All Quiet in Gulu Town

Apologies for the lapse in posts, throughout April I was distracted with minor excursions, graduate school decision making and transitioning to living at the compound on my own.  More recently, I am navigating increased power outages and decreasing internet availability. Decision deadlines have passed and I moved through the initial bliss of living alone for the first time- so hopefully that means I will make the time to post a little more often.

Rousing me from my hiatus is that the demonstrations in Kampala, the capital, made their way into US papers over the last couple of weeks. I thought I might provide my limited perceptions of the current events.

Since I have arrived in Uganda food and gas prices have been pretty steadily creeping upwards. A few political opposition leaders have rallied enough support to hold demonstrations in the capital and a spattering of other cities across the country. The protests against the high cost of living and potential increases in school fees began about a month ago. At the center of the movement has been Kizza Besigye, recent runner up to President Museveni in February’s elections, who is calling on the nation to “Walk to Work” in solidarity with those who can no longer afford fuel.

Besigye also protested the results of the presidential election back in March. He had plenty of company in accusing Museveni and the National Resistance Movement Party’s 68% victory of being laced with voter fraud, coercion, and intimidation. This year’s elections were reported the most expensive in the country’s history, using Ugandan Government money (30% of which is donor funded), to outspend the opposition 50 to1. The police and military were also out in full force, reminding the voters of less stable times.

Back in February, I inquired of many of ladies, and a few boda drivers, their thoughts on the election.  A couple of the younger responders voiced that Museveni has had his time in power and they planned to vote for opposition candidates, a predicted sentiment for the younger voters. However, the older the individual the more likely they were to endorse the incumbent. Older Ugandans have experienced war for the majority of their lives; many are willing to endure Museveni’s faults in exchange for maintaining the current peace and development that has come under his rule. Weariness of war is especially true for those here in the north. The Acholi people have historically been both targeted as victims and manipulated as tools for war. Most recently, peace lagged behind in this region because of atrocities committed by Joseph Kony and the Lord’s Resistance Army. The damage inflicted by the LRA, is also the reason there are now so many NGO’s here in Gulu, (if you are interested in an overview of this conflict check out Invisible Children).


Although I received a mix of responses, few denied that Museveni would likely be reelected. A common perception is that Museveni was going to do whatever it took to continue his 25 year rule. A friend lamented that “Museveni will not leave freely, he will die in power.” A few dejectedly confessed they would probably vote for him or not vote at all, doubting that their vote would matter. Enveloped in that lack of confidence, many rural people were willing to give their vote to whichever candidate came through their village offering a bag of salt or a t-shirt.   

The current demonstrations started as only a few hundred in Kampala walking to work. The police used tear gas and fired rubber bullets in the air to disperse the protesters. The gatherings appear to begin peacefully, but as the police come in to suppress the demonstrations with force, rocks are thrown, tires are burned, and streets are blocked off.  Over the course of the demonstrations Besigye has been shot in the arm by a rubber bullet, pulled from his vehicle and sprayed in the eyes at close range with pepper spray (for which he evacuated to Kenya for medical treatment), and jailed several times.

It is hard to gauge the effect the unrest in North Arica has here. I doubt that there would be the present energy behind the protests were it not for the events happening in the rest of the world. It is also doubtful that Museveni would be coming down as weightily were it not for those events. It is my guess that without the severe reaction by the authorities,  the protests would have disappointed by now.  However, fueled by the repression of the demonstrators, the movement has grown to include numbers in the thousands. At this time it been reported that a dozen people have died, a few hundred have been injured, and many more incarcerated. Last week hundreds of lawyers in Kampala committed to a three day strike to highlight what they consider to be illegal use of force to suppress the unarmed civilians. This week police used a water cannon to douse demonstrators with a Pepto Bismol hued liquid. We had our own cannon on standby here in Gulu but there have not been protests here since the first week (I stayed in the compound and everything was fine). 

At first Museveni declared that he will squash all protests, but with international pressure has agreed to hold meetings with movement leaders. Some opposition parties have agreed to sit down with the President should certain conditions be met, including an apology to Besigye and the firing of the current Police Inspector General. Other parties, including Besigye’s, are refusing to meet directly with Museveni altogether, citing that nothing will come of it aside from a photo op.

