Letter to Uncle Dave

I haven't talked to my Uncle Dave in years, but we recently reconnected on facebook and he sent me an email.. he bought some land in the country in South Carolina, built a small house and a horse barn, got a new horse, and seems to be very happy and relaxed as he's preparing for retirement. I replied with an update on my life - very different paths, but both of are happy with what we're doing - though he's a lot closer to retirement.


Hi, Uncle Dave!

I just sat down and quickly checked my emails before I dug into some work. It's 7:30 and I'm about to put together a monthly report for my area that I'm in charge of. My organization builds infrastructure, assists in disaster settings, builds economies, and does a lot of other stuff, too. We're looking to move more into governance next year. It's well recognized that local officials in Africa need help, but it takes a lot of soft skills and is tough to just change - like you can build a school or a road and it's there - but with governance, a whole lot of effort can go into projects that have very little immediate impact and where the long term impact is questionable.

One of my program managers (there are three expat program managers - two Brittish dudes and a Californian) ...anyway, one of them just came into my room to vent about some staff issues he's having. The staff are very challenging to manage, primarily because of their communications skills. They can speak to you eloquently and they're all very nice all the time, but they don't seem to process things in a manner that fosters proactive communication

Okay - now it's 8:15 and I just got off a 15 minute phone conversation about some crazy old man who's making false claims against us for destroying 3 acres of his land by revitalizing a road that was already there. Apparently, the entire community supports us and they're trying to convince him tomorrow to check himself. He just came from Kampala, the capital where he lives and his lawyers sent a letter to my country director telling us they're suing us.

8:16 and I just got a call from my country director asking if the Californian project manager had called me. He's expected in Kampala but hasn't shown up yet. I'm sure he's fine - traveling's a bitch sometimes here.

Now it's two weeks later.... a testament to how busy it gets here! It's the Tuesday between Christmas and New Years and finally things have slowed down a bit for the time being. There's really nobody around to meet with externally, half of our staff is on leave, and the country director's power is out so he doesn't have a working computer. That leaves me with some time to dig through November's financial documents and seemingly it gives me some more time to write to Uncle Dave...

The big event of today was that our internet was out so I went to pick up a small porn table USB modem that works off of the cell network. I used to have one and they're great - you can go anywhere with cell service (which is pretty much everywhere that I care to be, other than deep in the bush) and be online. So I've hooked up my personal little mini laptop and I'm back to some aggressive music downloading. Currently, I've got some lite 70's reggae (Toots and the Maytals) and several days worth of Grateful Dead live shows going. Once we get our regular internet back, my personal laptop and portable modem will strictly be a media downloading station so I can refresh my music collection. It's nice that things are uncharacteristically calm this afternoon. I was running around like mad last week covering for my two project managers who were on leave, both with their lady friends as I was signing forms like Aunty Kathy drives - fast and furious! Now one of them is back

Let me tell you about my past year: I was managing a pediatric clinic/child health NGO in a beautiful mountain village near the border of Kenya (in Uganda). I was a member of a great community surrounded by small scale farms, hiking to some extent just about every day, and really enjoying life - working hard, but relaxing as much as possible and enjoying the village. I would host volunteers (about 60 in the year!) from the U.S. primarily. They were all cool and very interesting people; some I really likred and still keep in touch with. With the short term nature, though, it was basically a revolving door of volunteers which came with a lot of challenges. I naturally found myself creating some distance just because of a lot of inherent differences: age, interests, level of integration in the village, etc. Since I stayed in the same house as them for most of the time, I DID have a lot of face time with them, but the part that I really enjoyed was being with the locals.

After my vacation home for three weeks in August, I decided to move in with a local family that I know. They live about an hours walk from my old place so I'd take a motorbike to work and back on most days. They're an amazing family. I went there to spend my Christmas last week and as you saw on my facebook, rode a couple of Suzuki 125s with one of the project managers. It was great to see the family again. They're such a pleasure to be around and so different from most Ugandan families. It's a place I can feel as comfortable as I do at Mom's house. Great conversation, endless entertainment, lots of great hiking, hearty food, warm beer, cute kids and I could go on.... I lived with them for three months before i took my current position, about 6 hours northwest from the old village.

