Veronica KiKi Muchomo is pretty upset that I haven’t posted in 6 months too.

I promise to post soon.

A Correction

The other Peace Corps Volunteer in my town says I’m not allowed to call his house AmericaLand. From now on, it will be called The Palace. He’s got a “Muzungu Throne” so it makes sense. Also, my favorite diner in the whole wide world is called The Palace. It’s across from Marist College in Poughkeepsie, New York. You should go. Like, now. And order the french toast, because it’s the best you will ever taste. For real.

Apologies to anyone hurt by my blog post entitled, “Of Miniskirts and Men,” and my use of the term AmericaLand.

Addendum to “A Correction”:

I have a mzungu throne as well, so using the existence of a toilet as the justification for characterizing said house as “The Palace” demonstrates a bit of intellectual dishonesty.  I would like this inconvenient fact to be hidden from you, the reader, but sweet irony has not allowed it.  From now on, in the way that a normal person might do, I will simply refer to said house as “Jake’s house”.

[edited by the resident of above-mentioned house, who asserts that one should not leave themselves logged in on a computer owned by a subject of their blog posts]

Stay Smart in Africa

Have I told you about the book club that my friend Katy and I have started? One Sunday morning back in training, we decided to go for a short walk near our training site. Then we thought it would be fun to see where various paths went, trusting our senses of direction to get us back home in one piece. Fast forward two hours, and we got back home! It was a delightful walk, full of good conversation, endorphins and stuff. We found a great 5k path that we told everyone else about. We were pretty proud of ourselves. But that’s neither here nor there.

One of the things we talked about on our walk was how after graduating college it was hard to find people that were interested in having conversation that revolved around more than just what happened on TV or in the club the previous night. We didn’t want that to happen here in Uganda too (I guess without the TV part…). We recognized that there’s a connection between the things we would be doing here, and academic thought (theory and practice) and we wanted to engage in praxis, connecting theory with practice. And thus, Stay Smart in Africa (the name of our book club) was born!

So, Katy aptly suggested that our first book be Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by Paulo Freire . The first chapter made me think about a bunch of things, so I’ve decided to share some of my thoughts with you!

One paragraph that resonated with me was about false generosity:

 “Any attempt to “soften” the power of the oppressor in deference to the weakness of the oppressed almost always manifests  itself in the form of false generosity; indeed, the attempt never goes beyond this. In order to have the continued opportunity to express their “generosity” the oppressors must perpetuate injustice as well. An unjust social order is the permanent fount of this “generosity,” which is nourished by death, despair, and poverty”

International aid is a business. NGO’s and non-profits need injustice, inequality and poverty to keep running. The way it’s carried out now simply keeps the cycle of poverty and injustice going. By handing out money with very few real strings attacked and thus requiring little or no accountability, we allow corruption to continue. By employing foreigners to do a job, then leaving with no thought as to how a project will be sustainable once the outsider is gone, we create dependence on foreign aid, therefore allowing progress to stagnate.

One of my biggest problems with non-profits is that the drive to get more money can be more important than getting anything done. So once you have funding, it’s not all that important how much work you do, as long as you’re good at BS and can make what little work you did do, look good. Obviously there are thousands of people doing good work, but I think this is in spite of a system that doesn’t necessitate it.

As Peace Corps volunteers, it’s important to remember that “the oppressors can’t lead the revolution.” We’re not going to change the world, but above all, like doctors, we must first do no harm. I really don’t want to this mentality of false generosity.

Another paragraph that had particular resonance with me said,

“Critical and liberating dialogue, which presupposes action, must be carried on with the oppressed at whatever the stage of their struggle for liberation. The content of that dialogue can and should vary in accordance with historical conditions and the level at which the oppressed perceive reality. But to substitute monologue, slogans, and communiqués for dialogue is to attempt to liberate the oppressed with the instruments of domestication. Attempting to liberate the oppressed without their reflective participation in the act of liberation is to treat them as objects which must be saved from a burning building; it is to lead them into the populist pitfall and transform them into masses which can be manipulated”

As a peace corps volunteer, it’s easy to start thinking that I have to come into a community/organization and start fixing things, that whatever was happening up to my arrival was backward and insufficient, and that I should take it upon myself to change what I see as problems. By going in and just doing things myself, I am basically giving a monologue; producing the things that I think are important with little regard for what anyone else thinks. By “dumbing things down” and/or feeding my ideas to the people around me, I’m just supporting a culture of non-thought.

