"Can I have some sheesha for the camel?"

RPCV
This post comes a bit late, but I am officially a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (or RPCV for short)! I guess I don't really feel any different except a mild but persistent panic that, if anything happens to me, the US government is no longer willing to fly in and rescue me or give me medicine. I'm living on the edge! What does a person living on the edge do? Visit Egypt, of course!

CAIRO
Devon and I arrived in Cairo at 1 am on the 26th of April and the first thing we noticed was how insanely bright the city was. It seemed such an excessive use of electricity to have street lamps spaced a mere 50 feet from each other endlessly along the road. Our plan was to spend one day in Cairo before taking the night train down south to Upper Egypt (counter intuitive name I know, but this refers to the way the Nile flows) and Aswan. Within hours of walking around the city in the morning I was really glad for this bit of planning. Cairo is about as far away from village life that a person can possibly get and it was hugely overwhelming for me.

We decided to make our way down to the main train station to buy our tickets for the sleeper train. We had assured our family members that we would stay well away from Tahrir Square, where all the protests take place. Oddly enough, that was the first place we seemed to end up as the square is right near the train station. Whoops. Moreover, Devon and I were not entirely prepared with our wardrobes. Coming from Uganda,we assumed that a conservative society would favor that women wear skirts instead of pants. Thus, the two of us chose the most modest skirts we owned to walk around the city in. Not modest enough apparently. I swear I could feel people staring at our ankles. Needless to say, we got a lot of catcalls.

This is not to say that Egyptians are not friendly or helpful. In fact,we were shocked by how willingly people were offering us help without any thought of receiving something in return. Several people who saw us looking lost or confused approached us to see if they could assist us in any way, even if they knew little to no English. It sounds terrible, but Uganda had made me so suspicious that I was having a real hard time trusting anyone.

FELLUCCAS, ORNERY CAMELS, AND THE INCIDENT WITH UNIONIZED BOAT MEN
While in Aswan, Devon and I decided to take a boat, called a fellucca, around the Nile. This was an incredibly peaceful and beautiful experience with the city of Aswan on one side of the Nile and Nubian villages and straight up desert on the other side. Our captains were very friendly and offered us a ride around the desert on their family camels. This impromptu camel ride sounded exciting so Devon and I accepted.

I know that camels have a reputation for being rather stubborn, but I am convinced that ours were exceptionally ornery. They looked as though they'd just about had it up to the neck with taking tourists around. We didn't get very far into the desert before they would just up and decide not to move. In the end, they got poked with the stick quite a bit.

The next day, we woke up at the ungodly hour of 4 am to take an armed caravan down to the border of Sudan to see Abu Simbel. Imagine four hours of driving through absolutely nothing but desert to see a temple for two hours and turning around and then driving right back. I believe the official term is "ass out middle of nowhere". The temple was built by Ramses II in honor of...himself, egotistical guy that he was. It was originally built into a cliff, however, when Egypt built the High Dam, the area began flooding out to become Lake Nasr. Thus, they literally cut this temple that has stood there for thousands of years right out of the rock and stuck it up the hill. I'm sure Ramses II would be impressed.

Later that day, our journey took us out to Philae, an island in the Nile with a temple dedicated to the gods Osiris and Horus. Cunningly, the ticket booth is situated above the docks and the price of the ferry is not included in the tickets. Immediately, I got off on the wrong foot with the people at the ticket booth, as I became indignant that they wouldn't accept my Peace Corps ID card as a student card (never mind that I am no longer a PCV nor a student). I argued with them for a bit, to no avail and ended up paying the regular price. We asked the guy behind the counter how much he thought the ferry was. He ominously answered that he had no idea. This struck us as odd since, well, he works there after all.

We walk down the ramp to the docks and find the first boat guy.

"How much to reach the island?" We ask him.

"It is 70 Egyptian pounds." He answers.

Now we're confused, as our hotel guy told us it would be about 20. I looked over to the island, and saw how close it was and began putting on my Uganda bargaining face.

"Eeeeee. Sir that is too much! It should be 20."

"It used to be 60, but now, since the revolution, it is 70."

"But it should be less now, since you have fewer tourists."

The boat guy looks at me incredulously and says quite calmly, "It is 70 pounds," and turns around and walks off.

Now Devon and I are flabbergasted. Usually WE'RE the ones walking off and being chased down. It seems, however, that the boat men, in a fit of solidarity, have unionized and agreed on a price to charge the tourists. There was none of this business of throwing each other under the bus in order to make the sale that we were used to in Uganda. Convinced that we were right, we marched back up the ramp to find our driver, to see if he could negotiate with them in arabic.

Our driver agreed to help us, but passed through the gate without a ticket. Immediately, he was swarmed by angry boat men who swooped him up and escorted him to the tourist police. Suddenly, Devon and I were surrounded by people shouting and arguing in arabic as our driver was trying not to get himself arrested by tourist police. What a kerfuffle. The two of us just kept trying to apologize and tell the police that it was our fault and that we just wanted someone to help us bargain. We also couldn't go back and try to demand our money back, as we were afraid this might make the situation worse. Finally, a gallant young boat man risked being ostracized by his peers to take us for 60 pounds. We jumped on this opportunity while the other boat men all started yelling at him for selling them out. It was so bad that he almost refused to take our money at the end. We ended up making it to island but didn't stay very long.

Next stop...Luxor!

