Fourth of July in Uganda

Fourth of July weekend in Kampala was filled with just as many barbeques, pool parties, and fireworks as any July 4th that I have spent in the States! Saturday, one of my good friends, who is also a diplomat on his first tour with the Foreign Service, hosted a huge 4th of July party at his home, and invited over a hundred fellow diplomats and Ugandans. He hails from Tennessee, and his invitation promised target practice with a BB gun for any guests who had never shot something. I knew it would be a great party.

On Saturday, U.S. Marines barbequed hamburgers, diplomat’s children played in the pool and country music blared. It was difficult to remember that I was not in fact at home in California, but instead thousands of miles, and a few continents away, in Africa. Everyone brought side dishes, we taught Ugandans the good ol’ American game of dodgeball, and we finished off the night around a campfire watching Forrest Gump on a projector outside. On Sunday, the American Recreation Association of Kampala hosted their annual July 4th celebration, including another barbecue, performances by Ugandan acrobats and a children’s choir, and a great fireworks display. During the fireworks, I found myself next to a young girl who could not have been more excited by every spark; the word happy wouldn't do it justice. Her entire face was face-painted as a butterfly and she squealed with delight after every explosion. Sitting next to her made me excited again to see the display, and it occurred to me that no matter how many different times I have seen fireworks in my life, this was the first, and maybe only time I would watch them on the 4th of July in Uganda. I commented to the young girl’s mom how fun it was to sit next to her, and we spoke for a little while. The girl is half American and half Ugandan, and was born at the University of Michigan hospital. It really is a small world.

On Monday, July 4th the Marines hosted a small get together at their house, and I invited a group of girls I had met the night before. These 4 girls are my age and have come to Uganda through a program at Yale, and they were really excited to meet more Americans. The Marine BBQ marked my 3rd in a row, and I was just ready to sleep. I knew the next day at the Embassy would be a long one.

When my roommates and I arrived at the Embassy on Tuesday, tents and decorations were up, and people were scurrying about making last minute preparations for our largest representational event of the year. Around 4pm, I made my way to the security gates and started to escort in the invited media. After supervising them through various security measures, the press was brought down to the event area so that they could set up their equipment. I quickly made my way to the opposite entrance so that I could man my post- the Flag Pin station. The colorful pins show both the American and Ugandan national flags joined, and I had no idea they would be such a hot commodity. Everyone that entered the event passed by me and was pinned, if they so desired. I think that out of the 500+ guests that walked by me, one woman declined. (My fingers were severely indented from pinching- rough life.) This job was really exciting because I got a chance to meet every foreign dignitary and large contributor in attendance. Our guest of honor was the First Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for East African Affairs. I welcomed him with a pin on his chest, and he continued on to the reception line. Without nametags for anyone, I knew it was important to greet every single person like they were an Ambassador or Prime Minister of their country, because more often than not, they were. I introduced myself kindly and graciously, and depending on their accent I could get a slight hint of where they came from. Some guests immediately introduced themselves with their name, country, and government position, while others were more reserved with their response. I met the Ambassadors of Austria, South Korea, Germany, and Belgium, the Commanders of the Indian, French, and Italian armies, the CEOs of some of the biggest corporations in Uganda, and many religious, NGO and local leaders. I met one very kind woman, who told me she was from France, and as I pinned her with the flags we spoke together in French and she told me that she was in fact the Ambassador (or ambassadrice, to be more accurate). I tried to contain my excitement, not only because I was speaking with the ambassador, but also because she was a woman! At this point it’s accepted and respected that many of the world’s political leaders are and will be women, but up until that point many of the powerful guests I had met were men, and I was greatly enthused to see the French Ambassador before me. Every attendee wished us congratulations on our 235th anniversary, and repeatedly thanked anyone they encountered for having been invited to such a special event. I was very proud to be one of the first people these honored guests encountered upon their arrival at the Embassy, and I hope each one felt well received. There were a few tricky moments- like when I signaled someone forward to be pinned, only for him to be cut by a VIP, who I had been instructed to serve first. Or another, when I tried to put a pin on a major financial contributor to the event (a boutonniere on the chest signaled this status) but dropped the pin in his chest pocket and had my hand fully inside, fumbling around until I quickly realized it was probably just better to grab a new one. Moments like these definitely got awkward, but overall it was a really amazing experience.

Inside the event, I ate food from the trays of moving appetizers, and watched as government officials enjoyed their dinner from our hotdog stands, popcorn machines, and soft-serve ice cream stations. The Marines presented the colors, and the Chargé d’Affaires (filling in for the Ambassador) gave remarks and cut our 235th Anniversary cake. After the speeches, I met the defense attaché to the French Embassy, a Lieutenant-Colonel. I spent some time speaking in French with him and his wife, who invited me over to their house for dinner and to meet their three daughters that just arrived from France, one of whom is 20! Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get an invitation to the July 14th Independence Day celebration at the French Embassy!

Tomorrow, the South Sudan becomes the newest country in the world!!

Ethiopian Village Restaurant

I have taken about a week long break, though not entirely on purpose, from writing in my blog. Although it's true that I have become much busier at work, and formed a group of friends here in Uganda that are always ready for an adventure, I think my blog-writing hiatus resulted from more than just lack of free time. This past week the country has really felt like home. When I get picked up in the morning, I know the route we will take, where traffic will be the worst, which traffic officer will be on duty at the corner, when to brace myself for the worst of the pot holes. When the car stops abruptly to allow gigantic cows to cross the road I no longer stare wide eyed and shocked. (If there is one thing Ugandan drivers respect, it's 500 lbs cows crossing the road…they know who would win that battle.) Losing electricity no longer makes me blink, and I've learned to continue on speaking or going about business as if nothing ever happened. The chef at the Embassy knows my name and my dietary restrictions, and my friends surprised me with gluten free pasta and gluten free crackers at a dinner party we just had. One of my friends even promised to make me dairy-free homemade ice cream using coconut milk. I'm used to Ugandan greetings as soon as you enter their home or car, when they joyfully yell "You're Welcome!!" At the beginning of my stay, I thought I had forgotten to say "thank you" as soon as I arrived, but they offer this greeting just like we would say, "hey, come on in!" So essentially, the comfort and familiarity of everyday activities makes it difficult to distinguish those events that are unique to Uganda and deserve elaboration. Because for now, this feels like life.

A couple of nights ago, a pipe burst in our kitchen and water poured out of the water heater for 40 minutes. At first, my roommates and I scrambled around calling anyone who would be able to help at 10pm on a Sunday night. When we finally realized there was nothing we could do, my roommate Nathan made a slip n' slide down the hallway and a water fight broke out in our home. By the time water got above our ankles, Nathan had already doused us in buckets of water, and it was impossible to get upset at he yelled, "This is AFRICAAAA!" Before 11pm, a plumber finally came to turn off the water, and he said in his Ugandan accent, " Ok. Everybody (meaning us) get buckets, and bowls, this is how we will get the water out of here." My roommates and I looked at each other and couldn’t believe he was serious, water had spread throughout the majority of our first floor. As we reluctantly started to scoop water, the plumber laughed and said, "Ahhh no! If you don’t want to do this yourself we can send people tomorrow, I just didn’t want to leave you in a flood!" I was more than happy to be left in a flood if it meant going to sleep, and having a crew of experienced water-scoopers come the following day.

Last night I went to dinner at the Ethiopian Village Restaurant. It is a large, open air restaurant, with generous portions, loud music, and a metal detector at the entrance just like all other public venues in Kampala. But there is something different about this place, and you can feel it when you pass through the bag search and security pat-down. On July 11, 2010, almost one year ago, Somali terrorists from the group Al-Shabaab detonated a bomb in the Ethiopian Village Restaurant during the World Cup Finals. Across the city at the Kyadodo Rugby Grounds, two more bombs simultaneously exploded, and a third suicide bomber vest was found but did not go off. These suicide bombs killed 15 people at the Ethiopian Village Restaurant, and 78 people total throughout the city. The terrorist group, Al-Shabaab, took responsibility for these attacks because of Ugandan military involvement in the Sudan and Somalia. Nearly every Ugandan living in Kampala knew someone killed or injured in the bombings. Huge corporations had hosted World Cup parties at the Rugby Grounds that evening, and everyone had stayed out late at various bars and restaurants to watch the game in good company. As the first anniversary of the July 11 attacks approaches, many people in the Embassy remember those who they lost, and the newspapers feature stories from survivors every day. Hearing the stories from my Ugandan friends who lost a loved one, or who chose a different location to watch the game just by chance, makes me realize that every day really is a gift, and it must be lived to the very fullest. Every restaurant, bar, club and store has security at its entrance, and the feeling throughout the capital is very safe. I know that the city will continue to be on edge as the anniversary approaches, but security is tight and well dispersed.

