T.I.A

 T.I.A – This is Africa - A phrase commonly used when on the continent of Africa; usually in conjunction with a resigned shrug of the shoulders and a knowing look on your face. Best used when something has gone slightly awry or somebody demonstrates the use of “African time”.

Examples of good usage:

1. When the organizer of a trip tells you on the phone, "Be here at 6am. 6-A-M. Not 7. Not 6.30. 6! We do things by Mzungu time here!". The morning of the trip having arrived one, of course, feels the need to jump out of bed at 5 and hot-foot it to the meeting place for 6 on the dot expecting to see vans packed-up and waiting to go. In reality the vans will not arrive for another hour and we won't depart until 45 minutes after that. Having set off one needs to expect further hours spent playing "who sits where in the van?", "shall we stop at this garage?" and "is the big barrel of beans still upright?"; all excellent fun and a great time to sit back and say "TIA".

2. When you spend an hour preparing a class for a Monday morning only to arrive at school and be told "scrap that old chap, your going to teach a different class and there's nothing for you to do until Thursday".

3. When a town not 3km from a massive hydroelectric Power Station has no power for five days.

4. When a town not 4km from a massive hydroelectric Power Station has no power at all.

5. When a Matatu (mini-bus-come-taxi) to Kampala costs the same as a beer in the Mzungu-heavy bar I'm in right now.

6. When a policeman (who I had only known for 10 minutes at most) starts a long oratory about Jesus and how I really should have him (Jesus, that is, not the policeman) in my life.

7. When 5 people on one motorbike seems almost normal.

8. Learning that it's genuinely acceptable to respond to "Mzungu" (white dude) with "Mudugavu" (black dude). Sample conversation: "Mzungu, bye!", "Mudugavu, bye!".

Next time I'll perhaps talk about the change of schools which happened (somewhat out of the blue) last week. As for now I have to give a "shout-out" to my "Ugandan" friends; in large part because they keep complaining that they're not included in my blogs. So, here we go then: Hello, Charles. Jambo, Michael. Guten Tag Debi. Done.

Bye for now and always keep in mind: T.I.A

Bududa

Yesterday I travelled to the small town of Bududa in the east of the country. About two weeks ago there was a mudslide in this region which caused the deaths of at least a hundred people and has left many more missing or displaced.

Due to the fact that I have no access to either TV or internet where I'm staying I had to rely on you good folks outside of the country for any news about the disaster. In fact, it was a correspondent in Canada who first reported the incident to me (thanks Frannie). Since then I have tried to find out as much as possible from any newspapers I could get hold of and word of mouth from Moses and anyone else claiming to know something.

During the middle of last week Moses came to me and told me about a charity based nearby called "Soul" who were planning to head out to the affected area and lend a hand. He asked me if I wanted to go along and see if I could help them in their efforts. I responded in the affirmative. We were to set off early in the morning Saturday and spend the day there providing some pre-prepared food and whatever other assistance we could provide.

We set off from Moses' compound at about 5.30 in the morning aiming to arrive at the Soul project building at 6. As we arrived we were introduced to Brooke Stern, a rather nice lady from New York, who is the co-founder of the charity. She told us what we could expect to be doing once we were there (handing out food, putting up tents and digging in the main) and told us a bit about what they do when they're not rushing off to sites of natural disasters (funding students in the area). We also met some of the lads which were to be accompanying us there; mainly boys from the local football team.

We set off a mere hour and a half behind schedule (a great example of African time) in two mutatus (minibuses) full of people and food. The roads there were, for the most part, clear and flat so we made good time towards the nearest city of Mbale. Once there we got some more supplies of bread, sugar, tea as well as some spades and gloves for digging.

The roads from Mbale through to Bududa were not quite so forgiving as we got tossed around in the ancient little Chinese-hand-me-down vans. We pulled into the temporary camp (set up mainly by Unicef) at around midday and all piled out of the minibuses ready to do some good. The camp looked strangely like a large-scale festival and, at first glance, it seemed pointless us being there because there was such a large aid agency presence already. I soon realized that there was still plenty left to do and a chat with one of the Ugandan soldiers there shed some light on the continuing problems. The people in the camps are not only those from the affected area, but also people who have been evacuated from surrounding areas. This means that there are close to 3000 people in a camp originally designed for about half that number. This has led to a concern over how much food can be provided each day. We also learnt that a lot of the aid coming into the area is being sold off for a profit by the officials in charge of the relief effort.

We left the soldier to have a wander around the camp and see what use we could be. We found some lovely Red Cross people who showed us what kind of things they were working on. We came across some people building a structure of some sort and we were told that it was to be a kitchen. We dutifully rolled up our sleeves and got down to some work as Moses put on his leader's cap and started barking orders. He had to do this primarily in English because the language in this region is different to the one spoken in Jinja. We managed to get something resembling a building, with four walls and a roof, up in less than two hours-pretty good going I thought. Perhaps it was the hard working mzungus; or maybe the non-African style of leadership that Moses brought.

