Out of Africa

After two months and more adventures than I can recount, I have arrived back in the US with the difficult task of creating something that captures what I have seen and experienced. Yet, there is no true way to portray the many dimensions and subtleties of a culture, person or experience. One of the requests I continually encountered during my interactions with the numerous friends I made during my stay was to show not just the destitute and shocking parts or images of the area, but to give a more complete vision of what really exists. Honestly, most of the towns and cities have very modern accommodations and vary significantly from what is traditionally shown in infomercials or documentaries about Africa. But I think the truly beautiful part of my experience in East Africa lies within the people, not in the material. There is an overwhelming spirit of hope that lives within the communities all across the country. Hope combined with persistence and faith. Faith and hope that things will improve and persistence to move toward that end. Despite the fact that a large number of people are living amidst substandard conditions, disease, poverty etc., they manage to put things into perspective and move on with a broad smile. This is an incredible testament to the strength prevalent among the people. They persist and live where others would admit defeat and die. 

It is more impacting to connect with another human being than it is to encounter their accomplishments in form of buildings and monetary successes. The stories I bring home with me are not about the land or the homes or the money that people have. They focus on the people and what I learned from them, or was able to share with them. Through this, people are able to share a laugh, begin seeing eye to eye, or heart to heart. Then, a bond is formed and a friendship is created. We do not forget friends. We take our friends in during times of need. We do not let them starve, die of curable diseases, or never go to school because they can't afford it. We assist and help because we care about them and enjoy their companionship. The absence of this friendship on a global scale allows one individual to turn a blind eye to the hardships and sufferings of others, and allows that other to have to endure on his own. 

However, we cannot forget about hope. Hope that this can begin. Hope that we can care. And once we care, we can make a change... because we want to, not because we are told to. 

How Much Can Fit Into Two Weeks?

The fact that I have not written any posts in the past two weeks is a sign of the type of trip this group has had since their arrival. Every day has been a new adventure. And each day has lasted until exhaustion sets in and the only things left to do are eat and crash into bed, possibly still having the energy to drape a mosquito net over yourself. We have walked the overcrowded streets of downtown Kampala, sat amidst countless traffic jams watching bodabodas cruise by between the gaps of the cars, eaten all of the traditional local food (matoke, posho, chapatti, beans, sugarcane, meat, etc.), played soccer (here, it is football) and basketball with the local schoolkids, kept tabs on the various animals and people that dig through the trash heap up the road, experienced what the true meaning of "off-roading" is... except that it wasn't off the road, walked through and cleaned garbage out of the overflowing gutters in the slums, seen the future of grass roots agricultural communities and educational farms, had too many conversations to count with people of another culture, held far too many hands of children to keep track of, heard the word "muzungu" (white person) to the point that we refer to ourselves as such, played and sang with orphans, traveled to Gulu (a place rife with violence and war just 4 years ago) and seen the "undugu" (meaning brotherhood) celebration for peace and brotherhood with all people, watched traditional dancing, seen wild animals galore while seated on the roof of a van, hiked the cliffs of the Nile River to the top of Murchison Falls, and somehow found time to pack in leadership training sessions just about every night along the way. It has truly been an experience.

Arriving in the Dark

After much scrambling around town to finish last minute details and make last minute barters in preparation for the arrival of the student group from the US, the trip is underway. The Be The Change service group for this year, consisting of five high school students and three adults, arrived sometime past nine this evening to all of the many and unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells of Uganda. Arriving past dark is an odd entry to the country, since the anxiousness to see and experience the world around you is boiling over. Yet, all you can see are the lights of bodabodas weaving through traffic, the vague outlines of tables, people and produce at an open market, and glimpses through doorways of peoples homes or businesses as the car speeds along the highway from the Entebbe airport to the capitol of Kampala. Meanwhile, I sat facing them in the van, sputtering all of the random knowledge I had gleaned since my own similar arrival nearly two months ago, knowing that for now, most of it was going to fly over their jet lagged heads. It doesn't matter what anyone tells you anyway. You have to see it. Upon this sort of late night arrival, the surreal sense that you are in another country lingers uncertainly. Without actually seeing anything clearly, things remain vague and it is difficult to place yourself in the surroundings. The air smells different, feels different, and the people talk differently. For the first night, you are told not to drink the water and to use the mosquito net provided for you above your bed. However, nothing settles in until the light of the next day. It is a matter of seeing things for yourself - that's exactly what everyone in the group is here to do. So, until tomorrow, they remain in a sort of limbo, waiting to see Africa with their own eyes - to discover it for themselves. Then, the real journey begins.

