So class was SUPER boring last night, and I felt inspired by my love for this crazy place.  I decided to write a poem about it:




The Most Beautiful Piece of Hell


Baking
The brutal beams tearing into my soft pale skin
Equatorial sun
A single bead of sweat leaves a cool trail down my neck
There is no escaping the Heat
Debilitating
Consuming
Burn


Red
My new favorite color
The dust has claimed every one of my possessions its prisoner
A thin gritty layer
In the nose, the mouth, the eyes
A non-living parasite that has consumed my very being
Choking
Suffocating
Grime


Falling
The sky swells, turning an angry and desperate grey
Big fat drops
The earth, dry and scarred, reaches back
Rains that cleanse the city
Washing it all away
The Sweat
The Dirt
The Heat


Cacophony
Blaring horns mix with jarring shouts from passing taxis
"Wandegeya, Wandegeya"
"Bwaise-Kawempe"
The cool mist of early dawn broken only by a distant Call to Prayer
My own Kampala lullaby
Familiar
Soothing
Home

     I've had a pretty busy week, so I'm spending this lazy, rainy Sunday catching up on everything I've neglected over the past few days (hence the two super-long blog posts in one day).  The reason for my hectic schedule has been the amazing opportunity I was given to participate in a week long training session on water crisis and climate change.  Adelphi, a German public policy think-tank, sent two trainers to Makerere to spend the week working with some students from our class.  The training included two full days at the university learning all about water crisis.  The first day, we learned how to identify water user groups, management groups and conflict between these actors.  We then learned how to map out these conflicts on an 'actor map.'  The next day, we learned how to identify marginalized populations and how to conduct culture sensitive interviews in preparation for the fieldwork that we would be doing later that week.

Driving through the mountains

      Wednesday is when the real adventure started.  We traveled over seven hours by bus to a small city in western Uganda called Kasese.  We were scheduled to leave at 7:30 in the morning.  Being the prompt individual that I am, I arrived right on time.  True to African style, I sat around and waited another hour for everyone else to show up.  However, by 9:00 we were on the road, all crammed into our little white van like a can of Ugandan sardines.  I managed a few hours of sleep in between all the potholes, speed bumps, and police checks that we hit every few kilometers throughout the entirety of the drive.  A few hours into the journey, we pulled over for a lunch break.  As soon as our van came to a stop, we were accosted by dozens of street vendors all sticking their heads through our windows, selling chapatis, roasted bananas, mystery meats on a stick, juices and cold waters.  I stocked up on some chapatis and bananas but wasn't brave enough to try any of the mystery meat.  As we set off again, the landscape around us began to change as we entered into the mountainous region of the country.  The air became cooler as dark gray clouds gathered above us.  Finally, after 7 long hours we pulled into our hotel.  We grabbed a quick lunch (which I considered to be more of a dinner since it was 4:30 in the afternoon by now) and then set off for a tour of the local copper mines.

Inside the mines

We first passed through a small mining village, which consisted of a few dozen dilapidated wooden houses tucked into the valley of the surrounding mountains.  Groups of blue-uniformed school children roamed the streets, but otherwise the area seemed eerily deserted.  We were given a quick tour of the copper mines which have been struggling lately, which is reflected in the run-down nature of the entire community.  We were even taken a few hundred yards into the tunnels of one of the mines.  I must say that I feel very blessed that I am fortunate enough to never have to do work like this.  We were shown the pits where miners spend hours harvesting the copper before having to haul the 45 kilogram packs out of the mines on their backs.  We then returned to the hotel where we were briefed by a local guide, split into interview teams and then spent the rest of the evening preparing for the next day's field work.  All of this evening business was made just a little more exciting by the constant electricity black outs that came and went throughout the night.

Some of the Basongora cattle

     The next morning, we had an early start as we headed out of town to begin our interviews.  Our first stop was a visit to the Basongora tribe.  The Basongora are pastoralist, which means that they raise cattle for a living.  Their community consists of a few concrete structures, some small huts, a primary school and lots of pasture land with grazing cattle.  When we arrived in the village, we were met by several Basongora members who were eager to show us around.  We learned that there used to be a water channel that ran right through the Basongora pastures.  However, when the local council changed leadership five years ago, government maintenance of the channel stopped and all of the water dried up.  The Basongora now have to walk 7 kms there and back to the nearest river, so their cattle can drink.  In the dry season, they have to make this trip twice....thats 28 kms a day just for water!

