Le Fantôme de l'Opéra...live from the Acholi Ber Country Hotel, Gulu.

There is a man that limps along the dusty road in front of my balcony each day and night. As he does, he scowls at and chases passersby, vying for their attention and begging for their money.

Upon my first occasion seeing him, my immediate reaction was fear. His ragged appearance and grotesque looking leg, which is swollen with some form of advanced infection, instill an almost knee-jerk social reaction: get away from him. This is true not just of westerners like myself, but also of the many children who walk along the same road--they all avoid him.

Nestled two stories above the streets of Gulu, I have a rather opera-like view of the goings-on. All of the hustle and bustle is directly in front of my balcony, and it makes for some great real-life African drama.
Over the course of a week I've watched this mis-shapen, even monstrous looking man make his seemingly religious procession up and down this road. You can almost time his arrival: at 7am, and in the evening, around 6pm just before dark. Each time I've seen him, his behaviour has piqued my curiosity more and more. Perhaps that is the result of being alone in a remote region of Northern Uganda, but I think my natural curiosity of human behaviour is the more likely culprit.

Nonetheless, I've begun to watch how the locals react to him. I've found myself wondering, "Is he well known? Does he have friends or family?" Judging from the evidence, he appears to be a rather lonely soul in a city with little pity. Perhaps he has a mental health issue; perhaps he is just down on whatever vestiges of luck one can manage to find in a place such as this; or maybe he's just a sad product of his environment. But each of these assumptions are nothing less than subjective observations, they do nothing to truly describe his experience, however seemingly miserable it may seem.

My point is that this is what we as humans do--we label and judge based upon what our senses tell us. This is less than a ground-breaking or salient point, but there is something about this experience of being here that has forced me to consider such (perhaps trivial) things. Before I digress, I'll get back to where I was going with this.

As I watched the man make his usual bare-footed jaunt up the road this morning, I noticed him chasing a small child who seemed absolutely terrified. The little boy he was chasing (rather slowly) was crying and began running to his father some metres away. One would expect that the father would be somewhat disturbed by this behaviour; but, the father was in fact, laughing. I continued to watch, attempting not to seem obvious, and as the hobbling man approached the father and son (who was now hiding behind the father's leg), I noticed that the father seemed to be genuinely entertained by the man. The father then pulled out a coin or two and gave it to the begging man. Was he just being rewarded for terrifying the little boy I thought? The answer would not come to me until later in the day...

As has become a ritual for me, I have started enjoying the odd afternoon nap: The heat here is something to be avoided in the afternoon, so it's indeed a luxury to curl up in bed with a book, the fan on high, and just air out my junk (slang for private parts) until I fall asleep. Anyways, as I began nodding off, I decided to set my alarm for around 6pm so that I could watch some much needed entertainment unfold from my balcony. Sure enough, at just minutes past 6pm, the haggardly looking man was headed back from town. He appeared rather jovial as he navigated along the sharp rocks and dust, singing a song and limping as he went.

When he approached the front of my balcony, I saw his demeanour instantly change. A young woman was walking directly towards him, and he began bellowing and pointing at himself. It's an ungodly noise that he manages to conjure from his leather-like lungs, so you can imagine the immediate reaction of this young woman. As I continued to watch, I noticed that he actually seemed to be acting, of all things. It was as if he was using his own ailment to portray himself as monster; a vile, repulsive creature that had to be seen to be believed. It then became evident to me that he was indeed acting; he seems to be using his own ailment as a prop of sorts. When adults come near, he takes on a menacing role--pretending to be a monster. When young people or children come near, he seems to take on a clown-like or jester kind of role.

Anyways, that's my story for what it's worth. It just kind of reminds me (marginally) of the Phantom of the Opera: A disfigured ghost who extorts for cash. This man would likely be a walking ghost if he didn't gather attention the way he does. It's about being resourceful I suppose, and it's something I guess I could stand to learn from. You deal with what you've been given--good or bad, sick or healthy.

Lame story, I know, but I thought I'd share it nonetheless. Hope I haven't put anyone to sleep.

All the best from my opera balcony for now...

What a difference a day makes!

It's nearly impossible to stand in front of 40 odd smiling children and feel even remotely defeated. It's simply not in my genetic code, no matter how jaded I was beginning to feel. Children have the most genuine aura...and it certainly rubbed off on me when I most needed it.

Today I met my students at the school I'll be teaching at. As I walked up to the classroom, I could hear the children singing "welcome Mr. Teacher Mike"and when I got to the entrance of their classroom, I snapped this photo. I was somewhat in shock at seeing the way these children learn; no desks, no chairs, just the floor, some books, and an overwhelming desire to learn. Many of them walk distances each day that few of us walk in an entire week just so they arrive at school on time at 8am. It quite literally forces one to reconsider what 'challenging circumstances' are comprised of.