Kenya and the Shelter of Hope

I have just returned to Uganda from an exciting and extremely busy two weeks in Kenya. I apologize for the lack of posts during my time there, but unfortunately I was without internet access during my stay. Therefore, forgive the length of this post, as there is much to write.  

So, I arrived in Mombasa (on the coast of the Indian Ocean) on the eve of the first of July. I had attempted to speak with Sr. Gen (my contact in Voi), but the connections were unclear each time I attempted to reach her, thus I had no idea what to expect when I arrived particularly in regard to whether or not someone would be there to pick me up and where I was to be staying. After an interesting journey of missing the connection for my second flight (adding another seven hours to my travel) and the airline losing my luggage, I was greeted by the Sisters of St. Joseph at the gates to the city. Needless to say, I was beyond grateful to have a place to stay after thinking I was just going to wing it when I got to the city, a lone muzungu roaming unfamiliar streets at night, great idea. 

Anyway, I stayed two nights in Mombasa, a beautiful city on the coast, and met far too many nuns to name, all of which own a wonderful wit and contagious sense of humor. Here, I prepared for my trip to Voi, where I would be doing the filming for this leg of the trip. And after a peaceful and humorous stay, I made the journey to Voi (about 350 km West of Mombasa on the road to Nairobi - the capitol of Kenya). Voi sits in the valley of the Taita Hills, a Mountain range that springs up out of the sprawling, impressive, but desolate plains of central Kenya. Upon my arrival, I was greeted with by the Sisters at the St. Joseph Shelter of Hope (SJSH). As a norm, the women keep offering to carry my bags for me, and I keep denying, which then results in them wrestling the luggage out of my grip and doing it anyway. The women are strong. 

After an exploration of the city of Voi with Karl Kameru, a friend and the technical coordinator of SJSH, I hit the ground running with the story of the Shelter. Now, I imagined that most of the work would be done at their clinical facility on the compound, which would make sense in my understanding of a clinic. I was wrong. SJSH is a home-based care clinic, meaning they take the care to the patients. Again, I didn't really realize what this meant until I got in the 4 wheel drive enabled truck early Monday morning and we started scaling the sides of the mountains, climbing up ever increasingly dangerous roads (which should be termed "paths" or "death traps" instead of "roads") to the destination of the day. Over an hour later, we arrived at the location for the mobile clinic. This first day's site was situated on top of one of the Taita Mountains. Such a number of patients had shown for the clinic day that there was not enough room, thus they were content to sit in the grass outside and wait. Most are AIDS patients needing evaluation, medication and support. Some are weakened even to the point of being unable to walk. And since none of the people own vehicles, the patient is usually transported in a wheelbarrow - a very sad sight. 

SJSH provides mandatory educational presentations prior to the beginning of treatment - a very valuable tool in decreasing the stigma in the AIDS community. It raises awareness about the disease and quells rumors about false treatment. Support groups are required as well for the afflicted, a proven aid for mental well-being during treatment, as companionship is as important as medication when dealing with a chronic illness. The nurses, clinical professionals, pharmacists, etc., remain at the clinic until the demand is met. They do not leave just because five o'clock strikes. Their work is to provide health care to those that need it, so they remain until the job is finished. 

Each day, the SJSH staff commutes to these rural communities in all directions, working in some of the most improvised facilities imaginable. One of which was literally the container of a semi-trailer, divided in half by a sheet hung on rope to establish an examination "room" and a place for the taking of vitals. The lab and pharmacy are then relegated to tin shacks that look like slightly enlarged dog houses. The nurses also make home visits to check up on the patients, walking through the villages to make sure their patients are surviving and have their medications. I cannot imagine how taxing it would be to do this work on a daily basis, knowing that I was exhausted after just one day, and beyond exhausted by the end of the week. Yet they do, and they do it with a strong dedication and care unrivaled by most. The people need the care, and they provide it. That is the end of it. 

