Stomping out Malaria in Wanyange

My mosquito is missing its wings

BAM! TAKE THAT MALARIA!

It's World Malaria Day!  Uganda has the highest infection rate of Malaria in Africa.  So, to heighten awareness to the very real problem, I did a fun lesson with my Year II students (who are freshly back from from student teaching practice).  Here's how it went:

I asked the class who had did not have a net at home.  They receive a blade of grass
Then I asked who had a net, but used it sometimes.  They received a piece of straw.
The next was, "Who has a net, uses it, but not everyone in your house has/uses one?" They received a small twig.
Last question was "Who lives in a house where everyone sleeps under a net every night?" Those came to the front of the class.
They then took turns trying to beat the mosquito using only the tool they were given.  The last group got to use a rolling pin.  Obviously, the final group destroyed the mosquito (which was filled with candy!)

We discussed how protecting ourselves against Malaria ultimately protects our neighbors.  We then did a demonstration about how to hang our net properly, and how to repair our net (and why we should repair our nets).  Overall, very fun day!  I loved doing this lesson with my student teachers, because being fresh from teaching practice, they knew that I had been harping on them to make more instructional materials and do more activities.  This lesson, which was really designed for younger kids, demonstrated well what I mean by interactive activities.

Didn't I just get here?!

Bad news first:

It's currently semi-final teaching practice season for my Year II students.  They're trying, for the first time, to teach in local schools.  My job is to sit and critique them, and then stick a number to their performance.  From what I see in the field, I like to bring supplies with me in case I have to make an impromptu learning-aid as a model, or if I have to correct one of theirs.  On this particular day, I had a large scissors in my bag.
     I got lost on the way, then when I had almost reached the school I realized that I didn't have anything to drink.  I quickly scampered around the little shops in the area, trying to find amaadhi amanene (big-sized water).  I finally found and purchased a bottle, threw it in my bag and ran back to towards the school.  I was just getting to the ram-shackle "buildings," (half-built brick enclosures and piece-meal huts for classrooms) and I realize my bag was leaking.  I open it up to find that the scissors pierced a hole in my bottle of water, and water was spilling all over everything in my bag, including my ipod and camera.  

:( 
I tried the rice method with the electronics, but the camera is still not turning on.  So for my last month in country, I won't have any more/final pictures to post.  It's kind of a huge bummer. 

Good news:

My college is planning some type of going-away party for me.  I know this cause my students are saying more and more lately about how I'm leaving them and how sad they'll be.  One student actually told me that something is in the works.  I'm excited!

For the next month, other than saying goodbye and selling off my things, most of my time will be taken up by craft shopping.

And I'm looking forward to this reality when I get home: 

http://rpcvcallme.tumblr.com/post/45994524702/dance

Neighbor kids

Webale okusomesa!

There are ups and down in life, no matter what is type of profession you have, what your romantic status may be or how comfortable your living situation is.  I live quite comfortably in Uganda and my college keeps me busy enough, and yet I find myself from time to time in a slump, or a foul/lazy/downer mood.  Today was one of those days, (however I have a sneaking suspicion it was a result of perhaps a caffeine-withdrawal).  I said farewell to a visiting PC friend, welcomed Sausia to come in and clean and then set myself up on my couch where I wouldn’t move for the better part of the day.  I drifted in and out of sleep as Sausia cleaned circles around me (which is not why I hired a maid--it was so I could be productive with other things, this just happened to happen today).  I didn’t even have enough whatever in me to even pick up a book, rather I put on re-runs of TV episodes to which I fell asleep.  It wasn’t until around three in the afternoon that I remembered I bought a packet of local coffee.  I brewed it up and mixed in hot cocoa mix to make it smell less like dirt, and suddenly I came back to life.

“Ma-wee! Ma-wee...mawee...mawwweeee...” Fortunate and Shamila were at my door.  They’ve been very persistent lately at calling my name.  With some fresh caffeine in me, I decided to stop being a hermit and go outside.  Shamila had some beautiful new studs in her ears (which her mother had been trying to convince her to wear for weeks now) and showed them off with pride.  Too cute!  I grabbed one of the few Little Libraries books still sitting on my shelf to read.  When I read on my veranda, it always starts with one book and one kid.  Shamila had wandered off, so it was just me and Fortunate, and one book.  But not for long!

