Strength Building

While staying at the Backpackers, our new friend the Human Rights Lawyer told us stories about his heart-wrenching experiences in different African countries.  There are many villages where rape, especially of adolescent girls, is so commonplace that all locals expect it and most men admit to committing it.  Today, Katy and I found out the real reason why everyone has stressed to us to remain in our room once night falls.  We are living in one of those places.  

Madame Sulaina took us around the town to meet with a few families and guardians of children under the vulnerable or orphan status at Taata.  Our first stop was at the house of little Loyce, a stunning nine year old whose smile captivated me.  Loyce lives with her single mother and three other siblings.  Her mother, also stunning, has only one limb that grew correctly, leaving her unable to do much of anything as she sits on the street corner day after day, waiting for a "good samaritan" to give her money.  Loyce's older sister and their mother both have newborn babies.  Loyce's older sister is 14 years old.  She was raped last year by a drunk man.  Loyce's mother gets around by an old lawn chair strapped to two bike wheels, which her older sister pushes while her baby is strapped to her back.  I've seen Loyce's mother, older sister, and their two babies at Taata picking her up at the end of the day a couple times, and each time both women smiled pure kindness and joy right into me.  Everyone in the family possesses that captivating smile that makes you want to hug them in gratitude for reminding you that life is beautiful, like they are.  Sitting in the tiny mud cave that the mother struggles to pay monthly rent for, and hearing how Loyce's mother and older sister came to have children, my head spun and my breath ceased.  How many of these children running around are also the product of such torture? Is it happening around me now, while I sleep safely?  Is it just a matter of time for sweet little Loyce?  How can these girls, everyone here, still smile so cheerfully and with such apparent innocence?  Images of the horrendous scene irrepressibly flashed around my mind, along with images of me fighting off her attacker--and I would.  I wanted to scoop up every child and rescue them from such eminent danger, and also take my switchblade to every man's genitals.  This just cannot be. 

After Loyce's older sister showed us the route to the next house, I turned to see her skipping away.  This fourteen year old child has undergone more pain than I can fathom ever recovering from--she's been brutally robbed of her youth and virginity, yet she smiles and skips like she really is just a pre-teen girl.  How-just how can this be??

We walked silently to the next house as I tried to push down vomit and tears, semi-restraining myself from pinning every man we passed as one of those attackers.

The next house was home to two Taata students whose mother is blind and father is mentally ill.  They don't have a phone, and their children have been absent from school all week, so there wasn't any way to give them a heads up of our visit.  They weren't home, so Sulaina said we will try again next week.  In our last house visit, we met with a father who can't find work and a mother who barely puts food on the table with her job as a maid.  Their mud hut was cramped, and a cockroach struggled to get off of its back on the floor next to me as these parents explained their challenges.  Sulaina translated our questions for us, our final one being what they would like most from us and Taata Kids.  The father, previously silent as he gripped his battered Bible (written in English even though he couldn't speak a word of it), said he wanted us to provide him with capital to open up a tailor shop.  This threw us off a little.  He said he tried to find work and couldn't, but had he given up since he didn't find one he liked? Hoping he'd just hold out until he somehow got the money to fund his entrepreneurial visions?  How much of these people's strife is due to lack of resources and how much is due to culturally-instilled laziness?  

Emotionally spent while simultaneously reeling in heated frustration, we slowly walked back to school.  The rest of the day drew out many more emotions in both Katy and myself.  Abraham and I painfully  re-budgeted our monthly expenses, as the language barrier and his habit of repeating his thrice summarized unnecessary sentences drove us both to raise our voices a little.  Fueled by Loyce's family story and how Abraham bosses poor Sulaina around (culturally-instilled, I know), it took a lot to hold back from challenging this mindset of gender inequality.  "Sulaina might wipe your ass, but I am not going to succumb to being treated like your inferior" I said with my eyes as my mouth forced a smile.  

After another meeting with the Board of Directors that ran very much on Africa time, Abraham, Madame Jackline, Katy and I ran through town to buy a few necessities for our new eating arrangements.  At last, Katy and I were dropped off at home, free to finally work on releasing the weight of this day.  Katy, my Keeper of Calm, reasoned, "Maybe this is a test. To see how strong we are." I'm glad she said that.  And then the storm came.  We ran outside, dancing in the cleansing rain, spinning and giggling and taking in every fiber of that moment to wash away the day.  We turned back to the house to see Steven, the security guard, laughing at these two psycho girls out in the downpour while the rest of the town was for once completely indoors.  The three of us stood on the porch, watching the lighting turn the whole sky lavender, and our lizard friends eat their massive insect dinners.  We learned that Ugandan people also  indulge in these flying delicacies.  One woman visiting the maid filled a cup with these guys, showing it to me proudly as she stated, "Now you see, THIS is Africa".  Katy and I still squealed and scampered every time they flew too closely.  Everyone laughed at each other-well mostly at me and Katy-as we played with bugs and lizards like little kids, and I could feel everybody's spirits lighten.  Katy and I needed this silly night with new friends; times like tonight are paramount in a place like this.