Freire’s comments on trust earlier in the chapter:

“The man/woman who proclaims devotion to the cause of liberation yet is unable to enter into communion with the people whom he or she continues to regard as totally ignorant is grievously self-deceived. The convert who approaches the people but feels alarm at each step they take, each doubt they express, and each suggestion they offer, and attempts to impose his “status” remains nostalgic towards his origins”

I’m constantly reminded of my “status.” Being an American, people defer to me for information, and take what I say as the end-all-be-all truth. For example, my old widowed neighbor got a spider bite and immediately came to my door for guidance, even though I have absolutely no medical expertise. I didn’t have the internet to look anything up, I didn’t have any medicine that would help, but she also didn’t have any money to go to the doctor. All I could say was, “tindikumanya,” I don’t know. I gave her a band-aid and some antibiotic ointment, but that was just to stop her from panicking, more than anything else, because I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help if there was poison running through her veins (I don’t know what happened to her bite because she moved away the next day).

So how do I not do that? How do I get out of a “those people” mentality? I think the first step is realizing that I have it. Checking myself every time I get together with confidants and talk about frustrations related to my job. I need to “own my privilege,” as a friend back home used to say all the time. Beyond that, I’m not sure. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know. Until then, I’ll try my best to listen more and talk less, because I know I have a lot to learn.

Of Miniskirts and Men

 

Ok, so it’s been quite a while since I wrote last…sorry. I blame the fact that I don’t have a computer. My cute little Asus netbook (known to some as JellyBean) decided that she didn’t like Uganda very much, and she went on strike. She’s currently on a trip back to the USA for a spa treatment and maybe some cheese. Hopefully she’ll return in one piece.

Fun things that have happened since my last post:

1)      I went to the All-Volunteer Conference. The first week of September, the Peace Corps rented out a hotel where all 160 volunteers in Uganda got together to talk about what we’re doing at site, ways to do our jobs better, and get safety/security info from PC/US Embassy staff.  It was also an excellent time to see my friends in other parts of Uganda and meet some really great new people. I think it’s the only time each year when all the volunteers are in the same place, so it’s pretty great.

2)      I received letters from a whole bunch of people (Thanks Gburg, Nicole and Mommy)!

3)      I got some more furniture! Now, I’ve got two tables (they will be used as my kitchen counters/dining table (when the carpenter finishes my chairs)) a small stool and a bed! As of this past Sunday, I also have a gas cylinder, which means I can cook on a stove! And since I have tables, I can cook standing up! Yes, my life is awesome.

4)      I got a cat! A muzungu doctor was leaving town and needed a place for her kittens. Michelle (a PCV that lives in a nearby village) and I adopted one each. Mine is the sexy brown kitty, and Michelle’s is the feisty white/gray one.  My cat’s name is Veronica. I won’t gush too much, because I know some cat haters out there may get upset, but you should know that she is the best. (picture courtesy of Michelle)

5)      I got a language teacher.  His name is Eric. He’s a 67 year old engineer that works for the local Diocese doing water, sanitation and hygiene consulting. He’s a hoot and a half.

6)      I started a garden (I’m growing zucchini, summer squash, broccoli, 2 kinds of spinach, tomatoes, okra, peas, beans, butternut squash, thyme, basil, oregano, parsley and of course CILANTRO!) Ok, so I didn’t actually start it, but I do some weeding, and I did some planting, so I’m going to lay claim to it. This is where today’s story begins.

So, there are 3 PCV’s living within walking distance (Have I already mentioned this?). The closest one is a ten minute walk from me. I can see my house from his house. Michelle and I have dubbed it “AmericaLand” “The Palace” because it’s super nice.  He made space for a garden in front of his house. I bargained with him: I’ll help do garden type things if you let me cook/eat the fruits of our labor. He obliged.

After the initial planting, my next major task was to house/garden-sit while he did fancy Water, Sanitation and Hygiene business in a town far far away. So for a week, I got to take full advantage of AmericaLand The Palace, cooking with a stove (this was before I got my gas cylinder), sitting on a couch, reading Wired, The New Yorker and The Economist (he subscribes to them all) and washing dishes in a SINK. It was glorious.

My only tasks were to weed/water the garden and to not break the house. I think I did a pretty good job.

