We are back in Kampala now. We returned from Rwanda at the beginning of April and this blog is long overdue, but all I've been doing since I got back is research, writing, and reading so I haven't felt like writing a very long blog.

So, let me tell you about Easter in Rwanda…

For our Easter weekend the group went to Lake Kivu, which happens to be extremely close to where ImmaculeeIlibagiza, author of Left to Telllived. Lake Kivu was beautiful! We stayed at a hotel called Hotel Golf (no golf course in site) and they had a HUGE picture of the president, Paul Kigame in the lobby. Also, the hotel would play shows from WWF shows in America and we liked to watch them while we ate (not). One day we were all wearing wet clothes from swimming and we came back to the hotel to find about 200 Rwandan men watching the football match (soccer) on TV. They stopped me and asked who I was pulling for and I shouted Manchester United (although I've never seen them play) and the men who were for Man U. ( about 80%) clapped and yelled. It was extremely awkward because parts of my clothes had dried, but I had all these wet patches on my pants and I saw some of the men looking at my pants with a curious look on their faces. One guy even pointed to my pants and I had to explain.

On Saturday of Easter weekend, the group took a boat ride to "Bat Island." I'm not sure if that was the island's real name, but that's what we called it. From this picture, you can see why it was called that…

Lake Kivu...

The boat ride there…
 

Brittany, a little boy sleeping, and me on the boat.

Eventually, we made it to Peace Island…

At Peace Island we swam, ate, played volleyball, and played with the monkey…

Easter…

Easter morning I was not in the mood to go to a rural church service. Church usually lasts around 3 hours. During services you don't know the music and even when the sermon is in English, translation makes it difficult to understand. Additionally, many pastors lack training in critically studying the Bible, so for 3 hours you hear "Jesus is the Light! Turn away from Satan! God can heal AIDS!"

Once we got to the church, we got taken to the front of the church and proceded to join in prayer and singing for the next hour to hour and a half. I remember thinking, "This is exactly how I thought it'd be. I don't want to be here. Why couldn't we have just slept in?" Shortly after thinking this, the children's choir began singing. This made the service a little more interesting and it gave my hands a break from clapping. The very next song, the children started dancing from the opposite side of the room and they kept dancing closer and closer to us. As soon as they reached where we were sitting, they took one of us by the hands and we all started dancing. This one adorable little girl took my hands and we started dancing in the middle of the room, along with all the children, some adults, and all the rest of the group. I think the song was Amazing Grace, but at a fast pace and those 5 minutes were truly the most wonderful feeling. Everyone was smiling, dancing, and the children were everywhere!

While I was jumping up and down, I could see the necklace that I had on swinging in the air and I thought, "Hmm.. I think I should give this necklace to the little girl." So I did. As soon as the song ended, I put the necklace around her neck and we went back to our opposite sides of the room. A few minutes later, I saw the girl walking back towards me with the necklace in her hand and she came up to me trying to give it back. I knew that an adult had probably made her do this and I kept thinking how embarrassed I'd be if it was me at that age. I just put it back in her hands and she got to keep the necklace. After the dancing I thought that this was the best Easter ever, but it got even more intense…

When the time for "testimonies" came around, a woman got up at the front of the church and she started talking about her experience in the genocide. She was a victim of the genocide and she talked about how she survived the genocide and her story of forgiveness. She now helps others to forgive. Next, a girl got up and in front of the entire church asked for forgiveness for having premarital sex. No matter what your personal feelings are on the issue, this was a huge deal. This girl essentially stood in front of a strict and conservative culture, saying that she had "ruined" herself. This could jeopardize her position in the choir, in the village, and even prevent her from being married. I was blown away.

All in all, it was the best Easter ever. I would definitely suggest Hotel Golf be included in anyone's future travels to Rwanda.

1.  Memory of being at Dr. Mpagi’s pig farm…

Dr. Mpagi teaches us about African traditional religion and he’s probably one of the most interesting men you’ll ever meet. His voice is marvelous, with a special kind of accent. He often says “mmmm” and he will ask us “Do you ‘git’ it?” I think we are probably his favorite group yet.  The other week a few of us asked to go to his church, so he invited us not only to his church, but also to his pig farm, complete with a banana plantation. We had the best time and his family was so welcoming. They said that they would not move the benches where we ate until we returned again.

Where I was kneeling had tons of pig hair on the ground. I asked Dr. Mpagi if this is where they shaved the pigs (me thinking in a grooming sense) and he said, “Yes this is where the pig was shaved.” When he said “the pig” I realized that I was kneeling where the pig for our lunch met its end.

2. Random skaterboy…

Have you ever been riding in a car and then suddenly, out your rearview mirror, you see a man who is holding onto your car? Well, we here at Go-Ed have seen just that. This guy was wearing regular roller skates and would skate around until he held onto a boda boda, car, or matatu. I was fortunate enough to be sitting close to the back and I got a picture of him.

3.  Traveling to Makerere to interview Stephen about Samia culture…

Scott and I took several matatus in order to reach Makerere. In the process of walking towards the taxi park, I felt something funny on my backpack. I turned to see what it was and lo and behold… it was a man’s hands. Don’t worry. Nothing was stolen. I quickly grabbed my bag from him, gave him my dirtiest scowl and kept moving. In retrospect, I wish I’d been more forceful with him, but I’m glad that I did not yell thief or anything similar. In some parts of Africa, people will kill thieves on the street or severely beat them. I heard of one girl who saw a man killed in front of her because he had tried to steal an item from her (not here though).

4.  Naked man walking…

While at the university one day, I was sitting in a matatu and happened to look to my right, only to see a half naked man. The man was wearing a polo shirt, but the pants were nowhere to be found. He was walking calmly on the sidewalk and people were not making a great commotion about it. Franco (Dr. Mpagi’s son) said he was probably a mad man or a man who wanted to avoid taxes. Scott said that getting a tax break for being nude sounded good to him.

5.  Boy on median…

Whenever your car or matatu is stopped, people will roam around vehicles, trying to sell their merchandise.  One day I was with our house mom, Julia, in the car and we were laughing at the things people were selling.  Just then, a boy walks up and appears to be holding homework that he’s trying to sell. Julia and I laughed so hard and Julia, being intrigued, rolled down the window to see the paper up close. It turns out that it wasn’t homework, but a paper with tons of circles drawn on it for no apparent reason. Julia gave him some money and took the paper. The boy got a kick out of too since he was pointing us out to his friends and laughing (probably saying… “Those muzungus will buy anything.”). We think the boy was probably just begging for money, but ended up selling his “art” in the process.  The famous art…

I think that’ll be enough randomness for today.

