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.

    My few trips outside of the city have definitely been my favorite times in Uganda so far.  Although, I am thankful for Kampala because of the few luxuries that city life provides.  For example, Kampala boasts the only movie theatre in Uganda, as well as one of the few bookstores with titles other than "The Praying Wife" and "Becoming Closer to Christ."  Small things such as finding Diet Coke in a restaurant provide a level of comfort that I wouldn't be afforded outside of the city.  However, life here is also loud, dirty and chaotic, and it is always a relief to spend a few days in a more relaxed environment.  Therefore, we usually jump at any opportunity we can find to travel.  Especially since we can spend a very relaxing weekend away for just a few dollars, literally.  Last Sunday, we woke up early and set out on a quick trip to Jinja, a sleepy little town whose only real claim to fame lies in its vicinity to the mighty Nile.  I can tell how much more comfortable I have become with life here just by how much easier it was to conquer the public transportation system this time around.  We knew exactly where to catch the proper matatu and just 10 minutes and 25 cents later, we had arrived at the taxi park in the center of town.
     The taxi park is something that deserves its own little description here.  Every time I go there, I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of a video game a little reminiscent of my days playing Frogger when I was younger.  There are literally hundreds of matatus crammed into a space about the size of a football field.  I'm honestly not sure how they all get in there, or back out for that matter, but the seemingly unsystematic chaos obviously has some sort of system behind it.  In the taxi park, there is no such thing as the "right of way."  Instead, its more like "get the heck out of the way."  When Hobbes wrote about life in a state of nature being nasty, brutish and short, he must have spent some time in the Kampala taxi park first.  When the taxis start to move, its your job to get out of the way because they definitely aren't slowing down for you.  You can be walking through a nice sized gap when just seconds later you are dangerously close to being squashed between two giant silver fenders, horns honking, fourteen blank faces staring at you through half-open windows.
     Finding the proper taxi is yet another battle.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason to how they are organized.  Yet, everyone always seems to know exactly where they are going, except for us mzungus.  You start by asking the first guy you come to.  "Jinja?"  He eagerly agrees to show you the way, walks a few feet, then waves his hand in some general direction.  We walk in the direction of his hand wave for a few minutes before stoping to ask the next person.  Eventually, you are close enough to the general vicinity that someone can show you the exact taxi that you are looking for.  Even then, you ask once more at the door of the taxi for confirmation before hopping aboard, just to make sure that you don't end up getting dropped off 3 hours later in the middle of some rural village that you can't even pronounce, yet alone navigate.
      We finally made it to the right taxi and were off to Jinja for a mere 4,000 shillings (less than $2).  The beauty of the Ugandan countryside makes even the bumpiest bus ride a rather enjoyable experience, despite the fact that Ugandans can't seem to handle even the slightest bit of cool air, insisting that the windows remained closed for the entire ride (even though its 80 degrees inside the bus).
     It is in these moments that I realize why Uganda has earned the title as the "Pearl of Africa."  Everywhere you look, you are surrounded by hills that seem to be bursting with a green lushness.  It's the kind of green that you just want to lay down and lose yourself in.  The kind of green that makes you want to take your shoes off to feel the mud ooze between your toes.  This green is broken by dagged red dirt roads that slash across the countryside.  Splashes of orange and blue from the patterned dress of children, other bursts of color from all the exotic flowers that litter the side of the road.
   The city itself left more to be desired.  There was not much activity outside of the bustling market, especially considering it was a Sunday.  We wandered the streets for a bit, and eventually came to a beautiful art shop that I lost myself in for a good 30 minutes before I finally settled on my two favorite paintings to purchase.  Artwork is the one thing that I purchase in every country that I visit.  Paintings are so much more special than any of the traditional souvenirs.
     We eventually made our way out of town so we could visit the alleged 'source' of the Nile (although this is a topic of heated debate).  The site was a rather long but pleasant walk outside of town.  When we finally reached the road that led down to the river, we were stopped by a policeman who asked us to travel through the field instead of using the road.  He informed us that they were shooting a movie on the road and didn't want us to interfere.  About ten minutes into the walk, we were knee-deep in grass, on the lookout for any African creature that might be hiding underfoot, when we heard several rounds of gunfire followed by desperate wails.  All we could do was laugh.  I almost wish we hadn't been informed about the movie because it would have made quite a story.
     The actual 'source' of the Nile was very touristy but still beautiful.  I actually didn't mind all of the tourist activity.  After all, we are visitors here and it felt nice to be a little self-indulgent for once.  We enjoyed a Nile beer on a little bar built over the river.  I had to suck up my intense dislike for the taste of beer and, in the spirit of the moment, have one as well.  After leaving the river, we caught a boda boda to Bujagali Falls where we were planning on staying the evening.  It was about a twenty minute boda ride that took us past several wooden roadside villages that included a few groups of excited children, jumping up and down, waving and shouting at the passing Mzungus.  One particular little girl seemed almost frantic in her quest for acknowledgement, shrieking at us as we flew past.  We finally made it to Eden Rock where we stayed in a cute little two-story cottage.  That night, I fell asleep to the distant roar of the Nile outside my window, even having the pleasure of being awakened in the middle of the night by the rains of a passing thunderstorm pounding on the tin roof just a few feet above my bright blue mosquito net (which I use more so to keep all the lizards out of my bed than for the mosquitos).
     The next morning, we made our way down to the Falls before heading back to town.  Unfortunately, the storm from the night before left us battling some pretty nasty mud.  It was worth it though because the rapids truly were a sight to see.  Of course, I made my way right to the edge and just watched the water rush past.  I could have stood there for hours in worship of that river.  So powerful and unforgiving.  It came as no surprise to me to read that the Falls were actually believed to be the home of one of the river spirits.  I will be going back as soon as possible (September 26th to be exact) to battle these rapids on a raft.  Its supposed to be some of the best white water rafting in the world!

