Pictures And Videos Are Posted

I've downloaded pictures and videos and put them with the stories they more or less match. I have more pictures to come off of Paul's camera which I think will be better. I'll post those on a single site in the next couple of days... for those of you that are interested.

Back to the Developed World

We arrived in Amsterdam and went to the car rental area to find the agency that we booked our car rental through which was to be at the “Amsterdam Airport”. It was, in fact, not at there at all. We went to the phones and after about $5.00 of Euros we, nor the dutch uncle that met us, could figure out how to dial the strange number supplied on the voucher.

We asked the other agencies and they all refused to help us because we had been stupid enough to book at an agency other than theirs. We went to the airport information booth and they weren't too keen because this agency didn't pay the airport any rent. She did allow that they had a van that came by and gave cursory information as to where we could find it.

We went outside and asked all around and nobody had heard of this pick up spot. Anyways, welcome to the developed world. We eventually found the pick up location that took us to the stupid place. It was a half hour away from the airport in a maze of roads and ramps and turns... this was to create a major problem for us when we had to drop off the car but I won't get into that. The moral of the story is: we were in the world which we knew well: if you had the bucks and you gave them out, you were worth helping. Otherwise, you're on your own, sucker.

We had a very warm welcome from Diana's family. All of them went way too far to accomodate us. We had a personal tour of scenic parts of Leiden. We went to the pilgrim church and I showed the kids the plaque for our ancestor, John Robinson, who was the pastor of the Pilgrim church who sent off the Mayflower to Plymouth Rock. Diana's dutch all came back to her and her relatives were all suitably impressed. As usual, they found my attempts amusing. (To my humiliation, I was corrected on some of my improper use of the English language in this blog by my dutch readers...Argh!) We went to an old traditional dutch village (Volendam) and we went to Amsterdam where we stumbled (honest!) into the outer fringes of the Red Light District where the prostitutes show their wares. That became the trip highlight for the kids.

We went on a great bicycle trip for 3 or 4 hours around some smaller villages which became the highlight for the older members of the family. We ate very well so I think all the weight we lost in Africa came back after a couple of days of those irresistable dutch pasteries...

We found our way to visit my niece and her family in Brugge, Belgium. They put us up in their 4 or 5 star boarding room right in the middle of the old city. It was a fabulous break for us and Brugge has stunning old buildings with remarkable architecture.

From there we buzzed off to France to see my uncle's grave site near Cintheaux south of Caen. He was with the Montreal Regiment of the Black Watch and I have always been inspired by his sacrifice to preserve the good things that we have attained in this world: freedom of speech, democracy, individual rights, etc... A lot of these things are beginning to crumble away in my opinion and I went to be reminded of the cost of these good things.

As I stared at his grave, the emotions began to stir up in me and I began to weep. Of course I never knew the man but I well know the measure of loss it was for my family and then you multiply that by many thousands of lost lives... While I was in these thoughts, a small branch from a tree broke off and jarred me in the shoulder. There was not much wind to speak of and the trees were not that close. I felt like I was being told: “Get on with it. Wake up! Stop your grieving. There are still battles to be fought. Go out and do your part.” Then again, if you're a logical sort of person, it could have been that a tree branch simply broke off and hit me...

From there we took the secondary roads (France charges you through the nose to drive on their good highways: $80 of tolls in 8 hours of driving...) to Paris where we saw the Eiffle Tower, Montmartre and Champs Elysee ..all in one (wretched!) day. After fighting Paris traffic, it was basically a blur to get back to the Amsterdam airport to fly home.

I'll be adding some pictures in the next couple of days but to end the journey, I'll close with the faded words that can yet be read on the stone at the grave of my uncle, Lieut. Alan R.W. Robinson:



There is music
In the midst of desolation
And a glory
That shines upon our tears.

Entebbe and the Jets

We got off our bus from the raft trip and all seemed well with me despite the quantities of the refreshing waters of the Nile in my system. We met Bubby and we all went into a Matatoo bus to our hotel in Entebbe. Bubby was off early in the morning and we were not off until the next day. We used the time to go to the Botanical Gardens, the Zoo and an island refuge for Chimpanzees... and now we had to deal with some digestive difficulties for those of us that might have some traces of the refreshing waters of the Nile in their system.

The Botanical Garden was very peaceful. Great big trees, wide open grass and the shores of Lake Victoria. We even saw monkeys at very close range. It was all very beautiful for the others. Although the effects of my plunges into the Nile, were now upon me, I was happy because they had toilets spaced not too terribly far apart... but there was some room for improvement in that regard in my personal and unbiased opinion.

That afternoon we went to a the zoo... and well, we saw animals there. Good zoo... lots of open space for roaming for the animals ...and the toilets were the proper kind and always nearby. A good time was had by all.

The next day we hopped aboard a boat that did not have any toilets but this was okay because the Nile had run its course. We took a 45 minute trip out to a remote island in Lake Victoria and watched the feeding of a ... a... pod(?) of chimpanzees. All of these chimps had been rescued from some sort of abusive situation.

It was fascinating to watch the politics of the er... group unfold. The girls in heat are the territory of the lone alpha male but the subject of much interest from the other males. This lead to a great deal of conflict and resolution and was most entertaining. Only the alpha male gets to do the wild thing with any of the “Chimpettes”. Needless to say, there is great incentive to aspire to be the alpha male in a tribe(?) of chimpanzees. There have been three overthrows of the alpha males in the past 4 months...