Now, I'm in Gulu town - NGO central in Uganda... There are tons of expats here including UN agencies, USAID, Red Cross, Save the Children, and lots of other NGOs. There's more here in terms of food options compared to my old place, but life here leaves me busier and less integrated with the community. It's a different culture here when it comes to outsiders. Most of us are here with NGOs, live in modern houses, eat "expensive" meals ($3-5), get carted around in actual cars, and generally live different lifestyles from the locals. In my old village, i was eating local food, using a pit latrine instead of a toilet, bucket bathing with murky water, walking through mountain paths, speaking the language a bit.... here, life is different. I knew that when I got into it, but it's proving to be a very true truth.

Generally, I'm really loving life in Africa. The people are laid back (which is as frustrating as it is refreshing but it helps build patience), it seems like laughter is a coping mechanism for all of the hard times they've faced, and in generaly, people are very eager to help themselves. There's an unfortunate sense of dependence where I am now. After living in refugee camps for years, people inherently will start to rely on others for their own livelihoods. That's where we're coming in, trying to offer pepole more sustainable livelihoods by fostering economic activities, building roads, schools, and health centers, teaching agricultural techniques, teaching village banking systems, and things like that. We use all local labour to build the infrastructure to both keep the income local and to get a local sense of ownership in the projects to promote future sustainability. Once we're done with projects, we officially hand them over to the communities to maintain. We also have a monitoring and evaluation unit that goes out to make sure they stay in good condition with time.

Currently, we're begin funded by three UN organizations (UNHCR, UNDP, FAO with a possible WFP project on the way). Also, the Norwegian Embassy is our biggest single donor with a great project focusing on small business development. My job is to oversee all of the operations in 7 districts, three bases/field offices, 65 staff, and a roughly $3 million annual budget. We're considered an "implementing partner" for institutional donors which means somebody at the UN has an idea and we deal with all of the shit associated with the idea - the planning, implementation, community members, suppliers, transporting materials... all of the stuff that can go wrong. It's great - I love the chaos - I love reasoning with confused/angry communities, I love the fact that nothing is ever as it should be. It was frustrating at first that nothing was perfect, but the more I've accepted it, the calmer I've become. I could have an angry mob at my front gates, the generator could be exploding, and the roof could be caving in, and I'd remain relatively calm - especially if I have some good staff around to get me through it.... It puts my arrest warrant in NY State for fishing without a license into perspective :))

Well, off to check some finance documents - those UN auditors can be anal ;)

Tumwa

The Zaale home continues to entertain. Let me categorize to keep my thoughts clear. Today's category: Tumwa. Tumwa, introduced in a previous entry, just turned 28 on Sept 11. He's about 4'10" with downs syndrome, goes for prayers a few times per day, is seen strolling around Bududa, and knows people everywhere. He's the friggin' man. He's always positive and always a great pleasure to have around. He does his own thing, comes and goes, and my eyes light up every time he comes into the sitting room.

He talks a lot of shit in Lumasabba and will talk shit to the dogs in English, "get back!! - i'll beat you!! - sit down!!" He was going nuts when we first brough the dogs home. He wanted to go for a car ride so he came to pick up the dogs at my old place unknowingly entering close quarters with two animals who were recently accused of being trained killing machines. Tumwa's not a dog lover. He flipped his shit when he realized what we were doing. As the dogs were dealing with the excitement of the car (and Bobby's tendency to get car sick like his dad), Tumwa was jumping up and down screaming in Lumasabba. For the first week, he would put his face up to a small opening in the door yelling at them. It's taken him some time, but now he can fend them off with a stick and yell at them in English with a smile on his face.

c"Ponga" is something that I learned from the kids in Kiholo trading center. It's a fist pound, sometimes followed with a heart pound and then people have various finishing moves. (Mine is kissing my fist as I slowlly blow it up back in the direction of the recipient. My motorcycle buddy Rashid's is causally scratching his nose with his thumb) On Tumwa's birthday, we were "cheering" and Tumwa busted out the "Ponga!". Since then, he's been giving me pongas at an accelerated rate. Instead of a finishing move, we do a simultaneous leg kick at times and he'll sometimes finish it with a grin of satisfaction. Speaking of his birthday, we got all hopped up on cake, soda (him, mom, and the kids) and beers (dad and me). Tumwa put on a neck tie and was dancing his ass off. No power that night, but we had lanterns, a radio, and warm beers. It was one of my most memorable nights since I've been here. Back to the Ponga, he will now repeatedly fist pound me up to 50 consecutive times. Just before I started writing this, He was holding my wrist with one hand and giving me the fist pound with the other hand with both of us repeating "Ponga!" every time.

