She's friggin ridiculous....
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Malaria
Bad part: no energy, no appetite, and uncomfortable sweats and chills
Good part: day off of work (other than my monthly report that was overdue) and hang out with Idah, who is now saying "Mikey" non-stop. Also some much needed quality time with the dogs. Also nice to lie down all day.
Good part: day off of work (other than my monthly report that was overdue) and hang out with Idah, who is now saying "Mikey" non-stop. Also some much needed quality time with the dogs. Also nice to lie down all day.
Monday, August 31, 2009
My new life
This was an email that I sent to my friends Shawn and Seema. Then I was like, "blog it". To fill-in, I moved from a volunteer house to a great family whose daughter happened to work in the building that I had classes in my entire undergrad and grad school. Small little world we've got goin' on these days. More about my new place....
Just down a 20' path from their kitchen is a nice little river. It's more secluded in these parts. The dogs have a new friend, Phil "you can call me Siraj" Lesh. He was attacked with a machete some time back, so he's got a crook in his neck. He's also not used to human affection. He likes it, but he doesn't quite get it. Like an awkward 14 year old learning how to make out.
They have an adorable 2-yr old grand daughter that they just rescued from a horribly malnourished state. Now she's laughing her ass off and playing around all day. She's my kind of kid. Sitting on the concrete floor with tons of action, other kids, dogs, hot coals, knives... and she just sits there chill as hell drinking her tea or eating her beans. She's developing motor skills and trying to speak some language that's half Lumasaba and half gobbly-guk. She called me "daddy" like 5 times yesterday. It was ridiculous. I was like "shut the fuck up, kid. who taught you to say that? is this a scam?" Too young and innocent to scam, but it's just easy for kids to say. But damn was it cute. I'm teaching her "Mikey". Whatever, she stays this cute, she's at least earned herself school fees. She just put on shoes for the first time yesterday and she's refusing to take them off. They're white velcro sneakers that are too big for her.
At my new place, I finally have my own room for the first time since I moved to Bududa with a private bathing room (room with a drain so I can bucket bathe). Lantern-lit makes for a great ambiance every night. I just got some $15 speakers for my mp3 player in Kampala so I've got a sweet little setup. They bring me hot boiled water (usually murky) to bathe, which works well with the tunes and lantern. Compare this to a house full of loud white people where I only get a break from them on some weekends. I'm finally in Africa and at peace.
Local food every night. Fresh piri piri peppers (little red hot ones) picked from their garden. Wild mushrooms that don't make you trip, chicken that were running away from my dogs two hours before, and even fish once from the neighbor's fish farm. Milk tea in the morning and milk tea after my evening bath. Not bad
Dad is a retired literature teacher who's stout, jolly, liberal, sharp-witted and lots of other great things. We usually slam a couple of brews every night. I just ponied up for a case. Mom takes in kids like it's her job and she's getting tired, but still keeps a smile on her face. She has a couple of young ladies helping here out who also have their kids around. Cute kids. Lots of 'em coming and going. Their teenage sons are really cool, too. Desi brings us beer and fresh chili pepper branches, so who can argue with that? John asked if wrestling was real and told me I take "mexican showers". I was like "how the hell do you know that phrase?" He was like "I don't get it. I've heard it before. Why do they say that?" I explained as nicely as possible.
I must add that I have my own room - yes - but ceiling? no. the other room in this building has a bunch of kids sleeping in there, led by Tumwa, my twenty-five year old Mugisu brother with down syndrome. There's NO audio privacy. Singing and chattering away in Lumasabba last thing at night and first thing in the morning. Late nights are usually quiet with an occasional baby crying or Tumwa yelling "MIKE! MIKE! How are you?" It hasn't gotten old YET, but I've only been here a few weeks. They're actually good alarm clocks along with the roosters.
The new place is about a ten minute motorcycle ride away from my old place on a dry, sunny road and a close to impassable 30-minute ride on a wet dark road. It's the rainy season, so the former doesn't really happen. The roads are being re-"dirted" and the rains are heavy so it's literally been like a swamp some days. The motorcycle drivers are being good sports, sometimes barefoot with their pants rolled up to their knees, laughing their asses off. Not a maniacal laugh, but just fun. Last week, I found myself up on a mountain to avoid the road - on a footpath on a motorcycle at night with no headlight, but a blinker sporadically and dimly lighting the way down the muddy path in between the fields. That one was the craziest. I go home before dark now and use matatus when they're around and going down the swamp segment.
The people of Kiholo (the old village) have been ridiculously supportive of me coming back with a few house offers coming every day. It's heartwarming, but it's starting to be too many offers. I'm going to stop actually looking at the places. Those who aren't offering up their houses are certainly in my grill about coming back, too. Even with their support, and despite the transportation challenges, I'm loving my Zaale family that I'm with now.
Need to bathe... It was nice to write about my new life. I don't know if my old living situation wasn't worth writing about or if it didn't permit me the time... How about having a sweet netbook with a 4-hour battery and google offline with an easily portable modem in the village?
This was to you guys, but I definitely need to put this on my blog. Thanks for giving me a reason to write it out
Selassie know
Just down a 20' path from their kitchen is a nice little river. It's more secluded in these parts. The dogs have a new friend, Phil "you can call me Siraj" Lesh. He was attacked with a machete some time back, so he's got a crook in his neck. He's also not used to human affection. He likes it, but he doesn't quite get it. Like an awkward 14 year old learning how to make out.