We came back at mid day, packed, spent the last of our shillings and we went to the airport and lifted off as darkness fell on the land. We looked down on all the orange specks of light from the open fires that we could see below and knew we were saying good bye to Africa.

Time To Start Heading Home...

Our time was up and it was time to say good bye to all our new friends and a completely different world. As fate would have it, we left in the middle of the Saturday time with the Children of Peace. We knew it would be hard to leave but leaving in the midst of a hundred or so orphans who we had come to love would be tougher than we could handle.

They gave us the usual grand ceremony saying good bye through songs and dances and the tradition is to always say “See you tomorrow” to people you don't want to say good bye to who are actually leaving right now. So they were all saying “See you tomorrow”.

As we waved to hundreds of kids, teachers and people in the community... every one of them had a place in our heart... it was just too much. The girls bawled for an hour and the men... well, there were no actual tears that were witnessed but on the other hand, neither of us would face anybody for several minutes despite the girls attempts to look into our eyes. We admit to nothing...

The night before we left, the local Pentecostal church decided to hold a hootenanny or something. They thought that the non Pentecostals would benefit from their religious fervour if they turned the loudspeakers out towards the rest of the community so we could hear their loud worship service and the ranting of their very, very enthusiastic pastor. At about 3 am., in the midst of my internal debating about joining them or going on a rant of my own calling the church into repentance for their inconsideration. By this time, I had worked up a full sermon based on the second most important commandment: “Love thy neighbour as thyself” followed by a few nasty quotes from the epistles of Paul about living peaceably, etc... Anyways, it started to rain so they stopped and we'll never know whether the congregation was spared the sight of my dancing to the bongo drums or my religious indignation.

The end result of the above is that most of us passed out in the car on the way to Jinja where we planned to raft down the Nile. When we got to our destination, we had landed back into the world of Mizoongo excess. It was a backpacker type of place with a happening and very outdoor bar. It was Saturday night so this bar planned it's less spiritual version of its own hootenanny. This one went on to about the same time. The next morning I woke up early and went and surveyed the remains of the riotous evening and found 3 pairs of ladies underwear and one bra...

I say all this to explain that I was very sleep deprived when I stepped into the raft. Maybe that's why I agreed to go with Paul into “Aggressive” rafters category. It may also explain why I was well on track for setting a record for the number of times a rafter fell out of the stupid raft into all manner of froth which is something similar to water except you don't float in it...

They carefully explained to me what I should do in case you fell out. Feet pointing downstream, hold on to the raft if possible, don't gasp for air when you come up, etc... They might as well have taught me how to play pool while submerged in a large washing machine. Point my feet downstream: hah! The only thing that new what direction was what was my life jacket which, fortunately, knew the way up. As for gasping when you come up... riiight. You go 20 or 30 seconds not knowing which way is what or if you will ever see another sunrise... and you come up into something that's more air than water for a fraction of a second and you gasp gentle reader, ...you desperately gasp at any wisps of hope of survival. This means the inhaling and drinking of more of the raw waters of Nile than is advisable from Health Canada.

Gentle reader: I'm sure you know where this is going by now. My famous question to the burly Aussie guide at about mid day when I had fallen into the raging waters five times (Several class 5 rapids, a 12 foot waterfall... I even fell out on a class 2 rapid much to the consternation of the leader): “Gee, do people get sick after falling in so much?” The lecherous leader was not so inclined to give me a serious answer since he was much more attentive to the other bikini clad customers -but he kindly threw back his reply: “Naw. Not a problem mate.” I wondered how he would know because this company picks you off the river, gives you a right skookum barbie and then hurries you off into the bus to Kampala. Once you're in Kampala, they don't have to worry about you. Now it's the responsibility of the unfortunate hotel and the Kampala sanitary sewers to look after your needs...

Anyways, before we went onto the Nile, we had a beautiful dinner (with meat!) in a restaurant overlooking the river. In the middle of the supper, Paul (our 17 year old) made a short but formal speech to us saying that in spite of the fact that he did not want to come to Africa... he gave us an eloquent and heartfelt thank you and acknowledged that it would be one of the best experiences of his life. We were flabbergasted. Diana and I could only glow. The trip exceeded what we had only hoped for. The kids had completely bought into the work and into the community in which we had found ourselves. These third world needs were now no longer conceptual. These people we had met were now their friends and they were in dire need. It has impacted them (and us) in a way that has changed our very outlook on life.

The Bagisu Tribe

The people we live amongst are the Bagisu tribe. They are one of 48 tribes that live in Uganda. Their language apparently has Bantu roots but they have no more understanding of other Bantu related languages than I do.

The Bagisu are renown for their circumcision rite. Every two years (maybe 4) they choose the lucky boys who they assess to be ready to er,... become men. These lucky young lads are usually around 14 or so but they could be younger or older depending on their behaviour. Once they have been given the nod, they go up a mountain and think about things (There's a lot to think about... like “Why am I doing this? Do I really want to be Man?”) and then they come down to the valley where they get the ends of their private parts lopped off in a public ceremony. If they go through the process without showing any discomfort, they are highly esteemed by their people.

If I were a Bagisu, I'd act very childish for a long, long, time.