Medi, Hassan, Waisa and Tenwa (all cousins) were walking by and came running up to my veranda once they saw me reading.  It was a funny story about an Italian musician saving his love from kidnappers.  I don’t know how much they understood, but they had fun pointing out things they knew in English.

“Guitar! Boat! Pirate!” It was actually a mandolin, ship and bandit, but they were close enough. 

Some of the neighbor girls, who live in the house diagonally from me, came by.  These girls don’t ever wear shoes, their clothes always have holes and are faded from years of being passed down.  A thin layer of dust covers their legs and clothing.  One girl always has a fresh scar on her face from something.  Another girl, Fatuma, never smiles, but loves to come to my veranda.  Some baby from their house, with snot all over his face, was also there.  I couldn’t pinpoint his age, but he surprised me when he could name something in English (now I can’t remember what it was).  Altogether I had maybe 10 kids huddled around me, shoving each other from time to time to get a better view of the giant picture book. 

We read “Animal Prints,” which depicts animals found in North America.  It’s hard to describe what racoons, beavers, deer and opossums are in basic English.  Surprisingly, the kids did really well with the footprint-animal matching activity at the end of the book!  Even though they’ve never seen a racoon or a mole, they could figure out if they had claws or not, and if their prints were big or small.  I was having so much fun I read four more books to them and had them point out any words they knew.  One of those books was all about a whale who had lost his way.  I don’t think they could grasp how big this whale is, and they kept calling it a shark (do you think Shark Week reaches Ugandan DSTV?  How did they know shark and not whale?  I may never know).  There was a reading activity at the end that replaced a few words with pictures.  We read this little paragraph about ten times-they loved it!  

Whenever I read outside with a group of kids, passing-by women will always say, “Mary, webale okusomesa!”  Or, thank you for teaching!  I always laugh and thank them for appreciating--to me it’s silly, I’m not teaching really.  I’m just reading a book.  When I think twice, however, I guess I am teaching.  I’m teaching more than some of their teachers teach in school.  I’m giving them a chance for incidental learning, and to ask questions.  I hope that they remember me as the white lady that used to read to them sometimes, rather than the grumpy white lady that wouldn’t let them look in her house. 

The Epic Hide-and-Seek Game

I remember, as a kid, the neighbor kids and I would organize a massive ghost-in-the-graveyard game.  It was terrifying (because it was at night) and hilarious all at the same time.  I remember playing at the Bauer’s house, just one house down from me.  They had a huge back yard with a very steep hill.  We would only be guided by the back light, and otherwise their yard was blanketed in darkness.  I don’t remember who won or whose team I was on, but I remember hiding in the bushes with anticipation.  Honestly, I don’t even remember how the game was played.  When I see neighbor kids here getting together and organizing games, I love it, and it reminds me of all the games we would play back home.       

The kids coming home from school.  Right behind them
is the house where all the neighborhood games
take place.

One day I heard Sara laughing as she was washing the dishes.  I was curious, so I peeked outside.  She was watching the kids playing  at the house diagonally across from us on the dirt path.  I don’t know how many kids live there, but it’s at least three young girls.  I think they had kids over from the place next to them.  The kids were playing some game where they all lined up on their veranda, and one girl paced back and forth with a stick.  She was waving the stick and saying something sternly at them.  They were all holding on the the edge of the veranda, eager to get up, and giggling uncontrollably.  At one point, they would all try to suddenly get up and run away, but the girl with the stick would try to whap whoever she could get.  Kids in the US may play tag games, but it’s a bit more hardcore here in Africa.  The kids were having a great deal of fun, and even the ones that got beat were still laughing.  I think the objective was to run away without getting hit by the stick.  

I love it when I see kids play elaborate pretend games.  At Medi’s place, the kids will make forts out of sticks and rice sacks, and someone will be carrying around Pooh bear on her back as the baby.  One day I found a group of girls kneeling in the sand, playing what I could only assume was a burial.  They had their hands together and mumbling prayers.  The neighbor boys can make anything into a gun, usually a matooke branch (which is bent and big enough to be a pretend AK-47).  I think it’s usually robbers and police, or perhaps rebels and army.  I never know, I just hear them making the shooting noises as they chase each other.  My favorite organized game, however, was the epic hide-and-seek game.  