Before the country faces the July 11 anniversary, we will first be celebrating the 235th Independence Day of the United States of America! This upcoming weekend is packed with parties and BBQs, put on by ex-pats at the Embassy, the American Recreation Association, and then our biggest representative event of the year. During my trip to Queen Elizabeth National Park a few weeks ago, I met 4 girls my age from the University of San Francisco. The four of them are living in rural villages in western Uganda, working with various NGOs. I invited them to come to Kampala and I received a call from one of the girls this week asking if this weekend would be ok. I checked with my roommates, and today the girls will make the 4 hour drive to Kampala to stay at our house for a few days! They'll be able to celebrate the 4th of July with BBQs, pool parties, fireworks, and most importantly, other Americans. The Independence Day event at the Embassy is our largest representative event of the year. I have been directly involved with many of the preparations and I was really excited to write the speech for the Deputy Chief of Mission to give at one of our 4th of July parties. What is my other official role? I am designated "Flag Pin Girl". I will be putting American and Ugandan Flag pins on the chests of over 1,000 foreign dignitaries and diplomats. At this point I'm really wishing I had more high school dates to practice putting a pin on…my mom came to my rescue with the boutonniere at every Homecoming and Prom…and that'll be nothing compared to pinning the Minister of Finance or the Ambassador of Egypt…

With two important days coming up for both Americans and Ugandans, the atmosphere in Kampala is buzzing with excitement. Tonight, I will meet young diplomats on their 1st and 2nd tours from embassies all around Kampala (U.S., Egyptian, French, German…). I'm really excited to talk with them and hear how they're finding their first few years on the job working for their country's Foreign Service. Happy July 4th Weekend from Uganda!!

Weekend in Kampala

Friday evening started off a fantastic weekend around Kampala. A couple girls and I went downtown to get our nails done, pedicure and manicure, for only 10,000shillings! That's less than $5! Sorry guys out there, but seriously that's a deal. After nails we headed to a quick dinner and then on to a professional basketball game. Basketball is fairly new in Uganda, but it's extremely popular and the game was great. There's a bit of confusion distinguishing between college teams and professional teams, because they seem to be interchangeable and the college players get paid like professional players. We watched a game between Kampala International University and Ndjebe University. We all went to cheer on my friend Nathaniel that works at the Embassy. He's pretty much living out his lifetime dream to play for a professional basketball team, and has found a use for his 6'5 stature playing with the Ugandans! Hearing Ugandan hecklers was entertaining enough with insults like, "Uncover your face you broomstick!" "If we lose this match you're all buying me a beer because my weekend is screwed!" followed by banging and various chants.

Saturday morning we headed to a football field near a police station. They had planned one of the most unique events I'd ever heard of- Boda Polo. At the event, benefitting victims of human trafficking, everyday boda-boda drivers drove their motorcycles as Americans and Europeans sat as passengers and whacked polo mallets against the ball and into goals at opposite ends of the field. It was an event not only endorsed by the police, but there was a Ugandan police team that even took part in the tournament! An ambulance stood on call, prepared for any expat flying off of bodas as they zoomed around the field, but the event was so unique it was hard not to love it. We left the field before the rain came pouring, and took a break napping and watching a movie. That evening we had a great BBQ with about 20 people and then headed off to the Silent Disco. I can't believe my school has never put on an event like this! When you walk in the club, an attendant hands you a set of wireless headphones that are linked to various DJ's playing music around the club. You can switch the channel on your headset and find different music whenever you want! Don't like the music you're dancing to but you see one of your friends going crazy? Look at their channel and soon you're listening to the same music! Everything I did on Saturday was so original, hanging out in Kampala was just as good as going on a trip outside the capital.

Fulbright Scholars and an Incredible Wedding

Yes, I know. There was supposed to be a Ugandan Adventure Part II. But as I meet more people and get out more and more to experience Uganda I have found less time for daily updates! I guess that's a good and only slightly bad thing. But I promise to record the most important experiences I have, both so you can read and so that I can remember them later! So Ugandan Adventure Part II would have consisted of Queen Elizabeth National Park, seeing lions, elephants, hippos, alligators, antelope and water buffalo. The safari was great, but I think I've really confirmed I love people a lot more than animals!

On Thursday, I helped to coordinate and facilitate a Fulbright Scholars Pre-Departure Briefing. The US Embassy selected 10 Ugandans for the Fulbright Scholarship, and they will travel to the US in July to begin their graduate studies at various universities. I was excited to set up the event and meet the scholars, but it wasn't until the event was about to begin that my coworker asked, "So Emilie, are you ready to lead your session?" I had no idea what she was talking about until I glanced down at the event's itinerary and saw that at 11am I'd be leading a discussion panel on the expectations of faculty at U.S. universities. Luckily it's a topic that didn’t require too much research on my end, and I was able to quickly jot down a few talking points. The event ended up lasting 7 hours, which was much longer than planned, but the information that the scholars obtained was worth the extra time. First, the Deputy Chief of Mission gave an intro talk and congratulations, which was followed by a panel of 5 Ugandans that returned this year from their Fulbright experiences in the U.S. It was really interesting to hear them give US cultural advice from their Ugandan perspective. In Ugandan schools, there is a very strict relationship between teacher and student. The professor talks at the class, does not ask questions, and usually expects complete attention and obedience. In the US, by contrast, students constantly challenge the professor, ask difficult questions, and often fight to answer questions posed by their teacher. The category of "participation" does not exist in the Ugandan grading system, while it's so important in the US. The returning Ugandans spoke extensively of the "reading culture" in the US. They couldn’t believe how much we read, all the time! The reading workload is very heavy, they warned. And they mentioned that often, their US peers had already googled and learned about the information that would be taught that day, so they were prepared with questions before the lecture had even started! One woman, who will be going to UC Irvine this fall, asked if she will be able to find local matoke (a Ugandan potato) and pasho in the States. The Ugandans who have returned were able to offer great advice on international markets to visit, or good substitutes if the real deal could not be found. When it was finally the Americans' turn to offer advice on US university life, we had lots to say. I enjoyed addressing one of the most controversial topics of the day: homosexuality. My boss told the scholars that many Americans know nothing about Uganda, except that recently there was a bill in Parliament that called for killing all homosexuals. We warned them that they may have to answer questions related to this issue quite often, and we hoped to prepare them so that they could hold onto their values but also avoid any potential conflict. When it was my turn to speak, I said that if there is any place in the United States where hundreds of values are expressed and collide, it is at large, public universities like the ones they would be attending. I urged them to take every opportunity to learn, instead of criticize. One woman asked me how she is supposed to respond when someone asks her opinion of homosexuality, or when she encounters a homosexual couple. She told me that she can't imagine how two men or two women could be together, it didn’t make sense. I hoped to make a parallel between different cultural practices so that she might better understand, and so I started by using an example from my time here so far. Before I arrived in Uganda, I had no idea that polygamy was so common or accepted. One day in the office, I found out that my coworker's father has 5 wives, and he has 42 siblings. I was shocked, and then my two other coworkers added in that their fathers also had multiple wives. Confronting polygamy was very interesting and quite shocking for me, but I wanted to learn, and if you want to learn you cannot judge. So instead of shrugging away from the discomfort, I asked questions and it became a discussion and an amazing learning opportunity. Polygamy is a painfully accepted reality in Uganda. I had always thought that in polygamist societies the women were content with their situation, happily sharing their space with the other wives and selflessly sharing their husband, but this is not the case at all. One colleague told me that his mother thought she was the only wife. She didn’t know that there were 4 others, and as soon as she found out she divorced her husband, which is VERY rare in Uganda. Another colleague said that after 15 years, a girl came to her family's house and presented herself as her father's daughter from another marriage. A third told me that when she was young, her father approached the family and let them know that he was taking on a second wife. Her mother was furious, but there was nothing she could do. She stuck with her husband and made a vow not to let this second wife cause war within the family and the village. Often, when another wife joins the family, violence overtakes the household and it is quite common for co-wives to kill each other. I listened to all of this with interest, and asked questions instead of throwing out this system as hurtful and unfair. It is their culture. I asked how wives deal with jealousy, how kids of one wife interact with kids of the other, how the husband could possibly divide his time…and I learned. So when I spoke with the Ugandan Fulbright scholars, I urged them to absorb and learn as much as possible during their stay in the United States. They may confront traditions and practices that conflict with their own beliefs, as everyone does when they travel the world, but by turning controversy into a discussion they may get more out of this journey than they could ever imagine.

