R.A.T.S. (Rwenzori Adventure Training School)

Or as I so affectionately like to call us... the rat pack! It’s not every day that you get to spend 45 minutes of class time hunched over a pyrex bowl full of tadpoles, making sketches estimating with confidence their length to be 6 mm. Naomi’s exclamation, “They look like rats with no legs” Which is quite accurate I might add. I am accustomed to the pressure of the ever ticking clock and an average of 55 minutes with my class of 30 students. The freedom to take our time and feel the excitement in discovery is great. RATS is an in between term chance to enjoy life in East Africa and all it’s educational opportunities before we get back to our normal curriculum in February.

JULIA NATURE JOURNALING

I have a couple of young naturalists as students, examining bugs, noticing spores on ferns for the first time. We venture out into field and forest with our jars to collect specimens. I have admit that there are now about 10 grasshoppers missing at least one of their six jointed appendages due to Ephriam’s intense capturing methods. We take trips through the banana trees down to the river. We sit and observe dragon flies buzzing or the swarming butterflies or perhaps the smell of the sandy clay. Topista a guest teacher, has been giving us lessons in Africa crafts. Today we made soccer balls out of banana fibers (I think it was a hit for Quinn, who at age 7 already has plans to teach this skill to his children) Tomorrow will be basket weaving from palm leaves. (definitely more educational than underwater basket weaving)

QUINN AND HIS FOOTBALL

Cocoa is a big cash crop around here. The sent of drying/ fermenting cocoa beans lining the roads can not be escaped. Last Friday our adventures took us to the cocoa grove of Usta a friend of mine, where we would learn how to harvest. The kids were excited, as was I despite my apprehension about how buggy it would be. I am a bug magnet even in the states and on the equator in a place that gets a good bit of rain... well lets just say the first couple of weeks here I could have easily been mistaken for someone with chicken pox. Even bug spray does not seem to deter these pests from their quest for my blood. I have learned to be prepared. I wore pants under my skirt, socks with my crocks, as well as long sleeves. It was toasty but dampness is preferable to the itch and I could cocoa harvest anxeity free. So we began. Usta showed us how to identify the ripe ones by color. Jack could be seen with the long handled pod picker while others used pangas (large knifes) and other like myself picked them off the ground. Once the pile was assembled we all gathered for the debeaning. There was much laughing and chatting in Lubwisi what I could not understand, these people love to have a good time, even while they work. Pods were cracked with the panga revealing the white gewy beans, then passed on to us to be scooped into a basin or piled on a banana leaf. The empty pod is simply chucked over the shoulder (these pods double as bug dream homes) As we worked we snacked on the sticky beans. You can put them in your mouth the residue is a sweet/sour milky sensation. The left over bean is just spit back into the basin. All in all the excursion was a “sweet” experience ending in a gift of sugar cane from Usta for our help!

Just another day in the life of a R.A.T. (Rwenzori adventure trainee)...

UNRIPE COCOA

Having myself an African Christmas

Some might see the weather outside as frightful as the temperatures continue to rise and the sides of the road are becoming covered with dust. But the blinking, colored LED lights on our artificial tree are truly delightful.

There is no doubt that this Christmas is going to be filled with many firsts of both the frightful and delightful variety. I am frightfully far from family for the first time at Christmas. Last week in advent we focused on home and what that is. Christ was both an IDP (internally displaced person) born away from his earthly parents home and a refugee as he was on the road to Egypt to escape death not long after his birth... not to mention the fact that he left heaven. Even as an adult Jesus had not a place to lay his head. What Christ did means more to me this Christmas. It also has helped me to long for my real home which is the place he is preparing for me in heaven. Because the truth is that only He can fill the home shaped gap in my heart.