Reflections upon my close of service

This week is my close of service (COS) week, and I found I am struggling to determine how I feel about the end of two years. I have reflected deeply on the pros and cons of going and have come up with the following:

WHAT I'LL MISS ABOUT UGANDA
-Muzungu VIP card, ie getting what you want because people assume you're important
-Constantly being surrounded by nature, even if it's just my cat annihilating birds out of mid-air
-My little neighbor running out of her house to welcome me home from school
-All my friends in the village
-The way food tastes when you've really had to struggle and be creative to prepare the meal
-Riding through breathtaking scenery
-The exhilarating possibility of getting sick at any time and the recklessness it gives you
-Pooling your resources and solving or addressing a problem that is way out of your knowledge base
-Fresh milk, jackfruit, sugar cane, mangoes, pineapples, rolex, chappatti, and gonja.
-The Peace Corps book exchange
-Peace Corps Medical
-Weekends on the Nile River
-Village holidays with other peace corps volunteers
- Appreciation for machine washed clothes
-Having my students clean my house for dirt cheap
-Camp GLOW
-Dancing with Africans
-Covered second-hand clothing markets
-Cheap massages
-The way any day has the possibility to become an epic adventure
-Meeting other expats who understand your wander lust
-Parties with PCV's and knowing that we control the playlist
-Exchanging movies and music
-Ajon/Kamalwa (local brew) circles
-Hiking on a whim
-Ugandans standing up for you because they respect you for becoming a part of the community.

WHAT I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO IN THE US
-Clean laundry
-Home cooking
-Freedom to go anywhere in a car at any time
-Good roads
-Anonymity
-Hot showers
-Being treated as an equal
-Comfortable couches
-Speaking American English
-My family and friends
-The gym
-Really good cheese, bread, wine, lobster, sushi
-TV
-Working 9-5
-NY, the beach
-The presence of eligible bachelors
-Summer evenings in dad's garden
-Good clothes
-Technology
-Customer service
-New underwear
-Electricity and water that doesn't run out

Getting my adrenaline fix for the month.

THAT TIME I GOT TEAR GASSED IN A RIOT IN A DEVELOPING COUNTRY AND HAD TO HAVE MY BUTT SAVED BY PEACE CORPS

…Oh that time.

The day started out like any other. I was traveling back from visiting my friend, (and future Egypt/India/Thailand travel buddy) Devon, in Fort Portal and was heading into Kampala for my close of service exit interview with the country director the following day. About one hour into a five-hour bus ride I realized I had to pee. The journey was so long and painful that, as we pulled into Kampala, I was seriously considering a motorcycle taxi (we are forbidden from using these because they are highly dangerous) just to take me somewhere that I could pee. The bus dropped me off near the taxi parks right during the lunch hour rush, which is bad enough on a regular day, but today I noticed that the crowds and thieves were especially numerous. Twice, as I was walking up the street, my backpack was opened and reached in to. Thankfully, some locals chased the thieves away and I have enough sense not to keep anything valuable in the back pocket. Nonetheless, on a full bladder, the situation was rattling and annoying me.

I struggled a little further up the road only to see that taxis, people, and motorcycles were in a total gridlock because of a crowd that had gathered. I heard a lot of cheering so I turned to one of the onlookers and asked if it was the Baganda king that people were so excited about. He answered that it wasn’t the king, but none other than Kizza Besigye, the chairman of the opposition party, Forum for Democratic Change. He ran and was defeated in the last three elections and has been staging protests and demonstrations here in Uganda, most of which end in some clash.

Sure enough, I looked up and saw the anti-riot police poised and ready for the crowd to give them some reason to start firing. Shit. I thought. This is going to get bad. Without batting an eyelash, I ducked into the closest shop. The shopkeepers were talking politics and observing the demonstration with interest. One of them laughed at me and said, “Haha muzungu! We will protect you.”

Another said, “Don’t worry it is peaceful!”

“Eh?!” I replied as I searched in my bag for my phone to call the Peace Corps security officer. “Ssebo you are not serious. I think you have not lived here very lo…” BANG!

Chaos and smoke erupted in the streets as I saw blurs of people run past the shop as others were throwing rocks at the police. BANG. I had no idea if the noise was coming from the tear gas guns or from live ammunition. Inside the shop, the workers were in full panic mode, running to try protect the merchandise against looters and barricading themselves in the back room, coughing. My hands found my phone and fumbled for my security officer’s number. No answer. I tried him again, but failed to get through. I tried to see through the burning tears now streaming profusely down my face. In a panic, I tried calling the country director. Again, no answer. By this time I was sputtering and choking on the gas. It felt like someone had lit a fire in my lungs and I was coughing out the smoke. WHY IS NO ONE ANSWERING?! THINK, ALYSSA, THINK!! Finally, my foggy brain remembered that we volunteers are supposed to call the duty phone in an emergency. This phone is manned at all times by a Peace Corps staff member and MUST be answered. With clumsy, shaking fingers, I found the number in my phonebook and pressed send. One of the staff members picked up the phone almost immediately.

“THIS IS ALYSSA CONN.” Cough, cough. ”I AM CAUGHT IN A RIOT BETWEEN THE NEW TAXI PARK AND THE OLD PARK.” Sputter, choke. “THEY HAVE FIRED TEAR GAS.”

“Get inside a shop NOW!” She said. “We will send someone out to get you immediately.”