With the kitchen nearing completion we were summoned by the Soul folk to help with distributing the "Posho and beans" we had brought. Posho is one of the staple foods in Uganda - it's basically maize-flour and it's pretty good at filling a hungry belly. We had to squeeze through a gate "guarded" by a young looking red-faced Red Cross girl who seemed understandably stressed at the number of people trying to push their way through. Once inside we found that the boys from Soul had done all the hard work, which left us to just hand out some water and talk to any children we could find who spoke English and didn't have a mouthful of Posho. The children and parents alike seemed to enjoy the food, not least because it was the first time for a long time any of them had anything but plain Posho by itself.

With lunch finished we decided that we would head up to the site of the disaster and enlisted one of Moses' cousins that we ran into, by complete chance, in the camp (it seems to happen a lot here - families are big) to show us the way. His house was just on the very edge of the main mudslide and he and his family had managed to escape unscathed despite getting a rather large boulder through their roof. We got two Bodas (the motorbike dudes) up to the base of the mountain and started the climb. It was, we were told, a mere 3 or 4 kilometres walk and we intended to be back at the camp no later than 4 o'clock. It turned out to be about 8 kilometres to get there, the same to get back to the road and then an extra walk once there because there was a severe lack of motorized vehicles. All in all we walked more than 20 kilometres and, in a rush to get back for the bus, we ran a large portion of the return leg. But, we did it.

The site of the disaster came into view around the corner of the fifth or sixth "hillock" we had traversed- it was harrowing and incredible in equal measure. The sheer scale of it is difficult to describe - walking past boulders twice the size of me and realizing that, looking down several feet, I could see the roof of what was once a house. The thought also slowly crept upon me that where we were standing there was once a village and that below us there were almost certainly bodies which had been buried; this made it difficult to remain there for long. I saw debris in the form of school books and children's clothes and wondered if the owners of them had been found alive. I'm not sure if I'll ever make sense of what I saw there.

As I said before we were short on time and the people we had come with were calling us continually and asking where we had got to - they wanted to leave. So, while all I really wanted to do was sit down and attempt to comprehend what I had just seen, we set off at a jog up and down the mountains and across a river or two to ensure we didn't get left behind. Our Boda-men were supposed to have waited for us, but they had obviously got bored and gone home; the walk along the road (which I hadn't told my brain or my legs to expect) was not a lot of fun at all.

We got back to the main road just as our convoy was driving towards us, all set to leave us there. They graciously stopped to pick us up. On the journey home I had a chance to think about the long day filled with a hundred contrasting images. I realized that I could take some solace in the fact that there were a lot of survivors, and they are living in just about acceptable conditions for the time being. I also decided that I will never again go to the actual site of a disaster, natural or otherwise, because it serves no purpose. In the camps which are set up there is something which can be done; at the site of the disaster (especially a week after it happens) there is a feeling of pointlessness, of feeling powerless to do anything or change anything.

Thank you all for reading what has certainly not been my most cheery of blogs. If you have any more time I have put a link to the charity I went with at the side. As I said they mainly deal with education initiatives in the area, but donations would go to planning another trip like the one I went on. There is also a link to my pictures at the top; some from the camp and some from the site.

I hope everyone is well and all the mothers out there had a lovely day on Sunday =)

Good times, bad times, you know I had my share...

"Why are all the exciting things so uncomfortable, like fighting and exploring and skiing in Canada?"


I read that in This Side of Paradise recently and quite enjoyed it. I hope you did too.



The last week has been an interesting ol' time. There are times when I feel that what I'm doing right now is the best thing ever and I couldn't be happier. Let me give you an example:

I have become the de facto social studies/geography teacher for the school. Basically when teachers aren't around (which is quite frequently) I have to step up at ten minutes notice and teach a class. This is fun. I feel challenged. Teaching something I have no idea about to a class of a hundred students is more enjoyable than you might think.

Another example of the good times would be spending a day in the nearby city of Jinja and returning home to a rapturous reception from the kids and older folk alike. "Welcome back" is the uproarious cry as the little ones wrap themselves around my legs. These are the happy moments. The egoist inside me feels wanted.



There are other times when I'm not especially pleased with how this country is treating me. Observe:

"Africa time" is a whole new concept to me and I'm finding hard to adjust. I'm not talking about time-zones, just the pace of life. If you request something, make a general inquiry or even suggest a better method of doing something to anybody in Africa you can expect the response to take at least three times longer than back home. It can get quite frustrating.
I saw one teacher doing a science class about circuits using only two batteries and one bulb; sitting at the front saying "Look, look at the light. On. Off. On. Off", not a great lesson. I decide to take it upon myself to go out and buy some batteries and all the rest so that the kids could take part and create a circuit for themselves. I gave the teacher in question all the necessary stuff and waited with baited breath to observe what joyous things he might do. He did nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have asked him since what has become of the things I bought. He tells me that he'll use them next term.