After the event I had a couple hours to relax at work before the wedding taking place that evening. The Embassy was holding its first wedding ever, and it was for one of the Marines! He met his bride at his last post in Brazil, a gorgeous woman who doesn't speak a word of English. They planned to get married here because if a Marine gets married in the US, the family cannot get certain marital benefits until the Marine reaches a certain rank. But if they marry overseas, the couple gets the benefits. At 4pm I got an email from the wedding planner (my sponsor, Layla) who was reminding me that I would be a flower girl at the wedding. I thought she was kidding, so I immediately called her but she said to be at the Marine house at 5pm sharp to get my flower crown and basket of petals. I was shocked but very excited, I have ALWAYS wanted to be a flower girl. Who says 20 years old is too late? I met my flower girl teammates, a 7 year old and 4 year old, and mentally prepared for my big walk down the aisle. The other girls were terrified, but we rocked it. The 4 year old held her nanny's hand the whole way down the aisle and forgot to throw any of the petals, amateur!! When I get married I'm totally using 20 year olds to throw flowers, because they know how to get it done right. The remaining 6 Marines that work at the Embassy were the groomsmen, dressed in their ceremonial uniforms. They carried swords, and rifles, and it was really an incredible experience. After the bride joined the groom at the alter, the Ugandan priest began his ceremony. It may have been a good idea for someone to write up an American-style wedding ceremony, because the priest relied on line-by-line prompts from the groom for what to say. Talking in whispers didn’t help the fact that the priest didn’t really understand English, and this became all the more clear when the groom whispered something to the priest and he said, "Ahh yes, you now own the bride!" Everyone looked around and the groom cracked up, the priest looked confused and unsure. I then heard the groom whispering to the priest "you may now…kiss…the bride…!" It took a few repetitions to the priest before he proudly announced to the entire audience "You may now CUT THE BREAD!!" At that point the entire wedding party and guests lost it and we all said, KISS THE BRIDE!!! It was a beautiful wedding, made all the better by the Ugandan priest. By Ugandan tradition, the Marines slaughtered an entire cow for the wedding reception, and everyone brought a side dish to share. The whole Embassy stayed late into the night and we danced to the DJ's music, both local and western songs. The day was a great mixture of American and Ugandan culture, and I loved every minute of it.

Ugandan Adventure Part I

Last Thursday was a national government holiday called Hero's Day, honoring war veterans and former government employees. At least I think that's what it is…all I really heard was day off. So! I was invited on a four day adventure throughout western Uganda. This was more than just for my benefit, though. One of my friends works with an organization that is partnered with the US Agency for International Development (USAID). Her organization helps develop everyday activities into sustainable tourism throughout Uganda. The goals and successes of her organization will be clearer as I describe the entire weekend! On Thursday morning our group met at 7am to start the journey. There were 7 of us, all girls except for my roommate, Nathan. Two of the girls were German, one leader was Ugandan, and the other leader was Canadian. About 2 hours into our journey we pulled onto the side of the road, the driver opened the hood, and as smoke poured out he poured cold water onto the engine…we all looked around and realized that the car had broken down. One of our leaders called for a special hire car to take us the rest of the 6 hour journey, and meanwhile we talked with the women and children whose homes we had stopped next to. About 30mins later our Ugandan leader saw a "mutatu" passing, which is a large Ugandan taxi, the main form of public transportation here, and asked if we could hire the driver to take us the rest of the way. The taxi driver promptly sent his other passengers on their way and welcomed the opportunity to make a few days' salary in just one trip. These mutatus can comfortably hold about 8 people, but when they travel through Kampala they are usually filled with around 25 people, including livestock, babies, a conductor and a driver. The amount of people in these vans looks about as ridiculous and uncomfortable as 4 people on one boda-boda. We continued on our adventure and stopped for delicious local food in Fort Portal, a major city in the west. After lunch we arrived at the Rubona Women's Basketweaving Association. The women in this village weave incredible baskets out of grass that they color using natural dyes like flowers, tamarind, seeds, etc. These women are turning their traditional hobbies into income earning activities. The leader of the association, Kellen, led our group in a grass dying workshop. We learned how to create a variety of colors like red, orange, yellow, brown, and black. As our grass soaked we were led into the shop where the women display their final products. Small baskets can take up to 3 weeks (8 hours a day!!) to create, and at the store these baskets were sold for about 10,000shillings, or $5. We were more than happy to buy out almost the entire store; as a group we brought 700,000shillings to the community, plus paid a small fee for the workshop taught by Kellen. A bit down the road was another community building entering into the tourism market. At this store, locals keep bees and harvest their honey and beeswax to sell to the community. The owner of the store led the first ever candle making workshop for our group, and although he asked not to be paid because he had never ran the workshop before, we insisted on paying so that they have confidence that tourists will in fact want to pay for their product. We sampled delicious honey right off the comb and then poured hot beeswax into candle molds made by the shop. After both of these activities our tour leaders provided us with forms to give constructive comments and criticisms on ways that the locals could improve their products and services to make them even more appealing to other tour groups. After these activities we began our final ascent into a village in the Rwenzori Mountains. We arrived at Ruboni Community Camp very hungry and tired. The Community Camp is located in the heart of the jungle and sleeps 8 people in 4 separate huts called bandas. I could not get over how gorgeous the setting was.

outside my banda

At the visitor's center, the camp had prepared us an incredible dinner of steamed cabbage and eggplant, mashed potatoes, avocado, and rice. The local Ugandan food is really perfect for me since they rarely ever use dairy or wheat in any of their preparations. Our bandas had electricity, running water, and were impeccably clean. I immediately fell asleep after dinner and woke up the next morning at about 9am for a leisurely breakfast followed by activities around the village. Everything we ate during our stay was grown in the local Bakonja village, and our breakfast of bananas, passionfruit, watermelon and eggs was amazing. After breakfast we had the choice to go on a forest walk or a village walk, and I chose the village walk hoping to learn as much as I could about the culture and people who live so secluded in the Rwenzoris. Three of us headed out with our guide and our first stop was the village blacksmith. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all blacksmiths for the Bakonja people over the past generations. It was explained that the blacksmith does not learn his trade from his ancestors; instead one day he realizes that he too possesses the skills of his family. The current blacksmith is one of 14 children, and it is he who is so skilled and entrusted to make the knives, spears, and ice picks for the community. The blacksmith worked in the same area as the traditional healer. We entered a very small hut and the translator explained to us the different powders and herbs used by the healer. Spirits are very important in this community, and a bad turn of luck could be the result of annoying a spirit. The healer showed us powders to cure impotency, lack of love, headaches, etc. He asked if any of us had problems that he could help with. I figured I might as well take advantage of any opportunity presented, so I told him I was newly allergic to both dairy and wheat. He said that he did have special herbs to help with these problems, but he'd have to go out in the jungle to hunt for them and that could take a few days. I figure if the Bakonja traditional healer could help me, maybe there's still hope in the western world. But for now, I'll just have to accept my allergies or head back into the jungle with him whenever I get another chance…



From the traditional healer we went to the village story teller where we chose from a few of stories offered. We were most interested in why having twins is seen as a sign of evil and cause for punishment in the Bakonja village. Although a bit got lost in translation, we learned that generations ago, elders had never experienced two babies coming from one body. They assumed that this could only be caused by witchcraft, and so instead of this oddity being celebrated, it was cause for shock and disdain. To this day, those who follow the traditional beliefs are subject to punishment if the mother gives birth to twins. The parents of the newborns and all extended family are forbidden from having sex for 3 months after the birth of the children, and also are forbidden from tending to their gardens for 3 months. As one could assume, this leads to famine and widespread discontent within the family. After the 3 months are up, the husband ties a cowbell around his waist to signal to the entire community that the married couple is having sex again, and the family rejoices. We were told that sometimes, the husband is so disgusted by his wife having twins that he will be turned off from her forever, and so traditionally it is the husband's nephew who wears the cowbell and reintroduces sex to the wife and family. As you can imagine, we sat openmouthed, speechless, and concerned for a few minutes until nodding our heads and saying a collective, "Welpppp…okay!" Every culture is so different and intriguing, my friend Beatrice who is Ugandan sat next to me during the story, and told the group that her home village is only an hour away, but when a woman there gives birth to twins she is treated like a queen! After visiting the storyteller, I requested that we visit a primary school in the village. As we arrived at the school all of the kids were running out to recess so we got to play ball with them for awhile before they went to eat lunch! That was one of my favorite parts of the day because I got to meet and interact with the local children for so long. More of the trip to come in the next post!