Medi and Hassan, pretending to be old ladies who box.

At the same house (which seems to be the hang out for the neighborhood kids) they had gathered and organized hide-and-seek.  I only knew this because I went to throw out a cup of old coffee and there were maybe four kids lying down behind my bushes.  Sara was laughing at them, as usual, while she was mopping.  I looked at Sara and asked, “Do I not see these ones?  They are hiding?”

“Yes!” she giggled.  

There were three more kids in my alley way, were I usually throw dirty dish water.  This is also where my window is, which gives a pretty good view into my front room, if you’re tall enough.  

Kids were squatting, lying down, then running and moving position, all around my house.  At some point, some four or so tried looking in my house.  If they spoke English well, I would have said, “It is not polite to look in people’s houses.”  But they didn’t, so I had to get the message across some other way.  I waited for them to collect again, then I innocently threw a cup of water out my window and all over the five kids trying to figure out if my computer was also a television.  They ran away, giggling and screaming.  This was hysterical to Sara, and at the site of kids with wet faces and shirts, she fell over in a fit of giggles herself.  

Even as I write this, the kids are playing some type of game that requires them to reach a jerrican and hit it with a stick--some type of race.  Sara is like a refferee of sorts, saying that someone had already hit the jerrican.  

Peace Corps Poster Day

Do you ever see posters about Peace Corps and imagine what their day is like?  And while imagining things you imagine all sorts of fantastic things that make you smile?  I had one of those days, which is actually few and far between and very very far from Peace Corps reality.