If I read between the lines correctly, this tribe is not on the ruling government's gravy train. The ruling party is mainly from the population dominant tribe called the Bugandans. Whatever the case, this is a very poor part of the country.

Everybody goes to some kind of church. There are frequent references to God and Faith in their day to day lives. They are very kind and warm hearted people and they love to have visitors like us around. It is a completely agrarian world...with the exception of a few teachers and shopkeepers. There are kids everywhere. In the 5 km to the nearest village, there are 4 primary schools all with over 500 students.

The plan for the Bagisu is to have lots of kids. Often one or two die of malaria or something so the plan is to procreate. Lots of kids also mean lots of help in doing the family chores. Most importantly, kids grow up to be adults who can look after you in the off chance that you reach old age. This kind of thinking I believe is at the heart of this country's problems.

The emphasis in families is respect for parents and discipline from the parents. This, in and of itself, is not so bad but there is no noticeable effort made to communicate love back down to the kids. They are very hard on them and don't have any time to invest in them... especially when you have 10 or so to look after on little or no salary. I know that they do love their kids. It's just not expressed through many kind words or hugs.

The above applies to the families that have stayed intact with two parents. So many kids are born outside of the family environment and so many don't have both parents or any parents, the lack of attention to the developing children creates a dysfunctional world. The children reach puberty and they are desperate for love, affection and any kind of attention. The result is lots of very young kids engaging in the intimacy of casual sex, lots of babies and lots of AIDS... which of course feeds back into the loop of more unwanted children not getting enough affection from loving parents.

Diana was teaching about sexuality and she was told that talking about abstinence and fidelity was a waste of time. She talked about it anyways because it is the real problem. AIDS is horrible but virtually all the children are effected by this pervasive and debilitating lack of attention. Maybe this sound too conservative but sorry, generations of affection deprived children is clearly much more insidious than AIDS in my opinion. I don't think we need to pull any punches about safe sex or anything... I just think the emphasis has to be on fidelity, smaller families and less... much less... sex outside of long term relationships.

The other thing is that divorce is easy as pie if you're a man. If you get tired of wife 1, you divorce her and find wife 2. There is no such thing as splitting the family assets. It all goes to the guy. Easy peasy. If you don't want to divorce, you can keep wife 1 around while you pick up wife 2 ...and 3. Polygamy is legal and acceptable here.

The girl looking after our house had a father with three wives. The first wife was taking a lot of in-law heat because she was unable to have kids. She began to look around to find a suitable wife for her man. She found one and the surprised husband was very pleased with new addition to the family. She bore him several children. The whole idea seemed very acceptable to this man so he went out and found wife number 3 ... this time without the assistance of #1 and 2. Nobody raised an eyebrow. The daughter actually seemed perplexed by our questions about the matter.

I make these wonderful people sound so strange and immoral. It's not true. They are not perfect but my ranting has more to do with my strong opinion about the source of the problem for the Bagisu (and Africa?). We are very safe here. There is an incredible sense of community. They all know each other and each others' families for miles around. They all seem to get along well in spite of living so close together with wayward chickens and cows munching on each other's property, etc... They have this thing called humility that is oh-so-foreign in our world. It is so refreshing to be living in that kind of environment. Of course they work hard... and although the women may do the majority of work, it is not so pronounced as I hear about other parts of Africa.

They are full of joy and love to laugh. Big, white smiles & unabashed laughter...it is medicine for the soul to be around them. It's also particularly wonderful for me because now I actually have found people to laugh at my jokes.

As a father of teen aged kids, I can vouch that this is has been most therapeutic indeed.

Things About Africa

Things That Are Now Normal To Us...
-An inch of mud on our shoes, mud everywhere on our clothes.
-Making cheery chit chat with a group of people carrying AK 47's
-Walking confidently through herds of cattle and hitting their backsides if they get in the way.
-Falling asleep in (or being generally comfortable in) cars that are ready to fall apart and being driven by maniacal drivers in maniacal traffic.
-Waking up at 5 a.m. with the sun ...and the rooster.
-Having people we've never met call out our names: “Mama Diana! Mr. Alan! How are you?”
-Being asked for money by strangers. Getting long letters from people we've just met that tell us 1)They are glad they are now our very best friends. 2)Life is difficult for them. 3)Could we please give them a couple of hundred bucks to tie them over.
-Saying “no” to people who truly need money.
-Old women with no teeth carrying 60 lbs on their heads up mountain paths.
-Talking to people who are picking their noses.
-Having to wait 15 minutes while a vendor asks his neighbour, his brother, the store across the street to get change for the 50¢ purchase you just made.
-Roosters crossing the stage during graduation ceremonies and nobody batting an eyelash.
-Remembering to carry toilet paper where ever you go, at all times.
-Having muscle bound, rugged (straight) men come up to you saying that they really like you, holding your hand and walking down a path saying that they are so glad you are their friend.
-Chickens laying eggs on our beds.
-Bargaining for everything, everywhere at all times.
-Drinking warm beer, warm wine and warm coke.
-Eating the same meal for every lunch: beans, posho, cabbage, and rice... most of which we also have for supper.

Things We Are Most Thankful For in Africa
-The fine people who invented what we now call “Pink Gold” (AKA: Pepto Bismol)
-Thankful for any decrepit toilet as long as it can be sat upon.
-Mouthwatering, succulent fruit.
-60¢ beer in 500 ml bottles.