Switching Gears (Kind of)

I see so many government schools around here. They have soccer fields, cement buildings, the vast majority of students have in tact uniforms and book bags...why are they so much more successful? I know the government gives some money, and maybe the students that attend are from more well-off families that can afford tuition. I had to know the reason, so I asked the Headmistress (principal) of Taata, Madame Sulaina. She  explained to me today that the differences are: Government school teachers get paid year-round whereas they only get paid for the hours they work in private schools. There isn't any tuition for government schools and at private schools families have to make a "contribution" each term, unless the children meet the categories of orphan or vulnerable child.  Like aforementioned, the grounds are much nicer and developed in government schools as well. So, why would anyone choose a private school, then?? Sulaina said it's because the quality of teaching is much better in private schools. From what I've noted in my classroom observations, this baffles me. I really can't imagine how the education must be at the government schools.  

This led to another worry--if Taata is supposed to stand out for quality education, among everything else this school needs, it desperately needs an intervention in teaching methods.  It appears that although I haven't completed my teaching degree yet, I have still studied the trade much more than any of these teachers, including Madame Sulaina.  Their program is only two years long, and I'm seeing demonstrations of how teaching was decades ago in the States; Students "learn" by rote memorization, the teachers discipline by caning with sticks or twisting children's ears, and there isn't any one-on-one time provided.  In one lesson I saw, the teacher must have hit each student at least twice, one time making them all hold out their palms and she came around whacking each and every one.  One girl was falsely accused of being distracting and got her ear yanked, which she caressed through silent tears for a while after.  In a lesson Katy saw, the teacher made the students count from one to twenty over and over again for over an hour.  Many of them tried to count past 20, but the teacher stopped them and redirected them back to one, the only increase being a demand for louder recitation.  Visual cues weren't even used accurately, so the kids didn't see which number on the board matched with the one they were screaming.  

There is one teacher, Mr. Godfrey, who instructs grades three and four.  He is exemplary.  He nails methods that I was trained in as the most effective, and he is solely made up of love and care for these children.  He even hangs out at the school on Saturdays, giving his students extra learning time and a safe environment for one more day each week.  I think all of the other teachers should redo their training wherever Godfrey went.  Or choose another profession since it's crystal clear that they wish they were anywhere but at school and with children.  

So, what do I do about this?  Watching children miss out on learning and therefore betterment of livelihood makes my heart sink.  But it looks like teachers are highly respected, and I don't want to cross any lines.  Then again, if this school doesn't provide quality education then why should we raise thousands of dollars for it?  Why should we set up partnerships to establish recurring financial support?  Why should it succeed?  Katy and I spent all of last night stressing over this dilemma.  By the end of the overwhelmed, frustrated discussion, it became clear to us that our main project here might not be fundraising.  It might be renovating Taata's teaching methods.  We thought about implementing after school one-on-one literacy tutoring since it's clear most of the students are sliding by while remaining illiterate.  We could even do this during the lessons, since the kids spend more time goofing off and punching each other than involved in a lesson.  We also considered rounding up all the teachers for a day long seminar where we give them a crash course on better teaching strategies that have substantially higher success rates.  Everything that we want to do for this problem sounds like cake for someone who studied the field intensely for four years.  But seeing as my memory is that of a 90 year old with Alzheimer's, preparing for and implementing all of this is going to be a scary challenge.  I withdrew from school for many reasons, and getting back into what I recently ran away from is going to require a lot of courage and "goosefraba" breathing.  

We ended our discussion with the decision to research and buy books that will help Abraham and his staff learn how to carry out this skyscraper of tasks ahead of them in a 21st century manner.  THEY need the skills required, since we are only here for a quick blink.  We are also going to work toward our ideas to help the educational system within the school.  It is my Goliath, and I WILL fix my slingshot.  It is our new priority.  However, we are still tied into this massive fundraiser, switching to a new bank and account, online donation method setup--and the 15 subtasks within--and at least beginning partnership programs.  "Africa time" is just not acceptable for these next few months.    

Stuck between a rock and....SO much

Our experience with the Taata Kids organization has been...I'm still deciding on the appropriate word.  

All of the staff is continuously shaking our hands with a big smile and a "you are welcome here" or a "welcome back", even if we were only gone for ten minutes.  They continue to make it known that they are so grateful for our presence alone, and so hopeful in this school's future.  I have to agree that their visions are beautiful.  And I want them all to come true as badly as they do.  After spending a week getting to know the ins and outs of Taata Kids, I can assuredly say this:  It is going to be a lot of work.