In other news, I am leaving for Apac tomorrow. Christy and I will be doing our practicum there, while others will be in different parts of Uganda or even in other countries. Our assignments deals with teaching an abstinence class, teaching kids (what we aren’t sure yet though), and primarily working on a project for FHI related to church-to-church ministry (partnering churches here with those in the U.S.). We will not have electricity or running water, and we’ll eat traditional food 24/7. Apparently we are living in a storefront of sorts and there is group of intoxicated men that tend to loiter around the store area. Armed with our solar shower bags and our boda helmets, Christy and I will boldly go where few women have gone before (note Star Trek reference here). I just look at the next month as a weight loss program and an interesting internship. Let the fun begin…

It was on this hill that over 50,000 people died. This place cannot be larger than my small neighborhood. Could 50,000 people actually fit in my neighborhood?

In that fateful April of 1994, the Tutsis of this area were told to come to this hill and this school for safety. Some came and they received blankets, food, and water. They were even allowed to go back home and bring more of their family members. French soldiers were in the area, but unfortunately, they weren’t there to help. You see… the Tutsis were tricked. The Hutus planned this ploy. They spread rumors of rescue, promised safety, and they even lulled their prey into a false sense of security. Once a critical number of Tutsis were gathered on the hill, the killing began. Out of the 50,000-60,000 people killed on this one hill, there were only 10 survivors. Imagine… only 10 people left to tell the story. What happened to the others? The others met their maker at the ends of guns, at the blade of a machete, and with the effortless toss of a grenade.

This memorial was not a part of our class. The Pastor once took a group of students to the memorial and they reacted extremely negatively. He believes the message of this memorial is one that is meant to shock, not to simply remind or teach. You see… the bodies of those people shoved into mass graves on the hill after the slaughters are still there.

Some have been buried on the site, but others still lie in the rooms of the school with lime covering their bones. The corpses are mostly bone. Some skulls still have tufts of hair on them and some skeletons still have their clothes attached to them. Every few corpses you’ll see a body wearing a rosary.  The bodies are twisted and contorted depending on how people died and how they landed in the mass graves. Some corpses are noticeably children or babies. Also, there’s a strange smell in each of the rooms that isn’t pleasant, but it is not unbearable either. You come to a room completely filled with skulls and bones. The skulls all have machete marks on them. Finally, there is one large room, but on one side there are open shelves, filled with clothes. These are the clothes of the victims. Even to this day, family members can still go and pick out the clothes of their family members.

Despite the shock of the bodies, the most shocking thing for me was actually this sign…

Guilt comes in many forms. For the international community, it was the failure to act. While the French were an extreme case, the whole world might as well have been playing volleyball here.

Do I have pictures of the corpses? Yes. The moment the guy unlocked the first room, he said that we could take pictures of everything. At first none of us did. Then, one by one… our cameras came out.  Am I going to show you? No. I don’t know that I ever will show them.  I don’t know the people who used to live in those skeletons and I am not sure how they would feel about me taking pictures of them. I took pictures because I’m greedy and I had a feeling I’d regret it if I did not. This memorial isn’t for the community, it's for people like me, who want to feel something and make it all seem real. The reason I went to the memorial is the same reason why so many news programs focus on murder, rape, disasters, etc.: humans are attracted to horror. There is something captivating about evil and those who commit it that piques our curiosity. It's in me as well as you.

I don’t want to ask you to care about Rwanda or Darfur or even AIDS. I just hope people care about something. In my Women in Asia and Africa class with Dr. Dunn, we were always asked who should read our books (all 17 of them). Some people felt that everyone should read the books, but I felt differently. You are not a bad person if you never heard of Rwanda or if you are not sponsoring a kid in Africa. People are called to care about different topics. For example, I could care less about music history, many areas of science, and I am not even a part of the homeless ministry in Spartanburg. Does this make me a horrible person? No. I’m rather tired of the American ideal that you must know everything, do everything, go everywhere, and care about everything. I can’t do that. I can’t commit my life to working with genocide victims, ending AIDS, and stopping child prostitution in Bangladesh. It just can’t happen. One day, after a long course of events, I’ll realize that I’ve found my “cause.” I am not sure what that will be yet, but I just want to do something and to do it to the best of my ability.

P.S.
We did get a ride back to Kigali from the memorial. A nice car came along and the driver told us someone in the bus park told him about us. We rode with him for a cheap price and made it almost all the way back to Kigali. However, there was transmission trouble at the last part. As we were all standing outside the car in the dark, a nice escalade-looking vehicle pulls up and they offer us a ride to our exact location in Kigali for free. It turns out the owner of the car was a general in the military of the area of the memorial and he was visiting his family in Kigali. He also has met Romeo Dallaire. Despite the sad memorial, we had a pretty eventful day in all.

View from the hill

Clothes

We have only been in Kigali for a few days, but I am falling love with Rwanda already. Kigali is like the Appalachian Mountains in America with banana trees (and Africans of course). While there is most certainly poverty in the country, as well as remnants of hatred, and AIDS due to rape during the genocide, I see hope for Rwanda in the signs of development in Kigali.

Rwanda is extremely clean. When we crossed the border, we were forced to open all our bags and prove that we did not have plastic bags (like grocery bags) in our luggage because they are illegal in Rwanda. Not only is Rwanda clean, but the landscaping and architecture is beautiful. Finally, and most importantly for me, Kigali is not jammed packed with matatus (called buses here). The bus system is simple. There is not a deadly bus park to maneuver your way through and the boda drivers (motos here) have helmets! When I cross the street…cars actually stop! I forgot that they could do that.

The Genocide Memorial

We visited the memorial for the genocide that takes you through the genocide step by step and all of the history, which led up to the conflict. I could outline this for you, but I feel that it would be better if you research yourself. If there was ever a failure of international bodies, the UN, or colonialism, Rwanda is it. At the same time I was playing with my Barbies in 1994, another girl my age was being hacked to death with a machete because she was a Tutsi. Why didn’t we care about the loss of almost 1 million people in 3 months? The answer: Rwanda had no resources or American investments for us to concern ourselves over fighting the Hutu forces. Interestingly, it is estimated that the UN troops used to evacuate expatriates (all the white people basically) could have stopped the genocide. However, I contend that it is hard for troops to fight when they have to call a bureaucrat to see if they can shoot their guns while they are being beaten up.

Genocide is still taking place and the majority of the world still does not care. Lesson learned? Can we say Darfur?

