Week 4- A Day in the Life from PublicHealth Uganda on Vimeo.
Check out our week 4 video- A Day in the Life of an NU Study Abroad Student
Location: Kampala, Uganda
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Week 4- Interview with Martin
Week 4- Interview with Martin from PublicHealth Uganda on Vimeo.
Our week 4 interview with Martin from Peace for Children Africa
Location: Kampala, Uganda
Week 4 Slideshow- What Uganda Really Looks Like
Week 4- What Uganda Really Looks Like from PublicHealth Uganda on Vimeo.
Check out our week 4 slideshow- Dispelling the Myths: What Uganda Really Looks Like
Location: Kampala, Uganda
Week 4: Let the exams begin...
Location:Kampala
This week was pretty uneventful as far as travelling is concern BUT we did have two exams. The first exams are always the hardest because you don't know what to expect. Our Public Health professor tried to explain the grading system in Uganda which is very different from the grading in the states. According to him, no one ever gets an "A". Of course all of our jaws dropped but he explained that getting a "B" was really good. That seemed kind of lame but later we talked to Professor Stewart about it and she said she would handle the final grading. I don't know if I should be excited or frightened. After lots of hard studying we had the exam on Wednesday and it wasn't too bad. We all realized that we definitely over studied but I'd rather have that than have no idea how to answer the questions. On Friday we had our Luganda exam. That was a bit more stressful because the class is split in two and we are learning slightly different material. I haven't had a language exam since my junior year in high school!! There were so many things to remember, I didn't think I was going to make it, haha. Verbs, negations, food, dropping vowels, noun classes, numbers...woah! Luckily I had some friends to study with to help me recognize my weaknesses. As with the Public Health test, I think some of us over studied but there were definitely things I wasn't prepared for at all but that's ok. I know what I need to work on in the future. Sadly, Thursday was our last class with our Luganda teachers. In a few weeks we will have other teachers which I hear are excellent but I like my teacher. He is surprisingly nice once you get to know him. I remember the first day, I wondered if he smiled. Come the last week we had him smiling and laughing and I will miss it. Aside from the exams, I finally got my project figured out. I will be working with The AIDS Support Organization (TASO) and I am so excited. I will specifically be working with the their MDD group. In previous years it has been difficult for students to work with TASO but I am definitely one of the lucky ones. The work they are doing is so inspiring. Words cannot describe how happy I am to be working with them!!
This week was pretty uneventful as far as travelling is concern BUT we did have two exams. The first exams are always the hardest because you don't know what to expect. Our Public Health professor tried to explain the grading system in Uganda which is very different from the grading in the states. According to him, no one ever gets an "A". Of course all of our jaws dropped but he explained that getting a "B" was really good. That seemed kind of lame but later we talked to Professor Stewart about it and she said she would handle the final grading. I don't know if I should be excited or frightened. After lots of hard studying we had the exam on Wednesday and it wasn't too bad. We all realized that we definitely over studied but I'd rather have that than have no idea how to answer the questions. On Friday we had our Luganda exam. That was a bit more stressful because the class is split in two and we are learning slightly different material. I haven't had a language exam since my junior year in high school!! There were so many things to remember, I didn't think I was going to make it, haha. Verbs, negations, food, dropping vowels, noun classes, numbers...woah! Luckily I had some friends to study with to help me recognize my weaknesses. As with the Public Health test, I think some of us over studied but there were definitely things I wasn't prepared for at all but that's ok. I know what I need to work on in the future. Sadly, Thursday was our last class with our Luganda teachers. In a few weeks we will have other teachers which I hear are excellent but I like my teacher. He is surprisingly nice once you get to know him. I remember the first day, I wondered if he smiled. Come the last week we had him smiling and laughing and I will miss it. Aside from the exams, I finally got my project figured out. I will be working with The AIDS Support Organization (TASO) and I am so excited. I will specifically be working with the their MDD group. In previous years it has been difficult for students to work with TASO but I am definitely one of the lucky ones. The work they are doing is so inspiring. Words cannot describe how happy I am to be working with them!!
Week 4- Matatus, Private Hires, and Legs.
Location:Kampala
Getting around Kampala is easier said than done. While the city's busy and heavily congested traffic would lend itself to the notion that public transportation is readily available, in reality, the usage of said transportation is often more trouble than its worth. This is especially true of matatus --or public taxis cars that collect an unsettling amount of passengers into one van and weave in and around the crumbling roads despite their relatively large size. Crowdedness notwithstanding, another issue with matatus is that they only service certain areas while largely neglecting others. For example PCA, despite its being a walking distance away, is not accessible by matatu, necessitating a private hire, which if you're traveling alone can get quite costly. Furthermore, a trip can sometimes call for multiple matatus, requiring a transfer in Old Park- a large matatu park with more than 100 vehicles all identical in appearance and most poorly labeled. Needless to say, navigating by matatus is often a very long and cumbersome process. There are two alternatives to a matatu. The first is a private hire, which as previously mentioned, depending on the number of passengers can become expensive. On the other hand, walking is also an option --assuming of course that one's destination is within walking distance.