“I AM ALREADY IN A SHOP. WE HAVE CLOSED THE DOORS.”

“Good. Get some water and rinse off your face. We will call you back for instructions to come and get you.”

One of the workers pulled out a jerry can and insisted I splash my face, though it just made the burning spread down my cheeks and on to my neck. I rinsed again and found a bit more relief. Most of the gas had now dispersed and I turned to try to comfort one of the women who was crying.

At this point, I got another three phone calls from the SSO and CD for instructions to my whereabouts and from concerned staff members making sure I was okay. The SSO and driver swooped in and got me out, but the area had calmed so much that it was eerie. The streets had become empty, something unheard of in that part of town.

As we drove off and into safety, I realized I still had to pee…Oh and it turns out that someone had stolen my toothbrush. WHO STEALS A USED TOOTHBRUSH? I can't even be mad if someone was that desperate about their oral hygiene.

Mom, Joss, and Meredith Visit Uganda...

“YOU SEE HOW WE ARE SUFFERING?!”

Now, I don’t want to say that the Uganda portion of our trip was a disaster, but I will say that my notion of traveling in comfort and the notions of those who have paying jobs does differ somewhat. Dad and Renate wisely chose to mitigate this liability entirely by having a tour company take us through Uganda. My unsuspecting sisters and Mother, however, trusted me in the bookings. I, therefore, would like to applaud their adventurous spirits and for putting up with my choice of lodgings, transportation, and my complaints about spending too much money.

That being said, I was SO excited to have them come and visit Uganda. As much as I talked about how cruddy it was compared to Ethiopia, I have fierce pride in my “insider knowledge”. This was evidenced immediately upon arrival as we tried to get a private hire from the airport to our hotel. Almost all of the drivers were charging $30 to reach the city. I was certainly not having that. With a lot of “EEEEEE”s and “Ssente nyingi!”s I was able to browbeat a driver into taking us for half that cost. Skillllzzzzzz.

I wanted my family to be able to save a bit of money in Uganda, knowing that coming to Africa is a bit expensive. Thus, I booked us at the Hotel Aponye. It is upper-end budget accommodation (which may be an oxymoron there) and PCV’s stay there sometimes when they want some place “nicer” to stay. Eeshk was I wrong. What I thought was “upscale” turned out to be quite a dump in my family’s eyes. How have my standards lowered so much? When I look at it now, I realize that I consider a hot shower and a mosquito net without holes to be a pretty nice establishment. But I see now that if you’ve spent all this money coming to Africa, you want to stay someplace that makes your money worthwhile. Whoops. I resolved not to make the same mistake when we went to Mbale, so we arranged to stay at Mbale Resort Hotel.

The following day, we traipsed off to Mbale. Since we were using public transportation, I wanted to make sure my family was comfortable. Space is everything in this country. Every millimeter must be fought for and dominated with Spartan force (see article below written by a fellow PCV). Therefore, I encouraged them each to purchase two seats on the Elgon Flyer bus, (which was less that $15 total) so that they could spread out. I think this made the ride more bearable, but they had to fight off people who were trying to encroach upon their turf.

Our trip to Sipi Falls the next day was also full of adventure. Once again, I insisted upon using public transportation. Now, in this case, public transportation consists of some dude who decides he wants to pack a bunch of people in his personal vehicle. I felt pretty lucky since we actually got seats in the van and we only squeezed four people into seats meant for three instead of the usual four people, two children, one screaming baby, and chickens pecking at your feet on the floor. Once again, I was reminded how low my standards have become. While I thought everything was going just fine, my sisters were suffocating in the rear seats of the van, sure that the world was closing in on them. I won’t say that they yelled at me, but they sure didn’t let me off the hook about it either. Note to self: not everyone wants to experience “village life”.

Sipi was absolutely beautiful. Despite having lived near it for one and a half years, I had never visited the place. I was astounded by the force of the water and amazed that people called this place home. We were literally hiking through people’s backyards to get to the waterfall. It was highly invigorating and challenging. It was no Debre Libanos, but it was still majestic. It was decided that we should call a private hire on the way back to the hotel. This made me feel somewhat sour, but I got my schadenfreude moment when the shittiest car in the world pulled up to take us back to town. About three minutes into the journey, it started pouring rain and the windshield wipers failed completely. Our driver had to put his head out the window to see while Joss tried to boost the wiper into action each time it got stuck, Mom, Meredith, and I clung to each other for dear life in the back, and the car slid all over the slick, mud filled road. Now I know how good it feels to Ugandans when they turn to foreigners and say, “You see how we are suffering?!”

As you have probably discerned from my previous blogs, transportation is certainly one of the biggest “nightmares” in this country. Thus we PCV’s have to come up with some pretty creative ways to get through it. To give you some idea, here is an article that a friend of mine wrote for the Peace Corps Uganda newsletter:

When Space is Sparse: Go Spartan. By: Mathew Bodie

On the bus the other day I was struck by the array of similarities one can find between Spartan Fighting technique and achieving optimum comfort levels while traveling. Getting that exact amount of space you need to comfortably fall into a doze during the 8 (or 10...or 12) hour ride can be as important as the emergency toilet paper you have wadded up in your bag.

Well, almost as important. Follow these three pointers, and you should feel confident about traveling in (relative) luxury, without Ugandans bursting your bubble.

Give Them Nothing, but Take From Them, Everything!