Our Guard

So we had this guard who liked to carry a machete at night with a towel over his head. When you would ring at the gate at night, he would greet you with his machete raised up. Yes… very disconcerting. One night our house mom, Julia, was coming in the gate and the guard greeted her with his raised machete. When Julia asked him what that was for, the guard made a slashing motion and said, “Boom.” Also, the other morning, at 1 am, I was the only one still awake in the living room and the guard comes in the door with his machete, towel, and walks past me, through the house and turns off lights, etc. I can’t lie… I was a little freaked out. The next day the guy was fired and we were all glad to see him go.

Burbon

There is a coffee place downtown called Burbon, which is like Starbucks, but full of Rwandans. You can buy great coffee, but at American prices… downside. However, Jenny made friends with one of the workers while she was here last month and now we get free food and coffee… yea no downside there. I love going there because no one stares at me and random people don’t pull up chairs beside me as I’m talking to my friends. It’s a piece of my American freedom and if it occasionally costs me $ 3-4, then I am willing to pay.

Embassy

So where is the best place to go for free, fast Internet?  Why the US embassy of course. We go to the US embassy right up the road almost every other day, present our student id cards, and make our way to the library. All of the Rwandans there are so nice (and everywhere really). We must look really confused a lot because people are always asking if we need help. There’s something about writing emails from the US embassy that makes me feel special and powerful (insert maniacal laugh). I’m forming a plan to steal this one picture of Dick Cheney where his facial expression is hilarious. I doubt I can pull it off, but you only live once.

The other night!

Last night I attended a mustache contest between some NGO workers here. One of the Go-ed guys entered and got second place. Each person got to vote for a different category. The category I got to vote for was “The person most likely to throw the contest by bringing college students” and this category was targeted at an FH worker named Sam who actually won the contest. Other categories included “The mustache most likely to cure cancer” and “The mustache that makes you want to be a pirate.” Sam gave an awesome speech that was modeled after Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, but referenced mustaches. “Four score and 16 days ago, I began to grow this mustache…” Next Thursday we are going to go to the memorial again to see the movie “Shooting Dogs” and to hear a genocide speaker, which we skipped in favor of the contest.

This Weekend

This weekend we’ll be going to the Gacaca (pronounced "gachacha") Courts. These are the courts that sentence prisoners accused of crimes during the genocide. They are held outside and people come to confirm that these persons were involved in crimes. I’ve seen footage of the courts, but I’ll be able to tell you more about it after I’ve actually experienced it.

Random

The other day the Pastor was lecturing and he was talking about foreign investors, etc. Then he said, “There are rumors that some men from the US want to build a village of old people in Rwanda.” I thought… what the heck is this guy talking about and then we realized…he was talking about a retirement home- HA! Nursing homes and retirement homes are a foreign idea to many Africans. Old people here would rather commit suicide than die away from their family/home.

Scott and me doing our “we are so full” picture after two rounds of free coffee and cakes from Burbon.

Running

One of the guys in our group told me one night that every girl in our group could have a flat stomach if she ran several times a week for a month...no I didn't slap him and he's actually a nice guy. I told this to Christy and we talked about how we did need to run during practicum (starches everyday does a number on the body). While we haven't run very often and me even less than Christy.. runs always result in the best stories. Two white girls running in pants always seems to draw a crowd. As we run by... people will stop and stare or laugh or encourage us. There's one woman named Margaret who always runs with us as we run by. One time when she was running with us I looked over and thought.. Man, Christine has a lot of flies around here today. Then I realized that those were just a few of the 30 flies surrounding Margaret. Another time, a drunk, old man ran with us for about a mile. The sad thing is that he was keeping up better than me. The best part about running is the kids... we'll have 10-12 kids following us so we decided to play follow the leader. We had them running backwards, doing the grapevine, skipping, and then we'd stop all of a sudden and they'd all bump into each other.

Making Bricks

The women’s group of Tikoling decided to make a house for a little boy to sleep in, whose grandparents were too old to work. Christy and I wanted to help, so we showed up with Martin and Colleen –staff- and started making the mud to make bricks. If an American group were making bricks, they would start early in the morning and try to do as much work as possible that day with few breaks or socialization. Not in Uganda..  We started around 10:30 or 11 am and you’d work for 10-15 minutes, then sit and rest for the same amount of time until the women came with more water in their jerry cans. The women and the men got a kick out of two white girls with hoes in the middle of a deep mud pit and our muddy legs. After a while the few men that were there took over and everyone kept telling us to rest (like always), but we weren’t tired so we went with the women to fetch water. No bricks were made that day. Apparently you have to let the mud sit for a few days. After we were done, they had us wash our legs off with water. I thought this would be a simple task, but it seems that Christy and I did not do it properly…or so we were told. Pretty much everything we do here is done incorrectly. We can’t wash our clothes in the right way, we cut our watermelons in the wrong direction, we can’t sweep, we can’t mop or iron, and we can’t even put water in the shower bag correctly. I think they just like doing things for us. I can’t accept the idea that I’m that inept.

Farewell Nelson

So, one afternoon I was at the Barkalo school and Judith said that the school was ending early because of a local funeral the teachers wanted to attend. I asked about deceased and discovered he was a young man with a child and wife left behind. The cause of death was supposedly related to the lungs. Judith and Ben decided to go to the funeral as well and asked me if I wanted to go. I tried not to seem excited about it, but I allowed as how I did want to go. On the way there, I remembered something that some other people in our group had experienced at a funeral. Even though they didn’t know the person who had died or anyone at this funeral except for their guide, they were asked to introduce themselves to the whole group at the burial. On the way to the funeral I thought… surely I won’t be asked to introduce myself… I don’t even know the guy and these people have seen me around. Wrong! I got to the funeral, there were about 200 people there and the casket was in the middle of the compound. I was greeted by a man who asked me if I wished to “inspect the body.” I decided that I did want to “inspect the body” and so I filed past the casket that was made out of plywood and covered in a black cloth. There was a square hole where nelson’s face was so that you could see his face. A woman sat by the casket to serve the purpose of shooing flies away from Nelson. No one ever told me the name of the dead guy I was inspecting, but I soon discovered it thanks to about 50 brass thumb tacks that were hammered into the side of the coffin to spell NELSON. I was then led to a plastic lawn chair, while everyone else, except for the pastors, sat on benches or mats. After a dirge or two, the pastor turned my way and asked Judith to introduce me. After Judith introduced me, they wanted me to say a few words about myself. I gave my usual information, but made it shorter than usual since I felt so awkward. I was going to say “I’m sorry for your loss” but I wasn’t sure who the widow was so I just said “Thank you” in the local language and it made everyone laugh because they love it when we speak their language. If it wasn’t for the dead body, you would have thought we were at church and that everyone was just happy. Nelson… I’m sorry for crashing your burial.