Museveni maintains that Besigye’s one true goal is to provoke unrest in reaction to losing February’s election, (Besigye did call for an uprising if the elections were deemed unfair). One of the President’s first intentions, after he was sworn into office again on Thursday, is to pass a new law denying bail for six months to anyone arrested during protests. 

As mentioned, it has been calm here in Gulu. Aside from increased power outages on scheduled march days, more military hanging about and threats of banning facebook, life has gone on pretty much the same.

On a slightly more upbeat note: today is World Fair Trade Day, OMT has a sale you can check out! 

A Long Ramble: Sipi Falls

Today I am sitting in the browning grass under the relentless sun remembering the trip I took to Sipi Falls last month.

A few weeks back I embarked on my first adventure out of town. Early on a Friday morning I prepared to board a bus heading south with the other “muzungos” I had been living with. Four of us clumsily piled ourselves and bags for the weekend onto two boda taxis (we asked for more, but that is how many showed up), and headed into town a half an hour before our bus was scheduled to leave. I assumed we would have plenty of time before the bus actually departed given that everyone and everything here moves at a leisurely, lingering pace. I imagined I would scour the market for a bit of breakfast and maybe run to the bank across the street…Silly assumptions. Our feet barely grazed the ground between clamoring off the bodas and being swept onto the rolling bus already halfway through its turn out of the bustling lot. After the hectic boarding I learned that the buses leave as soon as they are full, whether that is prematurely or two hours after the scheduled departure. Our bus was undoubtedly full; we were separated and squished into seats. I was squeezed into a row, supposedly able to seat three, with two other women, each with a child on their lap and one of their bags under my feet. Although all the seats were taken, each time the bus stopped more people filled the aisle and the illusion of personal space was left behind. Social psych course lessons on how the appropriate distance between two people varies among different cultures came to life. Unlike riding the public transportation in the States where one goes to great lengths not to unnecessarily make physical contact with a stranger, people on the bus were more than comfortable leaning their bodies against you, making a seat of your luggage, or letting their children rest their heads on your lap.

As we rumbled along the bus alternated between scarily speeding by other vehicles and stopping every 30 kilometers to pick up more passengers. The never ending boarders brought with them anything and everything from live chickens, to human-sized bags of charcoal. On our journey we made stops in the towns of Lira, Dokolo, and Soroti, where vendors surrounded the bus carrying on their heads bananas and containers of fried cassava.  Some sold through the window while others defied the odds wedging their way onto the bus to peddle chapatti, kabobs, crackers, mandazi (like Native Alaskan fry bread), airtime, and even bed sheets. The driver allotted time for sales and we continued on.

On the 6 1/2 hour bus trip down I opted to soak in the sounds and scenery while saving my ipod battery for the ride home, which always seems longer. At first, sights were similar to those on my initial venture up to Gulu from Kampala.  Then, as we broached our destination the landscape became increasingly lush. The burnt orange brick huts of the north gave way to ashen shaded ones, mirroring the shift in the color of the soil. Had my camera not been buried in my backpack I would be sharing some snapshots.

As the sun peaked and began its descent back down, I attempted to adjust in my seat to avoid its impressions and tried to convert the remaining kilometers to miles. We began to see signs for our stop: the town of Mabale. A kindly traveler stopped us from getting off the bus too soon – the taxis would be cheaper and easier to find towards the center of town. Armed with his directions we climbed and maneuvered our way off the bus and hired a taxi for the hour drive into the Mount Elgon National Park.

Our Huts!

Following a ride in which it was uncertain if the car had enough power to prevent from rolling back down the slope, we finally arrived. Welcoming was provided by the jovial guide Tom who seemed surprised we were there despite our reservations.  We were booked to stay in the main house, but Tom first wanted to show us the personal huts, we agreed to take a gander merely to appease our eager host. We expected a hike in price but for only 5,000 Shillings more a night ($2.09), we went back to grab our luggage without much thought. An order was made for dinner, we were warned it would take at least a couple of hours because they had to walk to town to get supplies, then I sat to enjoy the truly surreal view. My mind finally had time to catch up to everything that happened over the previous month. Looking out over the jade infused terrain, gratitude and renewal took root.