Things That Surprised Us About Africa
-No man eating bugs or actually not that many bugs at all.
-Everybody has cell phones.
-Cold nights and mornings where you can see your breath... right here on the equator!
-Joy in the midst of hardship

Real Holidays. With Real Bathrooms...Wow!

After a couple of weeks or so of teaching, visiting the orphans, playing with the local kids, tilling the fields, attempting to defeat any intestinal urges, etc... We decided to take a break and go to Murchison Falls which is a game reserve on the Nile River.

We took a "matatoo" into Mbale. This is a system whereby 25 (I counted them) smelly people (this includes us) are jammed into a mini bus with bald tires and no shocks, squealing brakes, etc... We made it but the kids were all a little car sick. We then jostled our way into the bus into Kampala where, glory of glories: we all had our own seat. As it was a 4 hour drive, we had to stop in the forest for our pee break. For men, this is not unusual but this is not customary procedure for the women. Diana did not hesitate to participate but the girls opted to suffer for 2 hours rather than bare their behinds to take a pee beside several strangers.
When we got into Kampala, the bus stopped in what appeared to be some kind of mass riot. The bus driver informed us that this was not an uprising but the actual Kampala bus station and dumped us off into the turmoil. When we got off, we were swarmed with bus drivers and taxi drivers and beggars all trying to get a piece of the Mizoongo action.
Fortunately, we had brought a nice map of Kampala. This would be really helpful to us except for the fact that there are no street signs in Kampala. Plan B was to ask one of the many people thronging us for their assistance. This created much controversy about a)what we were saying in English b)how to best get there. Finally a burley looking man said "follow me". So that seemed like a good idea at the time.
In the end it actually was a good idea: he brought us the 20 (death defying) blocks to where we wanted to go and seemed very pleased to just walk away. I called him back and gave him 1000 shillings and he seemed stunned.
We arrived at the local backpacker hotel where we had reserved a house for $50 a night. When we unlocked the door, Paul and I went right to the bathroom and ...yes! There it was: something to sit on and it even flushed. The holiday was already a great success.
For us, the backpacker place was Mazoongo Central. They had a guarded gate so only the paying customers could get in so that was a little strange for us. Almost all of the other guests were doing the same thing as us: taking a break from some kind of project work elsewhere in the country.
That evening we went down the street to a spa where the girls got there hair washed and shampooed, a pedicure and Paul and I got a half hour scalp massage all for less than $30. The guy doing Diana's hair had decided to become an assassin as a youngster in the slums. That plan was interupted by his conversion to Christianity so he became a hair dresser... He now owns a bunch of land that he is going to develop into an orphanage.
The next morning we boarded the mini bus with a couple of other Germans and we enjoyed a pleasant ride to the Northeast corner of the country to get to Murchison Falls. On the way, I decided to buy a fried lutoki which is like a banana on a stick from one of the street vendors that push up against your window when you stop on the highway. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
The following description of what was experienced at the pleasant break at Murchison Falls will be given from my family's perspective. Alan's perspective was clutching his stomach in pain in his bed and then, eventually, (thank God) going to the bathroom to get the deep fried lutoki er,... through the digestive process.
We got up early the next day and went to the game reserve and saw everything that could be seen except for the leopards which are very rare to see. We got up close and personal with elephants, giraffes and lions. We saw so many hippos on the trip it became almost boring. That afternoon, we got on a boat and went up the Nile and saw crocodiles, more hippos, baboons and elephants. The next day we got up (Alan is now happy and healthy) and went for a hike to Murchison Falls which is where the Nile narrows to about 15 feet and falls 40 meters or so. We then drove back to Kampala. I did not buy anything from street vendors on the way back. Actually, I could not look at a street vendor on the way back or at any other point in my visit to Uganda.
If you're thinking of going on a safari in Africa, this seems to me like an awesome deal: $240 per person and you get to see it all. I think the cost of a safari in other places are much more expensive. Just stay away from the street vendors and you're laughing.

A Picture

Paul neglected to bring his USB cable so I can't download off of his camera. I have a Sony which requires a special program (I think) and incompatible USB connections so I had to take this picture from our webcam which is not the best. This picture is the view of the school and the mountain across as seen from our porch which is up the hill. You can see the new building that we all funded being built in the forground.

Children of Peace

Every Saturday the older students go home and we open the school up to 200 orphans and disadvantaged kids in this area. It's the typical Africa thing: HIV kills Mum after Dad runs off to Kenya or HIV or malaria kills them both. The whole tragedy is always avoidable but as they said in Blood Diamond: “TIA“(This Is Africa) Sometimes the kids have a home situation that is horrible due to incompetent parents. One boy I have come to know quite well, Dickson, had is hand covered in oil and set on fire after his Mum discovered that he had picked the family beans and sold them to his neighbour. Yeah. That would classify as "incompetent".

Our kids have got to know Emmanuel. He is being raised by his brother who's trying as hard as he can since his parents died but that's a tough row to hoe with 6 kids to look after at age 17. When Emmanuel came to his (and our) first Saturday, he was withdrawn and non communicative. The kids just zeroed in on him and played with him and gave him extra stuff to try to make him feel welcome. During the week, they climbed up his mountain and visited him at his home and dropped off food and clothes a couple of times. Now it's the third Saturday and he's a ball of laughter. The change has been dramatic. The kids plan to pool their allowance together and they plan to sponsor him on a yearly basis.