This week I made my first appointment to visit my NGO. I was informed that it was within walking distance from Mulago Hospital. The other alternative was taking a matatu, but my aforementioned sentiments regarding those taxis rendered that option unlikely. So I opted to walk. To get there, it was recommended that I forgo the busy main road and instead take the road less traveled --ie an unpaved, unmarked path winding through what looked like a rural landscape. My walk was largely solitary expect for the occasional children and bicycles. This was really unusual from the typical overcrowded, bustling paths in most other parts of Kampala. The walk was very pleasant until this path merged with a larger much busier street. The road was unmarked and since my NGO was supposed to be located on a main road, I assumed I was moving in the right direction. However, after walking down this road for close to fifteen minutes, I caught an address out of the corner of my eye and realized that I was on the wrong road ---by a long-shot. Evidently, I had entirely missed the "main road" I was supposed to turn at and kept walking past my destination for at least twenty minutes. Not realizing exactly where I was at the moment, I started asking for directions only to be met with shrugs and Luganda beyond my grasp. Finally, after being offered boda boda services at least a dozen times, I finally asked a boda driver to give me directions. He did and I finally made it to my NGO --sweaty and exhausted, but in one piece. Recommendations: choose your poison (Matatus, private hire, or legs) or learn the ropes and quickly.
Getting around Kampala is easier said than done. While the city's busy and heavily congested traffic would lend itself to the notion that public transportation is readily available, in reality, the usage of said transportation is often more trouble than its worth. This is especially true of matatus --or public taxis cars that collect an unsettling amount of passengers into one van and weave in and around the crumbling roads despite their relatively large size. Crowdedness notwithstanding, another issue with matatus is that they only service certain areas while largely neglecting others. For example PCA, despite its being a walking distance away, is not accessible by matatu, necessitating a private hire, which if you're traveling alone can get quite costly. Furthermore, a trip can sometimes call for multiple matatus, requiring a transfer in Old Park- a large matatu park with more than 100 vehicles all identical in appearance and most poorly labeled. Needless to say, navigating by matatus is often a very long and cumbersome process. There are two alternatives to a matatu. The first is a private hire, which as previously mentioned, depending on the number of passengers can become expensive. On the other hand, walking is also an option --assuming of course that one's destination is within walking distance.
This week I made my first appointment to visit my NGO. I was informed that it was within walking distance from Mulago Hospital. The other alternative was taking a matatu, but my aforementioned sentiments regarding those taxis rendered that option unlikely. So I opted to walk. To get there, it was recommended that I forgo the busy main road and instead take the road less traveled --ie an unpaved, unmarked path winding through what looked like a rural landscape. My walk was largely solitary expect for the occasional children and bicycles. This was really unusual from the typical overcrowded, bustling paths in most other parts of Kampala. The walk was very pleasant until this path merged with a larger much busier street. The road was unmarked and since my NGO was supposed to be located on a main road, I assumed I was moving in the right direction. However, after walking down this road for close to fifteen minutes, I caught an address out of the corner of my eye and realized that I was on the wrong road ---by a long-shot. Evidently, I had entirely missed the "main road" I was supposed to turn at and kept walking past my destination for at least twenty minutes. Not realizing exactly where I was at the moment, I started asking for directions only to be met with shrugs and Luganda beyond my grasp. Finally, after being offered boda boda services at least a dozen times, I finally asked a boda driver to give me directions. He did and I finally made it to my NGO --sweaty and exhausted, but in one piece. Recommendations: choose your poison (Matatus, private hire, or legs) or learn the ropes and quickly.
Week 4: Comfortabell
Location: Makerere University, Kampala, Uganda
The concept of comfort is very interesting. Naturally, people hate change. It’s much easier to stay in one place and do the same things, but to break out of that mold and try something different is exciting, but also very tough. Coming to Uganda brings a shake to the stable comfort. There is the new country, the new group of people, and many new relationships to build. You have no idea how things will develop with your classes, project, and inter-relationships will be directed.
During the first 4 weeks here, the experiences have been unbelievable. We have met so many new people and created life-long relationships, and I can truthfully say that there have been no experiences that I will regret. The comfort level that I feel has increased immensely. Quite honestly, coming into this trip I was unbelievably skeptical. My project idea was a wreck, and I had no idea how I would fix it to become something plausible in the next 10 weeks. I had no idea who anybody was going on the trip. For all I know, none of them would become my friends and we would not blend well. And lastly, Uganda may just be a place I absolutely hate, with the intense heat and culture that may hit me.
However, the exact opposite happened. The classes and my project have turned out well. They aren’t tough, but do require a bit amount of work to go to class and understand the material (I hardly go to class back at Northwestern, sadly). My project has turned for the better. I finally have a specific NGO to work with, Nsambya Home Care, and I have a protocol that fits my project well. The people on the trip have been incredible from Professor Stewart to the students at the back of the bus to the amazing Dan and Centurio. I have felt the group becoming something of a family and everybody involved as brothers and sisters experiencing difficulties together. And finally, the frightening country of Uganda has turned into a kingdom I have come to love. In fact, some of us were talking the other day, and the notion of home came up. Since we are currently in Zanzibar, it’s remarkable and nostalgic to emotionally miss the people and the university at Kampala that we currently call home. I have not had this much fun on an academic and tourist trip in my life, all because of the people, country, and activities we have gone through. My comfort level has shot out of the roof that I have even declared Uganda a more fun and comfortable place than back at home in Chicago. I have grown accustomed to the city and the attention people give us, that the friendly nature has grown in my hearts as something to be expected rather than taken granted for. The transportation is conveniently located and the city of Kampala, given some time, can be understood.