Due to the efforts of SJSH in establishing care and support groups, there is an undeniable sense of hope in the AIDS patients. One would think that dealing with a chronic disease of this caliber would create a defeatist attitude, causing the patient to descend into depression. However, each person I spoke with was rich in spirit and faith. One patient support group in particular has begun doing outreach education on their own, utilizing the arts of dance, song and poetry to raise awareness about AIDS. They see it as their duty to help stop the spread of the virus and the spread of the stigma attached to it. The hope in the room is undeniable. They believe we can beat this. That we can stop the spread, that we can find a cure, that, even when afflicted, we can live a rich life. They have Hope. Well, I think it's obvious that the St. Joseph Shelter of Hope is appropriately named. 

Walking Through The Slums

Yesterday I met with William Kwezi for the day to explore some of the other parts of Kampala. We met in the usual hyper-congested "old taxi park" (literally, where the taxis park and pickup new loads of people) just within the borders of downtown. A note about the taxis: here, what they call taxis are the equivalent of our busses. You pay a flat rate, usually between 600 and 1,000 shillings (about 25 to 50 cents) and it takes a predetermined route through some of the most confusing, disordered, unkept streets imaginable. Instead of a bus, they use the matatu. Now, imagine the classic 60's VW hippie-van, and instead of shag carpet on the interior... actually, forget about the interior, just picture about as many people as you can fit in one vehicle all sitting halfway on top of one another, all of whose heads go bobbling back and forth as the tires vainly attempt to weave around the potholes. There are no signs of destination on the vans either, a money collector leans out the window as it speeds past and simply points in the direction they are headed. They stop for just about any kind of physical gesture that may be made from a potential customer. Several have stopped just by my making momentary eye contact with them as they passed, yelling at possible travelers. 

Now, the equivalent to the taxi is the bodaboda: a scooter or motorcycle. Tell them where you want to go, barter a price, jump on the back, and hold on for dear life. They pride themselves on being quick. Which they are, and are much more time efficient than the "taxis" since they can weave in and out of the other stopped cars and use the sidewalks if they so desire... in fact, they can use anything if they want to. Just make sure to keep your knees plastered to the bike or you may lose them as you pass oncoming traffic. Anyhow, public transport is an experience in itself. 

So, I met William at the "old taxi park" and we took off to the west side of the city. As we arrived at the destination, I took a glance around and didn't notice anything unusual about the surroundings. It looked just like the rest of the outskirts of the city did. However, we began walking and took a turn down a hill into a valley... and it was then that I saw what looked like a sea of rusted tin and debris. The slum. It hides in the shadows of the new building projects and businesses on the hills that surround the bleak looking valley. As we walked into the midst of the huts and shacks that make up this area, I noticed each of them was not much bigger than a standard bathroom. Some with straw roofs, others with rusted-through tin. Some with mud walls, others with poorly laid brick. The alleys were dominated by the presence of the deep gutters that ran along them. These fill with water during the rains and the people use them for washing or bathing... a filthy composition of mud and garbage. However, these were only meant to withstand a certain amount of precipitation. During the wet season, the entire valley floods and people live in a tepid pool that invades their "houses." 

However, the people don't seem glum or dispirited. They work. They continue to push on and make do with what they have. Persistence when most would concede defeat. And it spreads for nearly a mile... much further than it should. 

The worst part about this, was that by this point, I was not in a state of shock at what I was seeing. I had accepted it. I had seen living conditions like this in so many other places all throughout the city. The only difference here is the amount of them packed together so tightly in such a grim space. I knew in my head that I should be affected by this, but I was neither in awe or disbelief. That may be the saddest part. The steady diet of being surrounded by this each day and then reading in the papers each morning about the corruption in the political system and not seeing any changes in the national budget to help eventually settles in, and the undeniable fact that there is no aid coming in the near future for these families is unwillingly digested. It's like when you start drinking and hate the taste, but you do it because everyone else does and eventually it feels good. Yeah, everyone else does it, but this won't ever feel good. At least I hope not. 