"Muzungu" at the Soccer Match

This past weekend was unbelievably exciting and overflowing with new adventures. On Saturday I was woken up at 7am by the sound of vevuzulu’s, Ugandan blow horns, all throughout the city- it was the day of the African Cup Qualifiers! I had purchased a VIP ticket to the game the day before for 30,000 shillings, only about $12. Normal tickets were only $6, but with a VIP you are guaranteed a seat and easier entrance. At 1:30pm I met a group of the friends that I have made here at a local shopping mall. We all arrived decked out in our new, official Ugandan Cranes soccer jerseys, ready for the game but not quite realizing that we were headed to a cultural experience that we would remember for a lifetime. One of my Ugandan friends, Pete, owns a bus company and we hired one of his buses to take our large group of 20 from the mall to Mandela National Stadium, the largest stadium in East Africa, for the African Cup qualifying match: Uganda Cranes vs. Guinea Bissau. The traffic to the stadium was both astounding and thrilling. Over 50,000 people were on their way to the game; the team has not had this successful of a season in over a decade. We opened all the windows to our bus and watched the boda-bodas weave in and out of traffic, with passengers on the back blowing whistles, horns, holding flags, chanting the Cranes' cheer: WE GOOOO, WE GO! UGANDA CRANES WE GO! WE GOOOO, WE GO! The roads were jammed, buzzing with excitement and friendliness as pedestrians danced and people shouted from car to car. When we finally arrived at the stadium, a ride that would normally take 10 minutes, but took nearly an hour, we hopped out of the bus to the sidewalk, carefully timing our jump so as not to be run over by the boda-bodas that whiz through the narrowest gaps. Thousands of people were streaming to the stadium gates and the lines were unbelievable. As a group we were directed to the supposed VIP entrance, a line that appeared shorter but completely stationary. At the back of the line, I was able to see the gate entrance and it appeared that people were being crushed against the iron bars as everyone pushed to get in. Stadium security guards pushed the gate closed from the other side, but they were not strong enough against the crowd. The fans pushed open the gate and they all cheered loudly, but suddenly I saw sticks and batons raised, threatening the fans if they did not back away, and then it really hit- this is not America. Our group immediately left the line to find another, and I made sure to stick close to my friends around me. It soon became quite clear that no one who worked at the stadium had any idea where people were supposed to go. Imagine attending a professional sporting event in the United States. Keep in mind that I make these comparisons to help convey how different things are here, not to suggest that one is better, worse, or in between. It is a different world. In the US, you have your officially issued ticket, with barcode, entrance gate number, section number, and seat number, and attendants guide you at every step of the way. Here, our ticket was color-printed on cardstock, and turn-styles do not exist to curb the flow of people who enter. Stadium officials stand at the gate, open it less than a foot wide, and people squeeze through one by one as their ticket is ripped in half much like a movie theater. So, back to the line. We found another line to wait in, but to reach it we had to jump across a ditch that was about 3 feet wide. I grabbed the hands of friends who had already crossed and jumped into the next queue. In this line of hundreds there was barely a few inches between each person, and everyone was blowing whistles and squeezing air horns. One stranger next to me bought me a Minnie Mouse face mask…really a great gesture, although I decided not to wear it...for various reasons. I stood with men from the Embassy who are here from the US Army; I decided that was a good choice considering the unpredictable environment. It was hard to know what was going on at the front of the line (being 5'3 has its disadvantages) but one of my taller friends took pictures with his camera and I was able to see fans climbing over the gates, and on top of the police cars that arrived to handle the crowds. All I could see was to my left, and I saw car after armed car arrive, starting with police, then escalating to soldiers and anti-riot officials. There was one man, he must have been a commander, who was pacing up and down the lines, screaming at the top of his lungs at the other soldiers to man their posts, holding a thick rubber baton in his hand. Every minute or so we advanced a few inches. On my left, portable iron dividers created a barrier to keep us in a straight line. They were not secured, and as one section fell, the other portions followed, falling into the wide ditch I had jumped across earlier. I was scared that the police would think we had pushed down the gate on purpose, as they were already anticipating a riot, and held my breath as 4 policemen approached. They righted the gate, looked at me, and walked away. Then, a commander came up to the gate, opened a portion, and signaled for me to leave the long line and move to a shorter one that had just opened. There was absolutely no reason why I should have been led to this new line, filled with Europeans and seemingly wealthy Indians, other than the fact that I was white. When I arrived at the stadium, I was bombarded with calls of "MUZUNGA MUZUNGA MUZUNGA" the local word for white person. These calls were not done in an intimidating manner, it was just that they felt my skin color deserved to be announced to anyone who could not see it for themselves. Although I felt a bit insulted by this call, it happens often, and it deserved nothing more than a blank stare. When I was invited to the shorter line, I was allowed to bring one of the army men with me, but none of the other Africans in line were allowed to switch like I was. It is racism within the same race. My appearance seemed to signal to the guards that I was not a threat, maybe peaceful and out of place. Perhaps they felt I did not deserve to wait in the long line surrounded by Africans, but I had never complained, I had been patient, quiet and knew that just like everyone else I would have to wait my turn. It was the Ugandan commander who ushered me through the crowd to the shorter line, and there we were told by the gate guard that this was not a line, we would have to wait. The disorganization outside the stadium was amazing, but I was sure that once inside we would find our seats and get ready for the game. Once I got through the gates with my Army friend man, we were able to reunite with the group to decide our next plan of action. For the guys, that was buying beers, and we decided to wait with them until the whole group was united. After their drinks were purchased, we were directed to the supposed VIP entrance, and promptly upon arriving at the door, it was slammed shut in our faces. A guard yelled through the glass "All full! All full, sorry!" We looked at each other, waved our tickets around, trying to let him know that these VIP tickets were supposed to guarantee entrance. He acknowledged that, then with broken English yelled, "Go away!" Fail. We split up into smaller groups and found another door that was still open. Now, go back in your mind to that American sporting event and think of the indoor parts of an MLB park, for example. Think of the club lounges, the wide variety of restaurants, the drink specials, team memorabilia overflowing from carts. The door we entered brought us to a similar indoor area, but it was eerily empty. There was no food, no jerseys for sale, no light except what came through the windows, nothing except strolling soldiers and fans looking desperately for a way to get through the next entrance, into the sporting event itself. Everything was a battle. Every gate we approached was either padlocked or guarded by a soldier who told us to turn around because the area was full. How could it be full? We had tickets, guaranteed seats. Theoretically, yes we did. However, so did thousands of other people, since the tickets we had purchased had been oversold at nearly every mall, gas station, and supermarket in Uganda. At this point we had been through an hour of traffic and nearly two hours of lines at the stadium, the game had started and we refused to let all that work go to waste. In a large open area we saw a group of very professionally dressed Africans walk by, surrounded by an entourage and guards of their own. Suddenly, all the Ugandans we were close to sprinted after them, and my group looked around confused, then kindof half-jogged and speed walked to keep up, because really, what else were we going to do. We soon realized that the man we were following was the Vice President of Uganda, a door was opened, and he was quickly ushered through with his entourage before it was slammed once again in our faces. We stood against the glass door waving our tickets, unable to see where the VP had turned around the corner. Half of our group gave up, but I stayed with another friend because it seemed that the guard was going to change his mind. We pleaded through the door, along with a crowd of other fans for about 15 minutes, and suddenly the guard stood at attention and our crowd quickly parted perfectly along the middle; the VP was heading back indoors. Immediately after he passed, my friend and I made our way to the front of the crowd, and handed the guard our tickets. Before he had a chance to change his mind we squeezed through the door and looked around to see where we were. Unbelievably, we had just been let on to the soccer field where the match was taking place. We found ourselves on the sidelines, and both of us were speechless. We walked quickly behind the team bench, and in front of the journalists and photographers that were posted on the field. Both of us were beyond confused and giddy, but didn't want to let on to anyone that we definitely had no reason to be there, other than we had been denied from going to our original seats. As we walked, we saw our entire group of 20 people sitting on the grass, equally in shock, not believing our luck. Tens of thousands of people were in the stadium, and somehow through everything, we had all ended up in the exact same place, even though we had all been separated ever since we arrived. It's hard to convey how miraculous and bizarre it all was, but we still can't get over it! Anyway, I sat down immediately and started taking pictures of the team, soccer field, the fans, our friends, and the riot police that still guarded the field. Journalists and photographers began taking pictures of us and interviewing people in our group during the game. I think they thought we were important…HA! In fact today, Monday, as I write this, I'm staring at three different national newspapers, with our photographs plastered across the sports section. Every single picture's caption is interestingly related to race. Some of the captions read, "These white ladies did not miss out on the party as they rallied behind the Cranes", "Patriotism came in all colors at Mandela National Stadium", "BLACK OR WHITE: Cranes fans came in a variety of races." The first quote, referencing my friend and I as "white ladies" made me gasp, but none of these quotes were meant in a rude way, although by American standards are a bit inappropriate. Most of these journalists and Ugandans were excited and proud to have white people at their event. It seems that here, race can sometimes still be one of the most defining attributes of a person.