Interviews with the Basongora herdmen

    We were then split into our teams and given a chance to interview some of the locals.  Our team got to interview four of the local herdsmen, with a translator to assist us since none of the men spoke English.  We discussed all the problems that these men encounter in trying to fetch clean water.  We also discussed possible solutions to the water issues plaguing the Basongora community.  After about an hour, we had to leave to head to our next interview.  I was very sad to go since I had already fallen in love with the Basongora and their community.  Their land was beautiful....flat green pastures framed by deep blue mountains rising in the distance.  I was in awe of the people themselves, as well.  I can't imagine how difficult life must be for these people, having to work for hours every day for something as simple as water.  Yet, the herdsmen that we talked to were so poised and gentle.

At the source of the channel

      We headed into the mountains for our next set of interviews with the Bakonjo tribe.  First, we stopped of the see the source of the channel at the nearest river.  We then traveled further down the channel where the Bakonjo farming community is situated.  Although the Bakonjo are slightly more fortunate than the Basongora in that the channel has not yet dried up in their part of the community, the water that does flow in this channel is very dirty and not fit for consumption.  We sat down for our interview where we discussed the issues that the Bakonjo have in trying to obtain enough water for their crops and fish farms.  Our second interview was a little rushed since lunchtime was drawing near, and it is considered to be very rude to interfere with mealtimes in Ugandan culture.  After just an hour with the Bakonjo, we set off.

Interviews with the Bakonjo

 For our own lunch, we spent the afternoon at the HIPO Resort on the shore of Lake George.  We spent an hour lounging on the shore before enjoying a heaping plate of rice, matoke, groundnuts, vegetables, and tilapia (which I personally skipped).  The evening was spent battling several more black outs while trying to make closing presentations of the day's findings.  Within the next week, we will all be completing case studies of the water conflict taking place in the Basongora and Bakonjo communities.  These case studies will then be sent to Adelphi for them to use in the framework that they are publishing on water conflict and climate change.  Overall, I can honestly say that the whole experience was one of the highlights of my time in Uganda so far.

My philosophy in life has always been of the Ralph Waldo Emerson mindset: "Always do what you are afraid to do."  It's true what they say...those things that you fear the most usually turn out to be the most worthwhile.  However, I might have outdone myself a little this time.
      Last weekend, I signed up to go whitewater rafting on the Nile.  My trip to Jinja left me anxious to get back there to try to battle the mighty river in a little inflatable raft.  They are currently constructing a dam upstream from Jinja which is scheduled to be finished by the end of the year.  While this dam is definitely necessary to help solve the electricity problems that plague the area, this means that most of the river's largest rapids will disappear within a few months.  I wanted the honor of being one of the last few people to experience this awesome adrenaline rush...and what a rush it was!
     The first hour in the water was spent learning all of the skills necessary to keep us alive throughout the journey.  We learned basic paddle instructions: "forward" "back paddle" "Dig hard" "DIG HARDER" "Hold on" "Get down" "Look away".  More importantly, we learned to follow these commands with a military-like precision.  Battling Class 5 rapids is almost an art form.  Paddle strokes must be made at exactly the right time. Weight in the raft must be shifted in certain spots.  We were also forced to jump out the raft and learn the proper position to float in (in order to prevent our legs from snapping on the rocks hidden beneath the rapids).  We then climbed back on the raft....or, in my case, were pulled back onto the raft.  We learned how to anchor our paddles to prevent us from breaking the nose or knocking out the teeth of our neighbors.  Finally, our raft was flipped and we were supposed to learn to find the air pockets underneath in case we were ever trapped.  I say 'supposed to' because I never could manage to find one...all I ever did was swallow a whole lot of river water until I managed to pop out the other side, coughing and gasping for air.  If all these skills were necessary for my survival, I wasn't really sure I wanted to do this anymore.  But I absolutely refused to chicken out.
   We were off, with me mumbling a few half-hearted prayers under my breath.  We approached the first rapid...a Class 2.  Even the 'small' class 2 left me a little shaky on the other side.  The idea that this was the smallest of the rapids that we would be seeing that day did absolutely nothing to ease my nerves.  We pushed on, next up was Bujagali Falls, the crazy Class 5 rapid that inspired me to make this whole trip in the first place.  As we approached, we could see all the Mzungus on the shore with their cameras, waiting to witness our struggle.  Our first Class 5 went relatively smoothly and my nerves began to ease a bit.  This all changed at our next rapid, a Class 3.  Expecting an easier ride, none of us were prepared when our raft hit a wall of water and flipped into the air.  Caught off guard, I forgot to hold onto the rope of the raft and was swept away by the rapids.  I simply tucked my legs and rode out the waves until a safety kayaker paddled to my rescue.