(1.) Controlled Fury - Achieving optimal space on the bus means participating in a silent but nonetheless fe- rocious battle of wills. As Denzel Washington would taunt, “you’ve got anger? That’s good, we can use that too. But [getting comfortable] is about controlling that anger, channeling it.” Getting visibly angry only means you’ve admitted that there is a fight going on. Keeping your poker face is paramount; not to mention the fact that it makes it that much more fun. Remember the greatest trick the devil ever pulled? Exactly.

(2.) Remember the Phalanx - Spartans used a method of fighting where they would form into a single group, or phalanx, attacking at opportune times off of constant pressure from their shields on their oppo- nents. We can do the same thing, with our shoulders and arms. Simply apply (gente) pressure at the top of the shoulder to your untrained seating partner, and hold it there until he eventually changes his body’s posi- tion. When he does, quickly dart your elbow into the now vacant space like a basketball player standing ready to take a charge. The space is now your domain. Similar moves can be done with the knee-foot combi- nation, or even, if you’re comfortable, with a thigh-knee set of moves.

(3.) Use the environment to your advantage - The Spartans did it: they put all of their men into a pass no wider than two or three wide and made the Persian army come to them (until that damn invalid gave up their secret, anyway).

We can learn from them! Look out ahead for oncoming bumps, potholes, or imperfections (I know it will be hard) in the road. When you see one, try timing your sway to rock into your neighbor exactly as you get ejected from the seat. You’re trajectory will rocket yourself into him, stunning him into forgetting about his positioning. Before your enemy - I mean seating partner - recovers from your torpedo shoulder, scoot over to his side. This needs to be conspicuous enough to make him believe it’s where you were sitting before it all happened. Then, as he’s trying to figure out why he has less space, give them the slightest amount of space BACK from the original that you have taken. Now he not only has he no reason to suspect foul play from you, but he even feels like he owes you for giving him some of your own space, which you gave by instinct, seeing that he was uncomfortable. He might even smile at you, the smile that says “We’re in this together. Thanks for being a nice fellow.” By the time he realizes he’s cramped, you’ll be fast asleep with your mouth drooling on his genuine imitation Samsonite suitcase.

THIS... IS... SPARTA!!

Sorry Mom...

ADVENTURES IN ETHIOPIA

I mentioned in my previous blog entry, my second term wasn’t going so well at all. I wasn’t able to do very much teaching for various reasons and this had me falling into a bit of “volunteer blues,” which is the time when you hit a bit of a wall in your service and you just wanna check out mentally.

Fortunately, I had just the remedy waiting for me…a fabulous trip to Ethiopia with my mom and sisters! Now, I know that some of you are thinking, “Ethiopia?! Isn’t that country in, like, shambles? Aren’t there, like, a whole bunch of starving people there? Are you SURE that’s where you want to go?”

I’ll not put myself above these queries, as I, too, was once dragged in by all those starving children in Africa commercials, believing that every child of Ethiopia had one of those large, distended stomachs. The reality, though, was surprisingly different, and in a very good way.

The most obvious indication of Ethiopia having its “shit together” (at least by African standards) is the national airline. It is the largest commercial airline in Africa and you can even buy your ticket online! WITH A CREDIT CARD! Crazy. Anyway, Ethiopian Airlines was the magical steed that would spirit me away from Uganda and my teaching funk. I was beyond excited, as I had not stepped on to an airplane since arriving in Uganda for training. As a result, I barely slept before catching my 3:15 am flight, putting me into Addis Ababa at 6:30 am. Upon arrival, I met up with my sister, Meredith, who was flying in from London at the same time. My other sister, Jocelyn, and my mother would arrive late in the evening, so the two of us charged off to our hotel.

However, no trip can occur without some kind of snag, and this one was to be no exception. In the preceding weeks, I had spent a lot of time and Internet on trying to contact a tourism organization to help us travel. Ethiopia is a big country and there was so much to do and so little time that I felt very overwhelmed. I knew that my Mom and my sisters have real jobs and would be less interested in “winging it” as most volunteers are apt to do. This presented a problem, since I had gotten the name of the tourism company from a PCV in Ethiopia. I really wanted to show some Peace Corps solidarity, but I was finding it extremely difficult to get information out of the tourism operator. Even up to boarding the plane, I still had no idea what our itinerary was going to be. In the end, I just prayed that it would work out…

It didn’t. Meredith and I tried without any success to get a hold of the company several times, to no avail. To put it in plebian terms, we were up shit’s creek without a paddle. We decided to wait until Joss and Mom got there before making any decisions.

Now, having lived in Africa for some time, I considered myself a bit “experienced” on this continent. I was, after all, no short-term volunteer. They say pride comes before the fall, though, and our second snag came upon us quite suddenly.

As we were walking out of the hotel, we are approached by a clean cut looking gentleman, who is obviously excited to greet us. Already, alarms should have been going off in my head, but he seemed nice enough after explaining that he worked at our hotel, was getting off his shift, and wanted to take us to a New Year’s celebration. He totally hit on my weak spot…offering us the excitement of a cultural festivity. He takes us to this small “café” (which is really more like someone’s living room) and introduces us to the dancers in traditional clothes. It was a pretty cute celebration. He tells us, then, that it’s customary to buy the dancers drinks. Not wanting to offend anyone, we, of course, obliged...I won’t go into the whole embarrassing mess, but essentially we were WAY overcharged for the drinks and somehow spent probably around $60 each, only finding out later that this is the oldest trick in the book as far as Ethiopia is concerned. I felt like such a rookie! At least in Uganda, the people who try to get your money will cheat it out of you outright, in an honest and open manner. I was totally unprepared to be guilt-tripped into spending my money.