Oh yeah, and the game! That was also really exciting. The Cranes won 2-0, and after each goal the stadium exploded. Everyone danced, screamed, jumped, and ran around until the riot police gave a look that meant sit or be forced to. At the end of the game, people lit flares to countdown to victory. When it was finally over, the stadium boomed with loud music, and thousands of fans jumped down from their seats onto the field to join in the party. The sprinklers started immediately and we danced for almost an hour on the field before we got back in our bus to head back home. After 2 hours of traffic, we arrived at a delicious Turkish restaurant for a big group dinner, and finished off the night at one of the best dance clubs in Kampala. An incredible day was had by everyone!

Did You Know...

Today at the Embassy I attended a presentation on USAID and the role of the State Department in Uganda that John was giving to a group of college students from Berea College in Berea, Kentucky. This college has a special mission to serve low-income families from the Appalachian Mountain Region, and twenty students have been touring Uganda for the past month, with the US Embassy as their last stop. I learned a lot about the country during the presentation and thought some of this information would be valuable to share.

· The average income in Uganda in $420 per year, while the average income for all of Africa is $1,000. This $420 breaks down to about $8 per week, less than $2 a day. An American from my community could easily spend an entire yearly Ugandan salary in just one week at home, if not in a few days with various expenses. An astounding 31% of the population is under the poverty line, a percentage higher than the overall African average.

· Uganda is the second fastest growing country, in the WORLD. It is one of the youngest and most fertile populations, where the average age is 15 years old and women have an average of 7 children. When Uganda gained independence in 1962, its population was 7 million, and the population since has more than quadrupled. This population growth poses many problems to the country, especially in terms of its infrastructure and its health sector. For example, Kampala, the capital city, was developed by urban planners to hold about 400,000 people. However, because of urban inflow in search of jobs and the rapid population growth, Kampala actually serves closer to 1.7 million people daily. This is an explanation for the god awful bumper-to-bumper traffic that is inescapable throughout the city.

· Uganda also has a higher HIV prevalence (6.5%) than the overall African average (5%). The US PEPFAR (President's Emergency Plan For AIDS Relief) uses about $285 mil every year in Uganda to combat and research HIV/AIDS.

Yea so…boom there's Uganda in three bullet points. Just kidding, but those are a few "Fun Facts" or actually, "Not so Fun Facts" that I thought were worth sharing.

The past couple days at work have been really engaging and I'm loving the projects that the Public Affairs team has me working on. I sit in the Press Room with three other employees, all Ugandan, and the environment inside is great. We always have music going, both Ugandan and Western, the TV is tuned to CNN International, newspapers are piled high and we're all constantly talking. My three colleagues, often speak in the local dialect of Kampala, Lugandu, and by the laughs I hear it sounds like they're having a great time. They've been speaking more English now to include me in the conversations, which I definitely appreciate, but it really is a great, lively atmosphere. Hakeem has offered to take me to the National Theatre on Monday when they have performances from Ugandans, Americans, anyone who has a voice or an instrument is welcome to play together. Hakeem is in charge of the Embassy's social media sites. He asked me to look over our Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Flickr accounts and offer any advice I could give to increase followers and make the sites more appealing. I looked it over, and shared my thoughts, but techniques that other organizations can use to improve their sites are not generally allowed for the Embassy. For example, we cannot make the site more personal by giving congratulations for special awards or personal achievements, and we cannot announce upcoming events to attend, all because of security concerns. It's been such a short time since I've been here, but I have already learned so much about the country of Uganda that I did not know before, and so I had the idea that we could post Ugandan Facts every Monday for our American followers, American History every Tuesday for our Ugandan followers, and then we began to run from there. These "Theme Days" will soon include Black History tidbits from the US, general history from Uganda, and “On this day last year…” we’ll highlight public diplomacy events that the Embassy put on in Uganda in the past.

After work I went to a Hail & Farewell party at the Ambassador’s house, which is held yearly to welcome those that have just arrived in Uganda, and to say goodbye to those who are moving on to their next post. After the party, Nathaniel and I headed to the Sheraton in Kampala, one of the nicest hotels in Uganda, where a bunch of the NGO kids I met were hanging out. The nightlife in Kampala is great, and after the Sheraton we all headed to a bar called Bubbles that was filled with tons of Ugandans, Europeans, and Americans, all in their twenties. I can’t wait for my two other intern roommates to get here soon!

My First Work Day, Spent at the Ambassador's House!

Today, Tuesday, was my first official day of work at the Embassy, and I have quite a lot to report! I got picked up first by the Embassy motorpool (a carpool that picks up about 5 embassy employees in my area) and we got to work at about 7:30am. What was my first task of the day? Shredding paper!! But anyway, I accepted my humble beginnings (knowing the day had much more in store during the afternoon) and shred a hell of a lot of paper for about 30 minutes until I received my next quick assignment: to read the three major Ugandan newspapers and make a bullet list of important headlines with brief descriptions. Well, I guess I got a bit too in depth with my readings, because I only had listed two important stories by the time my boss came to collect my work. So, lesson learned, next time I will scan not scour.

At 9am I had my official security briefing and one of the most important things I learned is that in the case that I get in a car accident, especially if it is my driver's fault, we are required to hit and run! Now although that is completely counter to every lesson ever taught to American drivers, in Uganda it can be a matter of life or death. The hit-and-run policy applies especially if we hit a boda-boda motorbike, and it is even more important if the boda-boda driver gets hurt! I was told that if a boda-boda driver is injured, all the other boda-boda drivers on the street will charge the offending car, ram into it, throw stones, and eventually attack the passengers if they can get ahold of them. Although I guess it that funny…at all…but I couldn't help but laugh hysterically as he told me a story of two female embassy employees who hit a boda-boda and fled the scene all the way to the embassy with 20 boda-bodas in tow, where armed Marines then had to escort the women into building and fend off the angry bodas. Maybe it's the fact that the motorbikes name is so funny, maybe it's because the image I have in my head is of a biker gang with fists raised and two women screaming and swerving (not funny, I know) but I was laughing for a good five minutes which got kind of awkward. So, another lesson learned, don't try and be responsible and exchange insurance info, get the hell out of dodge.

At 10am I left the Embassy and headed to the Ambassador's house for my first Public Diplomacy Event. During the ride, my boss told me a lot about his time in Kampala (the traffic and potholes are infuriating) and shared his thoughts on whether everything that the US does here really makes a difference. Beyond all the meet and greets, PR events, and photo ops with the Ambassador, he told me that over half the money that the Embassy receives from DC goes to fighting AIDS in Uganda. The US provides $300 million worth of anti-retroviral HIV medication to all Ugandan citizens, a job that should be the responsibility of the Ugandan government, but as I've explained in previous posts, this government is far too corrupt and dysfunctional to put money where it's needed most. So go USA! Your tax dollars are doing something that truly does makes a difference.

