So this is what it feels like to fall off a motorcycle

First, Mom & Dad: Please don't freak out.

So last night my roommate Kelsey & I decided to go to a muzungu (white person) restaurant to get some wifi and to enjoy some familiar food. After catching up on Facebook and having the best omelet of my life (seriously) we both flagged down some boda bodas (motorcycles) to take us home. Kelsey's took off right when she jumped on and started making the way back to Hotel Kakanyero. Following her lead I jumped on mine and we began. Almost immediately before I could even get settled I found myself heading face down into the dirt. It seemed that our back tire got stuck and our boda began to tip which is how I ended up on the ground. Luckily my driver kept the bike from landing on me. 

Once I stood up I realized I was completely fine besides a few scratches on my hands. I know my driver did not mean to crash us but if you know me at all you know that I was pretty pissed (for a lack of better word.) However, there were no other bodas in sight so I had no other option but to get back on. Isn't there some saying about falling off a bike and getting back on? If not, there should be. If you could imagine this whole incident made for a VERY awkward ride home...me grumbling in the back in English and him grumbling in the front in Acholi. 

All in all, I'm fine. (READ THAT AGAIN MOM & DAD, I'M FINE.) But it does make for a funny story...and I will be back on a boda tomorrow!! 

Cultural or Ignorant?

Tuesday evening I experienced something that I was in no way prepared for, nor do I believe I could have been prepared for the situation at all. 

Looking for an inexpensive, filling, meal a few of us decided to have dinner at our new favorite restaurant, Amigo’s. Like usual, we all gathered around a small folding table outside, ordered, then chatted while waiting for our food. The conversation was much lighter than usual, which was a good change of pace compared to the normal heavily emotional topics. We spoke of the new royal baby, the great chicken place on the corner, and of course, what we were going to do this weekend.

Just a few minutes after all of us started to dig in I looked up to my left to see my roommate, Kelsey Landis, in pure horror. Within the same second I heard a loud, unfamiliar, smack. As I quickly looked to my right I saw a woman with a thick, long, wooden pole swinging furiously at a raggedly dressed man. The man looked to be in either his 30’s or 40’s and was now flailing his arms at the woman. As I saw the pole come back again I realized it was now heading right over my head and Kelsey pulled me to her side, taking me from my seat. The man was yelling, the woman was yelling, and our entire table sat in silence. She continued to beat him until the pole snapped in half and he scurried off.  A few seconds after the scene ended I realized I was standing next to the table with my jaw probably on the floor. After a few more seconds I realized that the entire restaurant and bar were laughing at the occurrence. Laughing at this homeless (assuming) man being beaten by a stick 15 feet away from us. The same occurrence that just made me lose my appetite.

The remainder of our dinner was pretty quiet and awkward; none of us could muster up proper conversation after what we had just witnessed. On the walk home I couldn’t help but repeat the scene in my head over and over. I also then realized that I had seen this man before. Earlier this same afternoon I was exchanging bills at the bank and saw him on a corner close to Amigo’s behaving oddly and talking to himself. I guess I cannot be certain, but I believe the man was suffering from some type of mental illness.

I find it so hard to understand why there are so man NGO’s all over Uganda, more specifically Gulu, yet not one that I have heard of who is advocating for those with mental illness. Why can we (not specifically GSSAP) as so-called advocates for humanity supply clothing and petty gifts for Northern Ugandans but can not give these people with mental illness the proper medication or treatment to allow them to live better? I know the problem is not the funding. I believe the funding could be found. I think the problem is it is much, “cooler” to say you are supporting little children or even, “invisible children” if you will, rather than supporting the dirty and sometimes frightening mentally ill or unstable.

            I just find it so difficult that others do not see that these people need to be advocated and cared for. They are part of our race.           

The Electric Side Knows No Boundaries

Last night marks my first successful trip to the bars in Uganda. Party, party, party, let’s all get wasted. Just kidding. But a few of us decided to try out a local place called Karma that we’d heard about. We made a pact before hand that we would stay for 30 minutes…45 max just to say we went. About an hour and a couple Bell beers (African beer) later we were teaching a majority of the bar the American classic line dance, the electric slide. I couldn’t make this up. Just picture 5 or 6 American girls teaching a bar filled with Ugandans the electric slide. They were loving it…or at least they were acting like they were loving it. And a side note if you want to feel like a horrible dancer just try to act like you have any rhythm next to a Ugandan. Confidence shot. But anyway it was one of the best nights I’ve had in Gulu so far.  Did I mention that when we were leaving we noticed that most people grab a fresh chicken on a stick from the street vendor as their drunchie? I may just have to try that next time. 