However. There was an incident. It started on day two of my AmericaLand The Palace Occupation. I got a hint of diarrhea, probably because I didn’t wash my passion fruit well enough or something. It was nothing horrible, just a trip to the bathroom like 6 times a day with poop that wasn’t particularly solid. Fast forward to AmericaLand The Palace Occupation day 4. Things had gotten pretty out of hand on the weed front, as we’d been gone for the All-Volunteer conference the previous week, and I hadn’t had time to do any serious digging (the term Ugandans use to refer to gardening) since I came back. I also had some seriously dry hair, and decided to kill birds, by giving myself a “deep-condition” while I dug.

A note on deep conditioning

To deep-condition black girl hair, you must shampoo the hair, then apply conditioner. Ideally, you then put a plastic shower cap on, and sit under a dryer for a while for your hair to get all steamy and moisturized.  Obviously, I don’t have access to a dryer or a shower cap here. But I do have black plastic bags and sun! So I put a black plastic bag on my head, with the idea that the sun would heat the bag, making my hair nice and steamy. Yes, I decided to wear a plastic bag on my head outside. Don’t judge.

Back to the story

I realized weeding would take some time, and wanted to be nice to my knees/ankles by sitting/kneeling in the garden, rather than squatting for the next 2 hours. Consequently, at 8:30 am, I went outside in a skort (which I’d purchased for 2,500UGX ($1) at the market the previous weekend) because it was easily washable and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting my clothes dirty while I knelt. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal because the garden is relatively concealed by the 8 foot tall shrubs that surround it. So I got to work. Everything was fine for the first hour, but then I had to poop.

I go to the front door, only to find that it’s locked. This was strange, since I hadn’t locked it. Unfortunately, the lock needed to be oiled or something and it jammed. I knew that I just needed to move the bolt like a millimeter to the left to get the door open, so I got to work looking around the outside of the house for something thin and hard to unjam the door. No luck. So then I start thinking of ways to climb in the window. Sadly, the Peace Corps staff are pretty serious about keeping us volunteers safe, and they require that bars be installed in all first floor windows for our housing. This did not stop me from trying to fit my head through a 6 inch space between the bars, but obviously, I didn’t get very far.

This fruitless exercise lasted about an hour, at which point, I decided to bite the bullet and venture out onto the main church campus to find help (This PCV lives 100 meters away from his office on a church compound). By this time, I reaaally needed to poop, and I’m wearing what looks like a miniskirt. Mind you, we’re in Uganda, where even the inclination of a bare knee (or pants in general) is enough to brand you as a malaya aka prostitute (Fortunately, I remembered the black plastic bag on my head and decided to remove it before leaving the garden).

I didn’t want to go to my fellow PCV’s office, because I didn’t want his co-workers to get the wrong idea about me etc .etc, so I tried to exhaust all other options first. The first person I fine was this dude doing construction on the house next door. I ask him for help unjamming a door, and he points me in the direction of the PCV’s office, but not before doing the “elevator eye/you-look-like-a-prostitute” look.

I decided that I didn’t have a choice, and I went to the office. On the way, I pass about 5 women who gave me the “OMG she’s such a slut” look and 3 groups of leering men that gave me the “elevator eye/you-look-like-a-prostitute” look. When I get to the office, I’m greeted by Eric, my language instructor who says, “Karungi (my Ugandan name, meaning pretty/good girl) have you been running?”  I said no, and that I was just gardening, and didn’t want to get normal clothes dirty, and that I knew how inappropriate my outfit was; to which he responded (completely benignly), “it is ok, we understand. Plus! You have beautiful thighs.” He then brought me to his office and got me a cup of chai. While I sat there, mildly mortified, he found a mechanic, who went straight to AmericaLand The Palace with tools. I finished my chai, thanked Eric, and went back to the house.

I met Emanuel, the mechanic at the door to AmericaLand The Palace. He promptly pried open the lock (with no damage to the door/lock) and said that he’d come by to visit sometimes. In an effort to get to the bathroom as quickly as possible, I just said, “that will be great!” and bid him adieu (which meant that he stopped by every subsequent morning to visit, asking if I wanted company gardening), promptly making a B-line for the muzungu throne aka toilet (most Ugandans use a pit latrine or  something like this). Then I had a poop experience that was easily in the Top 5 Best Poops Ever.  After which, I rinsed my conditioner and went to work.

Moral of the story: don’t go outside in anything you wouldn’t want everyone to see you wearing. No matter what. For real.