What I realize, though, is that with the concept of comfort brings risk. The second part of the trip will be tough because we have come to see this city and people as part of our home now that we are going to be willing to try activities that we are usually forewarned against. Just the other day, I was reading the New Vision, and the front page described a muzungu who stayed up past midnight at Kisenti (an area with some nightlife). Probably drunk and ready to pass out, she decided to take a boda boda home. The boda boda proceeded to go the opposite direction into the alley way where she was sexually harassed by several males. To avoid these kind of situations, you have to adjust your comfort level so that risks can still be avoided. You may be tempted to ride a boda boda, or go clubbing at Bubbles till the morning, but you have to realize that even though Kampala is now your home, there are still risks involved.
The concept of comfort is very interesting. Naturally, people hate change. It’s much easier to stay in one place and do the same things, but to break out of that mold and try something different is exciting, but also very tough. Coming to Uganda brings a shake to the stable comfort. There is the new country, the new group of people, and many new relationships to build. You have no idea how things will develop with your classes, project, and inter-relationships will be directed.
During the first 4 weeks here, the experiences have been unbelievable. We have met so many new people and created life-long relationships, and I can truthfully say that there have been no experiences that I will regret. The comfort level that I feel has increased immensely. Quite honestly, coming into this trip I was unbelievably skeptical. My project idea was a wreck, and I had no idea how I would fix it to become something plausible in the next 10 weeks. I had no idea who anybody was going on the trip. For all I know, none of them would become my friends and we would not blend well. And lastly, Uganda may just be a place I absolutely hate, with the intense heat and culture that may hit me.
However, the exact opposite happened. The classes and my project have turned out well. They aren’t tough, but do require a bit amount of work to go to class and understand the material (I hardly go to class back at Northwestern, sadly). My project has turned for the better. I finally have a specific NGO to work with, Nsambya Home Care, and I have a protocol that fits my project well. The people on the trip have been incredible from Professor Stewart to the students at the back of the bus to the amazing Dan and Centurio. I have felt the group becoming something of a family and everybody involved as brothers and sisters experiencing difficulties together. And finally, the frightening country of Uganda has turned into a kingdom I have come to love. In fact, some of us were talking the other day, and the notion of home came up. Since we are currently in Zanzibar, it’s remarkable and nostalgic to emotionally miss the people and the university at Kampala that we currently call home. I have not had this much fun on an academic and tourist trip in my life, all because of the people, country, and activities we have gone through. My comfort level has shot out of the roof that I have even declared Uganda a more fun and comfortable place than back at home in Chicago. I have grown accustomed to the city and the attention people give us, that the friendly nature has grown in my hearts as something to be expected rather than taken granted for. The transportation is conveniently located and the city of Kampala, given some time, can be understood.
What I realize, though, is that with the concept of comfort brings risk. The second part of the trip will be tough because we have come to see this city and people as part of our home now that we are going to be willing to try activities that we are usually forewarned against. Just the other day, I was reading the New Vision, and the front page described a muzungu who stayed up past midnight at Kisenti (an area with some nightlife). Probably drunk and ready to pass out, she decided to take a boda boda home. The boda boda proceeded to go the opposite direction into the alley way where she was sexually harassed by several males. To avoid these kind of situations, you have to adjust your comfort level so that risks can still be avoided. You may be tempted to ride a boda boda, or go clubbing at Bubbles till the morning, but you have to realize that even though Kampala is now your home, there are still risks involved.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Week 4- Practical Learning
Location: Kampala, Uganda
Before I came to Uganda, I thought the trip was going to be like another quarter of college with some adventure thrown in, and my dad said it sounded like a mini vacation. It turns out that both of us were wrong. Over the past 4 weeks I have discovered that, although the program is unlike any quarter spent at Northwestern, I'm learning more than I ever could in a classroom. We may only be taking three classes, and they may only meet in the mornings, but it is the time outside of the classroom where I feel like I learn the most. Now, I know this sounds cheesy, but let me explain. Our fourth "class" involves doing an individual project. It can be research, an internship, a performance, or just learning about and helping an NGO. The whole idea is that it should be tailored to the individual strengths, interests, and goals of the student. As I have developed my Photovoice research, made contacts in the community to find participants, and worked out the kinks of how a project dreamed up in the States will play out in a Ugandan context, I have been the most rewarded. My project, which looks into the HIV/AIDS experience of family members and caretakers of individuals infected with HIV, has given me a chance to learn about the reality of the disease outside of a classroom setting. Now, that's not to say that our Public Health classes haven't been phenomenal, because they have. We have heard lectures by some of the most famous Ugandan doctors, researchers, and scientists, and I am truly honored to have met them. But, graphs in a slideshow and theoretical models only go so far in conveying the true scope of disease in Uganda. Perhaps it's my anthropological training, but I love the human experience--I have to witness the real-life impact to fully appreciate the statistics from class.