One day, he was walking back home with a stick, saw some construction guys who are family friends, walked up behind one of the guys, and goosed him in the "backside" with his stick as he was talking shit with a huge smile on his face.

Sometimes he'll rub my leg when we're on the couch. I'll just have my leg up, he'll be infatuated by my caucasian body hair, and start to gently caress my calf.

Last week, I was outside and I heard him in his room clapping his hands and singing loudly and painstakingly energetically and happily. I went in and joined him for a jam session until my hands hurt from clapping, which didn't take long since I was trying to keep up with the loud smacks he was producing. Then we stopped and did a ponga or two, leg kick, satisfying grin and all.

Have I mentioned that he's the friggin man?

Just Another Saturday...

Woke up, walked with my new brother Desi to the bullfights, in which all of the most proud bull owners in the surrounding sub-counties bring their testosterone-filled animals to butt heads with their peers. They seemingly just pick fights at random in a big field, though there was apparently some organization that I wasn't aware of. Lots of people running and screaming as the bulls took some wild charges in the general direction of the crowds. Good start to the day....

Then a two-hour hike in which I got caught in the rain. Desi told me there was a nice view up a particular "road" so I headed up with the dogs. It was nice and I could see a rain cloud rolling in, but it took me a while to be satisfied. Once I finally found the view I was looking for, I sat under a tree for a little while and it started to rain pretty bad, though I could see it wasn't going to last long. I did the local thing and tore a big-ass banana leaf off of a tree for an umbrella and sat under the tree. The dogs cozied up behind me and we waited it out before heading back. Then we left. With these hills, it didn't take long to slip and fall on my ass. About thirty seconds to be exact. Later on the way home, I passed a truck that was idling in the "road" doing "road" work. Then I realized Jerry was missing. He was scared out of his mind of that truck and was having NO PART of it. I literally had to walk back 100 yards, pick him up, and carry him to the truck. Then I put him down in front of it. He wasn't having it, but I forced him to walk by himself.

Lunch, playing with some of the families' kids, hanging out with mom (Elizabeth, or "mayi") and dad (David, "mzee")another walk, some beers, etc...

The Absent Minded Professor

David Zaale (my new Dad) came walking back to the house one afternoon recently back from the village trading center. He was going into Mbale, the closest city (1 1/2 hours away) and I happened to have a guy with a car going back there who could offer him a free, comfortable, fast ride. The only caveat was that he was going to be leaving soon.

"Are you ready now?" I asked

"What do I need? Of course I'm ready!"
.....pause as he looks down at his feet and lifts up the bottom of his pants to expose his bare ankles in his sneakers...
"Though somebody has taken my socks!"

Just one of endless humorous moments at the Zaale home.

Okay, one more -
He wants to add a ceiling to my room and the room next door to make them "executive" (so we don't have to listen to each other's singing and crying all night). That was his idea, by the way -- I still enjoy the entertainment.

So in order to make it "executive", he has his "boys" coming to put in some timbers.... and he plans on using the timbers to finish off his new executive suites with..... cardboard ceilings! Nothin's too good! Luckily, his grown daughter was there to back me up that cardboard is NOT "executive". Turns out the cost would be about the same to put in a normal ceiling so he thanked us for our timely feedback and will be installing a non-cardboard ceiling in his "executive" suites.

one more... We planned on going to church one weekend. We talked about it on several occasions. When Church-thirty rolled around, I said, "are we going to church?" He looked at me, hesitated, and said, "no?". I said "really?" He said "i don't know - no?". I taught him the term rain check. He liked it. Chances are, we followed up with some food, tea, and some beers.

Aidah!

She's friggin ridiculous....

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.

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