The school is made up of mostly tin slabs and bits of timber and cement.  The gashes in the infrastructure let the unwelcome rains pour into the offices and classrooms, and the material of the slabs get too hot to touch under the African sun.  One classroom is next to the makeshift kitchen, and when the cooks burn the firewood for the meal prep the class fills with smoke that makes breathing and seeing a luxury.  This small kitchen is where the two cooks prepare porridge for breakfast and beans and posho (corn flour and water) for lunch.  The bathroom is a pit latrine in the back corner of the small lot, and the younger boys just pee outside of it.  Over 250 students in levels pre-k to grade four cram into this small space, which is being leased at a hefty monthly price from the widow landowner. The teacher prep books are battered and incomplete, and the student workbooks are hardly sufficient and always in shortage.  The children's shoes (those children that have any) rarely match their gender or size, almost in worse shape than their clothing.   

This whole project is really hard to maintain positivity with. I'm getting more frustrated/overwhelmed/disheartened the more time I spend here. Long story short: 

-They're currently renting a very small amount of property which is costly

-The cost of land about 5 km outside of town is at least $12,000 (plus, we haven't gotten a firm answer on what will be done to get the kids not living in the school out there to the school and thus maintain/increase enrollment)

-Once the land is purchased, the amount of money needed to build on it, plus the continued costs of the current location until the new location is ready....that's A LOT LOT LOT of money. 

-The current conditions of the structure (dangerously sharp, falling apart tin slabs, falling apart benches/desks, crammed spaces (40 kids squeezing on 6 tiny benches), poorly set up and maintained outhouse which the younger boys just pee in front of anyway, low quality chalkboards and drastic shortage of essential teaching and learning materials, and so much more)

-the quality of teaching is pretty much encompassing everything you only do as the most lazy teacher that undoubtedly allows most students to fall behind (one teacher is fantastic, the remaining 6 are stressing me out)

-actual confirmed plans and details critical to a successful fundraising, partnership, setup for recurring donors, etc is too minimal for me to feel comfortable setting it up and marketing it, especially for the amount of money that our fundraiser is going to be for ($12,000)

-and the mountain of things that will be needed once we leave and that will require time and skills of I do not know who (English is still a struggle for most of the staff, as well as knowledge of what is going to be needed)

I'm just at a loss.  The list of what is needed even within the very near future is only growing by the minute. And on top of that, super spotty internet access is making all essential research to do ANYTHING nearly impossible. So, we end up just sitting around all day. There is SO much that is needed and it all seems so far out of my reach.  And Abraham is asking for my counsel in everything. I was the one to speak with the bankers, I'm the one doing most of the research and brainstorming what's needed and how to have any hope of getting it, I'm the one he asks to explain and confirm every detail in the Board of Directors meetings, and I'm the one he's starting to run everything by. I've become the ringleader and I just got here and don't even know what I'm doing. Not to mention I won't be here THAT long, so what's going to happen once I leave?

I'm stuck and worried I won't be able to get out of it.

Settling into our new home

We are the zoo exhibit in town. Our home is a small, essentially unfurnished guest house less than two blocks away from the Taata Kids school.  It is surrounded by a cement and iron gate, with iron gates covering all windows, a total of four heavy metal front doors with multiple latches and more iron, and all seemingly vacant except for Katy and myself.  Katy did find a pantry in the kitchen housing plates and a mattress, so maybe someone else lives here too.  Our room contains two beds which we pushed together, striving for any possible floor space.  Each has a bug net, Katy's is white, soft, and dainty - the Sleeping Beauty bed.  Mine is bright blue and rough, but stretches out thus eliminating any droops or feelings of claustrophobia.  It's almost like we have one big fort!  Our closet has a couple shelves on one side and hanging space on the other. Maybe one day we'll get hangers to utilize it.  Then there's the bathroom...It's less than 3 ft by 5 ft, with a sink possibly smaller than your "house kitchen" setup back in preschool, and a squatty potty that's still difficult to situate.  I've never paid more acute attention to my emptying out.  The space is narrow and shallow, and I have yet to master the Asian squat needed for such a performance.  The shower is right above the "toilet", and the water's temperature is very slowly but surely losing its intimidating, buckling chill.  Now we know what other travelers were talking about when they were in ecstatic disbelief over our bathroom situation at the Backpackers.  Outside of our bedroom, the house has an entrance room with several small tables and chairs, a large desk, and a fridge (which is rarely plugged in, if ever).  I wonder if the owners have plans to finish furnishing this space, or if this is plenty for them.  The house IS overall in much better shape than any other building I've seen in town.  Being behind all these bars, having every meal brought to us by mystery market women and Abraham, and confined to our locked room by dark every night sparked an excellent connection by Katy: We are like Jasmine in the movie Aladdin! Always excited at the thought of living out classic Disney films, this similarity was an amusing alternative viewpoint.

Children are constantly playing just outside of our house gate.  The trash-filled ditch where I saw a dog relieve himself yesterday seems to be their favorite spot for reasons I have yet to figure out, second only to being on the gate itself.  Whenever they see us, there's one shout of "muzungu" before a dozen small children are halfway up the whole front gate, nearly able to squeeze their heads through.  It's hard watching them literally rummaging through garbage piles as their playtime, dressed in tattered clothes, and the screams and crying that we hear at night and see attracting zero attention by the heavy foot traffic always passing by.  It's hard driving by babies being taken care of by children just a few years older, and it's hard only being able to give them a smile and wave as they stare.  But, as the poster in Abraham's office states as elements of a successful worker, I must take it all one step at a time.  That is one difficult element.