For our first set of exams, I found it particularly difficult to study. It had nothing to do with how hard the material was or a lack of understanding, but rather because I felt I could be using the time in a different way. Instead of studying charts of disease indicators specific to Uganda, I felt like I could have been getting more experience with public health in the field--and many times I did. At home, I appreciate the university setting in which teaching is more structured, but my time in Uganda has taught me how important informal observation and training can be. As much as grades on a transcript might matter, for the past four weeks I'd rather have been learning untested material. At the end of these ten weeks I think I will look back and feel most rewarded by the time spent doing our "practicum" in the community. Facts and figures are important, but I have a newfound appreciation for unconventional learning and an increasing patience for the laid-back attitude and lack of promptness and planning that is customary in Ugandan society.
Week 4: Daily Life
Location: Kampala
After a month of staying in Kampala, I have developed something of a routine that is much different from the routine that shapes my life at home. This entry will be devoted to describing my typical day in Kampala.
I wake up much earlier here than I do at home. I do not tend to awaken early, but in Kampala, it is much more difficult to sleep in late, because it becomes rather hot, and because sooner or later, the many bird varietals that screech or whistle loudly make it difficult to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. We have our first class, Luganda, at nine, and usually I attend that class without first taking breakfast. This gives me something to look forward to come ten o’clock, when I can purchase a pot of African tea (similar to chai) and a mandazi (a type of donut without a hole that they have here) for 1,200 Ugandan shillings, or about 60 cents. Ida, who prepares most of the food, is very kind, and she is one of the few people with whom I feel comfortable practicing my Luganda. After breakfast, we either have our lecture on contemporary Ugandan issues, or we go to Makerere Institute of Public Health on the Mulago campus to attend our public health lecture.
After our morning classes I generally devote the remainder of my day to working on my independent project. I often walk down to Wandageya, the market a few hundred meters down from our apartments, where I have a plate of pilau (seasoned rice with meat and gravy), and where I can sit outside and figure out what to do that day, and where I can contact all the people that I need to meet with that day. From Wandageya, I usually take a matatu – 14 passenger vans that are sort of a hybrid between buses and taxis – to the city center. Matatus take some getting used to, because they have routes that they follow roughly, but they are generally unmarked, so you need to somehow determine where they are going, and you need to know where to get off, because stops are generally fairly random. They are definitely an interesting and refreshing way to travel though, especially when you are sharing your space with 13 other passengers, a large sack of green bananas, and several live chickens.
Until now, the work for my project has generally consisted of meeting with people to discuss how they will be involved in the project. I meet with Hip Hop artists to discuss my project with them and how they will be involved, with musicians who I will work with to develop instrumentals, with recording studio owners to find an appropriate studio to use, and with community members who have been somehow affected by HIV/AIDS, who will contribute to the content of the album. Needless to say, a great deal of time must be devoted to transport: Matatus, though cheap, are very slow. The traffic here almost never dissipates, and matatus, unlike bodas, cannot weave between cars and trucks, so there is a great deal of sitting and waiting. This is tedious but usually bearable, though it takes some getting used to the street children who, seeing a foreigner, come up to the windows and reach in asking for money.
I finish in the later evening, and I usually go back to Wandageya for supper. The many takeaways are by far the least expensive places to eat, and I have come to enjoy the rice with fish or meat stew or groundnut sauce that is inexpensive and widely available. Supper can be washed down with a Bell or Nile Special lager (often served warm), or with a spicy Stoney – tangawazi (ginger) beer. A short (often too short) amount of time after supper is devoted to studying, and for a late night snack, we will often walk back to Wandageya to buy rollex (derived from rolled eggs) on the street. This is a salty and satisfying snack of a chapatti and Spanish omelette rolled together and served in a small cellophane bag.
I take a cold shower and go to sleep under my mosquito net, and I somehow still wake up with bites on my arms and ankles.
After a month of staying in Kampala, I have developed something of a routine that is much different from the routine that shapes my life at home. This entry will be devoted to describing my typical day in Kampala.
I wake up much earlier here than I do at home. I do not tend to awaken early, but in Kampala, it is much more difficult to sleep in late, because it becomes rather hot, and because sooner or later, the many bird varietals that screech or whistle loudly make it difficult to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. We have our first class, Luganda, at nine, and usually I attend that class without first taking breakfast. This gives me something to look forward to come ten o’clock, when I can purchase a pot of African tea (similar to chai) and a mandazi (a type of donut without a hole that they have here) for 1,200 Ugandan shillings, or about 60 cents. Ida, who prepares most of the food, is very kind, and she is one of the few people with whom I feel comfortable practicing my Luganda. After breakfast, we either have our lecture on contemporary Ugandan issues, or we go to Makerere Institute of Public Health on the Mulago campus to attend our public health lecture.
After our morning classes I generally devote the remainder of my day to working on my independent project. I often walk down to Wandageya, the market a few hundred meters down from our apartments, where I have a plate of pilau (seasoned rice with meat and gravy), and where I can sit outside and figure out what to do that day, and where I can contact all the people that I need to meet with that day. From Wandageya, I usually take a matatu – 14 passenger vans that are sort of a hybrid between buses and taxis – to the city center. Matatus take some getting used to, because they have routes that they follow roughly, but they are generally unmarked, so you need to somehow determine where they are going, and you need to know where to get off, because stops are generally fairly random. They are definitely an interesting and refreshing way to travel though, especially when you are sharing your space with 13 other passengers, a large sack of green bananas, and several live chickens.