They have an adorable 2-yr old grand daughter that they just rescued from a horribly malnourished state. Now she's laughing her ass off and playing around all day. She's my kind of kid. Sitting on the concrete floor with tons of action, other kids, dogs, hot coals, knives... and she just sits there chill as hell drinking her tea or eating her beans. She's developing motor skills and trying to speak some language that's half Lumasaba and half gobbly-guk. She called me "daddy" like 5 times yesterday. It was ridiculous. I was like "shut the fuck up, kid. who taught you to say that? is this a scam?" Too young and innocent to scam, but it's just easy for kids to say. But damn was it cute. I'm teaching her "Mikey". Whatever, she stays this cute, she's at least earned herself school fees. She just put on shoes for the first time yesterday and she's refusing to take them off. They're white velcro sneakers that are too big for her.
At my new place, I finally have my own room for the first time since I moved to Bududa with a private bathing room (room with a drain so I can bucket bathe). Lantern-lit makes for a great ambiance every night. I just got some $15 speakers for my mp3 player in Kampala so I've got a sweet little setup. They bring me hot boiled water (usually murky) to bathe, which works well with the tunes and lantern. Compare this to a house full of loud white people where I only get a break from them on some weekends. I'm finally in Africa and at peace.
Local food every night. Fresh piri piri peppers (little red hot ones) picked from their garden. Wild mushrooms that don't make you trip, chicken that were running away from my dogs two hours before, and even fish once from the neighbor's fish farm. Milk tea in the morning and milk tea after my evening bath. Not bad
Dad is a retired literature teacher who's stout, jolly, liberal, sharp-witted and lots of other great things. We usually slam a couple of brews every night. I just ponied up for a case. Mom takes in kids like it's her job and she's getting tired, but still keeps a smile on her face. She has a couple of young ladies helping here out who also have their kids around. Cute kids. Lots of 'em coming and going. Their teenage sons are really cool, too. Desi brings us beer and fresh chili pepper branches, so who can argue with that? John asked if wrestling was real and told me I take "mexican showers". I was like "how the hell do you know that phrase?" He was like "I don't get it. I've heard it before. Why do they say that?" I explained as nicely as possible.
I must add that I have my own room - yes - but ceiling? no. the other room in this building has a bunch of kids sleeping in there, led by Tumwa, my twenty-five year old Mugisu brother with down syndrome. There's NO audio privacy. Singing and chattering away in Lumasabba last thing at night and first thing in the morning. Late nights are usually quiet with an occasional baby crying or Tumwa yelling "MIKE! MIKE! How are you?" It hasn't gotten old YET, but I've only been here a few weeks. They're actually good alarm clocks along with the roosters.
The new place is about a ten minute motorcycle ride away from my old place on a dry, sunny road and a close to impassable 30-minute ride on a wet dark road. It's the rainy season, so the former doesn't really happen. The roads are being re-"dirted" and the rains are heavy so it's literally been like a swamp some days. The motorcycle drivers are being good sports, sometimes barefoot with their pants rolled up to their knees, laughing their asses off. Not a maniacal laugh, but just fun. Last week, I found myself up on a mountain to avoid the road - on a footpath on a motorcycle at night with no headlight, but a blinker sporadically and dimly lighting the way down the muddy path in between the fields. That one was the craziest. I go home before dark now and use matatus when they're around and going down the swamp segment.
The people of Kiholo (the old village) have been ridiculously supportive of me coming back with a few house offers coming every day. It's heartwarming, but it's starting to be too many offers. I'm going to stop actually looking at the places. Those who aren't offering up their houses are certainly in my grill about coming back, too. Even with their support, and despite the transportation challenges, I'm loving my Zaale family that I'm with now.
Need to bathe... It was nice to write about my new life. I don't know if my old living situation wasn't worth writing about or if it didn't permit me the time... How about having a sweet netbook with a 4-hour battery and google offline with an easily portable modem in the village?
This was to you guys, but I definitely need to put this on my blog. Thanks for giving me a reason to write it out
Selassie know
Monday, June 29, 2009
Disclaimer
20 volunteers in the past month, a new health outreach team (HOT) consisting of 15 newly trained community health educators (CHEs).... or the HOT CHEs, one partner organization, two interns, two dogs, one bruised rib, 8 staff members, 1,400 patients per month, 40 families in a research study, one district health office, and a nagging cough that I'm hoping isn't tuberculosis. Talk soon!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Health Administrator Mike
When the kids at school started greeting me “teacher” Mike or “doctor” Mike, I quickly spread word around to the more adept students that the proper label would be “health administrator” Mike. Not as pretty sounding, but far more accurate. So…. what exactly does a health administrator do in a village like Busongi in a district like Bududa in a country like Uganda? Well…
When the generator starts smoking after an otherwise infamously lazy employee suddenly got motivated to change the oil unsupervised: it’s the health administrator’s problem
When we run out of prescription envelopes but nobody mentions a damn thing until the absolute last envelope is used: it’s the health administrator’s problem
When the Babylon shows up to arrest the drug dispenser…
When the inverter blows through fuses like the diceman does buttskis…
It’s the health administrator’s problem.
When we run out of water from weeks without rain shower…
or stuck in Kampala traffic when volunteers land in an hour.
When the pit latrine has a leak…
or the path to the clinic turns into a creek.
When registering as an NGO turns into five months of frustrating bore…
especially when we haven’t paid taxes since we opened our door.
When visitors get harassed by the town crazy…
When employees are lazy…
When the staff drama mama finds new material…
When plain oats are the only cereal…
When bad carpenters pout…
When baby patients scream and shout…
When there’s no close place to get a CD4 count…
When some old lady gets the gout…
When the drugs run out…
In the face of constant doubt...
It pays shit, but I get to bring my dogs to work and I wear what I want.
Disclaimer
I haven't abandoned writing. It's just.... internet access, prioritization, and the like. It's not because Cynthia found my blog. Hi, Cynthia. The dogs say hi. They're getting big.
Friday, March 6, 2009
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.
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.
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