Small Things

Showering never ceases to surprise me. Christy and I shower at the same time, using our towels as curtains between us and we share the shower bag. The first half of the month, Christy took the more vulnerable side of the side, where people could easily walk in on you or see you if the bathroom door to the second toilet blows shut. So, the rest of the time, I’ve taken it. The very first day we switched both Jen and Lucy came into use the second toilet, which is right where we bathe. When Jen opened that door I practically shot across to the other side of the room. After she left I went back to my side of the curtain, only to have Lucy come in and the same thing happened. Privacy is different here. Another day I was getting ready to use the shower bag, when I noticed a long pink thing swimming in the shower tube.. it was a worm… I freaked and didn’t take a shower that day until Christy promised me the wormed was dead, dry, and stuck in the head of the tube.

Choose Life Class

I don't think I mentioned this class before, but Christy and I teach a Choose-Life class at two village schools and it got extremely awkward this past week. Christy and I had been dreading session 4 since we began the book. In session 4 you tell the kids exactly... and I do mean exactly what sex involves. I chose to avoid this part by just handing the booklet to Donald - a very funny guy- and asking him to translate this definition for me. Donald had not looked at the lesson so as he started reading the definition, he suddenly stopped and looked at me and then turned to Judith -our mom figure here- and asked her to interpret it. I can't fully explain how funny this was because Donald is indescribable, but trust me that I had to use all my strength to control my self from laughing. Finally Judith took over and started reading the definition. She made a good effort, but only got so far before she broke down and put her head on the desk. The whole time Donald, Ben, and I were trying to keep from laughing with little success. Consequently the kids were also laughing some. I'm pretty sure I'm the worse sex-ed teacher ever. I have a whole new appreciation for the profession. I was able to play a game with the kids that I learned this summer -thanks Kim- where the kids got pieces of paper, 2 kids had "AIDS", and 2 kids gave people slips with the word "baby" on it. All the other children had blank slips. I told everyone to keep one of their original slips and then had them shake hands with each other and exchange slips after shaking hands. I had two "couples" that were only allowed to shake hands with each other- to represent monogamous couples- and some people who couldn't shake hands at all- to represent abstaining. Of course over half the class got AIDS and some had "babies." It was sad when we had the kids put their heads down and close their eyes to answer some questions. When they were asked who had ever had sex before, a few raised their hands and they couldn't have been more than 14. As awkward as Choose-Life can be... the following story is one of the reasons why I know it has to be taught.

Tony’s story

One day I was at the office at Barkalo and I saw this small boy who couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 at the most. Judith told me his name was Tony and that he had AIDS. She asked me how old I thought he was and I guessed, but she told me he was actually 15! A few days later I arrived at the office, got off the motorcycle and greeted a woman who was waiting at the office. I noticed that she seemed really sad and that’s when I saw a small boy lying on the cement porch of the office with a towel on his face. The staff were asking the mother what was wrong with the boy and the woman was responding, but she would turn her head every few seconds to wipe away tears from her eyes. After awhile, the mother took the boy who was bleeding from his nose, mouth, etc. and placed him on the back of her bicycle and started riding away. I asked Judith who the child was and where the boy was being taken. Judith told me that the boy was actually Tony, but he looked different because he was so dehydrated and he had been throwing up for several days. Jerry arranged transport for Tony to the hospital and the hospital sent him back home that same day. Only a few days later, Tony’s brother came to the main office where I sleep early one morning, telling the staff that Tony was doing really badly. Jerry went to go see Tony. Village people told Jerry to leave Tony to die at home, but Jerry insisted that Tony should be taken to the hospital, so FH arranged for transportation and Tony got medical treatment. Tony got better and within a few days he was even bathing himself. I was really touched by Tony’s story because when I saw his mother cry I realized that the worst feeling in the world as a woman would be to see your child suffering and near death because of a disease that the child did not even bring upon him or herself. Tony’s mother wasn’t sobbing, but silently crying. Since then, I’ve thought… AIDS isn’t a disease you see everywhere, but it’s silent in many ways and the pain it causes is a silent pain that you see in communities and on the faces of victims’ family members. Tony’s father has been dead for several years and the mother has AIDS, which is how Tony contracted it. The other children have not yet been tested. Because of Tony’s father, this bright, and extremely sweet boy will always be smaller than kids his age and he may not even live many more years.

Christy and I bought food supplies for Tony and we got to talk to the family. Judith asked Tony what he wants to be when he grows up and he said he wanted to be a doctor because the doctors had helped him so much and he wanted to help other people. While we were there, Tony’s mother told us that the morning Tony’s brother appeared at the office, Tony really had died. His body had turned cold and he wasn’t breathing, so the mother began to prepare the body for viewing by wrapping it in white cloth. A neighbor came by and asked the mother if she was sure Tony was dead. The neighbor said that they should pray, so they started praying to God and a few minutes after they’d finished.. there was rustling in the cloth. The mother checked and Tony’s body was warm again and Tony was alive! I kept looking at Tony during the visit, thinking that this boy must be so special and I was so glad he wasn’t left to die after such a miracle.

The project:

In Uganda I kept getting asked if I have a garden, if there are beans in America, what kind of food Americans eat, what our homes look like, what the seasons are in America, etc. So, I’ve thought about it and I’d like for any readers who are interested to send notes/cards and pictures of the following things:  the seasons, homes, the grocery store!, food, families, Christmas trees, traditions, refrigerators (inside), pizza, a classroom, bikes, pets and anything else you’d think people here might want to see.

I’m going to send pictures with Jerry back to Apac in April when he comes for his meeting so that the staff and other people will understand the things we’ve been describing to them.

Please send them to:

Anne Marie Fagge
P.O. Box 12167
Zzimwe Close Plot 40
Block 244 Muyenga
Kampala, Uganda
East Africa

Also, Julie (our house mom) almost didn’t send Christy her 15 some letters this month because I didn’t have any letters and she thought that would make me sad. Then Christy explained to her that I didn’t give anyone my address. I’m kind of scared people are beginning to think I don’t have friends or family because everyone else gets letters except me, so let’s proves them wrong…

Life here is so different from Kampala and we’ve had to do a lot of adjustment this past week.