We arrived at the Ambassador's house and supervised the event set up. The event was for the Rising Stars, a new mentoring program for high school girls funded by the US government. Last year, Obama called to US Embassies around the world and requested that the embassies find impressive, local entrepreneurs to go to Washington DC and participate in a world-wide forum. This embassy chose a woman named Rehmah, who went to DC and returned to Uganda and founded the Century Entrepreneurship Development Agency (CEDA). At the time she returned, Obama had another idea. The US wants to fund important new programs aimed at empowering and cultivating local talent and inteligence, so send in your applications. Rehmah, through the US Embassy Uganda, sent in her idea for this entrepreneurial mentorship program called Rising Stars, and her program was selected to receive funding. Rehmah and CEDA chose 7 girls’ schools across the country of Uganda and then created a highly selective application process, including written essays, grade evaluation, and an oral interview to determine which girls at these schools would be chosen to participate in the program. Today was the official launch event for the Rising Stars, and at 11:30am, 175 Ugandan girls from the ages of 14-17 arrived, along with teachers, speakers, and Ugandan press. Before the event began, I had a chance to meet and speak with our Ambassador and the Deputy Chief of Mission, who is the second in command at the Embassy. Both were very kind and had a great sense of humor, and I got to meet the Ambassador's wife and then his dog, a spunky and loud golden retriever. The event featured five speakers, all women besides the Ambassador, and concluded with the official Rising Star anthem, that all the girls sang together and danced to. As part of the program, a trained CEDA mentor will teach a fine-tuned curriculum to the girls once a week after school. Rehmah believes that the greatest problem facing the country is the failure of the education system to empower people as leaders to solve the many problems that face Uganda.

My favorite part of the event was the opportunity I had to mingle and talk with the girls for an hour following the speakers. All of these girls attend boarding schools across the country, some located in Kampala, others located in the north, and they are all extremely bright. Their families are by no stretch wealthy, far from it, but they have been able to pull enough money together for their daughters to attend good private schools. When I met many of the girls, I was a bit shocked by their names: Ethel, Priscilla, Judy, Gloria, Rose, Sheila- reminders of English imperialism many years ago. Immediately the girls told me that they thought I look exactly like Miley Cyrus, which made me laugh because it is a comparison that I've gotten many times at home but not quite as forcefully. They were fascinated that I was from the US and I was very impressed by the questions they asked. One girl, 14 years old, asked me what my friends and I thought about Africa and Uganda when we were 14. What do you think of us, she asked. I told her honestly that many people do not know much about Africa. We know that there is AIDS, violence, and poverty, but most don’t think specifically of the individual countries, like Uganda, with its own peoples, cultures and customs. I told them how much I learned from Josephine, and was interested in learning even more about them. Another girl, Rose, also 14, told me that she is from a village in Northern Uganda, that borders the Sudan, and when she was younger her father was killed by a rebel army. She said that the soldiers who lived in her village would walk down the street and torture her neighbors and fellow citizens- just cut off the lips or nose of someone who they didn’t like. The girls around her nodded their heads, as if this type of cruelty has completely lost the sting or shock that it would hold in more developed countries. It is only luck of birth that has prevented my family, friends and I from ever experiencing horrific torture like this. Why must these girls go through it when we are all so lucky? Not one girl I spoke to has ever traveled outside of Uganda, and none knew someone who had traveled beyond East Africa. I asked the girls what they dream to be when they grow up. Sheila told me she wants to be a doctor but she's scared of blood, and three girls told me they want to be pilots, quite a common career dream here which I found interesting. One of the girls said she wanted to be a pilot until she found out that Uganda, as an entire country, owns only one plane (the planes that fly in and out of the country belong to other airlines). They want so badly to explore, study, and live in the US. I asked them the same question I was asked, what do you girls think of the US? Immediately they all broke out in smiles and laughter and loud voices. They all started talking at once, saying they think it is the most amazing place where you can wish anything you want. Ugandans love Obama, and Sheila told me that he seems like the most incredible man, and was curious if I voted for him and how people like him in the States. This interaction with the girls was my favorite part of the day, and I hope I can take advantage of every interaction I have with locals, especially children and teenagers, to answer any of their questions and learn as much as I can from them as possible.

At the event I met another Embassy employee on his first tour with the Foreign Service. When we got back to post he introduced me to Nate who is the same age, and they said that although the young, fun crowd is few and far between at the Embassy, there is a huge NGO presence in Uganda and tons of young Americans and Europeans to meet. For the rest of the afternoon I settled into my office and received a cell phone, computer login info, and my official Foreign Service badge. I got picked up at 5pm and although I live only 10mins from the Embassy, I didn’t get home until 5:45pm because I was last dropoff in the route. I was so exhausted when I got home that I made myself a piece of toast for dinner, started to read my book, and fell asleep before 630pm. I was woken up by a call from Nate who said that he and a bunch of friends were getting together and he could come pick me up if I wanted to join. I was absolutely exhausted, but I refuse to settle into an old woman routine this early in the game and I was eager to meet kids around my age. Nate picked me up and we went to his NGO friend's house in downtown Kampala and there were about 10 people there around 25 years old, all who work for various non-profits in Uganda. We drank and ate a delicious creation called chocolate beef, made by one man, Peter, who is a British-educated Ugandan and now owns the largest low-income bus company in Uganda, selling bus fare for half the price of the commercial companies. The title of this weekly gathering is "officially" called Think & Drink, where everyone wines and dines then starts pondering serious topics. I guess this is what mature people do after college… where usually the Drink time is supposed to be a break from the stressful Think. It's a pretty funny idea, but it was a really great time and people got pretty heated in discussions. Two of the girls in the group, Angelica and Maggie, work for Educate! an NGO dedicated to improving education in the world's poorest regions. Everyone got into a big debate on the value of Teach for America in the US, whether it's just a resume builder or can really make a difference. Other people at the gathering included workers from US American International Development (USAID) and NGOs related to exploring Ugandan energy and oil. The amount of oil recently discovered in Uganda is now said to be twice as much as was originally thought…if the resulting wealth from this oil is to be distributed across the Ugandan population without corruption every citizen could receive about $70 per year, which by Ugandan standards is incredible. If, however, the government intervenes and corruption ensues, Uganda could very easily fall victim to the natural resource curse that plagues many developing countries. This oil could bring billions of dollars into the country, but there is no way to guarantee that this money will make its way to the right hands, to help the people that truly need it.

Happy Memorial Day from Uganda!

Happy Memorial Day, America! Today I was finally able to sleep in a little until 10am, and felt no rush to get out of bed since once again there was not much scheduled for me to do. I took my garbage out to the post by my gate where the guard stands, and met the first female guard I’ve had since I’ve been here. Her name is also Josephine and we chatted for a few minutes before I returned to my book. A couple hours later, Josephine, knowing how bored I was, asked if it would be alright if we had lunch together. I was more than excited to have someone to talk to for a while and ran in my house to get her a fork and some napkins. She and I talked for over three hours, and the conversation turned my day of nothingness into a very enlightening one. Learning about different peoples’ cultures, countries, and languages is one of my greatest passions, if not the greatest, and during these few hours we learned a ton about each other’s lives. Josephine is 25 and lives with her sister in Kabalaga, a district of Kampala. She is originally from a small village in Uganda that is 230 miles away. Her parents still live in that village, and her 7 younger brothers now are dispersed around various parts of Uganda. The first topic that Josephine brought up is religion. She was born and baptized as a Catholic because her parents are Catholic, but last year she converted to the Mormon Church. Missionaries from many different Christian sects have a strong presence in Africa, especially Uganda, but she told me it is the Mormons that she sees the most. We got into a very long talk about colonialism and the concept of religious missionary work, which she was very intrigued by. During our conversation, I prefaced all my comments with “in my opinion…” and told her that in the classes I’ve taken about French imperialism I’ve learned that many imperial powers try to change the ways of “less advanced” or “less civilized” peoples by introducing them to western belief systems, both political and religious. Although there may be good intentions to help the subjects, Ugandans for example, there is always the underlying belief that these people are living incorrectly and doing things the wrong way altogether. Even though colonization is over, the work of religious missionaries continues to alter the lives of many people in developing countries. Since I don’t know from firsthand experience about the reasoning or tactics used by Christian missionaries, I couldn’t comment much except to say I believe it is another attempt to change the natural ways of life for these people.

She began to ask me many questions about the Mormon Church, specifically that of the Latter Day Saints, the sect to which she was converted last year. I was unable to answer many of her questions because I do not know much about the Mormon Church. She asked what religion I follow, and I told her that I am Jewish. She looked at me with confusion, and slightly nodded her head, and I realized she had no idea what I was talking about. I explained to her that Judaism is a religion different from Christianity altogether, not another one of its sects. She had never heard of Israel, and so I told her about the history of persecution the Jews faced, explained to her what the Holocaust was, and how as a result a state was created for the Jewish people. She did not know about the ongoing war in the Middle East between the Palestinians and the Israelis, and it was interesting and at the same time extremely difficult to break down the cause of the problems there, which came across essentially as an issue of land rights and country borders, yet with so much history and struggle behind it.