We spent the rest of the day moving around Addis, looking for the Mercato (which, despite being the largest market in Africa was virtually IMPOSSIBLE to find). That night, we settled in to wait for Mom and Joss only to encounter our third disaster of the trip: They had been delayed in New York and therefore, missed their connecting flight from Frankfurt. WHEN WOULD THE MADNESS STOP?

After a highly fitful night’s sleep (in which I had terrible flashbacks of Dad and Renate’s travel nightmare), I awoke the next morning with a fresh “eff it” attitude towards our tourism company. We had been waiting way too long for some kind of notification from our guide. Instead, we got the phone number of a different company from the front desk of our hotel. When we called the number, Adise, the guide, said he would come to meet us at the hotel in five minutes. Already I knew that this would be the best decision we would make during the trip (http://www.rightspottour.com/)

By this time, Mom and Joss had finally arrived and we settled on our itinerary for the trip and the cost (highly reasonable). We spent the first day visiting the crater lakes near Adise’s home in Debre Zeit. Again, I was floored by how much Ethiopia has its act together. The parks were incredibly well kept and used more often by locals than by tourists. Furthermore, the roads were phenomenal, with only a pothole here and there, but widely paved.

The next day, we headed in the opposite direction to the gorge and falls of Debre Libanos. On the ride there, we passed child after child selling some kind of greens on the side of the road. We asked Adise what they were and he replied that they are some kind of plants that smell really nice. I’m not entirely sure if he was just trying to mess with us, but he told us that the women like to stick the leaves up their noses. Naturally, we wanted to try. So we pulled over, bought a bunch of leaves and spent the remainder of the car ride with green boogers.

From Ethiopia!

Approaching the falls, I was struck by how humbly such epic scenery was concealed. We simply parked our car on what seemed like a random place on the side of the road and followed a stream down, only to be greeted by the most breathtaking 700 m waterfall opening up into a huge gorge with baboons playing among the crevices in the cliffs. We also had a chance to make it into the village of Debre Libanos, which is known for its church sitting right against the backdrop of three beautiful waterfalls.

From Ethiopia!

On the way back, Adise suggested we eat at a local restaurant and try the raw meat. This particular dish is traditional during the New Year’s celebrations. I was saved by my vegetarianism and was only too happy to eat my “fasting firfir,” but Mom, Meredith, and Joss were highly adventurous and tried some (perhaps as a consequence of my peer pressure; “Come on, Mom, its AFRICA!”)…thus they had some kind of stomach sickness the rest of the trip (eek whoops).

The following morning, we picked up another tour guide, Sammy, and headed off in our car to Awash National Park passing through much drier land than that surrounding Addis Ababa. The park is also not far from an active volcano and we passed miles of lava fields on the way there (sounds dangerous and exciting right? It’s not really. The lava is already cooled and is just sitting there in some really strange looking piles). The Awash Falls Lodge is perched directly across from the lovely Awash Falls (hence the name). At this point, I think we were getting a real dose of African bush life: Joss and Meredith got attacked by gnats through their mosquito nets and Mom and I were kept awake all night by a rat running around our room somewhere (I’d already been peed on by a rat during the night once in Africa, I was not anxious to repeat that experience). Furthermore, poor mom was still sick from her foray into the raw meat world (again, sorry Mom), so she stayed behind as we went out the next day on the game drive. We saw a few animals, but it was really the breathtaking scenery that took us in.

After Awash, Adise and Sammy wanted to take us to a lodge on a lake in the south, near Awasa. Little did we know that the road to this lodge was almost completely washed away (AHA! I knew not all the roads were as perfect as they seemed). We tried to navigate through the villages with kids running next to the van, banging on the sides, etc. It was kind of chaos. So after trying unsuccessfully to get to the lodge, we decided, instead to go to the Lewi Hotel in the main town of Awasa. This place was GORGEOUS! It was right on the lake with hippos in the water and, best of all, FREE WIFI at reception!

Just before our boat tour the next morning, we heard a big commotion going on next to the hotel. We asked what it was, to find out that there was a large Chambalala (New Year’s) celebration going on for the tribe of that area. There were people singing, dancing, and playing drums. It felt a little like the circumcision ceremony that I went to in my region, except with fewer naked people running around (all the people at Chambalala were, in fact, clothed). Mom and Meredith were even interviewed for the local news (ya know, foreign correspondents and all).

Following the celebration, we took the very cold hippo tour around the lake, and then had some cocktails at the hotel. Our waiter, however, was a bit reluctant:

“Do you have cocktails?”

“Cocktails?”

“Yes, cocktails…do you have them?”

“Oh! Cocktails! Mmm noo.”

So we ordered juice and rum separately, and mixed the drinks ourselves. Not two minutes later, we opened the menu…to find the cocktail page. It featured such favorites as “Bloady Mary,” “Jamaican Ram Ranner,” “Scrudriver,” and “Love on the Beach.”

From Ethiopia!

From there, we drove back to Addis Ababa and Adise and Sammy took us out dancing on our final night in Ethiopia. Next stop…Uganda!