Living Conditions

Christy and I live in a cement room that is actually meant for a storefront. While there is a roof, the walls do not go all the way up to the roof so we are often awoken at night by the sound of the tailor’s sewing machine (at 3 am!) two rooms down or the guard’s radio in the room next to us (I’m sure Celine is a great singer, but not at 5am!). In our room you will find a bunkbed, a sheet on a string to dress behind, a desk, 2 chairs, our messy suitcases, basins – one for washing and one for “short calls,” our motorcycle helmets, and 3 water containers (the kind that are meant to be put in water coolers, but we just pour our water out from the top). You will also find one electrical outlet, but it is null and void, seeing as there is no electricity and there isn’t any internet access in the village. The best part about where we live is the fact that a few FHI national staff and some local nurses live directly behind us so that we have an alley way of sorts that we all share. Susan is our age and she’s hilarious. Lucy is a little girl that lives with her aunt Beatrice and we go with them everyday to get water. There’s also Judith and Ben, who are Ugandan FHI staff.

Eating

A cook named Jumah cooks a meal for us each day. Sometimes it’s lunch and sometimes it’s dinner. We never seem to eat at the same time each day. While Jumah makes traditional food, it’s delicious. The first few days we didn’t have a cook and so every meal consisted of bananas, bread, and snacks we bought in Kampala. The other day I was at a local school and I was fed lunch there. At first I was going to decline since lunch was posho (corn meal in a play-dough consistency) and beans, but I ate it (with only my hands by the way) and I actually enjoyed myself.

Sanitation

The flies will certainly drive me crazy before anything else. The other day I was interviewing someone and a fly landed on my lip, in addition to the other 6 that were crawling over my mosquito bites. Christy and I bathe at least once a day here with the help of our handy-dandy solar shower bag, which we always forget to put in the sun. The weirdest part about showering is that we have to put on our towels, take the shower bag, and a basin to the outhouse area. Now, you may think.. that’s not weird Anne.. and I would agree except that we have to walk past all the neighbors and often there are 4-5 men sitting in the alleyway as we walk by. This culture’s idea of sexuality is very interesting to me. To wear a skirt above your knees is scandalous, but to breastfeed in public (no cover-up here) or walk by men dripping wet in your towel…perfectly ok.

The Average Day

Normally, we get up at 7:30 am, walk past the neighbors that are skinning a cow, which is strung up between two trees, take a shower, get dressed, go to devotions with the staff, take tea with the staff, pack our bags, jump on the back of motorcycles, ride to the villages of Barakalo or Tikoling, make home visits to children in the Child Development Program, work in the office, eat a small snack for lunch, get back on the motorcycle around 4 pm, eat dinner with the staff, take naps, get up, hang out with our alley neighbors, shell peanuts, fetch water, laugh, excuse ourselves and go to bed around 10:30 pm.  The end.

The Hardest Things

One of the hardest things about being in Apac is the lack of freedom. We can’t just go explore or get away from everything. The staff is very protective and we are always with someone except for our morning runs. Jerry wouldn’t even let us go to a wedding ceremony here because of the likelihood of drunk men.

Also, I’m tired of asking questions, only to find myself faced with more questions instead of answers. Development is such a huge, complex task, that I feel overwhelmed often.

Randomness

Christy and I carry jugs of water on our heads each day. Christy has upgraded to the 20 liter can, while I’m still at the 10 liter. Finally the town has stopped laughing at us, but they still stop what they are doing to look at us. All I can think when I’m at that part of the road is “don’t drop it.. don’t drop it.”

The other day was Valentine’s Day and we all celebrated by wearing red and black. Christy and I made valentines and we even got some too! Also, there was a random local photographer who took our picture with Susan.

Although I’ve never seen it, Christy is always coming back to the room in the morning asking if I saw the cow that was being butchered by the neighbors or the goat.

I rode a bike the other day! This may not be big to you, but if you saw how tall these bikes are and were able to ride one in a skirt, on a rocky road… you too would feel proud.

There is a large group of men near our room who drink the local brew which looks and smells disgusting. Usually there are about 20 of them sitting around a large pot, with sticks that have holes in them, drinking the brew.

There’s so much more to write, but I’m almost out of internet time.  I’ll write more later…

On the bus trip up to the rafting company (called Adrift by the way), we picked up other Muzungus like ourselves, as well as two Ugandan girls. While we were talking to the Ugandan girls, we started talking about clubs and dancing. The girls were shocked we had not been to clubs and gone drinking. They told us their favorite clubs and then shared with us that they had only gotten home at 5 am that morning (it was 7:30 am at this time). I loved talking to them… one even let me taste the chicken on a stick that she bought, which people run up to buses to sell.

Once we got to the rafting place, we quickly got our helmets, lifejackets, and oars.  I was expecting some kind of tutorial considering a lot of people had never even been rafting before, but it never came. They had us split ourselves in to mild and wild groups. Of course, my slightly feminist self thought… I can totally handle this wild thing. I was wrong.

Once I got in the wild raft and we started doing flipping the rafting training for when we fall out of the raft, I totally freaked inside and thought NO! Fortunately, our house mom Julia (the coolest person ever by the way) switched with me. I felt confident and safe in my mild raft choice, so I was relaxed… for a while.

After we went over a few small rapids, we came to one called Big Brother, which is a class 5 rapid (6 means death). This was an 18 ft waterfall essentially. Our guide told us that there was a 50/50 % chance of flipping on the rapid. I started getting pretty nervous on the inside and I know that my face showed it from the outside. The other people in the raft were calm and assuring that we wouldn’t flip. THEY WERE WRONG!

Our “MILD” raft started down the insane waterfall.  We hit the first rapid and then our raft was hit by two walls of water coming from either side of the raft. That is when we capsized. I think that my side of the boat ended up in the air and that I was still holding on to the rope, so it took me to the other side of the rapid. I remember tons of whitewater around my face and pushing away from the raft because it was starting to come over my head. I distinctly remember holding on to my oar for dear life because the guide told us that it cost $20 if we lost it. After my head rose above the water, I was still taking on water as I was floating down more rapids. Eventually I saw the rescue kayak, caught the front of it, and “assumed the rescue kayak position.” I was the first one taken back to the raft. The Australian lady in our group seriously thought she was going to die and rode on the safety raft the rest of the trip, along with another girl from our group. I was really lucky I didn’t hit rocks like some of the other members of the group did and I’m actually glad the whole ordeal happened.

Ironically, the wild raft that I had been on did not flip on Big Brother. Maybe it’s a metaphor… in life you choose the mild, but God gives you the wild in spite of your wishes.