Editing and Planning

Over the past few days I have been working to edit the surplus of footage (over 6 hours already) that I have taken thus far. I know six hours does not sound like that much, but when you sit down to go through each shot to see exactly what you want to use or toss, it becomes an incredibly lengthy undertaking. Along with that, transferring the raw footage to the computer and then saving it to a backup hard drive as well takes even more time. But, despite the time it takes, it is a fun process, and really allows me to glean insight into what direction the film is heading in advance. I still have some big projects to shoot and people to interview. I will be heading to Kenya this next week to focus on health care and AIDS, then back to Kampala to film the agricultural developments of William Kwezi, then to walk the slums to see the drastic side of poverty, then to Gulu (the same city that the Invisible Children project is based in) to focus on education with Fr. Tony Wach, and even to Murchison Falls National Park to include the popular tourist side of Africa. Of course, I will be tagging along with any project that catches my eye or ear in the meantime in order to make this a diverse view of East Africa. Many times people tend to show only the drastic, devastating side to the outside public because that is the most shocking and can gain funds. Others only show the beautiful side in order to gain tourist attraction. So, the hope is to show both extremes and everything in between to give (more or less) a "true" glimpse into East Africa. 

Granted, a true version of African life is nearly impossible here, as each 40 kilometers travelled reveals an entirely different tribe or clan, speaking yet another unique language (I can't count the number of languages that I've stumbled across, luckily, many people also speak a bit of English). The country is extremely diverse, with an overwhelming number of traditions and customs and people. It would be difficult enough to convey the beauty and tragedy of life in just one city. However, that is all a part of the story. 

An Afterthought

I have been thinking about my journey to the school at Nsumba over the past few days, and I find myself consistently dwelling upon a very specific image that I encountered while there. That is, of two young toddlers gripping my one available hand as I filmed the orphanage dormitory. One grasping my thumb and index finger, the other holding the remaining three fingers on my left hand, since I had the camera in my right. This was how we travelled. For a full hour or so. Each time we sat, both immediately jumped into my lap. They were content here, not only for affection, but they were entranced by my leg hair and decided to pet my calves. I couldn't help but laugh at that. Though, upon standing, the two would clutch on to my fingers as quickly as they could... and it remains very vivid in my mind. 

They were absolutely starved for affection, and immediately it dawned on me how much I was missing in my perception of what I was encountering. It is easy to be overwhelmed by the nature of the living conditions and to direct focus toward that. However, I began to reflect more and more on the family life of these incredibly charismatic and beautiful kids. That is... that there is no family life for them. There is no father, no mother, no nurture and comfort when they need it. No constant, unconditionally loving person to rely on. It's heartbreaking to think about this for too long, especially after spending so much time with them and bonding so quickly. This has been troubling me because I have spoken with many people locally, and have found that adoption is nearly impossible here. First, many don't have the ability to do so. Second, there still remains a very strong connection to clans and most people don't want to adopt outside of their own. So, that leaves these bubbling toddlers with nothing, and nothing coming. The orphans remain orphans... a very sad reality for what would have been such wonderfully bright futures...

A Few Stills

I was finally able to get my computer connected here in Kampala. So, now I can begin adding some media to the site so you can see what footage I've been getting since I began. The following are a few stills from the past two weeks, encompassing Lake Victoria, The Rwenzori Mountains while in Kasese, Kibiito, Nsumba, and a few others. Most of these are scenic, as they are from the rural areas. I will begin to add the more urban areas next, as that is an entirely different experience of Uganda. The pictures are yet to be edited, but this is the raw form. So, for now, enjoy!

"We Believe Children Should Not Be On The Streets" - The gated entrance to the St. John's Orphanage School in Nsumba

One of the newly baptized members in a small, very poor Catholic Church outside of Fort Portal

Children out playing during a break in the school day

The Rwenzori Mountains ("The Mountains of the Moon") viewed from Kasese

A village butcher shop on the side of the road on the way to Kasese

A Sunset on Lake Victoria

So, that's it for now, I'll post more soon. I will be traveling to William Kwezi's agricultural community this weekend, and then off to Voi, Kenya for two weeks. The adventure continues.