Another student we are going to support is a 16 year old that lost his parents and lives with an abusive uncle who resents the drain on resources that he and his siblings draw away from his own family. He is enrolled in the school training to be a carpenter because he lives near one of the teachers and was about to cross the border to join a rebel group in Kenya onlly because they would feed him. The teacher talked him out of that and got him enrolled. Now he is way behind on his fees and can't afford a uniform and is in danger of being dropped from the very program that will, for all intents and purposes, save his life. All he needs is $75 to make a massive difference in his future.

There are hundreds of stories just like this and if any of you would like to sponsor a child, we can arrange for this with virtually no administration fee (3%) and direct contact with the child. If you're at all interested, let me know and I have an abundance of candidates. It would probably cost you about $200 per year.

The orphans come over at about 9 am and they go to classes such as beading and music. After that, the boys come with Paul and I and we have a spirited game of soccer. They howl in laughter every time I trip or make one of my bad passes, etc... It's a time of joy in an otherwise grim world.

During our soccer time, Diana and the girls look after the kids who have come to us sick and help in beading class, etc... They dispense the medicines and just try to comfort them through the fever. They usually have malaria since most of the homes are too poor to afford nets or sometimes they just don't realize how important the nets are or sometimes, there's nobody who cares enough. During the week, we also go visit 10 or so kids at their home so Diana can follow up on their needs and give guidance to the guardians. This is usually when we find the mosquito nets or alcohol swabs left unused in the corner.

After soccer, we all just hang out together and they laugh at me more as I try to learn their language. They are given a big meal of posho, (Made of maize and looks like mashed potatoes but has less taste) beans and rice. At 1pm a truck comes and they all load in and they go home. We all crash in the afternoon, emotionally exhausted.

Where We Are

We are in tropical Africa, not dry savannah. The only thing is, there's no more forest. Every leaf belongs to somebody since they've divided every square inch into small plots of land that has a mud house, an outhouse and a 25 x 60' garden to grow cabbage, maize, tomatoes, coffee, carrots, beans, etc... They may also have a banana, mango or avocado tree or two as well as a stall for a cow or goat or a chicken pen. It actually looks a lot like Machu Pichu in Peru.

We live in a mountainous area. We are 5-6000' above sea level on Mount Elgon so the nights actually can get something similar to cold. When the sun is out, it ain't nuthin' but hot. When I say every inch is cultivated, that includes right to the top of the mountains. There are people - lots of people - that walk the hour or two to go down and then back up to their homes to go to work, , school, to get groceries, medications and 40 lb Jerry cans of water. The view is nice, but... prime real estate ($4000 an acre) is on the busy dirt road (The ones on which the cars and trucks whiz by at 100 km/hr) near a water bore hole.

The huts are actually made of cow dung. This is to keep away the bugs that cause jiggers which is a bug that gets into your feet and has to be picked out with a pin. I don't wear sandals.

A lot of the houses in the valleys are made of a soft brick. Our house is made of this brick and we have glass windows with grates on them and thick metal doors since, as kind as most people are, theft is a big problem. All the brick houses have tight security. If you leave your shoes outside to dry off, they won't be there in the morning.

Our house has no electricity or running water but we collect water off the roof when it rains which reduces the need to go to the bore hole too much. No electricity means that our schedule is organized in cooperation with the natural order of things. When the sun comes up and the rooster crows... and crows... and crows again starting at 4:30 am or so, it's time to get up. When the sun goes down, all the things you need better be laid out where you can easily find them and it's time to go to bed. Candles and oil lanterns buy an extra hour or two after 7 pm.

On the other hand, no running water means that you must fight against the natural order of things with all the intestinal fortitude that can be mustered together. In the tour of the house our introduction to the latrine was a knock on the door with the all-to-brief explanation: “This is the latrine”. I am a Canadian. I am well acquainted with outhouses. No problem. When my first little signal came, I discreetly made my way past the door. When I looked inside, things were not as they should be. I quickly exited and scurried to my wife in our bedroom to seek clarification. Surely I had not been listening and some mistake had been made. The desecration that I had entered was an unfinished project for the livestock or something so where, pray tell, was I to do my thing? Diana seemed to find considerable humour in my (very) sincere question but assured me that I was, in fact, in the right place.

On moral grounds, I feel restrained in describing this abomination to you in too much detail. Let us just say that one does not bring any reading material in. If you're thinking outhouse, you need to go several notches down. You must take away any design or structure that might assist you in not falling into a situation that one cannot discuss in the civilized world. As you may suspect, I have not yet mastered the mechanical procedures of this process. All I know is that I have developed a new theory about why African originated people are reputed to have the calf muscles that allow them to jump an run so well...

On the positive side, the issue of no running water has been a stimulating experience physically (as alluded to above) but also intellectually and spiritually. I have been devising new theories based on some of my economic studies. If you plot need on the x axis and pride on the y access you can create curves similar to demand and supply. My goal is to find a way to extend the point at which the human degradation curve intersects with the human necessity curve. I think I might just write a book....