ONE OF MY FAVORITE KIDS- MUJUNI

KIM AND LYDIA AND FRIEND DECORATING OUR TREE

So much of life here is like what it would have been like 2000 years ago. While people aren’t riding donkeys, you are sure to see goats and cows all along the road. People live with their animals in their house and sleep on dirt or straw and cook over a fire. A couple weeks ago we went camping in Queen Elizabeth’s game park. We sat around the campfire faces glowing from the blaze singing Christmas carols. Every time there was a line about stars we would lean our heads back an look up at the sky that was just littered with them. Across the lake we heard a lion roar. I was assured that it was far away but one can’t help feel a little nervous. I thought then about the shepherds to whom the angles came to tell of Christ’s birth. Shepherds who had bathed at an even more distant time than I. Shepherd’s who routinely heard the roars of animals, and whose job it was to actually defend the sheep from these beasts. Dirty, smelly, thieving perhaps but braver than I. And yet when the angles appeared to them they were “sore afraid.” I have never been totally sure what that means but you can be sure they were shaking in their sandals. Then these guys went running into town to find this one worthy of such an introduction.

JUST UP THE HILL FROM MY HOUSE

Last weekend I left this world and drove the 8 hours to the other world of Kampala. A world of stores that resemble Wal-mart and you can get iced coffee and Indian food. On Sunday we went to Kampala Presbyterian Church and saw a Christmas cantata. It was an amazing blend of African and western cultures with a choir of over 100. Dancers and an angel with a great Ugandan sense of humor wearing a white suit, derby hat, and wings. Comparing the chaos of the census to the elections minus the tear gas. Heidi made a comment that she always imagined the angels singing classical music, but after this choir we weren’t so sure. It was amazing!

KAMPALA

I am sure there will be many more special things that God wants to show me about the kind of God He is this Christmas. I am praying the good news of our savior, God of the Cosmos, coming to a nobody town, sleeping with smelly animals excites and awes you like it did the shepherds and changes your life like it continues to change mine.

Weebale kubugha Lubwisi

“Thank you for speaking Lubwisi”. I have been counting my blessing lately and this phrase is one that I am thankful for. Learning Lubwisi... or at least making an attempt has been a struggle. I mean, try saying “weebale kuntegheeleliya”. This is the simple reply of “thank you for listening” At this point I smile and just say “weebale” (way-ba-lay). The other day I went to the market in Nyahuka in need of potatoes and an avocado, determined to practice my Lubwisi. I had written a few of the hard parts on a note card. I glanced at it just prior to hopping across the stepping stones through the mud into the many little tents of the market. It was a week day and much less crowded. Though, the dried fish section was just as potent. I found a lady with potatoes and greeted her. Pausing, I gave an initial smile of apology, took a deep breath, and blurted out my request for 3 heaps of potatoes. Even though I butchered it and got a verification response in English, I still received smiles from the lady selling. I then went on to find avocados, the word for this is more simple and I only wanted one. A much smoother interaction.

I was feeling pretty happy about all this and started back up the dusty road with a smile on my face, ready to greet anyone who wanted to talk. I stopped at a little compound where there are always people sitting to greet. I have this problem that I spit out my few sentences of greeting and people continue on thinking I can understand them. I stand there like a deer in the head lights shaking my head. I decided to try out a new phrase. “I am going, bye” So I say “aghenda, weesalo.” about 10 people stop their sombe pounding or whatever and burst out into laughter. I had just said, “She goes... bye” I decided this was a good time to make my exit, but not with out hearing the last words from the fellow I was conversing with of “weebale kubugha Lubwisi” While I am sure there will be many more blunders ahead, and people at this compound still randomly start laughing when I pass, I am so thankful to be living among gracious people, who not only love to laugh but also love that I am trying. Their warmth is a blessing. I look forward to the day that I can actually tell them this.

Thankful for Team and Turkey

I am missing my family this thanksgiving... not to mention my mom’s cranberry chutney and sweet potato casserole. But I am SO thankful for a wonderful team with whom I can celebrate. One traditional meal item that we did not have to do without was turkey. I had a drumstick and though it was not the fat, juicy meat I am used to, what it lacked in tenderness it made up for in freshness. How fresh you might ask? Well, I witnessed its last breaths this morning. After which came my first turkey slaughtering experience. Instead of describing this one I will just let the pictures give you the gruesome details.