  

Views from Camp

That night we ate rice, beans, and some delicious greens by dim glow of lanterns. Tom told stories beginning with how he convinced his uncle to use his land to create the resort, and somehow ending with male circumcision rituals. After I complimented his presidential pants he modeled for a photograph that captures Tom’s spirit fairly well.  We retired to our two huts before the rest of our group arrived; they drove from Gulu and were currently dealing with their second flat tire. The air was cool enough for long sleeves and I took pleasure in crawling into bed without wrestling a mosquito net. 

As I woke and watched the sun creep down into the tree strewn valley I thought how amazing it would be to live in Sipi and wake to this scene each day.  I wondered if the local people became accustomed to it, like we often do to the beautiful everyday occurrences in our lives, or if they wake with the same wonder I was experiencing each morning. We found that our companions had arrived safely and began to eat the oatmeal we brought in shifts- hot water was served sparingly. Once we informed Tom that his guide price was too much for our meager budgets his enthusiasm for our group waned, we scarcely saw him for the remainder of the trip. A backpack was stuffed with cameras, water, sunscreen and swimsuits (which would never be used) and we set out to hike Sipi’s three waterfalls.  We paid locals a fee to trudge across their land and began the trek with our teenaged guides down to the lowermost of the falls.

We descended and weaved through people’s farmland while the young guide pointed out coffee beans, chamomile and various plants used as local medicines. We passed farmers tilling soil and women gathering bananas.  Reaching the first falls we scrambled down to take pictures and feel the cool mist. Testing the chilly water with my toes I decided, along with everyone else, it was not yet hot enough to take the plunge. Our observation of the water rhythmically plunging into the pool was interrupted as we noticed a rope sail into the air from the top of the falls and make its way down to the rocks across us. The guides explained that people pay to repel off the cliff parallel to the falls. My first reaction was that the venture is insane, but as I watch the local come down first to set up the ropes I was tempted. Not being in the budget we turned upwards and rambled on.

Lower Falls

Here you can see the rope dangling

The second view of the cascades was the hardest earned. We trudged uphill for some time; the 115 pound teenager surely would have dragged me up had I let him. I felt guilty, and kind of pathetic, stopping to rest as the women carrying large bundles of wood on their heads were catching up to us (at least they looked tired as well). The afternoon sun was in full force as we climbed a precarious bamboo ladder and approached our destination. Sweaty and spent, I was eager be drenched beneath the steady stream of cool water. After playing under the falls for a while we trekked back to camp for lunch on nearly level ground.

Frolic in the Falls

Later a few of us continued on to the view the final set of falls.  As we made our way crossing streams on wooden planks, through assemblies of cows and crops, I really began to feel like I was walking through scenes in a movie. We arrived and I sat captivated by the contrast of the stark white water against charcoal colored rock and let the mist spray over me. On the journey back the guide took us by the local swimming hole. We watched the young men do flips off the rocks into the seemingly shallow water.  Reasoning that I might as well fully participate in the experience, I took the dive as well.

               

By the time we returned to camp my clothes were nearly dry and the sun was setting. I enjoyed a shower with water warmed over a fire. The remainder of the night was filled with dinner, wine, and a sporadic sing along cumulating with a trip anthem.

We rose early the next day for the journey home to Gulu. Mentally prepared for the close quarters the ride home was more manageable. A woman toting several kids and a few chickens boarded, despite my silent petitions, she settled in next to me.  The chickens were surprisingly still and the ride was fairly quiet from behind my headphones. My seatmate purchased a new snack through the window. Though we could barely communicate she offered to share with me, curiously, I accepted what turned out to be a sesame seed ball (dry but tasty- kind of like a popcorn ball!). Near Gulu we approached a series of monstrous meter-wide speed bumps. After taking on one or two a few giggles could be heard from the rear. With each jostle out of our seats the laughter spread its way through the bus, the smiles cutting across the cultural divide.

I started this post last weekend and am just now finishing. Although later than usual, the weather finally changed. With the Ides of March came the much needed rain and cooler mornings. One morning, though it might have been sixty degrees at the coolest, I was lending out my fleece and the kids marched into the compound in their winter coats.  Unfortunately, the expectation is that the rainy season will not last this year. I even received this text message: “A long dry season has been predicted. Expect shortages of food, water, and avoid hunger. The Office of the Prime Minister.” Some have said the mass texts are used to manipulate, which would not be surprising, we will have to wait and see.

