ALIVE AND WELL IN UGANDA

A long-awaited update from Kibaale...where the children are precious, the bananas are plenty and the clinic has potential (read, needs a lot of work).

There is a lot to be said for the power of transitions and culture adjustment—perhaps even exponential when you move to a remote village in Africa. You may have noticed my long hiatus from email and wondered if I had been struck by lightening, malaria or a puff adder. Fortunately, although these are all within reason given my location, I am happy to report that I have been spared all calamities so far, am staying healthy and settling well into life in Uganda. I love it here. It is exactly where I am supposed to be right now. Despite the many daily challenges.

GOOD MORNING KIBAALE
The day starts at 3:30-4am with the sound of relentless air horns echoing up the valley from the morning busses in Kibaale town. In a village with few alarm clocks, apparently it is the only way to be sure to fill the coach to Kampala. I finally roust myself out of bed and the safety of my mosquito net to pull on my running clothes. It’s now 6:15, the sky is pink against the lush green hills and the birds are already in full orchestra. My running date was apparently lost in translation, as I drop by teacher housing to find that Margaret thought it was an evening program. So I get to enjoy some timely solitude.

In fact, I savor the space to process my thoughts, be present in the morning moments and talk to God. Soon my feet find a rhythm; the red dust claiming my once-white running shoes. Boda bodas (motorcycle taxis) whip past always in a rush somewhere, now and then coasting neutral downhill to economize on fuel. Women and children sweep compounds, friendly greetings (which I am still trying to master…the Luganda greetings are long, barely audible, lots of high tones and mmm’s; women and girls bow on both knees regardless of mud or rocks). A speckled black pig passes me—strapped to a bicycle on its way to market. Friendly locals carry firewood or matoke (plantains) on their heads, offering an excited double handed wave for the Muzungu. On the return home, I have a pied-piperesque following of giggling school children—chewing on sugar cane, smiling gap-toothed grins, oblivious to their shoeless feet, congested coughs, fungal infected scalps, or tattered uniforms.

JUMPING INTO THE DEEP END
The six weeks since I arrived in Kibaale has been full. Why ease in slowly, when you can hurl yourself into the deep end? I’ve always loved to live life to the fullest.

Day two on the job for me, I had to fire our lab assistant for stealing drugs, injecting patients and even charging them for his malpractice. I have visited local clinics where the only drugs available are paracetamol (Tylenol equivalent), the only equip in the lab is a microscope (and no power) and the only staff are students. I’ve gone on immunization outreach to remote villages and listened to the mobilizer tell a family they'll be arrested if they don’t build a latrine by next visit (village sanitation has become a serious initiative here). I’ve attended meetings, chaired meetings and often felt completely lost as to what is going on around me because of the language barrier.

I’ve become an expert in 4-wheel driving on crazy village roads (and non-roads) and even braved the insane traffic of Kampala. In fact, I was in Kla last Friday during the taxi strike and riots (thankfully at a safe distance)...the heavily armed police stopped to greet us before speeding off and breaking up the crowd with tear gas.

I’ve visited a nursing school where I was requested to do an impromptu inspirational speech. I’ve co-taught a sex ed class of 250+students at the secondary school. I have written a letter to the president’s wife to invite her to our clinic grand opening in August. I have hobnobbed with officials at the Ministry of Health, hearing elaborate promises of subsidized antimalarials and mosquito nets, yet to be fulfilled. I’ve arranged for a potential shipment of donated medical equipment from Holland. I have presented an education session for clinic staff on “customer care” since this is sadly lacking, and marveled at how much they love doing role plays. I have reminded the “nurses” (btw, I have no “real” qualified nurses in the clinic…yikes) to wear gloves when starting IV’s.

I've referred a disabled young man for a life-changing orthopedic surgery (FYI, we still need to raise $500 for this). I’ve comforted a family grieving over their father who was beaten in a fight and has since passed away. I’ve hired a lovely local lady to be my “house help”—she was abandoned by her husband (after leaving her HIV-infected), has two children and was recently kicked off her land by her brothers. She was overjoyed to accept the job. Also, thanks to an HIV/AIDS program in Rakai, she now has access to ARV’s and is maintaining her health.