Until now, the work for my project has generally consisted of meeting with people to discuss how they will be involved in the project. I meet with Hip Hop artists to discuss my project with them and how they will be involved, with musicians who I will work with to develop instrumentals, with recording studio owners to find an appropriate studio to use, and with community members who have been somehow affected by HIV/AIDS, who will contribute to the content of the album. Needless to say, a great deal of time must be devoted to transport: Matatus, though cheap, are very slow. The traffic here almost never dissipates, and matatus, unlike bodas, cannot weave between cars and trucks, so there is a great deal of sitting and waiting. This is tedious but usually bearable, though it takes some getting used to the street children who, seeing a foreigner, come up to the windows and reach in asking for money.
I finish in the later evening, and I usually go back to Wandageya for supper. The many takeaways are by far the least expensive places to eat, and I have come to enjoy the rice with fish or meat stew or groundnut sauce that is inexpensive and widely available. Supper can be washed down with a Bell or Nile Special lager (often served warm), or with a spicy Stoney – tangawazi (ginger) beer. A short (often too short) amount of time after supper is devoted to studying, and for a late night snack, we will often walk back to Wandageya to buy rollex (derived from rolled eggs) on the street. This is a salty and satisfying snack of a chapatti and Spanish omelette rolled together and served in a small cellophane bag.
I take a cold shower and go to sleep under my mosquito net, and I somehow still wake up with bites on my arms and ankles.
Week 4- An Evening at PCA
This week I stayed late at Peace for Children Africa to see what life is like for these children after the sun goes down. On our previous visits, we always left before dark; so, we only saw the part of the day where they work on homework, MDD (music, dance, and drama), and play games. After the sun goes down, everyone begins their individual preparations for the next day. Some take showers while others prepare their clothes and supplies for school or help make dinner. The excitement and group energy that filled the compound during the daylight hours was replaced by a calm, individualistic aura. I was extremely happy I stayed because I got to interact individually with kids that I otherwise would only have played games or danced with in a group setting.
Two young boys wanted me to read with them. Due to their limited funds, they cannot afford to use electricity for lighting. So, we read by kerosene lamp, huddled together on a bench in the living room. They read from a book of short poems, pausing after words they didn't know for me to pronounce the word and give a definition. While I've had a lot of fun learning to dance and playing games with them, this was the first time I felt like I was actually making a difference in their lives even if it was just helping them to learn a few new vocabulary words. I was amazed at how honest and open they were because at their age I would never want to read in front a stranger if I didn't know how to say a word. They simply wanted to learn and read so nothing else really mattered. I've been in an academic culture for so long that is obsessed with getting the best grades and having the best skills that I had forgotten what it was like to want to learn for the sake of learning.
After reading, we ate a simple meal together before I headed back to Makerere. As the guest, I got the nicest plate, the only fork, and more than an individual's share of avocado. My initial instinct was to refuse the gesture and try to take a smaller portion in a plastic bowl. However, after being here for some time, I've realized that it's more rude to refuse food than to accept more than you need. It has been a tough lesson to accept that in some situations, it is better for you to feel embarrassed or a burden than to make your host feel like he/she cannot properly entertain a guest. Overall, I really enjoye my time at PCA and found that at night, there is a completely different environment that volunteers rarely experience.
Location: Peace for Children Africa, Kampala, Uganda
Two young boys wanted me to read with them. Due to their limited funds, they cannot afford to use electricity for lighting. So, we read by kerosene lamp, huddled together on a bench in the living room. They read from a book of short poems, pausing after words they didn't know for me to pronounce the word and give a definition. While I've had a lot of fun learning to dance and playing games with them, this was the first time I felt like I was actually making a difference in their lives even if it was just helping them to learn a few new vocabulary words. I was amazed at how honest and open they were because at their age I would never want to read in front a stranger if I didn't know how to say a word. They simply wanted to learn and read so nothing else really mattered. I've been in an academic culture for so long that is obsessed with getting the best grades and having the best skills that I had forgotten what it was like to want to learn for the sake of learning.
After reading, we ate a simple meal together before I headed back to Makerere. As the guest, I got the nicest plate, the only fork, and more than an individual's share of avocado. My initial instinct was to refuse the gesture and try to take a smaller portion in a plastic bowl. However, after being here for some time, I've realized that it's more rude to refuse food than to accept more than you need. It has been a tough lesson to accept that in some situations, it is better for you to feel embarrassed or a burden than to make your host feel like he/she cannot properly entertain a guest. Overall, I really enjoye my time at PCA and found that at night, there is a completely different environment that volunteers rarely experience.
Location: Peace for Children Africa, Kampala, Uganda
Week 4- Reflections
Location: Kampala
This past week was pretty uneventful. We carried out the tasks of everyday life; going to class, going to our NGO’s, getting dinner at Club 5 on campus, and trekking to Wandageya for Gonja (a grilled banana) or whatever else we have needed. I finally feel like I am starting to overcome my homesickness, but it always comes back when I least expect it. Before I came to Uganda, I knew in my heart that there would be a time when I would feel as if Africa was my new home. After all, I had dreamed about coming here my whole life. I KNEW that this was something I had to do for myself, and I was sure that I would adjust quickly and fall in love with the country. Well, perplexingly to me, this has not happened. Surely there is still the possibility, as this is only the fourth week, but I am beginning to doubt it. I had watched Save the Children ads and pictured myself saving those children. I had researched Kampala and Uganda. By the time I left, I had a pretty well-developed picture of what I was getting into. Most people we talk to, even Professor Stewart, has expected that our group wouldn’t have pictured Uganda as it is, but actually this is what I thought I would encounter. The reality of what goes on here, however, and not just what it looks like, is something different than what I had imagined.