Katy and I, stir crazy from only being either within the Taata office or our room, went for a short walk around the house yesterday.  As is always the case to Ugandans old and young, we were bombarded when our cameras were seen.  These people LOVE getting their pictures taken.  Even more, they find it infinitely entertaining to review those pictures, pointing and laughing at how they look on the small screen. So, our walk wasn't able to begin until we sufficiently snapped shots of all the adolescents on the block.  It's a win-win, since these buggers are adorable and we don't mind the cuteness overload on our cameras.  The rest of our walk consisted of weary strolls past large herds of cattle, goats, chickens and roosters, and a tour of the market behind our house where Abraham's cosmetics shop is.  The grand finale to our evening escapade was ice cream and bananas.  Sadly, our cameo in the mini market for the ice cream was extremely unwelcome by a baby girl who cried in terror at her first view of muzungus.  

We are on a quest to immerse ourselves in these new cultures, and today that meant going to the Sunday church service with Abraham.  It turns out that we have both always wanted to attend church in an all black congregation, and how awesome that this got to happen in AFRICA! We practiced our movie-based "Oo Lordy!" and "Mmm-mm! Aamen, sista!" while waving our fans the night before, so we were ready to fulfill this bucket list item.  We ended up sitting through two services, the first by a quirky UK pastor who was always just barely off the mark on his comedic timing but gave it a great try, and the second by a very passionate Ugandan woman.  The singing and dancing in between was just what Katy and I hoped for. It was awesome.  Not as awesome was the impromptu speeches we had to make on stage in front of the huge crowd...twice.  But once again, we were showered with greetings of welcome and gratitude.  Following the cumulated three hour service, we were invited to the lead pastor's office.  He is a close friend and mentor to Abraham, and Abraham wanted his blessings and prayers over our recently decided project.  Pastor Andrew was encouraging and helpful, and his prayer over us and our project as we all held hands felt like an empowering moment.  This community is so excited about Taata Kids and steadfast in their confidence in it reaching all set goals.  There's a chance I agreed to a single's retreat/seminar with this church next Saturday as one more means of cultural immersion...great story sure to follow.

Oh yeah! We also got to hang with about 15 hilarious rugrats in a muddy alley for a couple hours taking goofy pictures and dancing to TLC and 50 Cent, and we saw a goat stuck on a roof in town.  He was flirting with the ledge as he maa'd for help and as I made the bad joke, "we got a jumper!"  This city is so random and Katy and I love it.

Entebbe to Mbale

The morning of our move came with great anticipation. We were so ready.  Abraham and a woman friend (still can only guess why she accompanied him for the first very short leg of our journey that day) arrived at the Backpackers around 9:30, when we were expecting them at 10:00. We didn't receive the email about the time change thanks to the nonworking wifi.  So they watched us quickly scarf down our breakfast with very minimal, nervous conversation exchanged.

Our original plan was to "just catch a bus to Mbale". Then, Abraham said he would come to the Backpackers to get us, which led me to assume he had a car that he was going to take to and from such a long distance. But as we walked out of the Backpackers reception, we learned that we were going to walk to a main road and hale a taxi (cramped public van continuously stopping to load and unload with the obvious goal of always containing at least 13 people) that would take us to Kampala. From there, individual boda boda rides to the charter bus depot. Each of us with our 50+ lb packs strapped on were wary on those bodas.  We both had the same daunting yet hilarious image of flying off the back and landing on our packs, like turtles turned upside down.  I'm happy to report that despite all of the stories of boda crashes being so common in Kampala, Katy and I survived as uninjured reptiles.  Next up after the boda adventure was a two hour wait until the scheduled charter bus departure time, and then another hour wait while on the bus since it wasn't full yet. The day halfway over, and the bus finally full, our adventure East began. 

The ride was long, hot, and beautiful.  The scenery was varying chunks of open, sprawling fields of tea or sugar cane, and rural villages with roadside markets, all miraculously in tact despite their construction of small sticks and sheets of tin. We stopped once apparently in a designated town, but all I could make out were fields on one side of the semi-paved road and a few mud huts on the other side.  As the men de-bussed to water the fields, I noticed the crowd of villagers growing substantially quickly and with curiosity in their eyes that reached past simply seeing two muzungus.  The bus continued onward, where I immediately saw the source of the commotion. A truck was completely engulfed in massive flames.  As we passed, I felt the intense heat nearly burn my skin and probably sizzle a little of my hair. I took the lack of any anxious response by everyone to mean that nobody was in danger within the vehicle or surrounding.  Less than ten seconds after passing the wreck, all interest from the passengers subsided.  I wonder if it's because that kind of thing happens too often to receive even a second glance.