To be continued…

..and that's how Conn "C"s it

So here’s a quick update on my life these past few months:

I got a cat...she drives me nuts.

I haven’t been able to teach computer lessons at all as a result of the following catastrophes:

1. The solar panels on our computer lab belonged to another school and they took them when their new campus was finished.

2. Aforementioned school also left us with a hefty electricity bill that they never paid causing our power to be cut off for several weeks.

3. Power finally comes back, but we have no uninterrupted power supply devices to connect the computers to (you can’t connect computers directly to the power here because it will damage their power supply).

4. We purchase UPS devices and I begin teaching during the second term J…until the Ministry of Education and Sports up and decides it’s only going to give about 1/3 of what we need to run the school for the term…so we have to send the kids home.

5. The MOES pays and the kids come back 3 weeks later. Now the government can’t pay the money they owe to the electric company so there are countrywide power outages (called load shedding) for the entire month of July to compensate for the loss.

6. A proposed teacher’s strike is in the works as the MOES is not paying teachers enough or on time.

I miss solar…

I am always asking myself, “How much good can I really do here, when the ministry thwarts all my projects and plans with its corruption?” I’m still figuring out the answer to that question, but I read a book recently called Dead Aid, which basically confirmed everything I’ve discovered here about international aid. If you want to boil it down to the essential point, aid is not only a tremendous waste of resources; it’s actually detrimental to the countries it aims to assist. I’m not saying the idea of reaching out to a country in need is a terrible idea, I am saying that the manner in which most aid agencies are doing it does not build capacity within that country in any form. I could go on about this forever, but I will let you, readers, choose to read or not read the book.

Now you may be asking yourself. My goodness Alyssa! You must be soooo bored. You’d be right…but I actually have been doing some pretty cool things in the past months (besides reading books):

50^TH ANNIVERSARY EVENT IN RAKAI

Another lovely PCV Ashley has us all come down to her Primary Teacher’s College for the weekend to help her paint murals around her community advocating safe sex practices and addressing the ways that HIV/AIDS is spread.

ST. MARIA GORETTI CHILD CARE AND SUPPORT

Sister Rose and I have been working very hard on getting our orphanage up and running. Right now we’ve got our child development program going and are going to start a bead company with the guardians to generate some income for them. We also managed to find a boarding school for our two total orphans so that they are no longer living alone!

GLOW

Ashley and I have also been working on Camp Girls Leading Our World (GLOW), the female empowerment camp I participated in last year as a counselor. This year, the two of us are directors and are committed to make the camp even better than last year. Keep an eye out for our Peace Corps Partnership Grant next month, as we will need your help to raise the money necessary to get this camp going.

SOME SHORT STORIES WITH HAPPY (?) ENDINGS

“A rookie mistake”

Any PCV here in Africa can tell you what a nightmare public transportation can be. Any time you want to go any where, you have to navigate through a bus or taxi park with men screaming all shouting that they want you to ride on THEIR taxi or THEIR bus, only for you to find that the taxi/bus is empty and you now have to wait for three hours for it to fill before it leaves. Moreover, they make you pay before you get on the bus and they don’t refund the tickets, under any circumstance. This has led us PCV’s to be chary when entering the park and we’ll generally have a favorite company that we’ll always ride with.

On this particular day, however, my favorite bus company was not running their buses. As a result, I was forced to make my way down to the park and navigate the screaming conductors, honking horns, and begging children to find myself a suitable means of transport. Upon entering the park, I was immediately ambushed.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING? KAMPALA?”

“YOU COME! YOU COME! YOU SIT HERE!”

“MUZUNGU! YOU USE THIS ONE!”

At the front of the park there were two buses parked side by side. I approached the first one. As I was approaching, the conductor comes running towards me frantically.

“MUZUNGU! MUZUNGU! You come we are leaving now! We are leaving now!”

The bus began honking and moving and the conductor ran over it and banged on the side to indicate that it should wait for one more passenger. I had a 50,000-shilling note that I wanted to break into smaller bills (perhaps to buy some delicious gonja or chicken on a stick on the way), so I handed the conductor the bill. He gave me my ticket, wrote the balance on the back of the receipt and told me he would get me my change once we got going (this is not uncommon).

As I got on the bus, I realized, I’d been had. There were, at most, 8 people sitting on a bus that could carry around 60. Rookie mistake. I knew I’d have to wait forever and I was pissed.

I wheeled around and marched off the bus, managing, somehow, to keep my cool. I walked up to the conductor, put on a smile, pulled out a 20,000-shilling note and told him that I’d rather he’d make change for the 20,000 than the 50,000. He nodded, and handed me the 50,000.

ROOKIE MISTAKE. Rather than give him the 20,000, I simply handed him back the ticket and walked over to the other bus, which was almost full and ready to leave. I purchased my new ticket (again with the 50,000) and left the first conductor standing, stunned that a Muzungu could ever be dishonest.

“I was going to shoot that man”

Last week, Ashley and I were enjoying a leisurely stroll down to Owino (the covered second-hand market in Kampala). The two of us were as happy as any two girls could be when embarking on a shopping and bargaining adventure. As we were walking down a moderately crowded street near the taxi park, I noticed a man wearing a short sleeve, fleece turtleneck jogging towards us. My immediate thought was, “Oh that’s awesome that Ugandans are jogging! This city is really starting to become hip and modern, but a turtleneck? In this heat?”