A large part of this is my delusion that I can make a difference in Uganda. Working especially at Sanyu Babies Home, I can see that the Ugandan staff have everything figured out. It is the volunteers, many of whom are international, that make googly faces and think everything and everyone is just so cute. The staff knows the hard work that is involved. They love those kids dearly. There is nothing that we can offer them except extra hands. The more muzungus I see, the more annoyed I become. Although I hope to think I never thought I was superior in anyway, I feel that white people in general come to Africa seeking to “save Africa” and whatnot. What Africans need is a helping hand, not a superiority complex. There are many great intelligent minds here working for the change that we in the first world just talk about. I hate muzungu parades and I don’t want to be a part of the charade.
I was once told that if you want to be loved, there is always someone out there who will love you. I wanted to find my own personal joy in Uganda which comes with fulfilling, devoted relationships. I have found that at Peace for Children Africa, where the kids desperately want attention and someone to hug them. I love being that person for them, even if it’s for a short time and I am only deceiving myself with thoughts that I am actually doing them good. After all, I am leaving in a few short weeks. What will I have left them with? I am starting to think that I am falling much harder for them than they are for me. They are used to being left by bleeding heart muzungus.
Since I am beginning to find that sense of joy I have sought in coming to Africa, I wonder why I am still not as connected to Uganda as I had thought I’d be.
Week 4 - Refugee Children Define Abuse
Location: Kampala, Uganda
On the morning of Saturday, April 24, I waited in the small lobby of the InterAid Refugee Community Centre on Sir Apollo Kaggwa Road with a child counselor. In a meeting during the previous week, she had informed me that refugee children from all over Kampala convene at the center every Saturday morning at 9:30 to receive brief lessons in English, gender based violence, MDD, and a variety of other subjects. Seeking to give my research project a more narrow focus, I was excited to learn more about the struggles faced by refugee children in an urban setting. Though the counselor had already identified parentlessness, homelessness, and a lack of access to education as some of the most daunting challenges confronted by refugee children in Kampala throughout our previous interactions, I felt that this meeting would give me the opportunity to hear about these struggles from the children themselves.
Though the counselor had told me to expect the arrival of around 80 children, it was nearing 10:00 and only 7 youths had entered the doors of the community center. Though the counselor had initially seemed certain that many children would show up, she eventually admitted that one could never know for sure how many attendants these meetings would have. The problem is rooted in geography. Though InterAid had tried to position its community center in a convenient and accessible location, it was simply impossible to accommodate all of Kampala’s refugees. Though some refugee nationalities, such as the Somalis and Ethiopians, generally settle in a single location, larger refugee populations, most notably the Congolese, are sprawled all across Kampala. So despite the community center’s central location, travel time for some children may exceed two hours.
After giving the children a little more time to reach the center, we began our lesson on child abuse at 10:17 with a class of 12. Though a few of them spoke English fairly well, the counselor informed me that refugee children in Kampala are able to understand Luganda much more easily. Given this knowledge, I introduced myself accordingly: “Nze Mark, Nva mu America. Mu Uganda mberra Makerere University.” When introductions had been taken care of, the lesson began with the counselor asking the class to name all the different types of abuse that they could think of. After the students had offered their input, the counselor grouped all of their responses into two categories on a blackboard that rested against the wall at the front of the small classroom: physical abuse and psychological abuse. The counselor then continued, “physical abuse is what you see outside, mental abuse you can’t see but in their behavior you can see.” Though I was perplexed by her explanation, the children showed that that they had understood by nodding their heads and offering up additional examples of both types of abuse.
After directing the class to draw different types abuse that could be faced by children, she asked me watch over the classroom as she met with her boss outside. As I walked around the classroom, I noticed a common trend in all the pictures. Nearly every drawing depicted both beating and child labor. One picture, for example, was divided into three parts. The first part was labeled “overbeating” and displayed a man violently beating a boy with a long stick. The second part depicted a boy fetching water from very far away. Finally, the third part showed a small child watering a plant.
Although I was happy to learn that the children viewed abuse as more than just a physical act, I was also somewhat disturbed after seeing exactly what kinds of activities perceived as being abusive. Though the aforementioned picture depicted a form of child labor that certainly constituted child abuse, other pictures identified much less strenuous forms of child labor with abuse. For example, one nine-year-old girl drew a detailed picture of a child bathing her infant sister. Though I could only assume so much about this girl’s experiences from a two-dimensional drawing, it is hard to see how such an act could be abusive. I know that in many African societies, children are believed to have agency and are actively involved in domestic work. Though InterAid is a Ugandan NGO, it acts as an implementing partner of UNHCR and is thus influenced by its Western definitions of child labor and abuse. If these children are taught that their own cultural traditons are faulty, I fear these lessons may cause many more problems in the home than they solve. My own Ethiopian father, for example, was much more involved in the upkeep of his home than I am. It would be erroneous to say that my grandparents abused him by forcing him to lift a finger in his house. Given that InterAid must deal with refugees from such diverse backgrounds, I can only hope that it makes cultural sensitivity a priority in all of its activities. Otherwise, I doubt that these Saturday morning lessons will accomplish much.