    I always calculate how hard I've worked by either how bad I smell or how soaked in sweat I am.  These two things usually go hand-in-hand.  Today there was sweat dripping from my face and I couldn't lift my arms without making the same kind of face I make when I pass the cow guts in the market.  I like to tell myself that on days like these, I've earned my lunch.
    "Ah, mosquitoes!" Deputy said in admiration of my paper-mache beasts that I was balancing, along with my water bottle and bag.
    "Yessss....I'm thinking about painting these, may I have the keys for the library?"  My conversations with the Deputy Principal are usually no less than 20 minutes, if we're just greeting, and may span for as long as four hours when we're actually discussing things.  For the sake of this blog, I'm only giving you perhaps 1/64 of our actual conversation.
      On my way to the library to fetch the powder paint, I stopped by Nora's place.  Nora is the head of the department for science, and holds the keys to the science laboratory.  Her lab is now also holding the brand-new shipment of the brand-new PTC curriculum in not so very new boxes.  They're already covered in dust.  I wanted to get the syllabus for the brand-new Special Needs Education course, which is now a new facet of the PTC curriculum, complete with a full exam in the end of the year.
      "So, the results are in," Nora was saying as we entered the lab, "and apparently we had 30 students fail."
      "Oh jeez, I hope we did well in science!"
      "They're saying it's nation-wide, this poor performance.  And the problem is with math."
      Ah, at least we were safe.  "Well that's 30 less students to supervise during school practice!"  With my SNE syllabus in hand, I trotted down to the library.  I swung both doors wide open, and maneuvered around pieces of charred, fallen ceiling tiles and piles of monoammonium phosphate.  I picked up the powder paints and brushes, and was almost out the door when I couldn't ignore the mess any longer.  I let out a Pooh-bear kind of defeated sigh and started looking for a broom.
      You see, there was a fire last Saturday.  Something was wrong with the electric wires in our area, something with grounding, and the wires in the library, between the ceiling and the roof, burst into flames.  It was around 7 PM, and luckily the night watchman and the matron of the women's dorm were around and saw it.  Moses, our highly-dedicated and grossly underpaid 24-hour watchman (askari), jumped to it immediately and, using the fire extinguishers that had just been installed last June, put out  the fire before it spread to the books!  He slept in the Library that night in case there were any more subsequent fires, which there was, at 11:00 PM.  When I was told the news, I couldn't stop praising his good work!  And yet, they kept telling me this story like it was bad news.
      "But the books are OK!  Good work!"
      I borrowed a broom from the Deputy Principal, along with a handkerchief to wear around my face like a bandit, so I wouldn't inhale any of the remnants from the fire extinguisher.  It took me perhaps a half hour to get most of the crap out of the lobby, and then another two hours to mop.  I mopped the same areas 5 times or more, and still, looking at my final product, there were streaks of the powder all over the floor.  I gave up and said, good enough, I'll wait until our students return in full force to finish the mess.
     A few students were already coming by today, with word that the pre-promotional exam results were available.  It was so great to see them smiling and greeting, saying that they were looking forward to returning to the college.  Just last night, in the trading center, I greeted a student.  He was asking when results would be back, then out of no where started with, "you can't leave us Madam.  You just can't.  We need you here."
      "What?  I have like four months left."
      "Ah, but madam, we need you here, you can't go..."
      Students make me smile sometimes.  And other times so frustrated I want to punch a wall.  But usually they make me smile.
     I rinsed myself off with the leftover clean water for mopping, and was off to supervise a Little Libraries lesson at Wairaka Primary School.  They were the first to turn in their time table, so they were the first to be seen!  I came for the P5 lesson, but was far too early.  Luckily, I caught the P1 teacher.
     "Yes!  Madam, how are you?  I'm seeing you tomorrow for your library lesson, yes?"
     "Ah, yeah.  So...I just give them the books and they read?"
     "Well....not exactly.  I have time now, let's plan together!"
     And with that, I introduced her to the world of Dr. Seuss.  I think I overwhelmed her with many things, but I talked her through how to do a read-aloud lesson.  She kept looking at the book, defeated, and making that noise that I know all too well which translates, roughly, to, "Jesus this is a lot of shit to do..."
    But I didn't give up, and encouraged her to make some fun learning aids that would go nicely with "One fish, Two fish, Red fish, Blue fish."  I left her making the visual aides so I could catch the P5 lesson.
    Now, with this lesson, I knew it was going to be a bust from the start.  The teacher had a student bring in about 15 books, one for each 3 pupils (did you do the math there?) and said, "Ok, now you're going to read, and when you're done, I'm going to ask you questions about what you've read."
     Oh boy.
     Now, I'm happy to see that she brought out the books and gave them to the kids straight away.  Well done.  What I was worried about was the lack of parameters for the lesson.  And the lack of instruction.  Some of these kids have never seen a story book before.