On the spiritual level, I have been scouring the scriptures for the verse (or two) that will clearly show that this latrine is ..of the devil. I know that they are there somewhere. They have to be. So far, I have found some support in Psalms: “Jehovah answer thee in the day of trouble; The name of the God of Jacob set thee up on high”. I think this scripture clearly shows that it is God's will that we should be set up on high and that this squatting down business is just plain unchristian. I think I might just start a new church...

Our First Days

We woke up in the morning at sunrise thanks to the efforts of the rooster out the back door... backed up by what we call “Jurassic Cows” because of their loud moos. It was quite beautiful. We stare at a mountain and the soft sun warmed us on the porch. We took pictures right away.

We went down to the school after breakfast and met the staff who can speak somewhat understandable English. They were most welcoming. The teachers and students are very distant from each other. They maintain a very formal British boarding school type atmosphere. We are not really into that so we were always being called away from the students to be with the teachers. They put on a special school assembly with a formal welcome from the Headmaster, Deputy Head... all with a Director of Ceremonies, national anthems, prayers, etc... The students sang a few songs in English that had obviously caused them much pain to sing. Their last number was a local song completed with bongo drums and two sticks on a piece of wood all of which had just been taken off the ground. This song garnered much more student enthusiasm and even some restrained dancing from designated students. I grew up in this kind of formal world and thought a change of pace was needed. I leaned over to our hostess (who shares my perspectives) and asked if it would be an offense for me to jump in and dance. Permission granted and with a banshee yell, I joined the dancer.

Instant pandemonium.

All the students jumped in with their own (better) war cry: “Ay yay yay yay yay...”, the fam joined in and even some of teachers let loose. We all jumped around to the beat of the drums in a raucous and unrestrained expression of joy and laughter. It was a total gas!

After the assembly we met with the Head and he had been amused by it all. We layed down some plans for what needed to be done and how we could help. The legal details of the lease had not yet been completed so we could not begin on the house for which we raised the money until that was official so we all were assigned a teaching schedule.

I was to teach on elementary financial planning, Jody was teaching math skills required for the seamstress students, Lisa helped us all and Diana taught on HIV and sexuality. For the next week or so that was our main duty. The challenge here is the accent and actual knowledge of english. They have 48 languages in Uganda but English is the official language that is supposed to tie everybody together. Nice plan. Most of them speak english about as well as the guy on the street in Prince George speaks french. The ones who do speak english have a very thick accent. For the first few days, I thought the local word for us was “Veezee-TAH.” until I realized that it was actually them calling us “visitor”.

No. We are “Mizoongos”. If you ever want to see what it's like being a celebrity, come to Uganda. Nobody can resist staring at us. The children come out of everywhere to yell “Mazoongo! Mazoongo! How ah yoo! How ah yoo!” Teenagers smirk and giggle as we pass by. Everybody flashes us with a big African smile. The kids follow us for hundreds of yards. Take their picture and show it to them and instantly you have a mob of faces fighting to get a look into the camera to see the picture. Then hysterical laughter when they see themselves.

The students at the school are older and get completely tongue tied when you first come up to talk to them. Most will come out of their shells after a few minutes but some just can't bring themselves to speak.

There is an incredible reverse discrimination. Say we come up to a full van (Bad example: There is no such thing as a full van here... but stay with me) they boot out some poor widow and insist that you come in. Line up at the hospital? When you're with a mizoongo, no problem. Head of the line, the best seats, first to get food, not allowed to carry anything, … we feel like Hollywood personified. It takes a lot of convincing to to forgo any of these privileges. Sometimes you just have to go with it because you don't have the time to talk them out of it all.

Market days are Monday and Thursday so Diana has made sure that these opportunities are not missed. One market is a 7 km walk and the local “wiki wikis” (scooter taxies-no helmets, insane drivers) ask us if we want a ride every 30 meters. The prices are flat out ridiculous. Half is nice, a third is a little weird but here in Uganda, the price is about 1/10^th. This is not an exaggeration in many cases. New watch: 75¢; beer: a buck and change but in 500 ml bottles; live in housekeeper: $5 a week; payment for 1 day's labour tilling a field or building a brick house: $3; tea and fresh chappatti bread for 3 people: 40¢; 300 ml of coke: 30¢. Diana haggling for the last 5¢ off the prices to avoid paying the “Mizoongo surcharge”: priceless.

The kids have totally taken up with the local kids as well. When the day is done, there's usually a soccer game, chasing each other, rough housing, volleyball and the like. They are adored by all the kids in this area and our house is the center of the universe. After school they collect at the gate just watching us and waiting for the appearance of “Paulo”, Jody and Lisa. They are scraggly, dirty and in torn clothes and none of them have shoes. In Kelowna, we'd call Social Services. Here, they are the sweetest of kids... all falling over themselves to see who can be the first one to be of help.

Soccer is it. I hate to say it but more so than hockey is to Canada. We brought about 20 balls kindness of our arch enemies over at the Westside YSA and these balls are raw gold. Raw gold. We made the mistake of handing out a ball to a kid that was particularly talented (and poor) and out of jealousy that evening a band of 30 kids with sticks chased him through the trails to beat him. Fortunately, a parent intervened to save the boy. Two former best friends are still barely talking to each other. All this over a used soccer ball that wouldn't be sold in a garage sale for more than a buck...