After the recent presidential election in Uganda, word spread through the international news that violence had broken out in the country’s capital, Kampala, as citizens protested the outcome of the election. Many people from the US, myself included, tend to associate opposition leaders and their parties with disruption and violence, and generally, think of them as rebel groups with a negative connotation. I know that before I arrived, my family and I were hoping that these particular Ugandan “opposition” parties would go home and be quiet so that war did not eventually break out. After speaking with Josephine, I was enlightened on much of the conflict surrounding this election, and the desperation in these opposition protests. President Museveni, as I mentioned yesterday, is believed to have rigged this most recent election in his favor. When I asked Josephine whom she voted for, she said she would have voted for anyone except him, and she personally does not know a single person that did in fact vote for Museveni. She says that she and her people are desperate for change. He has been “elected” as President since 1986, and since he has been in power life has changed dramatically for Ugandans. During his early campaigns, he borrowed billions of shillings from the Central Bank of Uganda to advertise and pay bribes to various officials to guarantee he would get their vote. He withdrew so much in fact, that the Bank ran out of money almost completely, and so when people went to their local branch to withdraw money from their accounts, there was none left. So, under government orders, this debt now falls indirectly to the people. Josephine says that before Museveni, 10,000 shillings ($5) was enough to buy a sufficient amount of groceries. But now, all supermarkets have been forced to mark up prices so high that 10,000 shillings may get a customer 3 items instead of 10. These markups are the result of the bank’s debt, which Museveni caused. Speaking in dollars, when a customer in Uganda buys a loaf of bread for $5 at the supermarket, $1 pays for the bread, a second $1 is profit for the store, and the remaining $3 goes directly to the Central Bank of Uganda to rectify the debt. This spike in prices for everyday goods explains the protests against the high cost of living that I mentioned yesterday. I asked Josephine if she thought the protests against Museveni could reach the level that they did in Egypt a couple months ago, but she does not believe they would because the Ugandan people are not united. She said that now is a time when it is difficult to know who you can trust, and most people have learned to keep their feelings of opposition to themselves because you cannot be sure that the person you talk to one day will not betray you the next. Museveni has many spies in the country and an army that is quick to kill. Josephine told me that she hears often that people she knew have been killed for one reason or another. One reason may be their open hatred for Museveni’s government, and another may be because the victim was too intelligent and posed a threat to Museveni’s presidency. If you are smart, with a good reputation from his hometown in Western Uganda, you can look forward to an appointed, well-paid position in Museveni’s government. But if you are unknown to him, from an Eastern village, politically involved and bright, it is best to keep your mouth shut or expect a visit from his soldiers.

The time I spent with Josephine today was invaluable in helping to understand the difficulties people here face on a day-to-day basis. The emotion behind her stories helped me learn more than one ever could from reading a book, or even from reading this post, but I sure hope it helps. Nothing in print is ever as good as it is firsthand, and I believe that if you can, you really have to come here and experience it for yourself.

A Very Lazy Sunday

This morning I woke up to heavy rainfall at about 7am. The walls, glass doors and windows are so thin at my house that I can hear everything around me. At night, it’s hard to tell if loud noises are coming from my neighbor’s yard or somewhere within mine, and I do find myself constantly checking the guard’s outpost in my courtyard. The thought of him here with me in this enormous compound is definitely reassuring, as is the razor wire. Last night I gave my parents a video tour of my house, and showed them bedrooms I had not even entered yet! May is nearing the end of Uganda’s rainy season, and I happily read my book in bed as the rainfall stopped. Thunderstorms here don’t last longer than about 10-30 minutes, and soon the sun was right back out. I prepared my pineapple like Miss Josephine taught me and made a delicious breakfast of gluten-free toast and eggs. My gluten allergy hasn’t posed too much of a problem here, besides refusing pizza at Café Roma it’s really quite manageable. After breakfast began my very lazy Sunday. Greg and Layla are at an all-day function, and since I don’t know my way around the city well enough to venture out alone, I’ve spent the day out in my yard tanning with a good book and this blog.

I started this blog because I have to write the same account of my time here, except in French, as part of a business French class I am enrolled in at Michigan. Originally my internship was in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, a francophone country in West Africa, but due to outbreaks of extreme violence I was let go from that post, reapplied, and was accepted in Kampala. I let my French teacher know with regret that since I would no longer be working in a French-speaking country I would not be able to participate in her class, but being the amazing woman that she is, she is allowing me to blog about my internship in French and still receive credit. If you’re a French speaker (Margie) and would like a link to that blog, let me know!

I would much prefer to be out and about exploring the city, but since I have little else to do today besides lounge, tan, read and cook (the rough life, I know) I’ll give a couple more tidbits that I’ve picked up about Uganda. For starters, Burkina Faso is a French-speaking country because it is a former French colony. In Uganda, the official language is English because it was an English colony before it gained independence in 1962. Unlike other English colonies, like Kenya for example, Uganda never had that large of a native British population. In Kenya, the British people found the game reserves way more impressive, and more importantly, there is no threat of malaria there like there is here. So, the British people outsourced most of the day-to-day responsibilities of Ugandan maintenance to Indians. Here, it is the Indians who own the stone quarries and sugar plantations, and it is these people who the Ugandans viewed as their oppressors instead of the British. To this day there is still underlying hostilities between the Indian and Ugandan people.

For any of you news-followers out there, conflict between the current ruling government and opposition parties has calmed down almost completely in the city of Kampala. The elected President Museveni (opposition leaders believe the election was rigged) recently abolished the constitutional limit on presidential terms, and that’s got a lot of people, especially those who enjoy democracy, in a bit of a huff. For a few days before I arrived, civilians protested in Kampala against the high cost of living, especially of fuel. The people participated in Walk-to-Work demonstrations and anyone who did drive would honk, or “hoot” as they call it here, to demonstrate their support for those walking. Needless to say, the government has now made “hooting” illegal, and in Friday’s newspaper there was a half-page section listing about 40 license plate numbers of those cars that had illegally hooted and were now WANTED by authorities.

Tomorrow, Monday, I have another day off to celebrate our American Memorial Day. The Embassy gets 10 official days off, and chooses a mixture of American and Ugandan holidays that they will recognize. After this three-day weekend I’ll have only a three-day week because Friday is off to celebrate Uganda’s National Martyrs’ Day, which remembers those who were killed for converting to Christianity in Buganda, one of Uganda’s kingdoms.

That’s enough of a history lesson for now, hopefully I’ll be out exploring more soon, and first official day of work is Tuesday!

Post 3- Errands Around the City

Today (Saturday) I woke up at 6am, and although I got a pretty good night sleep the jet lag hasn’t quite worn off yet. The ten hour difference from California to Uganda basically turns night into day and my body hasn’t been too quick to catch on. Layla and Greg picked me up along with their sons, Benji and Dino, and we headed to Garden City, a new shopping mall in Kampala. I was feeling quite nauseous from my malaria medication but needed to get an internet hookup from one of the shops. I don’t have any fancy wifi here, instead, people buy a stick that plugs into your computer’s USB port and you charge it up monthly with a certain amount of memory. If you don’t use all your allotted memory, you can use it the next month, kindof like rollover minutes that Cingular Wireless used to brag about back when it existed… Dino excitedly showed me around the huge shopping mall, which consists not only of stores, but also restaurants, a movie theater, and even a bowling alley. After the mall I went grocery shopping with the family and was amazed at the huge selection of fruits the store offered. In Uganda, native oranges are actually green, unless you buy the imported Americanized ones. Another bit of advice: when in Uganda, don’t buy the green bananas because they will never ripen into yellow ones like they do at home. Green bananas are a different variety all together and have a taste more similar to a potato. Layla stocked up on pineapple, pawpaws (in the papaya family) watermelon, and my favorite find of all- jack fruit. Jack fruit is some of the sweetest, most delicious fruit I’ve ever tasted, and it looks like a baby yellow bell pepper. Unfortunately, Layla told me it’s forbidden to bring jack fruit back on airplanes because over time it will stink up the whole cabin with a peppery, garlic-y odor that betrays the delicious taste inside. I have a few extra bedrooms for anyone who wants a try.