On the morning of Saturday, April 24, I waited in the small lobby of the InterAid Refugee Community Centre on Sir Apollo Kaggwa Road with a child counselor. In a meeting during the previous week, she had informed me that refugee children from all over Kampala convene at the center every Saturday morning at 9:30 to receive brief lessons in English, gender based violence, MDD, and a variety of other subjects. Seeking to give my research project a more narrow focus, I was excited to learn more about the struggles faced by refugee children in an urban setting. Though the counselor had already identified parentlessness, homelessness, and a lack of access to education as some of the most daunting challenges confronted by refugee children in Kampala throughout our previous interactions, I felt that this meeting would give me the opportunity to hear about these struggles from the children themselves.
Though the counselor had told me to expect the arrival of around 80 children, it was nearing 10:00 and only 7 youths had entered the doors of the community center. Though the counselor had initially seemed certain that many children would show up, she eventually admitted that one could never know for sure how many attendants these meetings would have. The problem is rooted in geography. Though InterAid had tried to position its community center in a convenient and accessible location, it was simply impossible to accommodate all of Kampala’s refugees. Though some refugee nationalities, such as the Somalis and Ethiopians, generally settle in a single location, larger refugee populations, most notably the Congolese, are sprawled all across Kampala. So despite the community center’s central location, travel time for some children may exceed two hours.
After giving the children a little more time to reach the center, we began our lesson on child abuse at 10:17 with a class of 12. Though a few of them spoke English fairly well, the counselor informed me that refugee children in Kampala are able to understand Luganda much more easily. Given this knowledge, I introduced myself accordingly: “Nze Mark, Nva mu America. Mu Uganda mberra Makerere University.” When introductions had been taken care of, the lesson began with the counselor asking the class to name all the different types of abuse that they could think of. After the students had offered their input, the counselor grouped all of their responses into two categories on a blackboard that rested against the wall at the front of the small classroom: physical abuse and psychological abuse. The counselor then continued, “physical abuse is what you see outside, mental abuse you can’t see but in their behavior you can see.” Though I was perplexed by her explanation, the children showed that that they had understood by nodding their heads and offering up additional examples of both types of abuse.
After directing the class to draw different types abuse that could be faced by children, she asked me watch over the classroom as she met with her boss outside. As I walked around the classroom, I noticed a common trend in all the pictures. Nearly every drawing depicted both beating and child labor. One picture, for example, was divided into three parts. The first part was labeled “overbeating” and displayed a man violently beating a boy with a long stick. The second part depicted a boy fetching water from very far away. Finally, the third part showed a small child watering a plant.
Although I was happy to learn that the children viewed abuse as more than just a physical act, I was also somewhat disturbed after seeing exactly what kinds of activities perceived as being abusive. Though the aforementioned picture depicted a form of child labor that certainly constituted child abuse, other pictures identified much less strenuous forms of child labor with abuse. For example, one nine-year-old girl drew a detailed picture of a child bathing her infant sister. Though I could only assume so much about this girl’s experiences from a two-dimensional drawing, it is hard to see how such an act could be abusive. I know that in many African societies, children are believed to have agency and are actively involved in domestic work. Though InterAid is a Ugandan NGO, it acts as an implementing partner of UNHCR and is thus influenced by its Western definitions of child labor and abuse. If these children are taught that their own cultural traditons are faulty, I fear these lessons may cause many more problems in the home than they solve. My own Ethiopian father, for example, was much more involved in the upkeep of his home than I am. It would be erroneous to say that my grandparents abused him by forcing him to lift a finger in his house. Given that InterAid must deal with refugees from such diverse backgrounds, I can only hope that it makes cultural sensitivity a priority in all of its activities. Otherwise, I doubt that these Saturday morning lessons will accomplish much.
Week 4 - Good things come to those who wait
This week I had what I would call my first real run-in with "Uganda Time." I arranged to accompany a team from Butabika National Mental Referral Hospital on an outreach activity. I knew that I wouldn't be able to make it to Butabika in enough time to leave with the group to the outreach location, so I figured that I would meet them at the site. Centurio was gracious enough to accompany me so that I didn't get lost. We made it all the way to Old Park (a crazy-busy parking lot full of mutatus going all over Kampala) before figuring out that it would be easier for me to get picked up by the team half-way to the site.
So Centurio figured out how to get me to Ntinda, where the group from Butabika would meet me, and left me there to wait for their arrival. At this point, I called my contact from the outreach program, and it sounded like she said they were waiting for a driver. Now Butabika is on the far eastern side of Kampala, so I had a feeling that I would be waiting for awhile. Sure enough I stood in the sun in Ntinda for about an hour and a half before the Butabika truck pulled up and I jumped in the front seat. (They picked me up about two hours after the time that the outreach event was originally planned to begin.)
The outreach experience was definitely worth the wait, though. I went with the outreach director, two psychiatric nurses, and a psychiatric clinical officer to a health center in the northern part of Kampala. The health center was located within a school complex that was associated with an orphanage. When we pulled up, there was a small room full of people waiting to meet with the clinical officer. While the outreach director went to resettle a rehabilitated patient in his home, I sat in as the clinical officer interviewed patients briefly and updated their prescriptions.