Happy Equinox to everyone! 

wishing you all plenty of balance in your lives

Glimpse of a Day in Gulu

My Room

I have learned to wake before the ladies get here in the morning else word be jolted into consciousness by the combined sounds of foot pedal sewing machines and R. Kelly blaring from the workshop radio.  After shaking off sleep and reading the news I have started joining the ladies for morning tea in the yard.

The Ladies' Sewing Room

Typically, during tea I sit flicking ants off my feet while the women speak to one another in Luo, the language spoken by the Acholi people who live throughout Northern Uganda.  Tea is taken with rolls, African sweet potatoes, cassava (a root starch) or chapatti bread. One morning last week one of the ladies brought a mixture to dip the cassava in. Fortunately, I followed my inclination to dip first and ask questions later, otherwise I might not have been as excited to sample.  Surprisingly, the “binewa” spread made with G-nut (groundnut, which as far as I can tell are peanuts) sauce and dried fish tasted almost as delicious as buffalo chicken dip!

Our Yard

   

Following tea, the past couple of weeks I have been heading into town to have a go at various errands. After my daily bathing of sunscreen I join one or more of my coworkers on the twenty or so minute trek towards town, which itself is probably a four by five block area. The walk takes us by a few goats tied to a tree, cattle apathetically crowding the road, bodas and bicycles weaving between us and the undesirable dips on the path and an occasional car honking with warning before it passes. Small stands selling eggs, tomatoes, onions, foam sandals, airtime for your cell phone, are intermixed with Government and Nongovernmental organizations’ compounds, huts, small houses and schools.  As we approach town the stands become more concentrated and you might smell one cooking “rolexes,” egg and veggies wrapped in a hot chapatti (a video of stand near Jinja, Uganda preparing one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0pTTCdUY00 ). Try to take in any scent too deeply and you will be met with nostrils full of rust colored dust.  We pass by a long block of outdoor thrift shopping and arrive in town.

The to-do list ranges from combing the market stand by stand to find an acceptable holiday ornament fabric, to assisting in opening a new bank account for One Mango Tree deposits.  I am now grateful for banking in the States; with the accounts here you have to pay to check your balance, make a withdrawal or have access to online banking. The to-do list rarely is completed in its entirety.  Inevitably there will not be enough fabric, we have to come back next week to sign more papers or the computer part (or bicycles, or light bulbs, etc.) will not be there yet.  The sun is now high, my hairline is damp with sweat and my foot color is now indistinguishable from the red earth; we pick up a few groceries and concede to returning tomorrow. We walk slower on the way back and I talk with Prisca about life in Gulu, elections, hair color.

By the time we return to the compound lunch is ready. It is most always posho (maize flour mixed with  water, almost a dense rice consistency) and beans. Occasionally there will be small variations such as rice or adding a bit of goat meat.  Last week I noticed a little addition to my plate. It took several inquiries but eventually the women found the English words for small intestine. They watched me pass by the bite-sized sea-sponge-appearing delicacy on my plate while I deliberated. One of the women offered to take it. I yielded, with the promise that I would try next time.  During lunch I usually go around the yard and try to name all of the ladies, I think I finally have it down for the most part. Last week they decided to give me an Acholi name. The women debated in Luo and finally settled on Namara, “one who loves people.”

Post lunch I do hasty foot scrub and utilize the UV light emitting Steripen to purify some drinking water -thanks Aimee & Uncle Mark!  If the internet and power are working (the power goes out several times a week, it lasts anywhere from an hour to a couple of days) I will check emails and prepare to do computer work with Prisca, who is the Production Supervisor for One Mango Tree. Our goal is to for her to be computer savvy by the time I leave- which seems like it will be no problem. She has also been giving me feedback on a questionnaire I developed to use as a guideline while interviewing the women.  Yesterday we began the process of sitting down with each of them to assess the impact One Mango Tree has had on their lives, and learn their ideas on how One Mango Tree can implement new projects to meet the needs of their communities. I am eager to hear what the women will have to say.