    I pulled her aside and asked, "is this the first time the kids have had a chance to use the books?"
    "Yes."
   "Would you allow me to do a demonstration lesson with them?"
    "Ah absolutely, that would be great."
    And away I taught.  It was so fun to be in front of a class!  I started them with parts of a book; title, author and illustrator.  We talked a bit about how we handle books properly.  Then they had some free time to explore.  I loved going around and sitting with the small groups to see what they were reading.  One group had a book about bears and snow, two things that Uganda does not have.  They still loved it, especially when the word BOOOOOOOM was printed in big letters across the page.  One girl raised her hand, and asked, "excuse me Madam, is this the word 'actually'?"  It was!  On my way out, there were a lot more "bye Mary!"s than "Bye mzungu!"
     And that P1 teacher?  She had a red fish, a blue fish, a yellow fish and a black fish, all colored and cut out and ready to go!  I praised her great work, and told her I was really looking forward to her lesson.
      Down the dirt road I went, through the Wairaka trading center, past several cows (and three puppies!  Momma dog wasn't too excited that I stopped to pick up a rolly-poly brown pup), to the main road where I winced every time a Mack truck went by, up to the entrance to the college, through the very small gate door, up the dirt path, past the field and the library, up to the offices.
      I said my goodbyes to everyone at the college, and made my way home.  All I could think about was how amazing the cold bucket bath was going to feel after a day of a lot of travel on foot, hard work, sweat and fire-extinguisher grime.  I even considered filling and using my entire purple bucket, the largest one I have, which holds over 40 liters of water and is, essentially,  my reservoir tank.  Ah, how refreshing that would be! 
     I wasn't yet to the trading center when I had to make a stop, to jump rope!  Some girls where playing with a jump rope made from banana fibre leaves braided together.  I have no idea where this energy came from, but before I knew it, I was setting my bag aside and saying, "I want to play!  Cin-der-ell-a, dressed-in-yell-ah', went-on a date-with a hand-some-fell-a..."  I didn't make it very far, but boy did they giggle!
    "Bye Mary!"
    "Good evening, Mary!"
    I waved to them, and dusted off my bag.  Up ahead, I saw Moses (award winning Askari).  Moses makes perhaps 1/10th of what I make in a month, and works, if it's possible to measure, 3 times as hard.
    "Ah, Mary," and as he grabbed my hand to do the Ugandan shake-and-hold, I could feel some coins on my palm.  "Mary I want to give you a token for your hard work today!  I really saw you cleaning that place."  Again, this coming from the man who stopped the fire single-handedly, twice.  Same man who works 23 hours a day, and makes 1/10th of my salary.  This man wanted to give me some money in appreciation of my three hours of cleaning.  I was so absolutely touched, I really felt like this is one of those Peace Corps moments you only read about in books written by people who are now on posters for the agency.  I couldn't believe it.  I thanked him, not so much for the money but for his appreciation.  The college is going to organize some kind of appreciation for him, hopefully in the form of money, but in the mean time I just keep thanking him with words.  He jumped on a motorcycle, and was off.
    As was I, continuing my walk to my house.  I took a short cut, which I only take once in a while, not often enough for the kids along the way to know my name.  Strangely enough, today was the day they got it.  "Maaa-wy!  Hello!"
    There was a permanent smile now on my face, almost making my cheeks hurt.  I smiled all the way up to my door.  First order of business--fill those jerricans!  When I reached my landlady's place, I was a bit tired and even sat on the veranda to pay her the 300 shillings it costs to fill my 2 jerricans.
   "Mary, idha, tulye."  (Mary, you come we eat).  This offer couldn't have come at a better time.  Plain posho with three pieces of meat looked as tasty as Mc-burger...(I literally forgot what the name of the McDonald's burger is called....)  Anyway, I was starving, and they were giving me free, hot food.  I was in.  I sat and ate happily as my jerricans filled.
    My bath was like the first rain after the dry season.  If you haven't been to Africa, you can't appreciate that comparison.  It was renewing.
    This day inspired me to blog.  However, I was out of internet at site, and I just couldn't hold it in, and I was afraid that if I wrote it down on paper, I would have told the story wrong.  So I hurried to town so I could write this.  Off the taxi, down the street...
    "Madam, you try this one."  It was strange a street vendor was calling me madam.  It's usually mzungu.  "Only 1,000."  Also strange he was giving me the actual price.
    I really stopped to take a look, it was a nicely printed button-up shirt.  "Hmm..."
   "How is Wanyange?"
   "You know me from Wanyange?"
   "Madam, you were my tutor!"  AH!
   "What?!  Which year!"
   "Yes, you were my tutor there!  Now you must support me in my business!"  Ha!  Too funny.  I wracked my brain seriously but could not remember this kid.  I gave him the very Ugandan answer of,
    "Let me come back."
    "Ah, olimbye!" (You're deceiving me!)
    "No, no, really, let me come back!"  And I was off to blog.  And here I am.