Hanging heavy on my heart

Recently Hannah and I made our first visit to our internship at St. Jude’s Orphanage. Upon arrival we met Brother Elio, who is one of the directors for the home. After a short introduction of the home Brother Elio informed us of all the different sections of St. Jude’s, including the nursery school, primary school, and consolation side. After only a little explanation I became well aware of the functions of most of those areas, except for the, “consolation side.” I think my puzzled face gave away that I wasn’t certain of what he was referencing. He then explained that the consolation side consists of buildings that house the children with disabilities. Almost on cue, a small girl, maybe six or seven, wearing a stained t-shirt and too large of pants, walked directly into Brother Elio’s office and climbed onto my lap. I try to avoid clichés, but I think my heart may have melted. At that moment I felt at home. I use this strong description because of my history with children and adults with disabilities. I’ve spent most of my life working with and mentoring people with disabilities.It’s a familiar and comforting feeling when I feel a tug on my hand only to look down and see a playful yet sneaky smile. Again, I immediately felt like I was where I was supposed to be.

            Once our little visitor, Eman, calmed her giggles, Dr. Rox encouraged me to share with Brother Elio my previous history with children with disabilities. He seemed to be excited to have someone with experience and knowledge on these circumstances. His face then changed from being welcoming and cheerful to more serious and concerned. He went on to tell us that although orphanages are not hard to come by in Gulu, St Jude’s is one of the few to accept children with disabilities. His next sentence was one that I quite literally will never forget. With a prolonged pause he said, “These children have the right to be born but not the right to live.” I must have heard him wrong, I thought. Children not having the right to live? I could feel my stomach begin to turn.

            Brother Elio then changed the subject, elaborating on the different duties Hannah and I would hold while we were interning, but my mind hung onto his last sentence. From my experience I am aware that children with disabilities are often mistreated or given up to group homes. I understand there are certain situations that cause the parents to feel that the children would be better off somewhere else; however, never have I heard that someone feels that these children or people do not have the right to have life.

            So far, this conversation at St. Jude’s has been my most emotional draining and difficult experience. I remember at one of the prior to departure meetings at Dr. Rox’s home we were told by a former GSSAPer that we may see or hear some things that will shock us.

            In conclusion, Gulu, Uganda has proven to be a much more modernized city than I could have imagined. There are so many factors of the city and culture that make it much more similar to America than I knew before; however, this conflicting belief has reminded me that there are still differences that we will not always agree on. 

The only thing worse than riding a bike....

....is riding a broken bike. But really. Day two of riding bikes to our internship was quite a lesson in itself. All of the soreness from our first day riding was magnified. I didn't realize it was possible for every inch of my body to hurt....yet here I am. And somehow I ended up with the broken bike this morning....the one with bad brakes and no gear change. Yay! But through the unnatural amount of sweat dripping down my face I reached a moment of clarity. Here I am, blessed beyond measure, in a country most will never visit, in a city bursting with history, bitching about riding a bike. At least I can ride a bike. At least I have a car at home. At least my bike isn't carrying 8 dead chickens from the handle bars (believe it or not this is unbelievably common.)

I'm not going to act like I'm never gonna complain about my bike ride again, or complain about anything for that matter because I'm sure I will. But I can say that I have grown from it and I think I will continue to grow here one day at a time (cheesy and dramatic ending line is necessary.) 

Interesting Things That Have Happened To Me In Uganda

1.     I shattered a window with my arm and was covered in about 93042 trillion pieces of glass.

2.     Wild elephants trampled part of the farm at my internship

3.     I met a woman who was often called “Joseph Kony’s Wife”

4.     I accidentally ordered an entire fish including the eyeball for dinner

5.     I was hustled out of 200 shillings

6.     I met a very cute Italian boy who works at the orphanage….that I may or may not be trying to pursue

7.     I got trapped in a fish market and almost threw up in a basket

8.     I have been bit by a child