This was one of many experiences with the eyes of Ugandan men on the street.  At this point, I realize I can’t change people’s attitudes about dress.  The “what were you wearing” thing is still very much a part of the conversation on rape/sexual assault. I’ve even heard stories about girls in short skirts being stripped in the taxi park. In this situation, I brought all the leery looks upon myself, but I have to say, it’s not a whole lot better when I wear skirts that reach my ankles.

An example

When I got Veronica, I had to take a taxi home because her case was too heavy to carry for a mile and a half. I was wearing a modest skirt, but the driver could hear/see that I’m a muzungu and tried to get me to marry him the entire time I was in the car. He ignored (it’s not that he didn’t understand) the directions I kept giving to get to my house, and as we were getting further from my house. Things seemed to be getting hairy, so I made him stop the car and I ended up walking the rest of the way.

Stuff like this gets old. Boo.

Since that’s a horrible way to end a blog post, I’ll tell you another story about myself and Ugandan Locks

On my first full day in Uganda, I ended up talking with my roommate Sarah until 1am. When we finally decided to get ready for bed, Sarah and I we went to take a shower. We figured the water would be warm in the communal bathroom because it was so late. And we were right! So we each get into a stall. The door to my stall wouldn’t stay closed, so I decided to lock it (each door had a key in it).

Fast forward to the end of my splendidly warm shower, and I’m trying to get out. I try unlocking the door, and it didn’t work. I slide the key under the door and ask Sarah to try (I’m pretty bad at locks in general). Sarah also couldn’t get it either.

I didn’t want to spend the night in the shower, and by this time everyone was sleeping, so I decide to try sliding through the 8 (ish) inch space between the door and the floor. Now, the floor is wet and muddy from the 20 or so other gals that showered before me, but getting wet/dirty was definitely better than staying in the shower. So I tried sliding, and everything was going well, until we reach my butt. It just would not fit under the door.

By this time, Sarah and I are laughing hysterically (probably waking up the rest of the dorm) and I’m too weak (from laughter) to do much. So I grab onto a sink pipe and start pulling in hopes of forcing my butt under the door. No dice. Now, the front of my body is muddy, negating the shower I just took.  Desperate to get out of the stall, and acknowledging that I was just going to be dirty that night, I flipped onto my back, and tried to get out that way instead. I used the threshold for leverage, and pulled myself out…up to my butt. At that point, I was stuck again, but now I could sit up, making my butt flat enough to get under the door!  Hooray!

I left a note for the rest of the dorm on why they’d only have 2 of 3 showers to use in the morning, and thus ended my first full day in Uganda, full and laughter and Macgyvering. A fun foreshadow for the next two years.

Candace Girod P.O. Box 370 Rukungiri, Uganda

So. I’ve got a P.O. Box in my town now, which is great because the Peace Corps office is 11 hours away and a serious hassel to get to, especially since I’m only allowed in Kampala every 3 months. Now the ball is in your court! Send me a letter!

Be advised:

1) Padded envelopes work best. I’ve had two lovely ladies send me letters in regular envelopes and they’ve been successful, but I have a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) friend in Liberia who never got the things i sent in regular envelopes. So. It’s up to you!

2) Post cards NEVER get here. Somewhere along the line, some postal worker will be like, “OMG it’s America!” and the postcard will end up on the wall at the post office instead of mine.

3) Number the letters. That way, I’ll know for sure if I’m missing one that you’ve sent.

I got this P.O. bos a while ago (2 weeks seems like light years away). My site mate Michelle and I decided to get a P.O. Box together to save money etc. So we go to the post office. It’s after 6pm, so we didn’t actually except anyone to be there as it should have closed 2 hours before but there was one guy still there! He’s super friendly, and we find out his name is Gaston. I mention that there’s a character in Beauty and The Beast named Gaston, but I catch myself and try to explain what children’s movies are and what Disney is and then I just let it die, because

a) What are the chances he has a TV

b) what are the chances he has a DVD player

c) what are the chanes he’ll find any Disney movie in town, let alone Beauty and The Beast

d) It’s Disney and Beauty and The Beast! Do I really want to introduce more impressionable minds to those racist, classist, capitalist, sexist, stereotypical ideas that are planted in your brain every time you watch a Disney movie?? No.

But this did make me examine the fact that finding some piece of America/American cultuer is quite comforting to me. It’s easy to go about daily activities forgetting my previous life “Omu America” (in America). I just sort of turn that part of my brain off. Comparing that life to this one and thinking about all the people I left behind can easily become overwhelming. Instead, I compartmentalize. Deal with the tasks at hand, and put everything else away for a bit.