When a soccer pitch is bad in our world, you say it is nothing but a “cow field”. The local school soccer field is, in fact, a cow field... including the cows and the stuff that comes out of a cow's butt. There are 10 “ post holes randomly dug into the field as well as 12” ledges, stones, etc... It makes for some interesting strategies.

Of course they play in bare feet, run like the wind and have incredible control of the ball and can almost pound it the length of the field in a flash... and that's just the 8 year olds... Of course, they (and all the villagers that gather around to watch the Mizoongos play) all get quite a laugh watching me play. Paul is actually able to look good and Jody and Lisa shock them at how good they are. Being girls, they are not expected to be good at anything else but carrying a truck load of bananas on their heads...

So that was our usual day for the first couple of weeks: get up at dawn, have breakfast, prepare for our classes, teach, have lunch at the school, do some tilling or weeding, play soccer with the kids, eat supper and ...crrrrrrash.

Our "Safe" Journey to Bududa...

From Kampala we drove the 4 hours to our project in Bududa which is near Mbale in eastern Uganda. For the entire 4 hours of driving along the highway there was a constant stream of people and rickety old bikes along the side of the narrow highway.

Along the way, I learned some new rules of the road that seem to work just fine in Uganda.

1) If the space for your vehicle seems too small to fit through, immediately rush to that space and the normal laws of physics are suspended and you will fit through it and, while you're going through, a motorcycle is likely to pass you...

2) It is perfectly safe for 4 and 5 year old kids to dodge in and out of speeding traffic.

3) If people are walking along the side of the road, it is their responsibility to get out of the way if you are driving on the shoulder of the road.

4) The faster you go, the quicker people will get out of your way.

5) Passing Procedure: Speed up to 120 k/hr (on tires that are threadbare), put your outside corner inches from the inside bumper of the car (or semi-trailer...), honk your horn and go. It seems to be the responsibility of the oncoming car to slow down but there is also a suspension of the space/time continuum in this situation as well as item #1.

6) There is absolutely no need to reduce your speed on gravel roads that have tight corners, giant pot holes, wide enough for only one vehicle and is filled with people, children and rickety old bikes wobbling along carrying things like ...oh, what are some of the things I've seen... a bedroom armoir, 60 or so planks carried sideways, several hundred pounds of bananas,...

7) During driving in the night, headlights are a nice developed world luxury that work great if you can afford to fix them.

8) Notwithstanding the above, there is again no need to reduce your speed during night driving.

9) It is not necessary to bother with the expense of maintaining your vehicle in minimal working order (shocks, tires, working headlights, axles...) when the person responsible for evaluating your vehicle every year can be bribed for much less than a new set of tires. Legal liability is not a concern to 99.9% of the population. Note: this rule does not apply to horns. Car horns must be fully functional or you will not live a day on Ugandan roads.

What blew me away was watching all the 5 and 6 year old kids walking along the side by themselves with cars and trucks speeding by. We would go through crowds of kids that were in villages and nobody even slows down. It would be like doing 120 through a school zone except there would be hundreds of kids along the side of the road at once without any parents or teachers to watch them. It was terrifying. Chickens and goats are more or less free to wander and one chicken paid the price for that freedom on our bumper. Sometimes, the van would have to drive on the shoulder (See item 5 above vis a vis the responsibility of oncoming cars) and he would lean on the horn to make people and bikes jump into the ditch.

With the grace of the Almighy we arrived in Bududa , without any accidents (or heart failure)... except for the aforementioned chicken. The staff and several villagers jumped up to us and hugged us and insisted on carrying our bags up the hill to our house. We immediately sensed the love and joy that surrounded us, in spite of the severe poverty.

What Would You Do With No Legs?

We woke up in the hotel and had a relatively nice breakfast of eggs and delicious fruit. We ate on a balcony three stories up and when we looked over the edge we could only stare in silence. There below us was a sea of people... every bit of space was occupied with people walking, biking, driving, carrying, begging... and in the dingy back alleys hordes of people were cooking on open fires, loading, burning, ... It was a sight that we'd never seen before.  Actually, I can't find the words to describe what we saw.

First on the agenda was to get some local currency. When we walked out the door, there were 3 or 4 people on the street sleeping under cardboard and garbage at the front door of our hotel. As we walked along we saw a couple of men with no legs begging for money. After we got our money, we loaded up our "matatoo" (15 person van) that was to bring us the 4 hour drive to the rural area of Bududa in eastern Uganda near the Kenyan border.

As we drove in Kampala past all the people I saw 2 more men without legs. One was begging and the other was busy delivering a package. He walked on his hands faster than most people were walking. He had acquired some thongs so he could grip the part that goes between your toes to keep the shoe on his hands as he shuffled along.

I had to wonder what I would do if I found myself with no legs in a country with no sort of social services to help me.  We just don't see such things in Canada... but can you imagine? Nobody to look after you and no legs.  No wheelchair.  Nobody to bring you food.  Probably no shelter.  Can you imagine facing such a challenge?  You think of the picayune issues that bother us in our lives and then think of that guy who found a small job delivering packages using thongs as shoes... It's just plain staggering.  In the next few weeks I now know that I will see a lot more of this kind of resilient strength in the face of unfathomable hardship.  