As Prisca and I spend the afternoon going over web browsers and spread sheets the ladies pop in and out of the office space to drop off the items they have been working on. I am always impressed with how much they get done in a day.  As they pass through I try out the few Luo phrases I have learned- they smile whether I get it right or wrong. 

I am feeling settled and excited to dive deeper into work. The power just went out so I going to try and throw this up while the battery lasts! Apologies if I did not cover all of the anonymous questions- but I will try to post more soon! 

Welcome to Uganda!

Greetings from Gulu!

I have been here for a week now, but perhaps I should start at the beginning.  On the 27^th I started my journey with flying to Detroit. Once there I rushed to make a phone call and then boarded, only to wait on the plane for 2 ½ hours before moving (there was no chance the plane was taking off without the 25 meals it was short).  I watched “Get Low” while the flight attendants served pasta and pesto, topped with irony, to calm the disconcerted passengers. The eight hour flight to Amsterdam went by quickly as I slept easily across the four open seats in my row.  While waiting to board in Amsterdam I fumbled through a conversation with a Ugandan woman who worked for the Rotary Club in Kampala.  She seemingly approved of the work I hope to do in her country, which slightly soothed a few of the countless questions batting across my brain. Over the course of the next eight hour flight I tried to stay awake and convince myself that I was finally going to Africa. 

I arrived in the open Entebbe airport, made it through customs with no problems, and searched for Gihan, who works for One Mango Tree in Kampala and was to pick me up. I vainly search the signs for my name and finally settled on the only skinny Sri Lankan man present to be my new co-worker. We introduced ourselves, loaded the car, and as we started to drive I received my first of many, “Welcome to Uganda!” 

That night I stayed in a hotel in Kampala.  As Gihan and another co-worker, Damika, helped bring my two bags into the room, my attention was diverted to the mosquito net suspended from the ceiling- it finally set in that I was in Africa.

They picked me up again in the morning and we made our way through the hectic intermingling car, boda boda (motorcycle taxi), and foot traffic through the capitol city and onto the road to Gulu Town. Once away from the bustle of the city, the 4 1/2 hour drive held repeating vistas of red dirt, farm land, collections of houses and huts, green foliage, rhino reserves and burnt land.  As we came closer to Gulu we crossed the Victoria Nile which had beautiful waterfalls, however, no one is allowed to take photographs for security purposes. I quickly recovered from my disappointment for it is also in this area that the several species of monkeys hang out on the side of the road!  We passed a line of Vevert monkeys and then stopped to let the Baboons come right up to the car!

About 5:30pm on Saturday we arrived in Gulu and the One Mango Tree compound. I was greeted by coworkers Martina and Prisca and we all explored One Mango Tree’s new grounds (they moved to the present location only a month ago).  The brightly painted main building contains a large room with a couple of dozen sewing machines, a cutting room, a kitchen, several bedrooms and a living/dining/porch space.  Behind that is a smaller building used for office space, packaging and storage.  After a bit of business was taken care of Prisca generously invited us back to her home for my first Ugandan meal.  Although exhausted and possibly aloof at the time, I later realized how fortunate I was to be offered this experience so shortly after my arrival.  That evening I enjoyed a quiet dinner of goat, rice, eggs with tomatoes and mateoke– a local banana dish.

It was not until the next day that I unpacked and met the other women I am living with. There are five of us here this week, but by next week we will be down to three. My diet so far has included plenty of cabbage, avocados, potatoes, limes and bananas from the market (there has also been a bit of oatmeal which triggers JVC PTSD).  The weather has been relentlessly warm, but not as bad as expected- I cannot tell you the temperature because it seems more tolerable if I do not know it myself! You may be surprised that I have only been sunburnt once, just a little on my shoulders- I promise I am wearing sunscreen!

Though I was introduced, I have not had the opportunity to get to know the women who work for One Mango Tree so far.  This week was mostly spent fixing my computer, running errands in town, reminding myself not to try and use Yup’ik, fighting with a sinus infection, attempting to get comfortable on boda taxis, and striving to orient myself.  Adjusting has been slow and steady.  This week I look forward to concentrating more on the women and work!

Thank you again for all of the support you have all given me, it is very much a source of motivation for me. I know I am very fortunate.