Last week (two weeks ago now, as our internet has been out for a week), the mission held a five-day seminar on transformational development. Mission members, the medical clinic staff, and many of the influential K’jong were invited to attend. Punctuality is not regarded as a virtue in Africa. Important people are actually supposed to arrive late, as their time is more valuable and they shouldn’t be kept waiting. The seminar was scheduled to begin at 10am, but everyone was told to arrive at 9am in hopes that we could begin an hour or so later (we began at 10am, and most people showed up by 11am). Greetings, snuff, and pre-pay phone cards were continually exchanged by all. Though the invitations clearly stated that individuals would not be paid for their attendance (people are sometimes paid to attend seminars in Uganda), when people realized that the mission actually meant what they said, a riot broke out. Lots of arguing and shouting about how they should be paid (obviously the very word “workshop” implies that they should be paid, no?), until almost all of the room walked outside to discuss it. The mission provided lunch, but that wasn’t good enough either, because they wanted sodas and chicken (extravagances that are not provided at other workshops either). I was surprised to see how many people returned on Tuesday, and it went much smoother thereafter, at least until the argument was resumed Friday afternoon. I think we lost a few of the most belligerent individuals.

Over the years, incredible amounts of aid money have flowed into Karamoja, yet there’s very little to show for it. Programs collapse, NGOs leave, and the locals are no better (and arguably worse) off than previously. Although World Food can be an important resource, their presence and donations provide little motivation for the K’jong to do their own planting – why bother, if you know someone else will do the work for you? Transformational development is essentially the concept of sustainable changes initiated at a grassroots level; the idea that the locals must take responsibility for their problems and act to resolve them. In Karamoja, this really is a foreign concept. The culture is very fatalistic; the K’jong don’t believe that there can or will be any improvement in their situations, and certainly don’t believe they can do anything about it. They believe that there is a limited amount of wealth, and that if someone has more than you do, than he’s taken your share of it, so it’s only fair for you to take it back. The basis of the conference was getting people to recognize that they were made in the image of God, and therefore have the intelligence and ability to think, make decisions, and take control of their situations – that they are capable of solving some of their own problems. For example, if food shortage is an issue, plan ahead and plant crops instead of relying solely on World Food or theft (although the culture is so depraved that people cannot save/store anything, as it will be stolen by their neighbors or relatives). When asked to evaluate negative aspects of their communities, the list was extensive: drunkenness (much of the population is seriously alcoholic), poverty, violence, ignorance, theft… When asked to name the positive aspects, most laughed and replied “emam” – they saw nothing good at all. The positives actually came from the missionaries, one of which broke out in tears as she described the compassion she had witnessed by the K’jong towards the weak: the blind and crippled are accepted and integrated into the community (Loduk Albino had polio as a child and cannot walk, but is respected and has five beautiful children), warriors carry their infants to the clinic for medical care, some of the K’jong have picked up or cared for the missionary’s own crying children.

I have no idea what will come of the conference, but it’s at least a start. Some of the K’jong were shocked to find that they could actually have a conversation with a mizungu (white person), and a woman pointed at me as she explained that the Picot (another tribe) and mizungus were no longer enemies. Small steps.

I’m continuing to enjoy life here. I’m trying to be brave. Things happen that I would freak out about at home, but here, you just have to suck it up and be okay. Like when I was a counselor at a junior high camp and we had mice in the cabin, and I just had to be the adult and pretend everything was okay, and eventually it becomes that way. Last week, I was going out to use the latrine before I went to bed. Turned on the light, opened the door, and saw a rat running around inside. I shut the door and went to use one of the inside bathrooms instead, resolving to just deal with it in the morning (meaning get someone else to deal with it in the morning), but then realized that would need to use the latrine before the rat was removed. So got my flashlight and searched the compound for one of our guards, and managed to communicate enough that he followed me to the latrine with his bow and arrow (they don’t really speak English). I don’t know if he understood that I was trying to get him to kill a rat, but he certainly figured it out as soon as we got there. I didn’t watch, but he took care of it and signaled to me that it was done. I was trying to call one of the cats over to come and take the body, but the guard motioned that this wouldn’t be a possibility, as the rat had gone down into the latrine pit. At this point, I tried to find out whether the rat was actually dead or whether he was going to crawl out at a most inopportune moment (all done with hand signals), and the guard drew his finger across his throat and taught me the K’jong word for “dead” or “killed” or similar (I don’t know the particular meaning, but certainly got the gist of it). Anyways, yet another interesting cross-cultural experience.