I guess it’s a coping mechanism, one that’s served me well since the first time I used it when I entered daycare at 3 years old. *Yes, staying at home with Mommy was super fun, but now we’ve got this whole new world of other 3 year olds. Plus. The Water Table (I was completely enamored with the water table. Spinny Things! Lots of bright plastic toys, wet with a mixture of spit, urine, whatever the sticky stuff on kids hands is, and tap water. Bliss.)*

But things like meeting a real live person named Gaston can take me back  to AmericaLand in an instant. I supose the trick is to acknowledge it and move on. So. I asked Gaston about the big box of letters near the door marked “lost mail.” I look in it, and there are personal letters from as far back as 2009 that would never reach their destination. I picked a few out and asked Gaston why they were in the box, and he pointed out all the issues with how the letters were addressed. So. What’s the moral of this long convoluted story? Make sure you write the address properly, otherwise your letters will end up in Post Office Limbo. 

Side note: Before I left America, the US Postal Service was in the new alot because thousands of post offices are closing and almost 40,000 postal workers have lost their jobs. My dear friend Fat Fat showed me this video a while back that I think more people should see. I also shared it with a high school life skills class I substituted for “Omu America” when we were supposed to be learning about being a postal worker. The jaded 16 year olds seemed to tolerate my digression well enough, so I’m sure you can too.

So yeah. support the US Postal System and send Letters to all your friends!

ReeeeeCapitulation!

I went back to the training site for another week of training, and then I swore in! Fully pumped for the next two years, ( especially because of my fellow PCV Emily’s super amazing and great speech (click here if you want to read it, which I highly recommend)), I slept for almost the entire 11 hour bus ride to Rukungiri Town! I guarantee it’s because I was SO. excited.

Since July 27th, I’ve been trying to make my completely empty house a home. This, for me is quite difficult! I’m not very good at making decisions or creating things, so I take forever to get anything done. The only way to counter this is to have a deadline. In which case, I will procrastinate until the very last minute, then get something finished in the exact amount of time I have left. Sadly, the only real deadline I have here to finish decorating/furnishing my house is 2014, when I have to leave the country. Obviously, that’s not going to work.

Progress that I’ve made so far:

1. I unpacked! This was probably the easiest part, because all I had to do was take everything out of my bags 🙂 Putting things away was significantly less fun, mainly because I had to figure out a neat way to stack things on the floor due to my lack of furniture. Luckily, there are like 20 hooks on my walls, which I use to hang all my clothes, but that still leaves the rest of my accoutrements. At some point, I will figure out how to communicate with my landlord (who doesn’t understand English very well) and ask him to lower said hooks by about a foot. Right now, I have to jump to reach them. It’s a good work out, but I know I’ll come home from work one day being really frustrated, and having to jump to get a piece of clothing off my wall will simply push me over the edge.
2.  I bought the essential food things. This is actually quite a task.  I never realized how many things I put into one dish until I had to buy every one of those things to make the dish.  However, food shopping is, by far, my favorite kind of shopping. And here, there are like 15 different “supermarkets” (which by American standards are corner stores/bodegas) where I can peruse the shelves looking for the best deal on powdered milk.
3.  I bought lots of cleaning supplies and basins! Not that I’ve done much cleaning since I’ve been here, but at least now I can’t use not having supplies as an excuse. For the past 2 weeks, I’ve been slowly whittling away at my excuses for not cleaning, and soon I won’t have any left, at which point, I’ll actually clean (by cleaning, I mean the all out make-everything-spotless kind of clean, because right now, there’s a layer of dust on every surface).
4.  I put up my mosquito net! The first night I was here, I just wrapped myself in it. I didn’t think I was capable of making anything with a modicum of structural integrity, and I figured my organization would have a bed for me in the first few days at site, and then I’d be able to drape the mosquito net over the bed posts. Easy Peasy. The next night, after realizing that wrapping myself in my mosquito net meant that mosquitoes could still get close enough to wake me up with their buzzing, I used rope to tie one corner to my window. So the net was right on top every part of my body besides my face. On the third night, I grasped the fact that a bed frame would not be forthcoming. After some self-reflection, I realized that I hadn’t fully come to terms with the fact that I’m living in a house by myself. As in, if I want something done around the house, I have to do it myself. Living alone also means that I’m responsible for my own happiness here. If I need something to make myself more comfortable, I have to figure it out on my own. I probably should have made these connections earlier in life, or at least earlier in Uganda, but I’m slow. At everything. So anyway, I gave it some thought, and then I found a way to attach all four corners of my mosquito net to the hooks on my wall, so I had my very own fort! A safe haven from all kinds of bugs and just a sanctuary from the rest of the world. I hope you all feel the level of satisfaction that I do every time I hear a mosquito bump into my mosquito net, unable to suck my blood.

