Africa, one month later

One month ago today, I left behind my life in Denver and came to Africa. Running on almost no sleep, I finished packing, bullshitted the last pages of a final paper for class, and drove to the airport. Although it has only been four weeks, the memory is already blurry--like the final moments of a fever dream before waking. It could have happened years ago, or not at all.

Since landing in Uganda, my brain has been completely overwhelmed with sights, sounds and smells--a plethora of new people, food, and adventures. All of this information has been almost too much for my mind to handle. At a very basic level, I crave routine, structure and order. Sometimes it calms me down just to count things--like chairs in a restaurant, or the passengers on my daily #32 bus ride. Anything I can do to establish some kind of order amidst the chaos brings me a great sense of peace.

Africa is where structure and order goes to die. Everything that should be easy suddenly becomes hard. One day, it hits you how damn convenient your life back home is--where you don't have to worry about your power cutting out in the middle of a shower, or getting caught in a three hour traffic jam, or finding something to eat that won't give you parasites. 

And drinking water out of the tap. Dear lord, how I miss having pure, delicious, free water at all hours of the day and night. 

Aside from feeling completely overwhelmed from time to time, my trip has been incredible. My class from the University of Colorado traveled from the capital city of Kampala, to the source of the Nile river at Jinja, to Lira (a town once dominated by the Lord's Resistance Army), to beautiful Lake Bunyonyi in southern Uganda, and finally ending in Rwanda. 

During the class, we spoke with a variety of Ugandans about their lives, experiences, and thoughts about the country--private business owners, directors of community organizations and NGOs, and public servants. We set up make-shift medical clinics, where we gave children vitamins and taught them how to brush their teeth. We visited dirt-floor school buildings, and learned about public education. And we saw so many beautiful things--white rhinos, Lake Victoria, and the forests of southern Uganda. 

In all of these places, I met children who were healthy and smiling, who grabbed my hands and looked at me with wide, curious eyes. I also saw children who were ravaged by malnutrition, parasites, and HIV. These experiences might take me months, years, or even an entire lifetime to fully process. 

The class has now ended, and I am back in Kampala. I will be interning with an NGO for the next few weeks--another post about that coming soon. 

There's a fine line between between excitement and fear--and I'm straddling it. Stay tuned, friends.

Ghosts of Kigali

Kigali is a city of ghosts. Walking through the streets of Rwanda's capital city at night, I can almost reach out and touch the unknown presence that surrounds me. High walls made of rock and brick, some topped by large steel spikes, loom high over the road. The people who walk past cast their eyes downward--when they speak, their voices are soft and apologetic. Everything is quiet, still, and unnerving.

Although Rwanda has gone through a major recovery process in recent years, the feeling that this country and its people are still struggling to cope with its past is palpable.

Exactly 20 years ago (to the day), this city was the scene of one of the largest genocides in recorded history. The background leading up to this event is quite fascinating--and greatly disturbing. Germany and Belgium colonized Rwanda in the 1800s, and eventually implemented a policy to divide the native residents by socioeconomic classes--even going as far as forcing residents to carry ID cards with their stated class. Tensions grew between two particular groups: the more well to do Hutus, and the lower class Tutsis. After decades of assassinations and political strife, a plot to destroy all Tutsis, along with Tutsi sympathizers, began in April 1994.

Armed with clubs and machetes, Hutus tortured, raped, and murdered 1.2 million Tutsis during a period of 100 days. Just think about that: 1.2 million people were killed in 100 days. How is that even possible?

No one was spared. Brothers killed their sisters--priests betrayed their entire congregations--babies were drowned in wells. The Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre explains in graphic detail how a country can be torn apart by hatred, fear, and the basic principles of dividing and conquering a people.

Kigali's transformation over the past twenty years has been incredible. The city today is flourishing, with a thriving economy, vibrant cultural scene, and an expensive price tag for tourists. It has the hallmarks of very few East African cities--being clean, quiet, and orderly.

Rwanda left me with a strange sense of peace amidst the chaos of Africa--but also a deep sadness. I now return to the chaos of Uganda, where the streets are loud, abrasive, and very much alive.

Note: none of the following pictures are mine. 

Getting Down at the Big Ol' Prison Dance Party

Thumping bass, colorful jumpsuits, and frenzied dancing.

Are you at a 1980s hiphop show? No. You are at a prison in central Uganda.

I always enjoy visiting public institutions in foreign countries--schools, hospitals, and the like. Somehow, detention centers have stayed off my list. This changed after my recent trip to the country's second largest prison, located in Jinja--a beautiful tourist town and the source of the Nile.

Do me a favor. In your mind, picture your idea of a detention center in a developing country. Now, let's compare this with my experience:

1. A sign on the wall reading "Prisoners are people too!"
2. A friendly warden who stressed the value of rehabilitation instead of punishment
3. An idyllic setting overlooking beautiful Lake Victoria, surrounded by rolling hills, farmland, and baby goats. Fucking baby goats, people. 

As you can imagine, this was not the prison experience I had expected. Our class visited with a group of ministers from Kampala, who were certainly proselytizing but seemed very nice. They set up a speaker system in the rectangular, open-air courtyard in the middle of the three-story facility. Once the music got going, several hundred prisoners in bright yellow and orange jumpsuits began to laugh, sing and dance to Ugandan-style gospel music. They were absolutely beaming.

"Is this real life?" I asked my friend Claire over and over, as we sat at the front of the stage, seemingly on display to the entire prison population.

"No... this is certainly a malaria dream," she replied.

Of course, I am not so naive to believe that this is how the prison functions every day. Human rights abuses at this facility have been documented in the past. Several years ago a man was tortured almost to death by a prison guard--a story which drew national attention. It was interesting, however, to see so much joy in a place you would think would be terribly depressing.

There is beauty in the chaos.

Rambling

You are a fly, buzzing carelessly through an open field. It is night, and the moist, tropic air feels good on your wings. You do not know it--flies don't know much, do they?--but 200 people are being killed in the field below you. They run, screaming, on fire, bleeding in the darkness. They are running away from something so terrible and frightening and horrible that your brain will never be able to fully comprehend it. Even if you weren't a fly, you could not stop this. No one can stop this.

Now, you are in a primary school. You are a 13 year old girl, and you are bleeding for the first time. In your village, this is the signal that it is time for you to leave school and become a stranger's wife.  Your parents will sell you off for a dowry, because they are poor. You are scared, and you are alone.

Now, you are in a medical clinic in a rural village. You are me. Can you imagine being me, and look out of my eye sockets? A circle of villagers completely surround you, studying you and your white mzungu skin inquisitively. There is a three year old girl with bloody lesions covering her arms who reaches out for you. You are untrained, have no supplies, and cannot help her.

What do you do this information? What can anyone possibly ever do?

Please, tell me what to do.