Our second stop was five minutes of madness.  Before the bus completed braking, it was surrounded.  I had my window open to aid against the smell, heat, and mild car sickness.  These windows are so big that I probably could have toppled out without much effort.  Well, the swarm probably saw an open window AND a muzungu as their golden ticket as they nearly knocked each other down to get at me.  In their hands were baskets of matoke (fried plantains), mystery meat kabobs, chicken on a stick nearly a foot in length, and bottled waters and sodas.  I tried to ignore the yelling, but my lack of eye contact meant nothing as they just poked me with the giant drumsticks until I looked at them.  Abraham announced he was hungry, and came back with mutant chicken wings for each of us, as well as a bag full of matoke.   True to our nature, Katy and I saved a couple matokes to eat with our melted Reeses cups later, as a celebration for our arrival in Mbale. Yes, we each saved our revered treats of chocolately glory for one whole week! Be impressed.

Following lunch, one of the passengers took the opportunity of our inescapable confines to educate on the importance of dental hygiene.  At least that's what I think he was talking about since he was holding a toothbrush and mimicking swishing something around his mouth every so often.  By the end of his spiel he had sold every last tiny bag of mystery white powder, which again I assumed was some sort of astronaut toothpaste.  Ironically following was his speech and paired selling of coffee flavored candies. Which also sold out, possibly faster than the toothpaste.

All of the buildings that I've seen, eroded and collapsed in meager decay, used to seem like such poetic, beautiful pieces of art to me.  When I would pass them, I would imagine the people and animals that relied on them for shelter and all kinds of activities.  I felt blessed that my imagination was able to view these historic time machines.  Now, seeing these buildings still being used for such a necessity switched my emotional response to one I'm still unable to explain.  Shelter is a word equivalent to protection.  And I have a hard time giving these shacks the honor of such a title.  Surely the smallest raindrop laughs at the sticks' feebleness as it easily penetrates through to the family below. And the sun's rays blast the tin siding too easily for them to even enjoy a challenge.  Yet these people call these buildings their home.  Maybe "home" and "shelter" aren't necessarily synonymous.  That shelter, that protection is found elsewhere; In the land that feeds them and the elder women that hold them close.  I have much to learn from these people that live so simply.

After passing quickly over the Nile River and the building generating electricity to all of Uganda, through Jinja where the famous "Kisses from Katie" lives, and catching a glimpse of Abraham's hometown, we finally made it to Mbale.  The adventure took just over eight hours in total, and that plus many other reasons made me so grateful for Abraham's accompaniment and guidance instead of Katy and I "just catching a bus".

Setbacks and Summaries

Well friends, the technology gods dealt me quite the blow.  My iPad was having trouble connecting to any wifi, so the tech guy at the electronics store in town tried to fix it by resetting the entire device.  Worried that my issue was taking up Abraham's valuable time, I agreed to the reset without thinking it through. Since my last several blog entries never made it online, they were never saved anywhere.  The way I write is a blessing and a curse; my writings are almost entirely fueled by my thoughts and emotions within that moment.  This helps me create works that I can be proud of, but the downfall is they cannot be replicated.  So this loss was, well...devastating. But I am the genius who brought a wifi-only device to a third-world area.

All I can tell you is those posts were deeply heartfelt, informative, and Katy can back me on this-they were even really funny! Some of the stories were about the wide variety of people that we met filtering through our dorm room every day as we seemed to be settling in like long-term tenants, we got lost and explored probably about 70% of Entebbe and it was beautiful, tons of adorable children befriended us, and we came across a pack of newborn puppies.  We also made a trip to the city's main market, described to us by the British girl staying in our dorm as seemingly very mellow but was more on the hectic, crowded, stressful side of the temperament spectrum. There, we each bought an avocado bigger than mangoes paired with a "rolex", which is essentially an omelette rolled in a flour tortilla. We think we got mild food poisoning off of those.

Speaking of food stories, Katy and I ventured to the highly recommended Faze 3 restaurant just down the road from our hostel.  We jumped at the chance to dine outside on the deck, with views of beautiful Lake Victoria and some rolling hills.  But the visual aesthetics was instantly overtaken by the sound of cows and possibly other livestock screaming in pain in the field right next to us. We were here for beef sliders, so we changed our minds and jumped at the chance to dine indoors.  We never got our "last American meal" of burgers before leaving the states, and we were not going to be cheated out of it again. As long as we resisted glancing out the window at the serene setting of happily grazing cattle, we could still stomach our deeply desired patties.

We've met several young women traveling around Africa, at least for a solid leg of their trips, totally alone.  They've all been Western European, and they've all scoffed at the questions concerning safety and whatnot that we posed.  People outside of America seem to all view traveling in a much more lax fashion.  Still, I'm forever thankful to be on this adventure with Katy and not alone.

In all, our time at the Backpackers was, to rep the West Coast, chill.  We wanted a relaxed transition into Africa living, and that is exactly what we got.  Now to make things transition much, much faster--it's off to Mbale!