My next thought, though, was more along the lines of, “AAAARRRRGGGHHHHH,” as the guy had shoved his hand in my face, knocking me backwards. Before I knew it, he had wrested my sunglasses from my crown was running off. This man, however, was ignorant of two very important facts:

1. I loves my Oakley shades

2. I ALSO like to run

In a highly graceful recovery maneuver, I pirouetted on the spot after being so unceremoniously thrust and blasted off after the thief shouting, “THAT MAN STOLE MY SUNGLASSES!”

The thief realized, much to his own chagrin, that, not only was I gaining on him, but that he had also caused a considerable commotion in broad daylight to which I was now adding by running and shouting after him. He stopped and threw my sunglasses to the ground, hoping that I would pursue the eyewear. As Ashley retrieved the glasses, I shoved him (perhaps not as hard as I would have liked) and walked back towards her.

We were in the process of walking away, jacked up on adrenaline, when another man approached us.

“It’s good you got your sunglasses,” he said as he flashed the gun he was now tucking back into his trousers, “because I was going to shoot that man for you.”

That’s all from me for now, kids. Stay classy and I miss you all terribly.

Christmas Vacation Part 3

PYGMIES, CAMPING, A CRAZY NIGHT ON THE NILE, AND A SAD FAREWELL

Unfortunately, due to the incompetence of a certain airport in London, we lost our Gorilla tracking permits. No amount of cajoling with the Uganda Wildlife Authority or pretending that I was with the US Embassy could budge them. To my great chagrin, the UWA is the only non-corrupt organization in Uganda that actually follows rules.

However, we had Green Breaks on our side, so we were sure that Ignatius would take care of us and make sure our stay in Bwindi was still exciting.

“Huh,” said Andrew as we were struggling up a particularly steep hill to our lodge. “They’ve really improved these roads.”

My father, who was bouncing around the front seat, skimming the roof of the car, turned to him incredulously, “Improved?! You mean they were worse than this?!”

I just chuckled, silently patting myself on the back again for discouraging my father from renting a car and driving himself.

The Silverback Lodge is nestled on a hill directly across from the Impenetrable Forest. The clouds will often creep through the valley separating the two and obscuring them from one another. We checked in and enjoyed a delicious meal eaten by candlelight and prepared ourselves for the next day’s Batwa, or Pygmy tour, which was to be our replacement for gorilla tracking.

The Batwa trail was along the very same route that the gorilla trackers sometimes take, as the gorillas will often move out of the forest and into Batwa territory. We needn’t have been disappointed with not seeing the gorillas, because we saw plenty of “evidence” of them (mainly poop). The Batwa elders took us around and told us about their culture, showed us where they used to sleep, and even cooked us an authentic Batwa meal (which was curiously very similar to every other Ugandan meal I’ve had). Fortunately, our guide knew white people well enough to also bring sandwiches, a feat that I am afraid may have been a bit lost on my dad and Renate…but they also haven’t been eating beans and posho for a year so I guess I can’t really blame them.

The real tragedy behind the Batwa, is that they used to share the forest with the gorillas. The government, however, forced them out of the park because they were trying to preserve the gorillas (thus preserving tourism revenue). The Batwa had literally no place to go. Having lived for years as nomads in the forest, now they were forced to settle in one place. Much of their culture was lost as they attempted to integrate into society. Currently, they are being helped by the non-governmental organization (NGO) that runs the tours, but progress is slow and they are still considered by some as second-class citizens.

From Bwindi, we set out to our next destination, Lake Mburo where we were to see the zebras, warthogs, and the elusive eland. Andrew explained to us on the way that they don’t keep all the animals in the same park because then tourists would only have to visit one park to see all the animals that they wanted to see. We wondered about the population control of the animals because it seemed there were not enough predators in Lake Mburo.

As we were arriving in the park, I started wondering where the hotel would be. As we pulled up, all I saw was tents. I looked at the sign “Lake Mburo Luxury Campground.” Campground! One week with my parents had already spoiled me it seemed.

I could not have misjudged the situation more. Luxury was rather an understatement; the tents were completely self-contained, with a sleeping room, a flushing toilet, a shower (for which the tent attendants carried jerry cans of hot water and poured into a tank which connected to the shower hose), and a changing room. We also had a veranda upon which we could take the morning tea that was delivered to us by our tent attendants.

Though we had spent all day in the car, we hopped back in as soon as we had settled and went out to see some zebras. In fact, there were so many zebras and warthogs that it was a little bit boring after a while. The real excitement came, though, when we came across a herd of eland, which are the world’s largest antelopes and are very shy. We couldn’t get too close to them without scaring them off but we managed to snap a bunch of photos.

The next day, New Year’s Eve, we drove out to Jinja. After having sat in the car for pretty much two days straight, pulling up to the Jinja Nile Resort was akin to passing through the gates of heaven. Each room was not actually a room, but a cabin of sorts with a sitting room, two beds, and a glorious shower. Additionally the food and wine was the best we’d had since the Sheraton breakfast buffet. Dad, Renate, and I had too much wine (or at least I did) and danced our hearts ourselves to exhaustion until the fireworks at midnight, much to the amusement of all the Ugandans around us. I flopped into bed at 12:30 a.m., too tired to care that I’d lost steam so early. If you had told me two years ago I would spend New Year’s on the Nile in Uganda, I would not have believed it. What a hell of a life.