Step 1: Tie up the dog, no matter how excited she may be about this event.

Step 2: Inhibit wing movement by placing a foot on each. You don’t want violent flapping to make the process more lengthy than needed.

Step 3: Hold the head steady with on hand while swiftly sawing the jugular with the other hand, allowing blood to drain. (It is normal for the turkey to be blinking through this processes and trashing my occur upon removing feet from wings)

Turkey number 2 can’t watch...

Luke the professional. Kids don’t try this at home, but if you do, remember to wear gloves.

Step 4: Spa/ feather loosening treatment

Step 5: De-feather with your own two hands (gloves not required)

I am THANKFUL that I’m not a pioneer woman who has to kill my own meat, and that there are boys to do it for me when necessary.

The Art of the Boda Boda

On Monday I traveled the 8 or so kilometers to Bundibugyo town. The most efficient method of transport for this thirty minute scenic trip is a sputtering moped taxi called a boda boda. I have really been looking forward to my first boda riding experience and I was not disappointed. Sarah and I walked from our house into Nyahuka where we negotiated our fare, 5000 shillings... about $2.75 and climbed aboard. I got the middle. You may be wondering how a boda can manage two passengers. I assure you this is nothing. We were passed on the road by a boda carrying not 2 but 3 passengers (4 people total, one of whom held a chicken). Economy is a theme here. In an effort to conserve fuel boda drivers are constantly cutting off the engine to cruise down hills. This always makes me a little nervous after Sarah told of one driver who upon trying to restart the engine without success said, “Sorry, fuel is finished” and they walked the rest of the way. I was also surprised by the smoothness of the ride. This is no small accomplishment when one considers the road riddled with pot holes and protruding rocks that must be navigated. However, while there may be limited bumps it is not a straight path. Staying on your side of the road only seems to apply if your side is the smoother one. There is always a mud puddle to be dogged, a truck to beware of coming around the bend, or a pedestrian carrying a large bundle of fire wood on her back. The challenge for the rider is to try to keep the majority of both butt cheeks on the seat... a constant shifting battle.

So we arrived in Bundi town, backside disagreeing with my previous observation of a smooth ride. We did our errands, Bundibuyo town has the only bank in the district of 300,000 inhabitants, it also has a gas station. We went to the market where we were able to procure a pumpkin, carrots, and green peppers... things that don’t come with such ease in Nyahuka. We then treated ourselves to lunch out... rice, beans, greens, and... soda! For our dining pleasure on the little TV was women’s wrestling. Not exactly the taste of America I was longing for. Never the less, lunch was much enjoyed and we continued on.

Our driver for the way back was a little more daring and the ride definitely more thrilling, this may also have had been due to the fact that we were heading down the mountain. At one point there was a bit of a bottle neck as we slowed down because of a wedding. On either side of the road people were lined up in their finest, music was starting to blare and I could see a little arch way decked out with pink tule. This was going to be an event. As we slowed down a man looking very smart (as they would say here) asked us to join them, however we declined. I was enjoying myself thoroughly until we got behind a truck and I stared to taste grit in my mouth from all the kicked up dirt. But, I made it back to Nyahuka unharmed. The only alteration was being a slight shade darker due to the intense equatorial sun and a layer of dirt newly plastered, not sure which was the greatest contributing factor. All in all it was yet another great Ugandan adventure!!

A day of Adventure

The morning started with my first a rat killing attempt... an attempt without success. I beat the cabinet and with a large bamboo stick hoping to send the rat to Sarah’s side where she waited with a golf club. We made a lot of noise and waited expectantly... but no rat. So the little guy is still running around somewhere.

The agenda for the rest of the day was to go to Semliki National Forest and hike the 14 km to the Semliki River, which separates Uganda from Congo. Sarah, Nathan, Joel and I headed down Bundibugyo road (the only road) toward our destination. We winded and bumped through the hills, the Rwenzori Mountian range towering to our right. The road has apparently just been graded and was much better to ride on, Nathan was excited to get the jeep into 4th gear.