Hostel Life

Getting up around 11:00 and struggling through the process of getting ready--a quick, cold shower that unfortunately didn't cool me down for long as I immediately regained my sweat mustache and coinciding claustrophobia.  Then lathering on the intense deet bug spray and sunblock, Katy throwing up her doxy (malaria preventative medicine), and the heat all resulted in an anxious and moody Sloane. But then we finally stepped outside. 

Bota bota, cows and children. That pretty well sums up our first impression of Uganda as we stepped outside of the Backpackers gates. Our plan was a hefty one: buy water and check out the beach. WIthin two minutes of walking the red dirt road, our first bota bota heckler approached us (Bota botas are motorbike taxis).  At the same time, a herd of adorable school children crossed in front of us as several huge, black cows meandered on by.  Without a thought, we hopped on the bota bota and flew to town, giggling with disbelief and trying to take in all the sights that flashed past us.  

After loading up on bottled water and being dropped off at the water's edge, our 4,000 shilling ride suddenly escalates to 10,000. Our timidity was our downfall as we gave into the "Muzungu price" (Muzungu is Lugandan for white person). You live, you learn! We'll be stronger barterers next time. Katy and I share a love for water as our souls' refuge.  This shoreline, albeit small, featured surprisingly crashing waves and not that much trash.  The tourist bars and restaurants included actual bamboo huts. One more bucket list item checked off! We didn't dare to stay under the hut for too long since we weren't paying customers and everyone was staring at us. But it was fine because there was still so much left to see!  As we strolled along the dirt road seeking out other possible beaches, hundreds of striped dragon flies danced around our feet as the cool breeze set the mood to mellow.  The sandy beaches were half the size of the grassy strips behind them.  This grass, mostly covered by small yet shady trees, is the spot for locals to cat nap.  Which made me wonder, do Ugandans have a name for their equivalent of the Spanish "siesta"? Or is it just all a part of "Africa time"?

Walking back to the Backpackers, we saw one bota bota carrying an entire bedframe-headboard and footboard attached-with more home decor on top, another carrying ginormous bushels of plantains, and another with at least five people crammed on.  These bota botas are beasts.  Back at the hostel, we sat on the porch in meditative peace.  Ready to try out some of the in-house restaurant, we grabbed a table inside while the tv bumped the songs #Blurredlines followed by Macklemore's Can't Hold Us. Our roommate Brittney would have shrieked with excitement, and our roommate Kelci would have checked into a new hostel. Katy and I just laughed at the fact that these songs were playing right now, in a hostel in Uganda, Africa.

As the night drew to a close, Katy and I stood outside our dorm room, gazing at the stars that seemed to be growing by the hundreds in front of our eyes.  One of the hostel workers walked by, and commented on the stars as well. He used to study them, as well as civil engineering. And Buddhism. And is an avid reader of Eckhart Tolle and Stephen Hawking.  After listening to this man talk about lessons he's learned and things he's experienced throughout his life, he finally introduced himself as Frank. He's Frank, of Frank's Backpackers. The owner of this adorable hostel.  As we talked about our drastically similar takes on life and how to live it, I felt tears subtly begin to well.  Seeing as books have always been my dearest companions and life coaches, I instantly fall in love when I meet people who read the same things as I.  Frank is a talker. Hardly getting a word in edgewise, he gave me, one who always has something to say, a run for my money.  Tying together his 75 different tangents, Frank's summation of life is simple and lovely: Just be happy. Do what makes you happy, be where it makes you happy, and don't live outside of those moments.  He was also adamant on the importance of hard work and how frustrating he finds the laziness of so many Ugandans and the coinciding negative aspect of "Africa time".  This sparked several questions in me as I wanted to pick his brain on his ideas for capacity building and the like.  However, it was late and Frank wanted to shower.  Energized and thankful that we have several more days here, I went to bed looking forward to the next time I speak with this intriguing old man. 

And that's all just Day One.    

It's All Happening!

After far too many late night hours spent scaling Amazon and Google Shopping, I finally made the purchase. Holding my new Chacos Fantasia sandals in my hands, I was the real deal.  Proudly showing off my new kicks to my family, I was met with my sister busting out Kanye West's "Jesus Walks" rap.  Okay, these sandals are probably not even allowed on the Cute Shoes spectrum, especially in comparison to the five inch heels I've been subjecting my poor feet to for the past nine months at work. But my spirit was unshakable. I'm a Chaco owner, ready to rough it even in the name of poor fashion. 

Let me back up a little. For this moment of victory was minute in comparison to the havoc that was my last month in America.

I've heard this happens before huge trips, and boy oh boy did it happen to us.  All of a sudden, Katy and I were leaving in just one month.  I still had ALL of my gear to buy, student loans to sort out, a room to sublet, car to sell, 90% of all belongings to sell or donate, and I was still working two jobs. Commence sheer panic.

Yes, the purchase of my shoes which will be carrying me daily for the next year or so was monumental.  Besides that quick instant, the whole month can easily be described as frantic last minute everything. Buying, packing, selling, all with five new things added to their lists daily. My to-do list was sure to murder me.