I awoke the next day just in time to see the ball drop in New York. Though I have often felt homesick or missed certain parts of my life in the US, that moment was the only time I really wished that I were at home. I envied my dad and Renate, whose experience here was just a visit. They could peer into a very censored portion of my world and then hop back on a plane to a life that was entirely different…a life in which one could have cheese any time one wanted. A life in which one doesn’t have to rush to do everything before sundown because it’s dangerous and the mosquitoes come out. I thought about the hours I would spend hand washing all my things while the clothes they had worn the whole trip would be easily dumped into a washer and dryer and then would come out fluffy and clean. I thought about how a State of Emergency would be declared in the states if the power and water went out for a week at a time, yet it is commonplace here (you can see the kinds of emotional roller coasters we volunteers go through).

Finally, the part of the trip I was actually most excited for: the visit to my village. From Jinja, we drove east out to Mbale town where we would stay at a hotel and then visit Nyondo the next day. We spent the evening going around Mbale, and I showed dad and Renate the chaos that is the market as well as the joys of Indian food in Uganda.

I was so excited the following day for two reasons: 1. My parents would be visiting my home and meeting my friends and 2. I was going to make the most of our driver by purchasing a new mattress. It was unfortunate that we were visiting during the holiday, as many of the other teachers were not around. However, we did get a chance to visit with Antonina, Sister Rose, Mary, and Justine. They stuffed us silly (we had two lunches) and before I knew it, the day was over.

On our final day back in Kampala, we decided to embark on a trip out to visit my host family. This was especially exciting for me, as we had been taking private transportation the whole time and my dad and Renate would finally enjoy the wonders of using public (something they had been adamantly avoiding). We set out from the Sheraton down towards the “New” taxi park to catch a bush taxi to Wakiso. However, taking them to the taxi park meant bringing them through the busiest and easily the most intimidating parts of Kampala; Kampala Road and Luwuum Street. With much difficulty, we dodged taxis and screaming conductors (fare collectors on the taxis), and crossed Kampala Road.

“Lyss,” my dad says, clearly agitated, “are we almost there?”

In true Ugandan form I responded, “Yes. It is just near.” In truth, we’d only made it about a quarter of the way.

Down the hill we went towards Luwuum Street. We crossed through a shopping arcade that connected the street above and Luwuum. As we were about to step out of relative peace, I turned to my dad and Renate and said, “Okay. Take a deep breath.”

Both of them regarded me with incredulity and alarm at the request. From there we stepped out into utter bedlam. Thousands of Ugandans pushing against a sea of hundreds of bush taxis, everyone’s destinations more important than that of the person next to him or her. Hawkers were shouting at the top of their lungs at passersby, advertising their prices to anyone within earshot and people calling “Muzungu! Musungu!” while attempting to grab any of the three of us.

It took us about 30 minutes to make it about ¾ of a mile down the road and we were on the outskirts of the park, having just dodged two motorcycles and crossed through a gnarly traffic jam, when my dad grabbed my arm.

“LYSS! WE ARE NOT DOING THIS ON THE WAY BACK. YOU ARE CALLING ANDREW AND HE IS DRIVING US BACK FROM YOUR HOST FAMILY’S HOUSE.”

I admit I felt a little sheepish. They’ve both traveled extensively, so I assumed they would consider it an exciting challenge. Yet, they were very evidently not viewing this experience as an adventure, as I had hoped. At the same time, though, I also felt a bit indignant. This is my life. They came to Uganda to see what it was like, and now I was showing them. It’s not lions, and hippos, and elephants. It’s navigating difficulties like the taxi parks, bartering at the market, and arguing with taxi conductors about cramming 25 people in a taxi that was meant to seat 14 passengers.

Still, I knew they had a point. I had signed up for this. It was moments like these, living in Uganda, that I love and that truly make me feel alive. I was simply disappointed that they couldn’t share in that excitement. The accomplishment of facing that daunting road and walking through it determined and poised is one that was hard won for me.

I tried to think back to the very first day that I had looked out on that sea of black, knowing that people could pick me out for a hundred yards in any direction. I’d had a mini panic attack and I realized how much I had asked of them with that simple walk. I’ve gotten so accustomed to life here that I had forgotten what it was like to be an outsider. I thought back to another volunteer, who had finished her service, but whose company I had always enjoyed because, somehow, she could always remind me of this one fact:

“Our lives are ridiculous.”

We finally made it into the taxi and to Wakiso in one piece. We hiked up the hill to my former home in training and were greeted by my family.

“Eh!” My host mom exclaimed. “You have grown fat!”

*Author’s note: As much as Ugandans claim that calling someone “fat” is a compliment, it’s not true. It is much more a neutral observation. As such, it is horrifying and I have since taken to dealing with it by responding “Even YOU!!” and proceeding to pinch that person’s stomach*

We spent the afternoon with them looking at pictures, talking, and eating lunch (I ate significantly less than anyone else just to prove that I was NOT, in fact, a glutton and that I STILL do not enjoy matooke).

Transportation ended up not being an issue for us, as Pastor borrowed a neighbor’s car and drove us back into Kampala. As the evening came to a close, I started to feel a bit gloomy. It had set in that I was not going to see them for another year and I was going to miss my parents dearly. Even dad started to tear up a bit as we said goodbye, promising that they would have to visit again. As the car drove away to the airport, I took a deep breath and stepped back into my ridiculous life…