Pete and the ol' ladies

The end of an era is upon us… Three major forces in my life for the month of February were a 7 foot 32 yr old doctor from Michigan and two retired teachers from Virginia and Maine.
Pete was one class shy of completing med school when he got here. His last class was his time spent here, so he left as a med school grad, awaiting his residency assignment. He’s served in Cameroon in the Peace Corps, ran a hotel in Mozambique, and worked at an HIV clinic in Zambia. He’s crass and direct, but educated and well-traveled enough to get away with it. His view on development: “Sure, roads are good for an economy but more roads means more truckers. More truckers – more hookers – more hookers -- more AIDS. I’ve seen it with my own eyes in Botswana.” He’s about to start another two months on the continent before he leaves in May from Zambia.

Catherine and Cynthia taught together at in Virginia at the Arlington Public Schools for years before they both retired about five years ago. Cynthia is one of the driving forces behind our partner school, Arlington Academy of Hope. She was the head mistress (principal) for six months a few years back and has become quite the veteran of the village. Catherine has had a strong influence on the project too but prefers to dodge any and all attention that comes along with it. While Cynthia generally accepts invitations to church or tea or whatever else might come up, Catherine generally will slip away and relax with a book. Now that Catherine’s retired to New England, I give her shit any time I have the opportunity. She gives it right back and we have a good time. Over all, they’re both bitchin’ broads.

Pete left on the rest of his trip this past week. Catherine and Cynthia leave on Friday of this week. Allow me to recollect some moments from this particular era… and keepin mind that most Pete quotes are un-publishable.

On a Friday afternoon, Pete and I got caught in a national geographic moment at a circumcision dance ceremony, entering with a low-speed motorcycle crash and exiting with a high-speed Indiana Jones style escape from a mob of village children that weaved through a local drinking district where the elders temporarily held off the kids with threats of beatings. Quote from Pete, “Don’t ya love it when Nat Geo moments turn into bad acid trips?” We went back to Kiholo and drank off the emotional impact. We came home pretty deep in the bag and told the tale to Catherine and Cynthia. They were amused.

On a Sunday morning, I got a call from a woman who runs an NGO in our district. Short version: possible dead baby in a 7-month pregnant woman. Bududa Hospital was open, but their stethoscope was locked up. Publishable quote of the day was Pete, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this day ends up in me delivering a dead baby”. Un-publishable quote of the day was with regards to the “natural” method of inducing labor. Due to the unavailability of goods and services in Bududa District, labor induction was best done elsewhere so we referred her to Mbale (the city). Catherine and Cynthia were concerned, but amused.

When I got a cut on my foot, it infected pretty quickly. Dr. Pete’s diagnosis: “You know those piles of cow shit all over the road? Well those turn into dust and that dust that gets into your cut is largely cow shit.” It’s still healing slowly but surely. I might have my first Africa scar.

One day when I was heading back from the clinic, I got a text message from Pete: “The old ladies are making me go get beer. What are you doing?” We had cold beer for about 25% of the time he was here. Sometimes there’s no electricity. Sometimes there’s no beer. Sometimes the guys at the beer/chicken feed stand forget to put beer in the fridge. Just about every day with Pete ended up with a cold beer search. Catherine and Cynthia were always happy when we brought some home.

My last day in Kampala with Pete turned into a bar crawl in which we were exposed to an array of American easy listening music which seems to be the music of choice during daylight hours in Kampala. The top easy listening moment had to be when we were in Kampala’s version of Target (where all the white people shop) and Toto’s ‘80s hit “Africa” was playing. Classic. That night, we went out to a killer pork and beer joint. Since Pete has been in Kampala, I’ve been getting daily texts either asking about pork or telling me about pork. Last night he was at a place called “pork talk”. The man’s on a mission.