…and that’s basically it. I go to work for a few hours every day, but I haven’t actually done anything there. I just hang out and talk to my counterpart Isaac, and get laughed at by my coworkers (not in a bad way, just in a “look at the silly Muzungu” kind of way). Just functioning at a basic level- eating, sleeping, and bathing seems to take WAY more time here. I make a To Do list almost every day and only get through a few things on the list by the time I’m going to sleep. I’m sure this will get better as I get more accustomed to my new Ugandan Life. Until then, I’ll enjoy the pace of things. I have very few time constraints, and very few concrete responsibilities. Yay!

Doesn’t it look so cute and compact?

All of my Ugandan possessions during the unpacking process…If I didn’t put everything on my floor like this, making it impossible to walk without tripping, my things would probably never get unpacked.

I have a house!

So. I haven’t told you about the month I spent in Kabwohe for Language Immersion, but I’d rather skip that and tell you about my super cool and amazing house! I and finishing up the last day of my “future site visit,” where the Peace Corps sends me to look at my living/job situation and figure out what I’ll need to furnish my house and start making relationships with my colleagues.

My job seems pretty cool, I’ll be working for RUGADA, which stands for Rukungiri (the name of the town I’m in) Gender And Development Association as a reproductive health promoter. Ask me more specific questions about my job, and I probably wouldn’t be able to give you answers. But. Yeah, it’s going to be good.

And my house!!!!!!! My sanctuary. I get to live alone for the first time ever. It’s pretty exciting.  As most of you know, I don’t have any artistic sensibilities, so I need decorating tips. Look at my fancy gallery! Also, I’ve got 3G internet here. Awesome.

It was like school!

our first training site

my language trainers!

i know you love how neat I am.

5 Muzungu in the back seat of a car.

Slightly More Detailed Update

So!
I’ve been in africa for exactly one month. Cool right!? I think so. For the first two weeks, I was staying at this organic farming school called Kulika. It was 1.5 hours outside of Kampala (the capital of Uganda) pretty much in the middle of nowhere. They grow everything we ate, and the farm was super sustainble. As in, they collected methane to power the stoves etc. At Kulika, our days were quite structured. We’d have breakfast from 7-8 (I would arrive at breakfat around 7:50 even though I woke up at 6 everyday. What was I doing in the tiny room I shared with my good friend Sarah? I couldn’t tell you.) then start class around 8:15 every day.
A dinner bell signifying Breakfast/AM tea time/Lunch/PM tea time/Dinner punctuated lectures on the general health scene in Uganda, Safety and Security, and Peace Corps goals/policies. Yes, we have tea time. Don’t forget, Uganda was a former British colony. I think we all looked forward to the tasty treats at tea time more than the actual food we were served. For the record, Matooke is not your friend (more on this at a later date).
As you can imagine, this got quite old after a while and we were all ready to gouge our eyes out by the end of each day. After classes we usually play soccer or slack line or play board games.
Andddd yeah. That was basically my life.
Now I’m in the southwestern part of Uganda. The weather is super nice. It’s between 75 and 85 degrees everyday with maybe a few minutes of rain. Here, we have language class from 8-5 every day. I think my brain is fully saturated with language at this point, but there is still a week left of language immersion. Problematic.
Also, I went to a wedding. We spent 2.5 hours listening to speeches made in Runyankore. It was not the funnest thing ever, but now I know what a wedding in Uganda is like!

A Message From Beyond The Grave

…aka the Atlantic Ocean.

I just found out my region! I’ll be speaking Runyakole and I’ll be in the SouthWest, which is apparently the most beautiful part of the country. Yay me!

I’ll be posted there with 11 other trainees doing intense language stuff for the next 4 weeks.

I got a phone today! Also an Internet Stick! Call me. Like, For realz.

+256 0781 455927

 

I’ll make an actual post when I have more than 20 minutes on the internet!