This was my group before I switched to mild (me back left).

My mild group… before we started down Big Brother.

 
Just before flipping over to the left with me in the air…  yea I’m hardcore.

We ate the most wonderful lunch… Tilapia (a type of fish), rice, fries, and goat’s meat. Fish here is served intact, but it’s much more fun to eat that way I think. Apparently the people from this area are expert fish eaters and they can eat the whole fish, while spitting the bones out one side of their mouths.

Eventually we made it to Jumah’s house (Jumah is someone who is paid to hang out with us, show us around Kampala, and be our friend basically, but he’s really cool- borderline crazy at times). I can’t tell you how many times the car bottomed out as we drove on the bumpy dirt roads. We asked Jumah if his car would be okay, but he simply replied that it wasn’t his car- HA!

Jumah’s family’s house was a cement type house, with grass-thatched huts around it. His family was warm and welcoming. However, visitors don’t interact very much with the women of families. As a result, our meals were eaten solely with Jumah. We were able to get Jumah’s sisters to teach us how to make matoke (a dish made from green bananas that looks like mashed potatoes) and chipati (a pita looking bread that is oh so delicious).

One of Jumah’s nieces saw Scott and told her mom that she saw baby Jesus in the living room. Her mom explained to her that Scott was not baby Jesus and that Jesus actually wasn’t Caucasian, but that didn’t stop Nourrine. For the rest of our stay there, Nourrine would sing “Baby Jesus, Baby Jesus, I love you,” whenever she saw Scott. The kids called us Uncle and Aunt while we were there. Noel, a little girl, would come into Christy’s and my room and loved to use our lotions. One time we looked over and she was rubbing deodorant on her face. They were tons of fun and they told us Ugandan riddles like… “There are 3 sisters, but without one sister you cannot cook.” The answer is cooking stones because there are 3 cooking stones. As you can imagine, we were pretty bad at guessing the answers.

Christy and I slept in a grass-thatched hut and it was extremely comfortable. We had beds with nets, but the bathroom was rather far away and our washing water was collected rainwater.

While we were at Jumah’s we saw a chicken killed. The guy went so slowly that it almost drove me crazy. I thought there would be an axe in the process, but there was just a knife and it turns out he killed the chicken slowly because we were taking pictures- yes, guilty as charged.

During our stay, this crazy man kept coming around and hanging out around the compound. He would speak one or two coherent sentences to us about America and he would greet us. Then he would start speaking in Samia (local language), saying things like “the bird, the bird, the goat, the goat,” etc. He had tons of strips of cloth tied around his waist. He carried a tape measure, a syringe (too poor for drugs though), and he was also wearing an oxygen tube.

Most of our time at Jumah’s was spent around his family or traveling to meet various friends of his. We went to a soccer game in town where the taxi drivers were playing against the local boda boda drivers (bikes in the village, motorcycles in the city and the word comes from people misunderstanding the words “Border, border”). The taxi drivers won and they let the whole village know it.

We went to Jumah’s church, which consisted of blue tarps and tree trunks that served as stakes. For such a rainy, dreary day, the 30 or so people gathered were quite up beat and they were looking forward to building a more permanent church structure (now under construction). There we also met a 25-year-old named Stephen who is a lecturer at Makerere University (Nyerre and Nelson Mandela went here). We go to Makerere for our economic development course so we’ve been able to hang out with Stephen. Sometime soon we will go to church with Stephen and see this Congolese bass player that he claims is really good.

Finally… we visited orphans close to Jumah’s house. Jumah sells necklaces made by the orphans to help pay their school fees, etc. Levi, the man who actually strings the beads made by the orphans taught us how to make the beads and necklaces. The orphans laughed at our attempts to make beads. One girl looked at my bead, smiled, took it from me and gave it to another boy to fix-ha! I think I’ll end up bringing home a couple hundred necklaces to sell for Jumah.

This weekend: We are going rafting on the Nile and I’m not sure if I should do the mild or the wild. Apparently both mild and wild will take you down the same part of the river, but in the wild, you are guaranteed to be pushed out of the boat or flipped over. Julia (our house mom) says she’s heard of 3 people that have died on the rafting trip, but I’m not sure if they did the wild part or not.

The Beach...
 

What time is it? Chipati time...

The hut...
 

Nourrine

Orphans who make beads for necklaces that are sold to pay for their school needs.

Levi is amazing and he strings the beads made by the orphans.

Scott’s bead… it made the kids laugh but Scott was just happy to have finally made it.

It was love at first sight. Please note the fly on my arm and the sunburn.

The Nile… Uganda is the source of the Nile.

Scott, Christy, and Jumah lifting the green bananas for matoke (they come on a curved stalk).

Today we went to visit famous shrines that are located at a waterfall. After we climbed up the waterfall and reached a hill, we sat down to eat our lunches at this beautiful spot. All of a sudden we started seeing children to our left… 10, then 20, then 30. They were adorable and we played with them while our lunch was on its way. Once our lunch arrived, we naturally went over, got our sandwiches and started eating. However, not one bite of that sandwich was enjoyable and we all were fairly quiet because the children just stood and watched us eat. None of them begged for food or money, they just watched. After a few minutes, one tiny little boy with a distended stomach came up close to us and simply stood there. We decided to give him one of our small bananas and he seemed satisfied with that. I was surprised that none of the other children came over. We ended up playing with the children, chasing them, taking pictures, and eventually visiting their homes. At the end we had fruit left over for the kids, but it wasn’t enough so we left oranges and bananas on a bench and walked away, leaving the kids to settle the matter themselves. The kids swarmed the fruit and eventually shared, but it killed me to think that we couldn’t give them more.

I can’t sit the kids down and explain to them: Even though I can’t or at least shouldn’t give you anything today, I want to help develop your country so that your children will have plenty of food and a good education. It’s the same with the street kids who stick their hands in the matatus and beg for money for 10 minutes or more when you’re in a traffic jam.

I want to give these children everything… a home with every amenity possible, a superior education, safety, delicious food, etc., but today we only gave them bananas with brown spots.

This is the little boy who came over while we were eating. Note the mark on the side of his face… a fresh wound from something.

He’s not angry… just being silly.

One of those faces you just can’t say no to.

Chewing the grasshopper..

Chewing the grasshopper..

Review: a little chewy, not horrible, but no plans to eat again.