I have worshiped at both a local village church—passionate message, welcoming folks, chickens walking through, and a lady selling kabalagala (banana pancakes) in the back “pew”—and a fancy city church complete with powerpoint and a rockin’ worship band. Oh and I attended the President Museveni's Rev. daughter’s church in Kampala and had to pass through a metal detector first.

I have hiked to the tops of the surrounding hills, dug a garden, picnicked at a lake, and visited the source of the Nile in Jinja. I have arrived home to a frog, a snake lizard and a dragon fly in my place. I’ve been told “Jaybalay” ?sp (“well done”, a common proclamation here) for doing practically nothing.

I have listened, I have learned, until my brain is exhausted.

VILLAGE LIFE & REGAINING EQUILIBRIUM
In some ways it feels so natural for me to be living in Africa again--I hardly bat an eye at a small truck overflowing with matoke, market cargo and 50+ people piled high, or a kid riding an oversize bike with a load of chickens tied on by their feet, or a toddler packing around a panga (machete). But on the other hand, it’s often underestimated just how much focus and stamina it takes to get used to a brand new culture, language, completely different ways of thinking, speaking, doing, being.

So many unwritten rules, knowing where to be at the right time--lunch break is 1:30-2:30, government officials often don’t work on Monday or Friday, meetings start late, church is on time. Trousers ok in the city, not for work in the village. Greetings are essential before any business is done. Raised eyebrows are not flirtatious or questioning, but rather, a very common greeting, or a way of answering in the affirmative and even a method of giving someone directions “over there”. People are referred to as “the black one”, the fat one”, “muzungu” (white person), none of which are derogatory. K’s are usually pronounced “Ch” (Kibaale=chi-ball-ee), L’s are pronounced like “R”; and vice versa, so people talk of going to the liver (river) to fetch water and my good friend Laura is called Rolla here. Time is calculated in terms of daylight: 7am is referred to as 1 because it is the first hour of the day. As you can imagine, getting into the flow of life takes a great deal of mental energy.

Everyday life is a lot of work. No microwave. No hot water out of the tap. No starbucks up the street. No phone network. No blow-dryer. No perforated toilet paper. But plenty to keep you busy...Boiling and filtering rain water for drinking. Chasing lizards and other creepy things out the house. Handwashing clothes and rescuing from the line before sudden downpours. Soaking fruits and veggies in bleach water. Making toast in a frying pan. Hoisting up the solar shower without spilling a precious drop. Figuring out how to relight the propane fridge. Stirring lumps out of the powdered milk.

And that’s all before 8am…before facing the work day, and the mammoth task of restructuring and improving clinic services. But that’s a whole other story I will save for next time. STAY TUNED…

SENDING LOVE ACROSS THE MILES
Suffice to say, as much as I have been thinking of all of you--treasured friends, family, colleagues, supporters, people I’ve connected with in random places—I needed to settle in to village life and catch my breath before I could face the challenges of email. My computer has not been cooperating (I have hit a record high of sending error reports, which though they may enter a virtual abyss, “reporting” seems somehow therapeutic, as opposed to succumbing passively to computer terrorism). Then there are power outages, sporadic internet which cannot be used during rain storms (which seem to be daily lately), and certainly not the highspeed we are so accustomed to in the west. Regardless, I am over-the-top grateful that we have access to internet at all.

Thank you for your emails, your grace, your encouragement, and your involvement in the good work that is going on in Kibaale. If you could experience it just for a day you would be amazed at how many lives are being impacted on this compound and in the community. Many who were raised here at Kibaale Community Centre (when it started as a home for orphans during the local AIDS pandemic almost 20yrs ago) have grown up to become teachers, health workers, carpenters and many have returned to work in the many programs on site.

It is truly an honor to be part of this project. I will admit, the work ahead of me is daunting. Vast changes are desperately needed at the clinic. However, sensitivity and wisdom are needed to promote collaboration rather than resistance. Trust takes time.

I welcome your emails and news from home and abroad. I’ll try to post photos and updates regularly as technology and time allow.

Abundant blessings,
Stacy