I took me four weeks, five days and 15 hours to fall in love with Uganda.  I don't fall in love easily, but when I do, I fall hard and fast.  I first realized that Uganda and I had started this new love affair on the bus ride home from Jinja earlier this afternoon.  Although, I've felt the feeling creeping over me these last few days.  I would find myself cruising on the back of a boda-boda, a giant Uganda flag flying from the handlebars, watching the streets and people flash past in a blur, grinning from ear to ear the entire ride.  Things that stressed me out and made me angry a few weeks ago now just make me laugh.  No electricity today...The showers are out of hot water...The internet stops working in the middle of a skype call...My professor shows up for class an hour late (or not at all)...nothing seems to phase me.  All of this country's little idiosyncrasies are now just a source of amusement for me.  Being called a Mzungu (white person) on a daily basis doesn't even offend me anymore.  I've just come to think of it as my second name...Caro Mzungu.  I'm either referred to as Caro or Mzungu.  Never Caroline.  I guess I've been called worse, so I can't really complain.

     The first lesson that Uganda has taught me: PATIENCE!  This has always been a virtue that I somewhat lack.  I've never been a patient person.  In the American culture that is "Go, Go, Go" all the time, I feel right at home.  I hate waiting, I always have to be busy, and I don't like being late.  Here, things are the exact opposite.  Everything is done so SLOWLY!  I feel almost like I have been in slow motion since I arrived here about a month ago (that is hard to believe!)  They walk slowly.  They talk slowly.   The restaurants are slow.  The University is even slower.   

      At first, I found this to be extremely frustrating.  Ugandans seem to be just perfectly happy doing absolutely nothing.  Meanwhile, I wanted to go places, see things, do things....anything really.  My classes were supposed to start about a week and a half ago.  However, the professors were on strike, pushing back the start date until the beginning of this week.  On Monday afternoon, I was so excited to be heading to my first class.  Well, I get there, sit and wait for 2 hours....and nothing happens!  We go home and decide to come back and try again the next day.  We get there on Tuesday, sit and wait for an hour....finally someone shows up!  He talks to us for about an hour, we do introductions....and then go home.  I go back again last night.  The first professor again didn't show up so there was 2 more hours of waiting.  However, our second professor actually showed up right on time.  We, again, spent about an hour doing introductions, went over the course outline and then went home.  All this waiting might seem a bit tedious for some, but I was just so excited to actually be doing something! Even if it was just waiting for two hours for a professor who didn't show up.

     After 3 and a half weeks of being here, I can honestly say that Uganda has already taught me to mellow out a bit.  Maybe that's a good thing.  I've had to take my fair share of "deep breaths" since arriving, but I think I'm finally starting to catch on.  I've learned to just sit and take it all in.  I don't necessarily have to be doing something all the time to accomplish things.  I can learn and grow by just being here and existing within such a different and foreign culture.  That's not to say that I won't be doing anything while I'm here.  I plan on starting my volunteer work at a local babies home next week.  I'm also working on finding a part-time internship, hopefully at either UNHCR or USAID.  All these things just come about a little more slowly here.  I have to keep reminding myself that it's ok.  I'm going to be here for a year....no rush.  Nevertheless, sometimes I just have to power walk to where I'm going...just to get somewhere quickly, despite the looks I get from all the Ugandans that I speed past

As most of you probably know, Kampala was the site of a recent terrorist attack back in early July.  The bomb blasts that occured at a local rugby club and Ethiopian restaurant during the World Cup finals left almost 80 civilians dead.  Although the attacks happened just a few weeks before my arrival, I still wasn't really prepared for how much these attacks have affected everyday life in the city.  Growing up in a post-9/11 America, terrorism has almost become a part of everyday life back home.  You can rarely turn on the television or open a newspaper without seeing some sort of report on terrorists activities. 
     Dealing with the same issues in Uganda wasn't really something that I initially expected.  However, terrorism has become just as much a part of my everyday life here, if not more so than back home.  While I am constantly bombarded by news on such events back home, the threat of terrorism here seems much more real.   Everytime I enter a mass gathering place, whether its the bank, a shopping center, a restaurant or simply entering the campus gates, I am searched with metal detectors, patted down, and asked to open my bag.  Cars are also stopped before entering to be searched.  Today, one of the guards even openly asked me if I had a bomb in my bag.  I'm pretty sure that he was kidding but I was still a little taken aback.  People complain about having to go through security checks at airports back home, but imagine if you had to do this everytime that you entered any sort of establishment.  I haven't yet fully decided what my opinions on the matter are.  I've alway felt that all the searching and security measures are there to create a mostly false sense of safety.  Simply searching bags at the entrance of a building is not going to be enough to stop terrorists attacks from occuring in downtown Kampala or anywhere else, as scary as that is.  We can't search everybody, everywhere.  Yet, these measures have to be taken because everybody is always looking for some sort of response when these attacks do happen.  In the meantime,  I'll just have to keep opening my purse to be searched a few times a day. 
    An interesting side note, I was reading a Ugandan newspaper today,  New Vision, and turned the page to see a picture of South Carolina Congressmen Bob Inglis and Henry Brown.  It turns out that they were here to place a wreath at the Rugby club where one of the blasts occured.  It's funny just how small the world really can seem sometimes.  South Carolina's elected officials have followed me all the way to Kampala!