    Maybe this was really boring for you, but a solid day of work for me is something to write home about.  If I had made my day into a poster it would have been any of the following pictures....
   -me teaching a library lesson
   -shaking hands with Moses
   -picking up a puppy on my way home
   -skipping rope with the Primary school kids
   -carrying model mosquitoes through my trading center
   -reading "One Fish, Two Fish..." with the P1 teacher
   -eating posho and meat with my neighbors
 

    I hope my week shapes up similarly. 
          
     
             

Athieno's journal

Dear Journal,

           Today was probably the most exciting day I’ve had in my eight years on this Earth.  Or perhaps a close second to cousin Robinah’s introduction ceremony.  Nevertheless, this day was pretty exciting.
    Of course it didn’t start very exciting, in fact, when I woke up I was pretty certain today was going to be very much like yesterday, and the day before that, and every day before that up to the first day of term.  Madam was having us memorize the school address so that our letter-writing looks professional.  All I remember is something, something, something, Molo Primary School, something, something, Tororo.  I suppose today didn’t start exactly like yesterday, cause baby Ryan had an attack of diarrhea RIGHT before I left for school.  I was bathed and dressed in my pressed, bright-pink uniform, all shiny from the Movit jelly and smelling nice, and the plop--Ryan spewed out matter, shall I say, from his back-end and I had to take an extra ten minutes cleaning both him and the floor, and then my hands, thoroughly, with soap.  “Remember the four F’s! Flies, fingers, feces, food!”  I made sure to scrub away all of those invisible, nasty germs and headed to school. 
    “Today is Tuesday, February twelfth, two-thousand thirteen.”  We repeated this about a hundred times, or until Oketch in the back decided to join in and stop speaking in a frog voice.  It wasn’t until we were doing some math exercises that I noticed Madam was preoccupied.  She left the room, making sure to remind us to stay in our seats and be quiet.  What happened next made that command nearly impossible.
    A big, white, shiny coaster-bus bumped it’s way over our grassy compound, stopping under the shade of our big tree in the front.  The P1 class was bringing out their P1-sized chairs for the visitors, who were not P1-sized but very much adult sized.  It was a group of about 25 people, and half were MZUNGUS!  The mzunugus had funny clothes on, it looked like they were going for athletics.  The Ugandans were dressed smartly, the men in pressed trousers with button-up shirts and shined shoes.  They tried out the P-1 sized chairs, and looked uncomfortable of course.  We couldn’t help but laugh.  It looked like they were waiting for something, or someone to start talking.  I was hoping they came to teach us athletics, or put on a show, or I don’t know what!  I was nearly certain they came to entertain us in some way. 
    I couldn’t stay around long enough to see what they were waiting for, cause Sarah, from P6, came with a stick and ordered us to get back to our classrooms.  I hate our school prefects.  They think they can boss us around cause they’re bigger than us, when really we’re all growing and one day I may be even taller and rounder than Sarah.  I spent perhaps fifteen minutes on 100 X 20; I couldn’t concentrate on anything, knowing that there are a bunch of visitors just outside!  And they’re just sitting!  Did they bring something?  Where are they from? Why are they here?  My mind snapped right back into position once Madam entered the classroom.  Soon after, I could hear the visitors shuffling away, taking the P1 chairs with them.

    Hope claims that she sat near the clinic for a while at break time, watching them discuss things under a tree.  She said they had notebooks and folders, and were raising their hands.  Hope’s English is terrible, so of course she couldn’t pick anything they were talking about.  Too bad I hadn’t found them at break time, I bet I could have deciphered their conversation.         
    We didn’t see them for the rest of the day-- they left before classes were over.  We did see that they had dug on part of our primary school compound.  I don’t know what they were doing exactly, because what they did looked nothing like how the gardens around us look.  It looked more like six fresh graves of some very, very tall people.  There was also a hole at one corner that would probably swallow me waist-deep if I were to stand in it.  Hope was saying that she would bet her daddy’s three cows that the visitors wouldn’t come back tomorrow.  She said she’s seen this before (from back when she lived in Maga Maga) that visitors would come, do a project, and then never say hello or goodbye and never come back.  I disagree.  I think they’ll come back and teach us something!  Or at least tell us who they buried.  


 













 



 












Dear Journal,

    I was right!  The visitors came back!  Today they all looked very smart, they were all wearing white t-shirts.  I read USAID on the backs.  It took me a while to figure out what that meant.  “U-SAID...you said?  You said what?  That can’t be it... USA - ID...OH! They’re from the US!  Ok...what is ID?  Hm.... US-AID....US, like United States, then AID like...aid?  Money?  Money from the US?  That could be it.  Or maybe ID means something.”  On the front of their shirts, it said “FEED THE FUTURE”.  Hm--I know our head teacher is always telling us that we children are the future...are they coming to feed us?!  What do Americans eat anyway?  I decided that wasn’t it, because they went into the community center’s shed to get the hoes and slashers.  They must be back to dig again!   
    Right around break time, we found them in the garden (it was a garden after all, not graves) bending and planting seeds.  I wonder what they’re planting?  It’s such a funny looking garden.  I think I’ll ask my mom tonight why they dug their garden like that.   We don’t know what happened after break time, but Oketch says he saw them shoveling cow dung into a pile, then laying grass and ash on top.  However, Oketch also claims that night dancers come to his house every night, and wake up him and his baby sister.  He even said that he went outside once, and they had faces of animals.  So, I don’t know if I can believe Oketch.

 

    When we came out after classes, we saw that they had constructed a strange thing.  How can I describe it?  It almost looks like a house, but the roof is made from dirt, and it would be a house for a very small person.  Oh, and you can’t go inside, because the bricks go all the way around and it’s full of soil.  But, in the center, there’s a hole lined with sticks.  I hope Madam explains to us what our visitors built, and if it is a house because I would love to play in it!


