A GREEN ROOM WITH A NEW VIEW

So much has been happening it's difficult to know where to begin. I moved to a new site, Kiyunga (pronounced cheeuunga) and painted my new room green. I decided to start cooking for myself, bought myself a kerosene stove and I stare at it every night as I eat raw vegetables and cereal(I am able to mix powdered milk with water so really I am kind of cooking). I know enough Luganda to have very, very basic conversations i.e. 'I do not speak luganda, I am learning slowly.' I know how to say 'I love you' (kwagala nyo) but I don't really bust that phrase out in general conversation.

I love my new place and it feels a little like home. It's amazing what a coat of paint can do for a girl. I used to lie awake in my old place, shining my head lamp on the walls-looking for bugs. Last night I lounged in my bed, saw a bug running across the wall and didn't do a thing. I didn't feel trapped waiting to be bitten...I knew that this was my place and they were just visiting. I do miss Willy and Liz though, they regulated the nightlife in Naggalama.

It was not difficult leaving my original NGO but it was a little sad leaving the village. I ended up sort of bonding with my apartment manager Jonathan and Tespista. I started having real conversations with them and didn’t always feel like I was a walking dollar sign when I was with them. I realized that maybe Tespista really did care when she said ‘Lala (they call me that because r’s are pronounced as l’s), if you teach at that new school, make sure they pay for transport, they do that for the other teachers.’ I almost hugged her. I came here wanting to find out that Ugandans were just like us. I got here, saw how incredibly different things are here and felt that they were nothing like us. Everybody I met chatted to me for a few minutes, then requested money or some type of donation from me. It sucked, made me angry and I decided to not give anything to anyone. I figured if I helped one person, they would all hear about it and I would be inundated with a thousand more requests. I have not felt a lot of warmth for the people of Uganda and it has taken awhile for my heart to begin to soften again. The constant requests for money don’t necessarily get any easier to handle but I’m starting to understand that I might do the same thing if I were in their positions. So I’ve kind of started helping out a little bit, donating even when it might mean more requests later on. I just can’t keep saying no. I understand that I cannot help everyone here, my money is just a drop in the bucket and for every one person helped, a thousand more need assistance. But I think helping one person may have become enough for me. I came here wanting to change the world, wanting to help thousands…now I think I would be satisfied knowing that I had positively impacted just one. And it’s not always with money, some people just want to consult with a westerner about an idea they have.

Many people here have such faith in Westerners. A woman at one of the schools I teach at asked if I would counsel her son every week. I explained to her that I am not trained to do that in any way…was very emphatic. She told me that she had taken her son to see brain specialists, psychologist, etc…but maybe talking to a westerner would help because she has heard that we have ways of helping people who are mentally ill. I told her that there was little I could offer if all of the qualified people she had taken him to see could not help. She still wanted me to meet with her son, just talk to him, maybe listen. Another man wants to start a school in a remote village, since I’m from America he assumes that I will be able to help fund the school, set it up, organize the planning…

I visited with a 19 year old girl last night, very sick with HIV related illness. I sat in a tiny, brick room with dirt floors and looked at this skinny girl lying on a crappy mattress, barely able to move, not talking. She shouldn’t be this sick yet but she gave birth two months ago and has not recovered from the labor. The father took off with the baby right after it was born. So she’s dealing with a huge psychological blow as well. Gavah, his wife, the girl’s mother and uncle were all in the room discussing what could be done. The family can’t afford an ambulance or a private hospital. The government hospital is seen as the place you go to die. They sat there and I suggested we get a doctor to visit her. They looked at me as if I knew what I was talking about. What do I know? I can’t pay for her to stay in a private hospital but I could probably afford to get a doctor to do a home visit. I know…there are 12 other people in Kiyunga alone suffering from the virus, will I be able to help them all? No, probably not. But I couldn’t blind myself to this girl, pretend that I didn’t go out and spend the amount of money a home visit would cost, this weekend in Kampala. God this place can mess with your head. I never know the right thing to do, can only take things one experience at a time.

Tespista and I were hanging out one morning, I was sipping tea, she was preparing samosas (which I’m learning how to make). We started talking about having children, motherhood and marriage. She has 4 biological children and 3 other kids she takes care of. Anywho, I said that I wanted to have children one day and she said she loved being a mother…that when she had her first baby, she bought him a little birthday cake every month for his first year. I don’t know why but something inside of me just softened and I felt like I could finally relate to a Ugandan in a real way. Moments like that make me feel grateful for this opportunity.

I still have no idea why I’m here…I don’t know if I’ll ever know why I needed to come but I think I did. I feel myself changing, growing up, becoming softer and harder all at the same time.

I love the movie Forrest Gump, especially the scene where Lieutenant Dan straps himself to the sail and rides through the storm, cursing at God, wondering why he lost his legs, why his life wasn’t what he thought it would be. Sometimes I feel like the last two months was me riding through the storm, cursing God, wondering why I was given so much when others have so little. I would love to write that I’ve had this personal revelation and have my answer but I don’t’. There is no answer, but God didn’t give up on me, my circumstances haven’t changed and neither have the circumstances changed for all the Africans I cry for. So maybe just moving forward is my answer. Who knows?

One more thing…I moved to the site where my Peace Corps friend Michelle lives. This morning she gave me a random good morning hug, I loved it. She has a bedroom and a living room that the kids use as their play room. I borrowed a laptop from another volunteer for the weekend and Michelle and I set up her living room as a theater and hosted a movie night for the kids. Friday night, 30 or so boys piled into a stinking hot room, barely able to hear the dinky speakers or see the tiny screen and watched Shrek 2 with bated breath and wide eyes. Sunday night was girl’s night. So little, goes so incredibly far here.