Standing in front of Bujagali Falls...a Class 5

     As we pressed on, thunderstorm clouds filled the sky ahead of us.  We paddled faster, racing the rains.  We came to our last class 5 rapid of the morning...Big Brother, the most technical rapid we would battle.  We were instructed in exactly the pattern of strokes and maneuvers necessary to ride the rapid's giant waves and holes.  After practicing the technique several times through, we had reached the edge of the rapid.  The whole setting was very foreboding, as our raft picked up speed, rushed forward by the hands of the river, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance.  I remember thinking in my head "If I have to die today, at least this would be an awesome way to go."  The ride itself was insane.  Huge waves of green water washed over us.  Our raft would fly into the air and I would be bracing myself for the flip, when we would just pop out on the other side of the wall of water.  We managed to ride all four waves and holes in the rapid and made it to the other side where we got to watch the remaining teams battle.
     We then stopped on a little rocky island in the middle of the river for a much needed lunch break.  We gorged ourselves on fresh bread, meats, cheeses, local avocados and salad before setting out to battle the remaining of the rapids.  The second part of the day entailed lots of paddling with only four rapids in between.  I was thankful for the long stretches of peaceful paddling along the river.  We were allowed to remove our gear and jump into the river for a refreshing swim.  However, all of the paddling left my already burning arms nearly numb.
     Unfortunately, about an hour after lunch, we finally lost the race with the impending storm clouds.  Rain began to pound down on us.  The sky darkened and all warmth from the sun disappeared.  We were literally huddled in the raft, pressing forward desperately for the blue sky we could see ahead.  Finally, after about an hour, we reached our next set of rapids just as the rain was letting up.  I can't really remember the details of these rapids...only that they included two class 3's and one class 5 but they were otherwise pretty uneventful.  Their memory has been overshadowed by the experience of our last rapid of the day....a nasty Class 6 and 5 that proved to be by far our craziest ride.  The first part of the rapid included a 7-foot waterfall and was classified as a class 6.  We were not skilled enough, neither stupid enough, to attempt to paddle this rapid.  Instead, we paddled to the shore where we carried our raft a few yards downstream before hopping back in.
     I honestly couldn't tell the difference between this half of the rapid and the first part.  They both looked like a class 6 and death to me.  However, by this point, I just wanted to paddle the thing so I could get off the raft, change into some dry clothes and curl up on the bus for some rest.  Literally, within 2 seconds of paddling out into the rapid, our raft hit a wall and flipped.  We were told that if we flipped to let go of the raft.  Otherwise, we would surely drown.  Since I could never remember to hold onto the raft in the first place, I had no trouble at all remembering to let go this time.  However, when I came back up to the surface, I realized the raft had flipped on top of me.  Although, we were instructed to stay calm in these situations, there is really no way not to panic.  There is water swirling all around you.  You have no idea which way is up and which way is down.  All you want to do is take a breath but every time you do, you get a mouth full of river water instead.  Finally after just a few seconds (which really felt more like a few minutes) I broke to the surface.  As soon as I took a gasp of air, I was swept back under by the next wall of water.  I rode out the rest of the rapid before being hauled back to the raft by one of my saviors, the safety kayakers.
     After completing our journey, we spent about an hour enjoying some chapatis, mystery meat on a stick, and fresh pineapple while reminiscing about the highlights of the day with our teammates.  I also took this time to purchase a few photos of the day's adventures.  Just in case anyone doesn't believe me, I now have photographic evidence, including a pretty epic picture of our raft in mid-flip.  In all, it took about a week for my burning muscles to recover from the four hours, ten rapids, and 31 kms that were paddled that afternoon.