Went to the Entebbe zoo (outside the capital city of Kampala) this week. Was annoyed upon entry, because had been required to pay 4x the admission price of the locals, and then sent back to pay for use of my camera. After that, things vastly improved. The zoo definitely would not have measured up to US safety standards. Because of that, it was fabulous. We were able to get so much closer to the animals than we would have at home. I could have touched the ostriches and monkeys if I had any desire to, and could have easily joined the lion in his habitat. If people exercise common sense, no problems, but if you were of a mind to do something stupid, you’re going to suffer for it. I saw an empty cage, covered with ivy and vines. Obviously hadn’t been used in awhile. I was told that it formerly housed the monkeys, but they had reproduced quickly and surpassed the capacity of the cage. So instead of building a larger cage, they now have run of the park. It was awesome. The monkeys came within a couple feet of us, and we were able to watch them playing, fighting, eating… I got some really good pictures. Some of the kids around us were edging up to the monkey (one of our party heard the father encouraging his son to touch the animal, assuring him that it was quite safe). When the monkey decided that the kid had gotten close enough, it turned, snarled, and chased the kid across the field. The kid was fine, and I laughed. I kept my distance. Yes, the monkeys are used to people, but they’re definitely not tame.

The next day, spent the afternoon at the Kampala amusement park (we’re kind of on vacation). Admission is the equivalent of $3 USD, and can’t imagine how they’re staying out of the red. The city electricity occasionally goes out, meaning that the business must run a generator to operate the rides. Let me tell you, this is nothing like Worlds of Fun. The Octopus (that spinning ride that goes up and down) is made much more exciting simply because it’s in Africa, and I somehow doubt whether their safety precautions would make par in the States. I’m not disappointed. The arm (or tentacle, if we’re going to be technical) of my cart sounds and feels as though it is popping in and out of joint. After a few minutes, I hear my friend shouting “Stop! Stop!”. The operator finally tunes in and slows the ride to a halt. I assume my friend can’t handle the spinning and is feeling nauseous. Wrong. Her safety bar had suddenly released, and she couldn’t get it to latch and was beginning to slide out the side. We had fun, we’re all fine, it’s just crazy different here.

This time, the shepherd boys did start the fire. We had smelled the burning for a while, but didn’t think much of it, as this sort of thing happens frequently. When we walked out of the house, we heard crackling and saw the fields backing up to the house consumed by smoke and flames. The wind blew towards the compound, carrying soot and pushing the fire towards the houses (which, thank God, have very little wood because of the tenacious termites). So much smoke was in the air that it filtered the sunlight, creating an eerie orange glow on the ground. For the past six weeks, we’ve had 90-105ºF temperatures, no rain, and a lot of wind. In other words, ideal conditions for a wildfire. The fire covered a great area, but it’s not like Karamoja has city plumbing or a fire department – there’s not much you can do but watch.

When the blaze reached the edge of the compound, everyone (K’jong and American, adults and children) wrenched branches from the trees and began beating the flames. I used to think that dying from smoke inhalation would be relatively painless, like carbon monoxide. Not true. The smoke burned my eyes and throat, so that I couldn’t last more than twenty seconds stints before retreating to less polluted air. No later would we finish putting out one section and move to another than the original would relight. The blaze finally burned itself out, having used all available fuel, though we can still see it raging in the distance. Can seriously see the hand of God in this: the fire hit all four sides of our compound, but was never able to sustain itself within the perimeter. It also seems to be heading away from the villages, which otherwise would certainly burn to the ground (mud and thatch aren’t the most durable materials). Everyone smells like smoke, but is otherwise fine. Our fields are charred black, but next time, there shouldn’t be much else to burn.

Just returned from visiting one of our K’jong employees, Lucy. She went to the Tokura clinic last week, fearing she was having another miscarriage. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, she delivered a healthy baby boy. Pre-natal care in Karamoja is very sporadic compared to that of the States. Though a woman can undergo a pregnancy test at the clinic, I don’t get the impression that this is the standard. It seems that pregnancies are noticed later, meaning that the expected date of birth is absolute guesswork. Lucy did not expect to deliver until much later, and maybe the baby was early, but he was sufficiently developed to survive without modern technology.