After these errands we headed back to Layla and Greg’s house where their cook, Miss Josephine, taught me how to conquer and prepare a giant pineapple. In Kampala, it is expected that every well-to-do family will have hired help, and pretty much every Embassy-employed family has a nanny for the children, a live-in housekeeper, cook, gardener, driver, and gate guard. In the US, these types of help are usually reserved for the extremely wealthy, but in Uganda it is quite commonplace and this is for several reasons. First, not only is it fairly inexpensive here, it’s a form of social welfare. Ugandans that are employed by families make far more money than they would working in the stone quarries, in construction, or in factories. Often, the money they make is used to pay for reputable boarding schools for their children, and to improve their own homes in poorer areas of the country. Second, cooks and housekeepers are necessary for preparing and cooking fruits and vegetables that are not ready-to-eat like they are in the States. Of course when I buy a bag of grapes at home I rinse them under the faucet for a good 5 seconds, but here only fruit that you can peel is safe, and raw vegetables are out of the question. I watched Miss Josephine make a mixture of 1 tablespoon bleach for every 2 liters of water, and after thoroughly washing all the fruits and veggies in the sink they were placed in this mixture to soak for about an hour, rinsed with clean water once again, then boiled. Greg told me that a cook can usually be hired for about $100-$200 per month, and with four interns living at my house and splitting the cost, we should really consider treating ourselves to freshly cut pineapple and a hot meal ready for when we get home. That’d be bizarre to get used to, but don’t get me wrong, it’s tempting…

Post 2- Waking Up in Kampala

Although I was absolutely exhausted from the near 24 hours worth of traveling, I was too excited to sleep much that first night. It was that excitement, as well as the 5:30am call to prayer broadcast by the nearby mosques, and the unbelievable variety of morning bird calls that helped to wake me up in time to see the sun rise in front of my balcony. Over half of the bird species found in Africa are in Uganda, and seriously they make noises you have never heard. I could have sworn there was a chimpanzee somewhere in my house until I was told that a very common bird here sounds like a monkey. Unable to sleep anymore, I made myself breakfast and ate outside in my courtyard. At 7am it was about 70 degrees, the perfect temperature that seems to read on the thermometer no matter day or night. At 9:30am I was picked up at my house by a driver who brought me to the US Embassy for the first time. The 10 minute drive from my house to the Embassy is along one of the main roads in this part of Kampala, and the city was bustling with people everywhere. It was my first chance to see Kampala during the day, and the first thing anyone would notice on the road is the maniacal driving of motorbikes, here called “bota-botas.” The first warning I got from Greg and Layla is to NEVER ride on a bota-bota taxi. Half of hospital patients are these drivers and passengers (sometimes three or four people stacked on one bike, with groceries, bags, goats, etc) who weave in and out of traffic, up onto sidewalks, and through traffic lights without a second glance. Part of this hectic road scene may be related to the lack of any lane markings, potholes that send even SUVs flying into the air, and broken traffic signals in intersections that are directed by one, lonely traffic officer who can’t seem to get hundreds of cars to pay attention to him. Instead of blinkers, most people use horns to let other drivers know they’re coming in whether you like it or not, and it seems that everyone has the right of way, all the time.

Upon arrival at the US Embassy, I went through security and proceeded inside. I was met in front by Greg and the Political Affairs Deputy. Hebecame my tour guide for the day, introducing me to everyone in the Political Affairs Department and showing me the lay of the land. The Embassy is huge with a different wing for every department. I had my first meeting with the Political Affairs Officer (the Officer is the head of each department) and she gave me a brief outline of what I will be doing this summer. The first big event is on Tuesday at the Ambassador’s house. The event is called Rising Stars, and it is a mentoring event for about 300 Ugandan high school girls. My office is in the pressroom, which I share with three other employees, all Ugandan. That was probably the biggest surprise at the Embassy. I assumed that since it was a US post, all employees inside would be American, but actually, besides the deputies and officers, native Ugandans carry out mostly all other functions of the Embassy.

Since Friday is a half-day, I left early at 12:30pm. Layla and Greg invited me to a lunch that was held at the home of the American Manager of Operations. His wife, half-Korean, had cooked up an incredible feast which included homemade sushi, kim-chi, sweet and sour chicken, and sweet potato noodles, just to name a few dishes. There were four other embassy families at the lunch, and it was a great opportunity to talk with them and learn about life in the Foreign Service. They’ve been stationed in Bogota, Mexico City, Bombay, Bosnia, Liberia, Senegal, Peru…the list keeps on going. One of the most interesting things for me is that every family at the lunch has young children under the age of 10. When considering a career with the Foreign Service, I’ve always been concerned with how family life would exist and survive when you must move across the world every three or four years. It was really intriguing to hear their stories, and exciting to meet all of their kids later in the day. Dino, Layla and Greg’s son who is 10, attends the International School in Entebbe, and it was awesome to hear him talk about his friends from Korea, Germany, England and India. Tonight Dino is at a Cub Scout sleepover…amazing how far we are from the US but a lot of childhood traditions and activities are the same. For dinner we went to Café Roma, an Italian restaurant that many Embassy families go to every Friday night, where kids can jump on the trampoline, make their own pizza and eat ice cream. After successfully staying awake all day, I passed out early at 9pm, with ear plugs this time to avoid the bird call and Islamic prayer alarm clocks.

Post 1- First Days in Uganda!

As a first-time blogger, I'm not sure who to address these posts to, or if that's even necessary, but I’m optimistic and will pretend that there's someone out there reading this (hi mom and dad)...so...

Dear Anyone and Everyone,

It’s amazing to me that after only 2 days in Kampala, Uganda, I already have so much to report. This will probably be the longest of my posts since I’m including the trip itself, and my first few days. If it seems to drag on, don’t forget I’m here alone on a three-day weekend. If I have anything at all, it’s time. I left on Wednesday, May 25^th from SFO International airport, flew 11 hours to Amsterdam, ran to my next gate, and flew 9 hours to Entebbe, Uganda, stopping briefly in Kigali, Rwanda. I met the most amazing German 20 year old girl on the first leg of my journey, and we talked for four hours straight about as many topics as you can imagine. Meeting other people and hearing about their journeys, where they’re coming from and where they are going, is one of the best parts about sitting in the middle seat between two people you’ve never met and will probably never see again. I arrived in Uganda on Thursday evening and was met at the gate by an Expeditor from the US Embassy. His name was Nono. Nono and I went through customs together, and then headed over to baggage claim where I saw a large piece of posterboard that read, “The following bags were not loaded onto the plane…” I read the list of names just for kicks, and there was my name in lights. SIMONS. For anyone that has been around me the past few months, they know that many of the arrangements for this internship have been out of my control. Whether it was confirming the country I would be serving in, or attempting in vain to make flight arrangements (successfully booked a day and a half before departure) I’ve learned that well, shit happens. Nono seemed pretty relaxed about the whole “you don’t have any luggage” situation, so it was a bit easier to accept that if a flight to Africa is crowded, they might just pluck your bags out of the lot and feel no reason to consult you on the matter. Nono and I left baggage claim with one found bag out of two, and met up with my sponsor, Greg. Greg, an American, and his wife Layla, who is Bosnian, are my sponsors here in Uganda and they both work at the US Embassy. I’ve spent mostly all of my time with them and their two sons, Dino (10) and Benji (2.5), the past two days. They are incredible people and have completely adopted me as another child, but more on that later.

The drive from Entebbe to my house in Kampala was about 40 minutes. Entebbe is right on Lake Victoria, the second largest lake in the world, and Kampala is north from there. In just 40 minutes there were three police checkpoints, but we did not have to stop because the license plates on our car read CD02, which identify us as employees of the US Embassy. I arrived at my house, and although I was told it would be big, I didn’t realize it was essentially a mansion. The house has seven bedrooms, most with their own bathrooms and balconies, sitting room, dining room, TV room, servant’s quarters and beautiful backyard. Since I am the first intern to arrive (I will soon share the house with three other interns) I was directed to the master suite and immediately dropped my backpack like it was a flag meant to stake out my territory. Although I’m alone in this huge house, I feel comforted by the brick walls enclosing the compound, the razor wire decorating the top of the walls, the 24 hour armed guard at my gate, and the panic button next to my bed, that if pressed, will send a screeching alarm to the Marines at the Embassy. As Greg said, “all hell will break loose if you press this button.” I like the thought of that.