The Trip That Almost Wasn't

We have discovered a nifty way to reduce waiting times in airport line ups: show up at the security gates 25 minutes before an international flight. It works like a charm ...especially if you have nerves of steel and have no problem enduring hateful (and fully justified) looks from other people patiently waiting their turn in line.

First, you have to drop off your bags way in advance so you earn your right to a boarding pass. Then you lollygag about in an unfamiliar city. Look at your watch and think to yourself "Gosh, I'm very late here. I may miss my flight." If you really want to make it more fun I suggest you do this for a trip for some exotic place like... ummm... let's go with Uganda.

I can tell you from personal experience that the flood of emotions that gush through your head can really get the old heart pumping! This prepares you for the 500 yard dash from the drop off point that is quite convenient for the shuttle bus and not so much for you. All the sweat and panting will only help your cause in your desperate attempt to convince the security guard to let you in at the front of the hour long wait line. Remember to have a flakey half truth ready such as "We got lost." (Actually, we got on the main highway that took us half way to Portland before we could get off) In those moments as the security guard considers your request, remember to savour the gut wrenching stress.

When it all works out and you get to cheerfully cut in front of about a thousand other travellers, I strongly advise that you don't turn back and look at the faces of the people who are now behind you. Just enjoy the feeling that you've just saved yourself the irritation of waiting your turn in the security line and you've won the little game.

I don't know WHAT we were thinking... It was wild. We got up early and checked in 5 hours early then decided to leave the airport and have breakfast and search around for the best park n ride spot. We had PLENTY of time. Leaving the airport, I didn't understand the sign and missed the exit. About 7 or 8 kilometers later, we found an exit and fought our way back to the airport on secondary roads. I got focussed on haggling with these guys and looking for better and better prices. I will proudly say that I saved us about $400 just by doing so. Once we found the place and went through the registration they told us the shuttle would be there "right away". Everything was great... and then we looked at our watch and the fun times began.

We got on the plane and I couldn't believe we made it. From there everything was great. All the flights were on time and very comfortable. We arrived in Entebbe and were met by our friend Barbara and she took us to Kampala where we stayed the night in what would be regarded as a nice hotel here which is about 2 notches below a one star in Canada. All night long we heard screaming and yelling like there was some kind of uprising but it was all just the standard thing for this city. I had never heard anything like it. The noise, however, didn't keep the tired travellers from getting a good night's sleep.

Maybe I've Been Wrong...

I have been enjoying a very satisfying degree of smug self righteousness over the last several years.

As you may have noticed, I ...am one of the select few that truly recognizes the problems of Africa. It really has been a comfortable place for me to go since it's so terribly tough being poor little ol' me. It has been a consolation in a life that has been a whole lot more normal than I had imagined when I was a young buck. I think I watched too much TV.

So...all is not perfect in my world. I didn't make it into med school. I guess I now have to admit that I'm not actually going to make it to the NHL. I was not to be a powerful media tycoon. I am perhaps not going to change the way the media controls democracy in our so called Free World.

However... I figured I was, at least, a member of the elite group of aware westerners to be concerned about the problems in Africa. The rest of the world around me was content to make money and to be distracted by whatever the wizards of the profit driven society could conjure up for us to consume, consume, consume. I was so -so very much above all that. La tee dah.

Now even this little gig is coming to its pathetic end.

You people are making this very difficult for my self esteem. Holy Cow! I send one poxy little e-mail out about our family going to Uganda and wham: $5,000 gets sent our way! What is wrong with you people? 5000 bucks in a nasty little economic downturn! Where's all this apathy when I so badly needed it? And if it wasn't to be cold, hard cash you gave in other valuable ways: clothes, medical supplies, sporting equipment, school supplies. You people are busy! How do you make time for these things? How can a normal guy start to feel any vestiges of superiority when his buddies start getting outrageously generous... all off of one, lousy e-mail!

Diana and I are humbled by your generosity. All of you went far, far beyond our expectations. On behalf of the people who are truly in so much need, thank you all. On behalf of my family, thanks for all your encouragement. It has all meant a great deal to us.

I'd like to "out" many of you by name because you deserve it ...but I know some of you would be angry that I would think to expose your remarkable secret generosity for all to see. I will however highly recommend some businesses that have helped in this cause. If you're looking for straight shooters, these businesses have made donations without any of my obnoxious cajolling or without any strings attached and that says a lot about integrity so I'm going to take the liberty to let my friends know about some businesses that need to be recognized.

If you live in Kelowna and you're looking for a house: Mike Willmott and Richter Domeij and Associates would be a great place to start. And while you're buying a house, you might need it appraised for the bank. Appraisals West is THE place to go as far as we're concerned. Wait: you need a mortgage? Don't think of anybody else other than Mark Pinchin! And while we're in the real estate theme, even the real estate board (OMREB) itself has gone out of it's way to be supportive.

Want some marketing advice: talk to X Agency and Communications. Need a car: you're going to get an honest deal from Don Folk Chevrolet who stepped up to give money amidst a very difficult economic challenge. Thanks for buckets of toothbrushes and toothpaste from orthdontist Dr. Moore and Doc Martin (as in Dr Tom Martin, the respected family dentist not the maker of boots worn by skin heads)

Now if any of you can think of any more neurotic ways for me to feel important, please give me some suggestions. After all your generosity, I'm back to feeling lost and way too normal...