Goats again

On Monday I went back on the field to deliver 19 more goats to former LRA child soldiers or victims. These goats will hopefully be a source of income for a few families. On behalf of Fida International, and the teens in the villages, I want to say thank you to Set Free Ministries for making it all possible.

Let me explain

My blogs have been slowing down because I haven't been up to much the past couple of days except for writing. I am sending out over 200 snail mail cards. My fingers are a little sore, but I am doing great. But, you shall soon here more from me. Tonight I am sleeping in the hostel with the Princesses. They say they are going to put me on top bunk. :) So be it. And then on Saturday I will most likely be attending an Introduction. That's the day when the bride price gets discussed and all the wedding arrangements will be made. I'm ready for another day that my stretch my patience or understanding. For now, it's back to my desk. Cheers.

A Confused Season

Nope, it's not me who is confused, but the dry season. It is supposed to be dry and hot season here, but instead I find myself bundled in blankets at night and often racing home on my bike to beat the rain. The other day I went to the field on a piki-piki (motorcycle) and the last five minutes just about did us in. The rain bites as you ride without a jacket. Farmers are also starting to bite, or at least become upset because they don't know which crop to plant or when. Some crops burn in the heat, others grow moldy in too much rain. I pray that people will wisely plant crops and trust God to provide for their needs.

Tis the season

Well, my gate has become a busy place. A lot more people are coming around asking for handouts or work. And that's because Christmas is in the air and the prices of everything has gone up at the market. Fruits and vegetables have almost doubled in price and I don't know how some people can afford it. Well, maybe I can, that's why they are at my gate. I pray for wisdom, insight, and knowledge as to when to help, when to encourage, when to pray, and when to give. Poverty is such a struggle. When is it good to help, without creating dependence, or once again proving that mzungus are rich?
It's time to leave this internet cafe. I don't care for the rap music playing in the background. Ciao.

Transport in Style

Yesturday I traveled back from Kampala on the bus again. It was a fairly good ride. The journey was stalled when our conductor was arrested... apparently the bus had traveled from Soroti to Kampala early in the morning, and the police had then instructed the bus to remain in Kampala for service, but it decided to refill with passages and turn around. So they arrested the conductor until a fine is paid and the bus is serviced. Thankfully it didn't break down on our trip.

I sat beside a wonderful man who came from the Congo. He was really sweet, and when we understood eachother, he had amazing stories to tell. He mainly spoke French and Sarah and I are both very weak in our French language skills. This man is a refugee to Uganda. Eight months ago he was stabbed in Kampala... not all Congolese people are welcomed here by the general public. He showed my pictures of the stabbing, right after it happened. So cruel... a puncture to the skull. This man has found a job though, and with the strength of God is continuing on. You should have seen the excitement on his face when my ipod carried music in his local language. :) He listened to my music for almost 5 hours.

It is good to be back in Soroti. Today I went to the field to visit with the local chairperson of Obalanga, to check up on the mass grave project. It was sad to see it overgrown with weeds and bushes, but the chairman still dreams of grass and flowers soon. We'll see.

Well, I need to bike home before dark settles in. Ciao

Kampala monologue

This morning the Bokma's and I decided to tour Kampala for the day. First we went to the National Museum and toured through some rooms full of artifacts, fossils, stories of tribal history, stuffed animals, and more. In the backyard of the museum were about 15 model huts that we could walk through.

Then over to Kasubi tombs where we got an incredible history tour. At first the guide told us about the outside of the palace.... where 84 extra huts were built. The first Bugandan king had 84 wives and they each had a hut. Today some single women or widows from that tribe still stay there to keep tradition alive. Everything is wrapped in bark cloth to keep this palace / tomb termite free... since it was built in 1882.

Later in the day we headed over to Owino market and o my goodness, I have traveled a lot of places in this world, but I have never seen a market as crazy busy as this one. I guarded my purse and pushed my way through crowds of people to help Sarah find old magazines, full of colourful paper, so that our friends can make paper beads out of them. And then we went on a grand adventure trying to find varnish in a random store, some three stories high... it only took us an extra 25 minutes to locate this shop - full of varnish and other chemicals.

All in all, an adventurous day in Kampala. Heading home tomorrow. Cheers.

Bukedea

I wanted to write about my Saturday experience... it was one of the toughest days for me culturally. A vehicle was supposed to leave a 9 am, but of course, Sarah (my team-mate) and I didn't leave with our friends until after 10 am. We traveled in a very rickety pick-up truck and by the time we got to Bukedea an hour later the exhaust was smoking terribly. We knew we had found our destination path into the bush when we saw some fresh flowers tied to a post.
Sarah and I thought we were going to the village to fellowship with the family of our dear friends, but we ended up being invited to a Thanksgiving service for a Pentecostal church. We walked into this gorgeous grass thatched village church, where the roof extends all the way down to three feet from the ground. You have to bend your body to step into the side door.
Flowers were strung across the church; old cassette tape tape was used to tie the flowers up. Posters were hung everywhere - Saying "Welcome Keren", "Welcome Sarah". We had no idea what to expect. Then we had to sit at the "high table" in front of the church. The congregation would sing a song, somewhat unenthusiastically, then the MC would say "Hallelujah" on increasing scales of loudness, until the whole crowd was excited. Then he would say "1, 2, 3" and clap to draw us all back together and then we would sing the song again. Sarah and I hated being stared at the whole time and the woman would do their high pitched trilling whenever people mentioned that they were excited that the mzungus had come to join them in their service.
Part way through the four hour service I had to make a short call, or go susu (is anybody catching on that my bladder was full?) so my friend led me through the small village to find the designated spot. I should have gone off exploring in the bush on my own, because I was led to a pile of rocks beside a very active hut. This pile was supposed to be surrounded by burlap sacks and papyrus reeds, but there were many worn out holes in the design. Of course, a person's gotta do what a person's gotta do, so I was soon walking back to the church, feeling much better, except that my heart was starting to pound.
At the end of the service, the group wanted to offer a thanksgiving basket to the visitors, with bananas and fresh vegetables. Our friend decided to auction them off in what he called American style auctioning. He went on forever, but not in a style that I am used to. The basket didn't go the highest bidder, but to the person who brought up the last coin. Finally a pregnant lady bought it for 100 shillings and then she still walked up to the front and placed the basket in front of Sarah and me. But the church had just had an offering of over 10,000 shillings. (Close to $6). I ended up giving the pregnant woman a bag of baby clothes in exchange for the produce and she was so excited.
At the end of the day, we still ended up going to our friend's homestead to pick up g-nuts (peanuts) and eggs. Then off to another farm to eat lunch (but it's 4:30pm). We didn't fellowship with any of the locals. They washed our hands by carrying a pitcher of water and pouring it over our hands into a bucket. And then they served the food and left the room. I have always found that style of hosting rather strange, but it is very typical here.
I was happy to be home around 6pm. Taking painkillers for a nauseous headache and ready to relax for the night.