   




I was making sure to take in every detail, so I stood kind of close behind the visitors, trying to even listen to what they were saying.  Maybe my English isn’t so good either, because I swore they were talking about a basket.  It was then, when I was concentrating really, really hard, that suddenly the mzungus in front of me suddenly turned around, bared their teeth and screamed!  Hope, Oketch, about twenty others and I took off, terrified--especially cause we’ve heard rumors that mzungus eat children.  We had reached some far bushes, looked back and saw that all of the visitors were laughing at us.  The mzungus weren’t chasing us, they were all laughing too.  I think I even saw one wipe away a tear from laughing so hard.  Once we saw it was all a joke, we started laughing too--oh boy did they fool us!  “I wasn’t really scared, I knew it was a joke,” Sarah was saying, but we all had seen her face when the visitors screamed, she looked like she had seen a ghost.   
      At the end of the day, after some rain, the Mzungu’s t-shirts were filthy.  How did they get so dirty and the Ugandans didn’t?  For the last time today, the mzungus went into the church to have tea or something.  We heard the health team singing for them, and teaching them about those four F’s as well.  I sang along as I walked home, thinking about all the fantastic things I get to tell my mom.  I asked Hope what her daddy was going to do without those three cows.  “Well, whatever.  I bet you three more they won’t come back tomorrow!”  Maybe not.  But I think they’re leaving those gardens behind!

and there was a TAXI FIGHT!

It was an ordinary trip to Maggie’s site, who lived 45 minutes away by taxi (30 minutes on a good day).  We were sitting four in the front row of the back, as per usual, despite the seat being designed for three.  I almost nodded off at how uneventful the whole journey was.  That is, until we reached the Musita stage. 
    This particular stop is notorious for over zealous food hawkers who, if you refuse to buy their goods, will berate you until the taxi takes off.  Musita is also popular for being a bit of a changeover point for taxis who suddenly decide, “Oh, we’re not going all the way to Busia, so you’re now moving into this taxi.”  Luckily, most taxis are en route for Iganga, so I knew I wouldn’t have to move. 
    Our conductor got out, fishing for passengers to fill the one seat that could possibly fit another being in the vehicle.  What happened next was kind of a blur, so I don’t know the exact order of events.  All I know is that a man was walking by our taxi, readying himself to board the taxi in front of us, which was also going to Iganga.  Our conductor was anxious at the prospect of losing a customer, and started trying to coerce him into our taxi.  The conductor from the other taxi quickly inserted himself between our guy and the innocent traveller, which pissed our conductor off.  He picked up the other conductor and moved him out of the way (which is usually a playful-type gesture, and I’ve seen similar instances from other conductors).  Interestingly enough, the other conductor did not see it that way.  He half slapped him on the arm, and I imagine started cursing at him.  Our conductor put his dukes up immediately.  Everyone in our taxi saw that this was serious, and they reacted with “Eh, eh!” Out of the Earth, it seemed, materialized about 180 Ugandan men, either egging the fighters on or trying to talk them down.  I don’t know who threw the first punch, but I heard flesh hit flesh, and then the swarm of men tried to intervene. 
    At some point, one of the two fighters lost a bunch of change out of his pocket, which caused pure jubilation from the crowd as they dove for the coins.  My heart was racing, and lectures from our safety and security officer streamed through my head...what do I do?  Stay away from fights and large crowds, walk in the other direction...but I was in a vehicle, and no one else in the vehicle was leaving, and I was afraid if I got out that he would go after me next (probably not but I was terrified and thinking irrationally).  The fight seemed to linger on, so I slowly moved one foot out of the door, and my butt nearly scooted off the seat, when our conductor jumped back into his seat next to me.  His right eye was starting to puff and he kept blotting away tears.  I couldn’t understand the conversation, but it seemed like he was defending himself against the opinions of the passengers in the taxi.  The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful, and I gave him an extra five hundred shillings, for his rough day.

RUMPS in the market

Flash blog!

Pads update: I sold the RUMPS in Bugembe market for the second time today.  It was great, coming back to the sweet potato spot where all the ladies already knew my product.  One woman, pictured below, pretty much did all the advertising for me.  After about an hour or so, the women around me decided to really try this, even though they all swore to the heavens above that they couldn't sew, (ha).  I told them that P4 kids could make these.  No surprise, the four women around me each had their own made within the half hour.  :)  I sold about 30 pads this morning. 