The school is comprised of 3 classes: K1, K2 & K3. Each are intended to prepare children (ages 4-7) for primary school. The subjects cover everything from Geography, Math, English, Acholi (their own language), and Physical Education. I'll be teaching the K3's English, foreign as that seems to me at times :) That said, I'll be taking some instruction courses while I'm here so that I won't feel so unsure of myself. Yet, I have the feeling that the children are going to teach me more than I them.

To that end, I've been feeling sick the past few days. A slight fever, the slushies and a strange rash that has developed on my hand (incidentally, the same hand I wipe with...here's hoping the rash doesn't spread to my chocolate starfish). It's no fun feeling sick in Africa, and one never knows what kind of malady they have picked up, so I'm watching it closely and getting lots of rest. I have a feeling it has lots to do with my diet. The selection of food here is less than palatable; it's either cassava (a tuber/root that's very starchy and not full of many nutrients), maize, rice, goat, beef, matooke (raw and boiled bananas, very starchy as well), bread, and of course beans. Ugandan food is not highly nutritious and not very flavourful...it's functional food in the highest degree. It's full of carbohydrates, so if you eat too much of it you will gain weight, and lots of it.

You see very few overweight Ugandans, despite the high caloric intake but that's mainly attributable to the fact that they burn off their calories so quickly in this heat. A typical day for the average Ugandan involves a tremendous amount of work. Gathering water from a well, getting charcoal for the fire, chopping wood, hand-washing laundry, cleaning their households, and a myriad of other tasks that involve hard labour. I once went with one of the boys who goes each morning to fetch 12-18 jerry cans full of water, and I was amazed at how hard that task alone is. When full, each jerry can (plastic container) weights roughly 50 lbs. I carried 2 about half a kilometre and was exhausted by the time I got back to the village. The young boy accompanying me, named Steven, (who is 16) had loaded up 8 jerry cans into a barely working wheel-barrow and pushed it all the way...without stopping once. He then went back again to the well for a second round!

If there are no young boys around to carry the water, women will go and balance a full jerry can on their heads, while carrying babies, food and a bunch of other stuff. It's simply amazing to see how these people work so hard...I doubt few of us could do this routine every morning, much less entire day, every day of the week, 365 days a year. It's about survival however, and it's the biggest motivator we know as humans...you either adapt or you fail to exist....period.

So in short, today was a much needed uplifting, if not humbling experience. And as I got home today, I watched the most magnificent African sunset I've witnessed yet. It felt like the perfect ending to a perfect day, despite the absence of my wife's hand to hold while watching the sun setting....some day we will, that's for sure!

I can't say that I'm happy here, but I'm being taught to be exactly that by a group of children who live in some of the world's worst poverty....talk about humbling. Talk about giving one strength, humility and a desire to keep going, no matter what the odds.

Thanks for reading, hoping you are all well.

With love from Africa,

Mike

Jaded? Me?

Welcome back to my daily musings, slash rants. Today was a day of solitude. The slushies (see my last post for definition) were pretty bad this morning, so I cleverly opted to stay in extremely close proximity to a toilet rather than risking sharting my pants. If you're not sure what 'sharting' is, see here.

Something is clearly not agreeing with my large colon, and I'm beginning to suspect that it's the stress, or more likely the hard-boiled, suspect eggs in the morning. Which brings me to the astute conclusion that removing said hard-boiled eggs from my diet, may well be the best troubleshooting I can provide for myself. Enough about the trials and tribulations of my large colon, you didn't come here to get that intimate with me did you?

The day of solitude was helpful, I must admit. Yet, I'm becoming more and more jaded by this place. The two imodium that I took this morning seemed to work long enough to make it out for lunch this afternoon. As I bravely ventured away from my western style toilet, I was again reminded of why I'm beginning to hate this place. An elderly woman starting following me begging for money as I pretended to ignore her. When I sat down at my new favourite spot for lunch, she came right into the place behind me and kneeled on the floor in front of me the entire time as I ate. The whole time she pointed to her stomach and gave me this pitiful look.

As I sat in discomfort and angst eating, I kept thinking "Care for a hard-boiled egg"?

The temptation to feel guilt was overwhelming, but I think I'm over that now. I have all the sympathy in the world for these people, yet I'm angered. These people need to get up off of their knees and see that the answer is right in their own hands. Difficult for some cultures to understand, I get that. But by the same token, there is little disagreement here among the people that it is their very own government that keeps them living as they do. Yet, it's the well-intentioned westerners, like myself, who think that they're just going to parachute into this place and 'save it'. Such myopic thinking, in my opinion, only perpetuates dependency--not to mention how it gives corrupt governments a free pass to wads of cash. Clearly the logic here needs to be re-thought, but I believe complaisance (on both the part of the people and the donors) will largely prevail. The entire way aid is structured needs to be changed, and drastically at that.

I remember a quote from one of the articles that I read concerning how those being researched in these types of countries feel. When asked what he thought about all of the efforts being made by the NGOs and the UN, a young man stated "We feel like animals in a zoo. People come and 'research' us, but nothing changes." This is, to me, profound. If replies such as this aren't an indication of something wrong, I don't quite know what is. Of course, there are positive things that the UN and NGOs do, but my point is, to what end? What is the end result long-term?