Singing and Dancing after a funny play we saw… our professor was embarrassed by the play and Juliette, who convinced us to stay for the singing and dancing afterwards was embarrassed also because one of the most scandalous groups in Uganda… Obsession came out and they did a number of songs with dances that were like Destiny’s Child times 10.  Below is an innocent looking picture of them… note the tin foil background and the shag carpet. Our group laughed sooo hard the whole time- it was definitely an awkward afternoon.  By the way.. at the national theater, you  could swear that you were going to see a movie the way the theater is and the fact everyone is eating popcorn and drinks- interesting.

So one day.. Christy and I turned the corner off a main road, only to be greeted by this…

I was telling Bruce about the bulls and he corrected me by saying cattle and I said..  no they were all bulls. He asked how I knew that and I said because they all had horns. Evidently… cows have horns too.. but I gave everyone a good laugh. I guess you learn something new everyday.

We went to a traditional dance show at this beautiful park and center called the Ndere Center. It was fantastic. In one dance the ladies danced with 8 pots piled on their heads just by balancing them. We all got to dance and the food was awesome (our professor was there and after his turn dancing, he chose me to dance so I got my 15 minutes of fame in the middle of the circle sharing my hot dance moves with the world).

In conclusion there are some sights and sounds that aren’t so nice… particularly the club in the neighborhood that plays pop music very loudly. Lullabies are nice but a Ugandan man singing a song by Fergie is not how I want to go to sleep at night. Also, there are these birds that sound something like a cross between monkeys and screaming babies… they make me want a gun permit.

The best part about our trip was our guide. He’s only 18 and he’s English is practically flawless. He’s written a book about his ancestors (the Kings) and he wants to have it published in Europe and America. Listening to him was like listening to a story. He had the best way of saying things. One phrase he kept saying was “We believe Kings never die, they just disappear.” The reason they actually believe that is because one king went into a forest and never returned.

It’s amazing what these kings had access to… like 84 wives for one king. In Uganda 84 wives means 1 wife and 83 “spare tires” as they say. One of the kings was called Mpaga, which means rooster and I believe we can see why. Our tour guide was also called Mpaga, but he assured us that he would only have one wife or at least not many. Since the current king only has one son and the first son cannot be king, Mpaga could actually become the next king. The current king has one wife and 3 spare tires.

The hut the tombs are in is the largest grass-thatched hut in the world. We could not see the actual tombs because only royals are allowed behind the tombs and they believe that they can only go behind the curtain if there is a large number of them or else they would disappear. 

In the tomb were also chairs that were a present from Queen Victoria and a stuffed cheetah that was a present of one of the former kings. Mpanga made the joke that obviously the Queen did not understand African culture because she only sent the King two chairs instead of 85 chairs. 

We’ve decided to build a huge hut in our back yard that we will sleep in, but Bruce (our leader) informed us this would cost about $ 3,000, so we’ll have to put those plans on hold.

This is a picture of the girls standing outside a small drum hut since we WEREN’T ALLOWED TO ENTER. Sexism, excuse me “tradition” is alive and well in Uganda.

This cannon was a gift from Henry Stanley to the king of Buganda. Stanley is the one who said “Dr. Livingstone I presume.”

Inside the hut.

You can see the chairs from Queen Victoria and the stuffed cheetah.

The roof of the hut.. the rings represented the tribes of Buganda.. bigger the ring, bigger the clan.

Our very first day of class… one of our classes was cancelled! So, instead of discussing literature, we got to go visit the orphans at the Jordan House. It was AMAZING! As soon as we got out of the van 80 some orphans came running up to us, introducing themselves and shaking our hands/ hugging us. They were so wonderful to be around. They invited us to swing on their swing set and then they took us to see their rooms. Their rooms were full of 3 tiered bunk beds and some of the kids sleep two to each bunk bed.

For all of you who do Operation Christmas Child with Samaritan’s Purse, your Christmas boxes might be the ones at this orphanage. There were two boxes on each bed and the girl that was taking me around said that those were her Christmas gifts. The kids had bowls of beans and a mashed potato looking food. Yes.. that was their meal and they likely have that about 3 times each day, every day. It started raining, so the kids led us all to their “church” with painting and cloth on the cement walls. They played drums and sang sooo many songs to us. Then they wanted us to sing songs to them and tell them stories. We weren’t as good as they were, so they did their own story- ha! When we were leaving, all of them hugged each of us and most of them asked when we were coming back. I told them we would come back very soon, but that wasn’t a specific enough answer for them.

I looked at these adorable kids and it broke my heart. One girl asked if I had parents and I felt bad when I had to respond yes. If I ever have kids, I decided then and there that I would adopt. You feel so conflicted because you want to ask God why these kids didn’t get the house with the two car garage and a Christmas tree that had hundreds of presents underneath it. Why instead are they in dirty clothes, with distended stomachs, and no parent to tuck them in at night? My mom says that you shouldn’t ask God “why”, but “how.” So instead of asking God why this is happening, I am asking him how I’m supposed to help. Right now the only answer our group has is that we need to keep visiting these kids.

Some exciting news is that I’ll be going to a town directly on the border of Kenya next weekend. Our Cornerstone assistant (aka a Ugandan student paid to hang out with us and show us around) will take 3 of us to his home there and we plan to visit refugees, fish, and visit Jumah’s orphans.

So much is happening everyday that I did not expect and it hasn’t even been a week that we’ve been here. I want it to last forever… playing volleyball, Frisbee, walking around, laughing sooo hard I can’t take it anymore, and meeting the coolest people on random street encounters. I’m beginning to understand why they call Uganda the “Pearl of Africa.”

Here are some pictures from Jordon’s House:

Our house is huge; each girl has her own dresser (I don’t know about the guys and I can’t say that I care to find out). We sleep on bunk beds with mosquito nets.  I share a room with 3 other girls and we have a huge bathroom, as well as a balcony. Our wireless internet, and yes I did say wireless, works pretty well so we don’t even have to go to internet cafes to talk to our friends or check email.  Let me say now that this is definitely not how most people live here in Uganda, even in Kampala.  Our food is amazing… mangos, pineapple, and our cook Grace makes Ugandan food, as well as “American” food for us to eat.

I am studying and traveling with a group of 11 other people 4 guys, 8 girls and the group seems to be a really great one…lots of sarcasm here and that can never be bad.

I would have written this blog yesterday except that the power went out last night.  Fortunately it did come back on, but at 2 am as the lightening storm was happening. I have never heard such intense thunder.  One girl said there was so much rain she was sure the room was flooding. Needless to say, during class this morning a few people were dozing off due to a lack of sleep. 