Here's a quick summary of the final few days in America:

-Katy and I both getting sick due to the stress, lack of sleep and exercise, and poor dieting (Yeah, yeah...we asked for it)

-Hardly any sleep for weeks followed by no sleep at all the night before

-Finally selling my car less than 24 hours before leaving the country

-Our amazing friends stopping by while we pretend to know how to pack, delivering cards filled with such kind, loving words, and hugs full of love, fear, and pride

-Cutting katy's hair 20 minutes before walking out the door for the airport

-Somehow, surely by a miracle (and plenty of anxiety attacks, no sleep, and fits of tears), completely checking off my infinite to-do list

By 7:10 AM, we were on our way to the airport and our new lives.

My dad even came to the airport to see me off.  With our relationship still on the mend, I was moved to tears at this gesture.  It's always a boost of security to have a parent there to bid your final farewell before taking off to somewhere scarily unknown.  

After posing for a few final pictures with our friends and my dad, we were faced with our first travel challenge.  While trying to check in, we were told told we need more documentation to get through customs. We had to have something printed out that demonstrated "onward travel", and our response that we were just THAT crazy and only had one-way tickets purchased brought fear and confusion to the attendant's eyes. Her compassion wasn't spared as she sorted out any possibly option I could think up, and printed out some emails I had as hopefully substantial proof (We ended up not needing them, as Ugandan customs was just barely more than a passing glance).

I really don't know why, but I didn't have to fight back any tears during my last two days in America and even while saying my goodbyes at the airport.  I figured the drastic lack of sleep would undoubtedly contribute to uncontrollable floods, but apparently it left me numb to emotion instead.  Perhaps this was my instinctual reaction to the fully-encompassing fear I was trying to ignore.  This numbness is still lessening.

Onto the plane rides. Allllll 30 hours of them. Our first leg was from Seattle to JFK. This was uneventful, as we both were only capable of sleeping. Upon reaching JFK, it got a little more exciting.  The metro that was supposed to take us to our next terminal broke down, leaving us scampering around outside, trying to find the bus that was supposedly our ticket to the faraway terminal.  An older Eastern European man was in the same nervous boat, and we all kept an eye out for each other as we riddled our way through broken-English directions.  I always love the camaraderie that arises when strangers are placed in similar situations of distress. Silver linings are welcome sources of comfort amidst unrest.

Finally through another ticket line and another security check, our spirits were at a high as we fantasized about our last American meal: Burgers. We knew airport food is always insanely priced, but we were prepared to splurge in the name of greasy goodness. Then we learned our only options were pre-made deli sandwiches or Turkish fast food. I was semi okay giving into the Turkish grub since I'm a die-hard fan of Doner kebaps. But alas! Sold out. Come. On. Now. With our crappy sandwiches, we waited for our delayed flight. 

JFK to Istanbul: 

Within minutes of take-off, the flight attendants served us Turkish Delights on toothpicks, which tasted like stale gummies covered in powdered sugar. But, they were free! These weak treats were forgiven when we were served gourmet meals of chicken and hummus, salad, a choice of salmon and veggies or pasta, and apple cobbler for dessert. Whyy did we waste that money on cheap sandwiches! Free drinks had to be taken advantage of, but after Katy's one whiskey coke and my one Turkish white wine, we were too flushed and giggly to brave a second round. The combination of altitude, lack of sleep, and delirium that had consumed us the past few days led to extreme lightweightedness. And an obsessive awe over the turkish man's "out of control" beard across the aisle. Leaving America officially, I realized we were exiting from one of the main points of entry of immigrants into America, hoping for epic life change, and traveling to the "motherland", where all this humankind started, and where I am hoping for MY epic life change. I reveled in this reversal. Despite all of the realizations and re-energizing from the food and bouts of sleep, I still felt numb to the weight of this endeavor finally, actually playing out. My new life, completely of my choosing, and able to exist nearly anywhere I want, has begun. As long as I end up earning income at some point to continue student loan payments, the rest is completely and vastly open.  The exhilaration brought forth as I imagine all the paths my life can take is contrasted by the anxiety over not seeing my loved ones for a long while, the dangers that inevitably coincide with the life paths I yearn for, and ultimately all of the unknowns. Life is but a pendulum, and it is time I learn to let go of full control.

Istanbul to Entebbe: 