When we arrived at the park we were able to secure a guide, only after we stared at each other for a while as he considered whether or not he was willing to get started on the trek so late in the day. After that delay and a stop at the “flash toilet” (supposed to be “flush toilet”) we were off. This is the rainy season so I was thankful for my borrowed rubber boots as we sloshed under eucalyptus, palms, and huge trees with buttress roots. We saw some exotic birds and a monkey or two. We started to get unpleasant whiffs of sulfur then the path opened into a clearing where we were transported back into the land before time. White mists rose from the ground against a back drop of prehistoric looking trees. Green mountains shot up dramatically behind. White clay bubbled and miniature volcanoes spewed into the hot springs. If we had brought eggs we could have hard boiled lunch. I almost expected a brontosaurus to poke through the foliage.

We crossed the marsh via board walk. Over creeks through the woods we trudged. The heat was getting intense, if not for the tree cover it would have been unbearable. We spotted buffalo tracks, tracks of a deer variety, even elephant tracks but unfortunately saw none. We did see some crazy insects: a red spider that had a crab body, bright green inch worms with whiskers, butterflies of many varieties, and we sighted with the vicious impali ants at a range that was too close for comfort. Their pinchers draw blood. I did a shrieking, swatting dash as I realized they were moving up my boots. I am happy to say there was no blood shed.
We did make it to the river, took a few snaps of Congo and scrambled back up the muddy bank. I had no desire to linger as a 7m croc had been spotted in this very river. The way back was tiring and I longed to be sitting in the jeep feeling a breeze hopefully drying my sweat soaked shirt. As we reached the edge of the park our guide took us on a shorter route by road. We passed a truck that had been in an accident just a day or so before. I remember hearing about how several people had recently been killed in an accident. I cringed as we passed a reddish mud puddle where flies swarmed.

Hot springs

The Semliki River

Today was a great day. I was surrounded by amazing beauty and continually put in awe of the Creator. But Africa is full or reminders that we live a world filled with both beauty and pain. God loves extravagantly yet is far from safe... something I have so much to learn about in the days to come.

Dinner Out

I am back from dinner at my new friend Naomi’s house. I walked in to Naomi’s tiny mud house, the front room was completely filled by a small table. Behind one faded curtain are sleeping quarters. Behind the other I heard clucking of the other residents... three turkeys. We sat as the charcoal smoke from the cook fire wafted in, faces glowing with lamp light. We got more and more excited with each pot Naomi brought in as each one moved us closer to the feast. And I do mean feast. Africans eat like none other. The spread consisted of rice with peanut sauce, beans, and sombee. Sombee is a leaf that has to be beaten for about and hour to release the cyanide, then cooked to be something like the greens we enjoy in the south, all these piled high in a bowl. Then one eats and eats. I thought it might be smart to eat quickly so that I could finish it all before I felt too bloated, then Naomi started scooping me more sombee. By the time we left I was far beyond full.

Naomi lives with her grandmother, Mamba. I like Mamba very much. Mamba greeted us warmly and smiled revealing pink gums and a tooth something resembling a fang. Supposedly she has 2 teeth, I have yet to see the other. She goes on and on in Lubwisi I smile and say “mmm..” (equivalent to the smile and nod) She occasionally will revert back to the traditional greetings, as this is the only thing I understand and can make a reply. Mamba just likes to talk. My roommates Sarah and Ashley and Heidi (a nurse in Bundi) are better at communicating, but still there are a lot of mmm...s. Mamba laughs. She then starts to count to 10... in English. Amazing! Hardly anyone here speaks English, but this old woman is learning. She wants to talk that much. The other school kids in the room laugh as she attempts other words. I understand this feeling well... many giggle at my awkwardness in a place and culture so unlike my own. A feeling that is soon to be a constant companion as I will really be trying to learn Labwisi these next couple months. Pray that I would be like Mamba, having a strong desire to communicate with these people as well as the ability to laugh at myself. Pray that I will be disciplined and that God would provide a good Babwisi language helper and friend for me.