Ok. So now for the super exciting part…yesterday:

Yesterday was amazing and crazy and difficult.  Once we came to the house I was worried about living too nice of an American lifestyle to learn about Ugandan life, but yesterday showed me that I can still be challenged.

The first part of the day was hilarious! We had a consultation with the infamous Dr. Stockley who is a British doctor that regularly tells groups of foreigners  “Doc Stock’s 7 tips for staying alive in Africa.”  Dr. Stockley evidently made an appearance in the Last King of Scotland (About Uganda and Idi Amin*). This guy is straight faced and soooooooooo sarcastic.  He did some imitations for us and told us tons of jokes, most of which cannot be repeated on this blog or else my blog would be suspended.  One funny and clean one he told was “What’s the difference between yogurt and America?”  “Yogurt has live culture.”  Everything your mom would tell you not to do, Dr. Stock says to do and then take the appropriate medicine. 

I won’t burden you with all of Doc Stock’s tips, but we laughed so hard when his number one way of avoiding death was to not ride matatus (bad Japanese vans that are the main form of transportation here-see pictures). Why did we laugh hard? Well… later that day we were having a Matatu challenge, organized by our organization to teach us how to navigate the matatus and ladies/ gentlemen… this is not like the subway at all. So, after yesterday, I had risked my life a number of times and on my first matatu ride there was even an accident.  We aren’t allowed to ride bodas (motorbikes), at least not yet. Traffic here is crazy. Pedestrians do NOT have the right of way. In fact, we are the lowest on the traffic totem pole. I am very likely to be injured in some way due to traffic and being a pedestrian.  My pictures cannot convey the craziness that is the old taxi park (yes as if it wasn’t confusing enough there is an old and a new taxi park and the only way to know which one the matatu is going to is to yell and ask).

The hardest part of the day was the fact that street kids would come up to the windows and beg for money with their hands reaching through to touch you. How can you sit there and not give them money? It was sooooooo hard.  I cried on one ride because I saw the little begging boy’s mom on the side of the street with her baby just lying on the concrete beside her. I love kids so much and I hate the idea of a small, innocent, and defenseless kid growing up with torn, dirty clothes, a poor family structure, and less than enough money for an education. 

I had everything and they have nothing and I don’t understand why, but I don’t believe the answer to the problem lies in asking why, but in asking how I can help change that.

I think that’s enough for both you and I to think about on this blog.

P.s. My malaria medicine (malarone) is giving me crazy nightmarish dreams about violence, with me as the perpetrator… freaky

Here are a few of the pictures from my first few days in Kampala. Laurann thinks she’s the only one with gelato… but she’s wrong! The other pictures are from a church for internationals (aka white people from all over the world with some Ugandans in the mix) so it wasn’t too cultural, but nice enough.

Here are some pictures of the Old taxi park, but none of them shows how crazy it is as you try to get from one matatu to another.  Please note the sign that tells people to only have a family that can fit into a taxi.. not an American taxi, but a matatu (seats 14 people)- I guess it’s a small step towards family planning

Cities:  sooooo many people. The only nice cars you see are government vehicles. If I was forced to drive in Dar es Salaam, I think I’d wet my pants prior to getting myself killed. You’d swear that there wasn’t a single new item of clothing or merchandise in the country from looking around. The pollution is intense. You don’t know what the stores are selling because they all look alike, except for the butcher’s shop (the dead carcass in the open breeze always gives it away).

Villages: Much cleaner, quieter, but less amenities. The houses are made of mud bricks often. However, whether you are in the city or a village, you will always see kids- everywhere.

I’ve made East Africa sound awful, but there’s another side also. There are gorgeous sunsets, beautiful banana trees, people that love to laugh and take time to talk instead of running off to a meeting or a club, delicious tea, such hospitable people that it would put the South to shame, and fabrics that are as lively as the music.

I’m going back in spite of the lizards in my room, the large bug that ate my only pack of crackers, the frustration, the rice, and sad stories because I’m in love with the people. I admire them and I want to learn more about who they are, what they need, and how I can help.

I’m really looking forward to the trip, but not the packing. I’m a notoriously bad packer because I’m always carrying everything with me. I’m not a diva, just a pack rat… it runs in the family.

While I’m in Uganda, I’ll be taking classes (see the fh.org link) while traveling around with 11 other American students from other colleges. Most of our time will be spent in Uganda, specifically in Kampala. We’ll travel to Rwanda for a few weeks (where a genocide took place in 1994 killing approximately 1 million people in 3 months) and we’ll also have a month long practicum/internship. On the “fun side” we’ll get to go on a safari and raft on the Nile.

Here are some pictures of the house we’ll be staying in ...

Currently, our pool table at home is full of my clothes, adapters, toiletries, suitcases, etc. 

I can pack a huge suitcase for a weekend. Packing for 4 months… should be interesting. Let fun begin….

Before we take this trip to Uganda and Rwanda together… I think it’s important that we be introduced.  You’ve probably already read my name by now and yes; my last name is Fagge- like a British cigarette. Don’t feel bad if you chuckle… I do and so do all my friends. It always makes for a good conversation icebreaker.

Now that we’ve got the name cleared up, I guess I’ll start off by telling you a little bit about myself. I am a junior at Converse and I will graduate with my B.S. in Economics. I find it very appropriate at times that my degree is defined as “B.S.”  Don’t misunderstand me here… I love economics- really. I get so agitated/excited in class that I actually want to stand up sometimes when we talk about the minimum wage, the current problem of sub-prime lending, and a multitude of other “hot topics.” (You may call it nerdy, but I prefer “passionate”)

I did not come to Converse to be an economics major. I was so determined that I would be a history major and nothing else, except maybe French. However, I ended up in the Nisbet Honors program and through a process of elimination; I decided to take Economics Goes to the Movies for my freshman honors course. It was great, with the exception of a few movies. It showed me how economics was not the study of money, but of people and how those people used their scarce resources. 

I hope I haven’t lost you by now… I promise I’ll get to the Africa part in just a little bit, but I need to get the preliminaries out of the way first so read on…

After a long process that began freshman year, I visited Tanzania this past summer doing research with funding from the Nisbet Program, while also traveling with the Moravian Board of World Mission to different provinces assessing AIDS related needs in the Moravian Church. That visit, while tough at times, made me realize that I loved East Africa and her people. So, for my study abroad country choice, I followed the advice of a Converse alum who traveled to Uganda and I applied to Food For the Hungry’s Go-Ed program. Short story: I got in and will be leaving the country on January 10^th and will be gone until May.