My second complaint is less serious: Ugandan primary school boys are fast. Really fast. I took part in athletics training for an upcoming competition between schools and I was asked to run against some of the (admittedly bigger) students in the 400metres. To say that I got schooled would be an understatement. The first 200metres saw me sprinting as hard as I physically could just to hold fourth place; the second 200metres saw me falling over (some damned bumpy ground) and stumbling home in last place. Bruised ego.

People tried to tell me that the conditions were against me - the heat, the poor surface, my beer-gut - but I still felt that I had been "dissed" by some 14 year olds.



Check the new pics at the top (if you wish) and have a wonderful day!

From Uganda, which is 3hours and a day or so behind, good evening.

Jambo!

The traditional greeting in the local language (Lusoga) is a very enjoyable word to say. And I say it a lot. Walking around the villages and past the houses along the way it is, along with "Mzungu", one of the only words I hear. Want to go for a nice peaceful walk before dinner? Tough, you have greetings to attend to. Want to go for a solitary run in the morning at a time when the youngsters should be still in bed? Not gonna happen. The other morning I actually had a group of seven or eight Ugandan munchkins join me for at least a mile, all the while shouting "Mzungu, Jambo! Mzuuunguuu, Jambo!". How many times can you say hello without getting bored? The answer, it appears, is a lot.

The other day I actually learnt exactly what Mzungu means. Not just a simple "White dude", it actually comes from back in colonial times and when people like my good friend John Hanning Speke was wandering about the place. They came to believe that these new European faces were quite harmless and better left alone to their seemingly aimless peregrinations. So, when they saw one of these amiable folks they would shout out to other members of the tribe "Mzungu!" just to let them know that he was sound and not to hack off his limbs. After hearing this I have decided that I actually don't mind being called it. I quite like my limbs.

I've just finished reading a book I bought before I left called, simply, "Africa". It should now mean that I know absolutely everything about this continent I have been on for almost three weeks. You can test me if you like. Go on, any question you want. The author is a journalist for various prestigious publications these days, but before that he was a teacher. And his first visit to Africa? You guessed it: Uganda. There was one thing in particular that I liked in his chapter about this splendid country, and that was about the weather. I would like to share it with you, if you'd permit me:

In the rainy season massive meringue-puff clouds bubble up from the glistening waters of Lake Victoria. Then, the dark stormy mass suddenly rushes inland, flinging lightning around the sky and burying the hills and valleys in thunder and rain.

I thought that described the weather here rather well. I kind of wish I'd written it.

My rivers class went well! True, it was more like the students were teaching me, but it was quite productive and in the following class they were able to tell their "real" teacher all about deltas and estuaries. The following day there were very few teachers in school because they were all off trying to prove that the qualifications they have were all present and genuine (apparently there's a lot of people who lie or fake their certificates and diplomas). So, I ended up teaching a class about lakes in Uganda. Luckily I had sat in on a class the previous week on the very same subject, which prepared me a bit. It was a bit of a blag fest and, again, the students definitely knew more than me, but they all said "Thank you very much!" and did the weird clap thing at the end; I took that as a good sign.

That's all I can manage for now folks. The rain has stopped and the sun has come out so it's about 700 degrees in this here t'internet cafe. Be sure to check out the photo slide-show thingy at the side there for some pics new and old. Much love to all.

Oh, and one more thing: Mzungu, Jambo!!!!

Swift Update.

Thought I'd use an afternoon off from school and take advantage of the internet when it's in one of its less malevolent moods to give you another update. Strap in.
Sunday evening was spent huddled round Moses' TV watching an Idi Amin documentary. He just got his generator back from the fixers, so he was eager to get it fired up. All was going well, we were having a good old laugh at the psychotic freak (seems to be the way Ugandans deal with it), when all of a sudden there was a "pop" and clouds of smoke started pouring from the TV. Moses dived for the TV to turn it off even as Amin continued to talk his nonsense on the screen. It turned out that the generator was turned way too high and the TV just couldn't handle the power. Oops.
On Monday I sat in on a few classes while the rain came down outside again. I'm starting to feel a lot more involved in the classes and in the school as a whole. I even got enlisted to teach a class about rivers in Uganda tomorrow. Do I know any rivers in Uganda? Yes, one. The Nile. That's it though. Should be a fun class.
I also sat in on a class having a debate of sorts about Yoweri Museveni, the current president of the country. Based on the student's arguments I made the decision that he was not a good leader. I might get arrested for such statements, but I felt it was my right to be truthful.
Today there was a meeting for all of the "real" teachers. So, us white folk waddled on in and had the run of the school ourselves. Not a great many students turned up, but it was a fun morning all the same.
Right that's me done. I'm off to study the rivers of Uganda.

Me and Moses



Eating sugar cane.



Dan, Dan and Whinny.