I'd offer more, but I've officially turned this into a full-out rant, so my apologies. I'm going to go get some dinner somewhere close by and hope that I don't get guilted again while I eat. Amazing how even the restaurant owners don't throw the beggars out....such is life in Ugan-dious I suppose.

Hopefully tomorrow I'll be less jaded, but I have my doubts. Thanks for reading.

So this is Gulu…

I arrived here in Gulu (in the northern region of Uganda) just one week ago today. My first impressions of the place were wide-eyed, if not perhaps a tad on the rose-tinted side. As the dust from the roads kicked up in my face, and the clouds drew above ever-more ominously, I began to get the overwhelming sense that I was completely out of my element. And correct that assessment was...

I had heard nothing but positive things from my other cohort members who came here, but judging from my experiences this week, it must be a different Gulu. In the week that I’ve been here, I’ve almost fallen off a dirt-bike twice; been chased by a leper whose flesh was being eaten by maggots; been looked at like a walking bank machine (by EVERY person here); and, had numerous episodes of diarrhea—which will hence forth be referred to in my posts as “slushies”. “Code browns” will denote a normal consistency of my excrement…just so you’re all in the know. Now that I have that off my chest, I’ll discuss some of the more positive experiences, few as they seem to me at this moment.

The first day I arrived in Gulu, I was brought to the gentleman's house who runs the NGO I'm working for. He lives square in the heart of the village known as "Kati Kati, Lacor, Gulu District." Upon meeting his rather large family (many of whom are just orphaned children), I was immediately welcomed...and with open African arms. It was more like a home-coming than a welcoming quite frankly.

Part of Acholi tradition (the main culture in Northern Uganda) involves welcoming their guests with what's known as a ‘fire talk’. This is basically the equivalent of sitting around the campfire telling stories, but in this case, the stories should have a moral or prevailing lesson to learn from. As I listened to the family share stories, I barely understood a word they said, but the laughter they shared was certainly contagious. Within minutes I found myself laughing along with them at god knows what...for all I know they were laughing at my frequent strolls to the latrine (outhouse). Incidentally, there were no true toilets there...it was a hole in the ground with lots and lots of creepy crawlies. Needless to say, both the fire and my hosts made me feel warm that night, and, as I later had my first "African shower" I looked up at a blanket of stars like I've never seen. The sky was boundless and immense, and I felt genuinely alive.

When I met Robert's little boy Roland, he was feeling quite under the weather with malaria. It's amazing how many people suffer from malaria here; out of the 12 people I was staying with last week (I'm now in a hotel) roughly half of them had it. Anyways, little Roland was running a severe fever, and, being that I had some extra Malarone (malaria treatment and prevention pills), I gave him 3 as per the directions on the box for toddlers. Within a single day he was back up and running...and here I was thinking that little things didn't make a difference. Not sure if it was the Malarone pills or not, but I think it had something to do with it....incidentally, little Roland says thanks to Mike and Tammy too!

Gulu is a city on the mend. Following several years of brutal conflict, it has achieved a much longed for peace. The scars of the war however, are everywhere. They're on the faces and buildings you pass by; on the bodies who hobble by you, and on the expressions you get when you say hello. War leaves such a devastating trail, long after the blood has dried up. As morbid as that may sound, it's the absolute truth. Being here and looking into such traumatized eyes is a haunting experience, it chills the soul and demands mention. Some of the stories I've heard from the people are too shocking to share; and in many ways, I've been traumatized just hearing them.

Before I close for the evening, I just want to finish off by saying that I've learned to be grateful; I've learned to never take for granted the myriad of blessings that life in Canada holds, and I don't want to give you a sermon on the mound, but please take a moment to reflect on how truly good you really have it, and how just a little effort can make a lasting change. Just ask little Roland.

Warm regards

Mike

Welcome to my Uganda blog

Hello from Gulu, Uganda.

I thought I'd begin with a brief synopsis of what I'll be covering here on this, my first blog.

Hopefully I don't bore you to death with my experiences, but if I do at any time, simply click that little red 'X' on the top right of your screen--or the red circle for the mac users :)

Anyways, I'll try to write on here at least a few times a week with my thoughts and experiences, and I'll share the odd memorable photo as well. Uganda is a place that taps into your soul; it gets right under your skin and demands that you have presence and a hell of a LOT of patience. From this (or the lack thereof) I hope to string together some logical thoughts over the next few months, which I hope are of some enjoyment to you all, if not a source of therapy for myself...god knows one needs it in Africa when you're alone.

If I rant at times, don't be surprised. There's a lot of things that push the limits of even the most patient of westerner's resolve. But, when I share the positive (because there's lots of that here too) enjoy it, and try to take in a new perspective of this part of the world.

I'll be posting my first real 'blog' a bit later tonight, I just need to go and grab some dinner and perhaps a $1 beer...or two.

Ciao for now