This jaja was telling me she wanted to make some for her
granddaughters, but she didn't know how to sew!  I told her
that I believed in her and she should just try, and she did!

The woman seated on the stool to the right was my main
advertiser.  I appreciated her with some small money before I left,
because I doubt I would have had a single customer without her.

How to Make a Mosquito piñata

 Let's Stomp Out Malaria, Africa!  

Make a mosquito paper-maché piñata!

Have a picture for reference.

Materials: masking tape, newspaper, cardboard, picture of mosquito for reference,  scissors.  Optional: balloon for head.

Glue: flour, water, pot, heat source
          To make the glue:
1.  Measure out 1 part flour, five parts water
2.  Boil most of the water while you mix the flour into some cold water (this is so it doesn’t clump)
3.  Add the flour/water mix to the boiling water
4.  Boil about three minutes
5.  Let cool



1.  Cut out two almond-shaped pieces for the abdomen.

2.  Cut out two circles for the thorax
3.  Cut eight rectangles of cardboard, four being a certain length and the other four a bit shorter.  4.  These serve as the frame for the body.  Tape the short ends of the rectangles to the body pieces, lined up. 

4.  Tear up the newspaper into strips.  Hold it by the short end, and tear the long way down.  This way it tears pretty straight. 

5.  Once you have the frame, you can start paper-maché-ing.  Make sure the glue has cooled off enough! (It would be an embarrassing wound to explain to new friends, “Naw man, I got this making a paper-maché mosquito.  All for the war on Malaria.”  At least the last part makes you sound cool.)  Use just a bit of glue and run it down the strip of paper, so it’s just damp.  Make sure to get the edges.
Try to get the strips to go across the body.  Once those are dry, you can run some strips the other way, which will reinforce the structure.  It’s good to work in layers; do a piece, let it dry, return to it and add some more.  If you add too many wet strips at once, it’ll get too heavy and your poor mosquito will look droopy.

6.  While waiting for pieces to dry, you can make the legs.  Mosquitoes have six legs, which all attach to the thorax (unfortunately, in both mosquito models I made, I placed the back legs to the abdomen.  Don’t make this same mistake).  The legs have a whole bunch of joints, but keeping in mind that these may be used as piñatas and will be destroyed anyway, I’d say two joints are enough to give the impression of mosquito legs.  To make them, roll up a whole sheet of newspaper taught.  Tape the end.  Bend in half.  Make six of those, then three more--with those three, cut them in half and attach a half to each whole piece, and tape.  See picture.

7.  Still waiting for parts to dry?  Make the head.  To do this, you may either blow up a balloon and paper mache around it, or ball up a bunch of newspaper, cover it in one piece and fashion it into a ball-like shape. 

8.  Make some tea.  Watch some TV.  Do your nails.  Organize your book shelf.  Take a nap.

9.  Are your thorax and abdomen mostly dry?  Great.  Now connect them by propping the abdomen up on the thorax, and run pieces across the two.  It’ll look precarious at first, but don’t worry, once it dries it’ll be strong for sure.  Again, do a layer, let it dry, then reinforce.  

10.  Attach the head.  Prop the head piece next to the thorax and run strips between the two pieces.  Let it dry, reinforce. 

11.  Attach the legs--this might be tricky, because the rolled up paper can be a bit heavy.  Try propping bottles up next to the legs to hold them in place.  Run strips across the base of the legs, and make sure they bend the correct way.  Refer to your mosquito picture.  Let dry. 

 

12.  Paint!  Remember, mosquito piñata will be destroyed, so don’t get too connected to your artwork.  If you’d rather save your mosquito as a visual aide for a classroom, then go crazy, Van Gogh! (Chuckle, chuckle).  In Uganda, powder paint is available.  Buy a container of the available colors: red, yellow, blue, black and white, then add water.  It’s kind of like watercolor paint.   

13.  To add wings, cut out two almond-shapes out of “manillas,” as they call them (poster paper).  

14.  To hang--I haven’t done this yet, but I’d suggest to find a sturdy spot on the body and hole-punch some holes.  String it up and let it fly!