We walked to Lucy’s home, which is about half a mile from our own. The locals live in stick-framed mud huts, several of which will be clustered in a yard. These yards are shared by loose households and enclosed by thorn bushes. [The K’jong couldn’t believe the mizungus would build their houses so far (maybe 100m) from one another!] About nine of us, including Lucy and a couple of local women, crowded into the small hut to see the baby. They joked that the child looked like a mizungu when he was born, as it takes some time for their pigment to fully develop. He’s a beautiful child, but the old woman kept criticizing him, stating she did not like him because he was too small, his skin was too pale, etc. We assured her that he would grow. I don’t know if she was being mean, or maybe trying to give the child good “juju” (karma) – the K’jong think a child will get bad juju if someone says that s/he is beautiful. So maybe it was a blessing of sorts? The children were huddled at the door, watching us (not room for them inside). They were afraid that one of our pastors had purchased the baby, and that we had come to take him away. Where they got this from, I have no idea. The K’jong women laughed at this too, recognizing their fears as being as ridiculous as we had thought. The mission women brought a few gifts for the baby and mother, a shirt and hat and some sugar and vitamins. Giving anything here is very challenging, as it causes a lot of jealousy and strife (“I should get one too”, regardless of one’s relationship – or lack thereof – to the giver), but this is apparently one of the few non-contentious occasions and means.

Update to post: Talked with our clinic administrator, and learned I was mistaken: women know right away if they’re pregnant, because they assume that they’re almost always pregnant. If they do have their regular cycle, they think they’re having a miscarriage. The clinic staff estimate that about 85% of the K’jong women are unaware that women have a monthly cycle. For this to have escaped everyone’s notice, it indicates that: a) the women are almost always nursing or pregnant (birth control is available, but apparently not utilized), and b) girls are sexually active even before puberty. Ten-year-olds may be married off to much older men. An employee’s eight-year-old daughter was raped, and her community deems it acceptable. There’s definitely good here too, but some aspects of the culture are really tragic.

Walking back from the clinic today, saw something burning in the distance. As got nearer, realized it was our fields that were in flames. Could see hawks circling above, watching for opportunities to swoop down on the fleeing rats. The hawks had competition – the Karamajong also eat rats, and often start fires in attempt to catch them (which is a bit alarming, as we’ve entered into the dry season, and the dirt road that was flooded a month ago is now so dry that the surface is cracking). Later learned that one of the workers had been burning the rubbish (no trash service or landfills here), and the fire had jumped through the fence into the fields. Oops. Fortunately, the wind was blowing away from the houses, so no real damage done. Maybe it will keep more fires from being started later, as there will be nothing to burn.

Was given prophylaxis for three more things yesterday – on top of the daily malaria routine – which is supposed to prevent elephantiasis and other diseases I wasn’t able to translate (though I did ask). I think elephantiasis is caused by a parasite that enters the body through the feet and causes swelling of the legs, hence the name. I’ve been told that it’s unlikely any of us will contract the parasite, though there have been enough cases in town to warrant the precaution. Sounds nasty. But it is encouraging that preventative measures are being taken and made available to the community – at least in theory. Pray that the medications will reach the people they were intended for, and not be used to line the pockets of the supposed distributors.

Life is going well. For once, I may actually be tanner than at least some people! It doesn’t feel like the holidays, because I’m laying out at the pool instead of wearing sweatshirts. Still doing tea/coffee and hot chocolate, though – heard that drinking hot beverages actually cools you off in warm weather, although I’m not sure I buy it. We’re trying to plan ahead for what Christmas cookies, etc. we may make, as the closest grocery store is more than two hours away and spontaneity is not terribly practical. We’ll be celebrating Christmas with the mission, and Eden is also here without her family. I wish I could be home with everyone for the holidays, but at least I’m not alone, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy them. Martha has been teaching reading, Bible, etc. at one of the local schools regularly (a majority of the schools are incredibly substandard; the students often don’t come to class because they don’t know if the teacher will show up, and vice versa). She asked them what Christmas was, and was met with puzzled expressions. Some of the suggestions given were rice (an extravagance reserved for special occasions), and a dance. Most kids in the States would associate Christmas with the birth of Christ, whether or not they celebrate it themselves. This culture is so isolated! I’m starting in on the Sunday school rotation, and I get to do the Christmas story, which is sweet. There have been about ninety kids attending Sunday school recently, which would be chaotic enough without the addition of crying babies, fire ants, and bawling cows, but it’s awesome, too. The kids get tam-tams (K’jong for “sweets”, in actuality chewable vitamins) if they behave reasonably, which helps combat some of the malnourishment so prevalent here.

Random story: the guards killed a six-foot cobra this week! They saw the snake near the house, and scared it out of the yard. The snake attempted to hide in a woodpile, but the K’jong stood ready, setting their bows and arrows, while one of the men threw the logs off the pile one by one (these guys are fearless!). When they got close, the snake reared up to strike, and one of the guards shot it through the neck. Pretty impressive. They shot the snake several more times, and when it still hadn’t died, they wound it around the arrows and repeatedly beat its head into the ground. I’m usually bothered when I heard about animals dying, but somehow snakes are in a completely separate category.