The plane's late arrival at JFK meant a late arrival in Istanbul. We're talking landing ten minutes before our next flight begins boarding, and we still have to take a shuttle from the plane to the terminal, pass through security for the seemingly hundredth time, and then most likely sprint to our hopefully close gate. Flashbacks of running through the monstrous Amsterdam airport on my Europe trip, making it to the gate just as the doors were closing, haunted me as I tried to resist plowing over every slow sauntering adult or old man taking five years to remove his belt before setting off another alarm through security.  We got to the gate less than 15 minutes after boarding began, just to find that preparation for boarding hadn't even begun. At least we got a nice little workout in.  As well as receiving lesson one on "Africa Time". Realizing we left the house to begin this never-ending trek over 24 hours ago, it's safe to say that we were borderline dreading yet another 7+ hour flight.  But Katy and I received what surely was the Universe throwing us a bone.  Empty seats.  Our group of about 18 seats played musical chairs to excited giggles as we rejoiced at the ability to all sit with our families and friends, AND have room to spread out and lay down. Once more, we passed out in feeble attempts to gain any essence of sanity through a few more quick but deep naps.  This route took us straight over Egypt, which means ancient Mesopotamia. The nerd in me bounced and pointed as I excitedly recounted random facts learned in 6th grade humanities class to Katy. I know I was pretty high up, but I felt so close to such a fascinating piece of human history. Our flight stopped in Kigale, Rwanda, where we remained on the plane for about 30 minutes as maybe five people joined us.  One last time, take-off. I'm finally maintaining relatively normal blood pressure during these apprehensive events.  Looks like five times in -seemingly- one day is the rote repetition I needed.

We landed in Entebbe, Uganda, around 3:00 in the morning. Which was 5:00 PM back home.  The substantial upside for completely throwing off our sleep schedules the past week is that we were going to adjust to this new time zone easier than a fish takes to water.  Me, being the over-thinker not wanting to ever ruffle any feathers (especially the feathers of authoritative figures), recited all the appropriate lines to say to the customs officer to hopefully keep any flags from being raised for any reason, and then quickly changed into a long skirt to comply with the country's recently instated laws about women's dresscode.  Almost immediately, we saw women breaking this dresscode left and right. Well, at least these skirts are breezy against the humid heat.

Paul, the Backpackers driver, picked us up. His quiet, sweet voice and gentlemanly demeanor was a welcome omen to the kindness of the people here. Even in the pitch black darkness of night, I wasn't apprehensive of our decision to head to the Backpackers instead of waiting for the safety of sunrise.

We got into the dormitory and as quietly as possibly threw our huge packs in the weakly bug-netted beds, our packs taking up majority of the sleeping space. We both spent most of the night laying there unable to sleep against everything our bodies pleaded us.  Probably because we were finally in AFRICA.

Searching for Purpose

I've always known that I wanted to help others as my profession. As a young adolescent, that help was directed toward animals.  As I grew older, I realized that as much as I adore animals, a deeper passion thirsted for helping children.  So, I went to college to become an elementary teacher. Other classmates and I would fantasize about our ideal classrooms once we finished college.  This proved to be a strong motivational tactic to boost morale and willingness to continue on in the grueling program which threatened to gobble up our spirits and optimism in one contented gulp.  Each and every time this conversation arose, my answer was immediate and the same: I want to teach in a hut in Africa. Every time I verbalized this aloud, despite the looks of uncertainty in my sanity that I received back from my peers, my heart would beat faster. In a hut in Africa....yes, I WILL teach there someday.

As time went on and I experienced more classrooms through my practicums, something terrifying began to emerge.  I was losing my drive, my excitement, my want to teach.  The closest reasoning I could pin down was the overwhelming frustrations I felt about the lack of power teachers had.  They could plan the perfect lessons and use the perfect psychological reinforcement, but at the end of the day the children were not going to perform at their best if they did not have a safe home to study in that night.  It appeared to me that teachers' hands are so tied from helping the children at a basic level, and this tore at my heart.  Children who only ate or received any attention while at school were either expected to perform just as focused and prepared as the better off students, or they were tossed to the wayside and given up on.  I was told by a teacher that "there's only so much we can do", and this 'so much' was beyond dissatisfying.  I was smacked in the face with the realization that maybe I was studying the wrong major.  I needed to work toward a career in helping children gain their most basic and fundamental needs first, and lesson plan on the solar system second.

At the beginning of my fifth year of college, personal hardships began to consume me.  I was finally forced me to give in and withdraw from school, which meant losing my ultimate identity as the academic.  No longer with a life plan or goal of any sort, I was put into  limbo. This would not do. Desperate to come up with an alternative game plan for my life, I realized I was in the closest to perfect life placement to fulfill my dream of Third World volunteering. I knew I couldn't take off on this quest alone, nor did I want to.  Something surely so amazing would be lightyears better if shared with a friend.  Now to find a travel partner...

When discussing ideas of traveling within the next several months with a friend, Katy, whom I was still starting to know, asked if she could come along. It felt so right there wasn't any room left for doubt, and my soul danced as I agreed. The next seven months flew by as I picked up another job, filling 90% of my time working at either one or the other. As I continually budgeted and re-budgeted, I quickly concluded that I had to switch into ultra-penny pincher mode. This is where I became so grateful that I've had to live so financially frugal so many times in my life - budgeting and bargain hunting was essentially first nature. It helped to rename my jobs "fundraisers", as that was a hell of a lot more motivating than "work".  

It was happening.  My highest dream was in the making.  Backed by wonder and fear, I was exhilarated. 

As many of you know, I am a sucker for a good quote.  Words continually blow my mind with their magnitude. This one captures my dream for this upcoming adventure absolutely perfectly:

"There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud became more painful that the risk it took to blossom" -Anais Nin

Bingo.