
said the best volunteers are ones who don’t have a toilet and have to bucket
bathe.” My quads may disagree.
For forty-eight days,
eight hours a day, I lived, breathed, and studied R/R. I talked with community members, did homework
with my sister, and had mock LPI’s with my teachers. Why you ask?
Why study a language only spoken in a tiny corner of a country the size
of Oregon? Simple answer. I had to pass my Language Proficiency
Interview at Intermediate Low. Which I
did. Except I got Intermediate Med. I have a fancy certificate to prove it.
Oh. I also met the President and shook his
hand. He was in town for the birthday
party of one of his assistant’s father’s 110th birthday.
We left satellite and
headed back to Kulika for technical health training, which will help us perform
our volunteer responsibilities at site.
We also got our site announcements, which you can read more about in Minor
Change of Plans. We traveled back to Lweza for a
Supervisor’s Workshop, where I met one of the clinical officers at Hunter’s Foundation
Hospital (HFH) and then on July 26, we took the fancy oath that the President
takes to become official Volunteers. The
45 of us that started training together finished together. We danced the night away and the following
morning left for our sites.
I moved into what one of
my fellow PCV’s calls my, “Bohemian, romantic, concrete cottage.” Pictures to be uploaded soon. I spent the first week painting, meeting my
carpenter to make furniture, learning how to cook for one, integrating into
my community, and meeting the hospital staff.
I spent the last week getting rid of Fred and Stuart. The gecko and the mouse. They have left.
I am now just over one
month at site and loving it. My house is
becoming a home. I am recognizing my
role at HFH. My neighbors continue to
help tutor me in R/R. I get enough
Internet to keep in contact with those back home. The children hug me when I make the 10-minute
walk from town to my compound and muzungu is no longer a name shouted to me
when I walk the streets.
Life is looking good.