Once again, I was alarmed by the amount of access I had to the patients' personal information. The clinical officer conducted the meetings in Luganda, but often he turned to me and explained what was happening in English. Through his comments and those of the health center nurse, I learned that many of the patients who came to the outreach event suffered from epilepsy.
Before coming to Uganda, I knew that epilepsy was often treated as psychiatric illness, even though it is treated more strictly as a neurological disorder in the United States. Thus, it struck me as odd that epilepsy would be categorized as a psychiatric issue. I learned, however, that epilepsy in Uganda affects many children, and psychiatric complications often accompany seizures. Because of these psychiatric complications, epilepsy is treated with other mental illnesses. There was also a mention of the tie between epilepsy and malaria, which is something I would like to investigate a little bit more.
The story of a young girl attending the outreach event for the first time provided the most striking example of psychiatric complications related to epilepsy. The health center nurse and adoptive mother of this child described how this girl would hallucinate during her epileptic episodes. As a result, the child would try to run away, jump from high places, and become violent. The mother thought that her daughter was possessed or cursed. When the girl was not having an episode, she was very calm and well-mannered. Luckily, someone convinced the mother to bring her child to an outreach event, and the young girl received medication for her condition for the very first time during my visit.
Overall, I learned a great deal about different conditions that affect people in Uganda and the way that illnesses are categorized differently depending on the manifestations of symptoms. As a result of my visit, I am thinking about working with the outreach team from Butabika or another group on a presentation that would raise awareness about epilepsy. Without an understanding of epilepsy, patients and their caregivers may be confused and not seek medical support as early as they could. Furthermore, stigma is often attached to anyone who suffers from a mental illness, and this need not be the case with sensitization.
I'm sure that Butabika and the health center do a great deal to educate the public about epilepsy and other conditions. Because we were running late on the day that I accompanied the outreach team, I was not able to view the presentation that the group normally gives in the community before personally meeting with patients. I look forward to learning more about the outreach program and epilepsy in Uganda in the coming weeks. My experience with the outreach team was certainly worth the two-hour wait in the sun.
Location: Kampala, Uganda
So Centurio figured out how to get me to Ntinda, where the group from Butabika would meet me, and left me there to wait for their arrival. At this point, I called my contact from the outreach program, and it sounded like she said they were waiting for a driver. Now Butabika is on the far eastern side of Kampala, so I had a feeling that I would be waiting for awhile. Sure enough I stood in the sun in Ntinda for about an hour and a half before the Butabika truck pulled up and I jumped in the front seat. (They picked me up about two hours after the time that the outreach event was originally planned to begin.)
The outreach experience was definitely worth the wait, though. I went with the outreach director, two psychiatric nurses, and a psychiatric clinical officer to a health center in the northern part of Kampala. The health center was located within a school complex that was associated with an orphanage. When we pulled up, there was a small room full of people waiting to meet with the clinical officer. While the outreach director went to resettle a rehabilitated patient in his home, I sat in as the clinical officer interviewed patients briefly and updated their prescriptions.
Once again, I was alarmed by the amount of access I had to the patients' personal information. The clinical officer conducted the meetings in Luganda, but often he turned to me and explained what was happening in English. Through his comments and those of the health center nurse, I learned that many of the patients who came to the outreach event suffered from epilepsy.
Before coming to Uganda, I knew that epilepsy was often treated as psychiatric illness, even though it is treated more strictly as a neurological disorder in the United States. Thus, it struck me as odd that epilepsy would be categorized as a psychiatric issue. I learned, however, that epilepsy in Uganda affects many children, and psychiatric complications often accompany seizures. Because of these psychiatric complications, epilepsy is treated with other mental illnesses. There was also a mention of the tie between epilepsy and malaria, which is something I would like to investigate a little bit more.
The story of a young girl attending the outreach event for the first time provided the most striking example of psychiatric complications related to epilepsy. The health center nurse and adoptive mother of this child described how this girl would hallucinate during her epileptic episodes. As a result, the child would try to run away, jump from high places, and become violent. The mother thought that her daughter was possessed or cursed. When the girl was not having an episode, she was very calm and well-mannered. Luckily, someone convinced the mother to bring her child to an outreach event, and the young girl received medication for her condition for the very first time during my visit.
Overall, I learned a great deal about different conditions that affect people in Uganda and the way that illnesses are categorized differently depending on the manifestations of symptoms. As a result of my visit, I am thinking about working with the outreach team from Butabika or another group on a presentation that would raise awareness about epilepsy. Without an understanding of epilepsy, patients and their caregivers may be confused and not seek medical support as early as they could. Furthermore, stigma is often attached to anyone who suffers from a mental illness, and this need not be the case with sensitization.
I'm sure that Butabika and the health center do a great deal to educate the public about epilepsy and other conditions. Because we were running late on the day that I accompanied the outreach team, I was not able to view the presentation that the group normally gives in the community before personally meeting with patients. I look forward to learning more about the outreach program and epilepsy in Uganda in the coming weeks. My experience with the outreach team was certainly worth the two-hour wait in the sun.
Location: Kampala, Uganda
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