Another Day, Another Project

Early this morning I travelled with Fr. Gene Hattie to St. John's School in Nsumba (about 48 km South of Kampala). It seems that each person I meet here is involved with yet another crucial service site or project (many with non-profit groups and organizations) and is working desperately in an attempt to better people's lives, homes, education, health, etc. Truthfully, the number of projects becomes a bit overwhelming. There is so much need. In most cases, using the phrase "bettering people's lives" doesn't quite translate to an American understanding of life. Most of the work raises the level of care to an American substandard of living. I don't think many can even imagine the original circumstances, and still wouldn't if they were written here. So, it is a bit obvious where this is heading even before I begin focusing on the site I filmed today.

Arriving at St. John's was a journey in itself. It is located far off of the main roads and requires some off road "hold onto anything you can, so you don't fly out the window" type driving. Immediately, it becomes apparent that just getting children to school is a difficult endeavor. This seems to be true in many of the rural schools, as well as the rural clinics. Many of the children walk quite a distance on their own, along streets that most parents in the U.S. would not dream of allowing their children on. These are the kids with homes and families (or at least partial ones). The rest of the children at the school are orphans. Some orphaned as a result of AIDS, others poverty, still others for any number of reasons. The school is home to some 350 orphans (ranging from infants to teenagers), all needing shelter, food, clothing, education and health care (not to mention love and affection). The school does not have the adequate funds to provide proper facilities or care, and therefore is struggling to stay afloat. Yet, the children persist, as do the teachers and the others attempting to help in any way they can. They sleep on triple bunk beds (many of which are falling apart) crammed next to each other in rooms without windows. They use the bathroom in latrines with no roof. Even the floors (a fairly basic thing, yes?) have holes large enough for the children to fall through.

I suppose you'd become numb to it after some time. Or perhaps not. Either way, it is unacceptable. And yet, there is hope. Not from without, but from within. It is the children that smile and laugh, that run and chase, that hold your hand or clutch your leg, that become fascinated with sunglasses, or sit in the dirt and ask you to sit with them: these are the things that move me to believe that change has to come at some point. Because when people see this, they are moved to make a difference. Aren't they? Or does it not matter? As long as we can switch off the film at the end of the program and change the channel to something better, the help won't come. And sure, the children smile and laugh because they're children. That's what children do. But, as they grow up, without help, their futures become dimmer and dimmer. The school cannot support these children for long, and many of them may not make it through... or make it at all. BUT, I leave here in a month and a half and then I get to come back to the U.S. where I don't have to see it every day. So what do I care?

Evening Thoughts

The nights here are cool. The soft breeze is welcome after the hot, dry afternoon sun. Each day, no matter the time, music can be heard somewhere in the distance (and here, with music comes dancing). I am doing my best to revel in my time here: to enjoy each moment thoroughly, as they are rich, vibrant and full of life. That is, full of life in many different ways. In just two weeks, I have seen the splendor of the mountains, lakes and scenery... the laughter and smiles of people in their homes... the welcoming arms of old friends... the frantic speed of the city... the frail shape of bodies on medical beds... the excitement and wonder in the eyes of children to see a video camera... the cattle and storks sifting through and feeding on garbage... the elderly holding out their hands for change... the naked children playing in the dirt... the cockroaches in my sink... the impressive commonplace balance of four people on a motorcycle speeding down pothole-ridden dirt roads... the deserted beginnings of medical clinics lacking funding... the dedication of believers marching to honor their martyrs... the overwhelming number of houses painted in bright pink or yellow as advertisements for phone companies... the genuine laughter shared between friends... the absent hopelessness of a drunk lying on the side of the road... the overcrowded shops, sheds, tents, blankets and tables taken for businesses in the marketplace... the power and grace of traditional dancing... the drastic difference of living between neighbors, one in a broken, crumbling shack, the other in a new, stunning, fenced in palace... the comedy, tragedy and beauty of another culture... another life... another world...

And yet, it is not so different from home.