You know that time in the morning when you’ve woken up and you’re deciding how much longer you can doze before having to actually get up? Well, I’ve learned in the last few weeks that here in Uganda I don’t even have to open my eyes and check a clock to get a rough estimate of the time. If I wake up and all I hear are cicadas buzzing outside, then I can go back to sleep—that’s a night sound. However, if I hear birds singing outside, then I will likely have to get up soon—birds are a morning sound. I can almost set my clock to the birds as they seem to start singing about an hour before the sun rises at 7:00.
The sounds here emphasize the contrasts in this country. I hear cell phones ringing and goats bleating; radios blaring and roosters crowing; vehicle horns sounding and cows bawling. There’s even a local ice-cream man whose motorcycle plays a tinny electronic version of Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” that I hear from time to time. I hear the Call to Prayer from the local mosque as well as the sound of raucous singing and preaching from an outdoor Christian tent revival. There are the natural sounds like birds, insects, heavy rain or wind in the banana leaves, but there is also manmade noise like traffic, generator motors or vehicle horns. Most sounds I’ve heard here are pleasant, but hearing gunshots, teargas being fired, or rioters shouting was unnerving.
People and relationships are highly valued in this culture and it is not surprising that the sounds reflect this. Passengers on motorcycle taxis or open trucks shout greetings to the people they pass on the side of the road. Little children sing together as they play. Market stall owners call out to passersby to try to drum up business. Mothers give instructions to their children. Taxi drivers negotiate prices with customers. Political activists drive around with megaphones mounted on the back of pick-up trucks raising awareness of all kinds of issues. It’s almost like human voices are the soundtrack playing in the background all the time.
There is an important distinction between hearing sounds and listening to them, so I hope that I am not just “hearing” sounds but I’m also listening to them in an attempt to understand my context better.
PS: Waking up to a variety of songbirds every morning is pretty great!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Understanding My Context: The Sounds
You know that time in the morning when you’ve woken up and you’re deciding how much longer you can doze before having to actually get up? Well, I’ve learned in the last few weeks that here in Uganda I don’t even have to open my eyes and check a clock to get a rough estimate of the time. If I wake up and all I hear are cicadas buzzing outside, then I can go back to sleep—that’s a night sound. However, if I hear birds singing outside, then I will likely have to get up soon—birds are a morning sound. I can almost set my clock to the birds as they seem to start singing about an hour before the sun rises at 7:00.
The sounds here emphasize the contrasts in this country. I hear cell phones ringing and goats bleating; radios blaring and roosters crowing; vehicle horns sounding and cows bawling. There’s even a local ice-cream man whose motorcycle plays a tinny electronic version of Beethoven’s “Fuer Elise” that I hear that from time to time. I hear the Call to Prayer from the local mosque as well as the sound of raucous singing and preaching from an outdoor Christian tent revival. There are the natural sounds like birds, insects, heavy rain or wind in the banana leaves, but there is also manmade noise like traffic, generator motors or vehicle horns. Most sounds I’ve heard here are pleasant, but hearing gunshots, teargas being fired, or rioters shouting was unnerving.
People and relationships are highly valued in this culture and it is not surprising that the sounds reflect this. Passengers on motorcycle taxis or open trucks shout greetings to the people they pass on the side of the road. Little children sing together as they play. Market stall owners call out to passersby to try to drum up business. Mothers give instructions to their children. Taxi drivers negotiate prices with customers. Political activists drive around with megaphones mounted on the back of pick-up trucks raising awareness of all kinds of issues. It’s almost like human voices are the soundtrack playing in the background all the time.
There is an important distinction between hearing sounds and listening to them, so I hope that I am not just “hearing” sounds but I’m also listening to them in an attempt to understand my context better.
PS: Waking up to a variety of songbirds every morning is pretty great!
The sounds here emphasize the contrasts in this country. I hear cell phones ringing and goats bleating; radios blaring and roosters crowing; vehicle horns sounding and cows bawling. There’s even a local ice-cream man whose motorcycle plays a tinny electronic version of Beethoven’s “Fuer Elise” that I hear that from time to time. I hear the Call to Prayer from the local mosque as well as the sound of raucous singing and preaching from an outdoor Christian tent revival. There are the natural sounds like birds, insects, heavy rain or wind in the banana leaves, but there is also manmade noise like traffic, generator motors or vehicle horns. Most sounds I’ve heard here are pleasant, but hearing gunshots, teargas being fired, or rioters shouting was unnerving.
People and relationships are highly valued in this culture and it is not surprising that the sounds reflect this. Passengers on motorcycle taxis or open trucks shout greetings to the people they pass on the side of the road. Little children sing together as they play. Market stall owners call out to passersby to try to drum up business. Mothers give instructions to their children. Taxi drivers negotiate prices with customers. Political activists drive around with megaphones mounted on the back of pick-up trucks raising awareness of all kinds of issues. It’s almost like human voices are the soundtrack playing in the background all the time.
There is an important distinction between hearing sounds and listening to them, so I hope that I am not just “hearing” sounds but I’m also listening to them in an attempt to understand my context better.
PS: Waking up to a variety of songbirds every morning is pretty great!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Hope
“For pennies a day, you can make a difference in a child’s life. Call today!” We’ve all seen the commercials on TV asking you to pick up the phone and pledge to sponsor a child in a far-off country, and we develop a degree of immunity to these appeals. It’s easy to wonder how mere “pennies a day” can really help in terms of the massive needs in these countries. However, I have to say that these ad campaigns are not trying to deceive you. Sponsoring a child can provide opportunities for children that would not be able to go to school otherwise, and (please pardon the cliché,) it DOES make a difference!
Today, I had the privilege of meeting up with the girl that I have sponsored, and she is an example of someone that has truly benefitted from a relatively small financial investment. In a country where girls face many challenges trying to finish primary let alone secondary school, she has graduated from O-Level and has earned a post-secondary certificate in accountancy. She is hoping to go on and earn a diploma from a school in Kampala, which will allow her to get a higher paying job. She is a bright, determined young woman whose eyes lit up as she described her ultimate goal of working in a bank. However, without sponsorship, she would not have been able to afford school fees and would have little chance of breaking the poverty cycle. It is such an honour to see firsthand how the gift of education has changed someone’s life.
She was on her way to Kampala today, but she wanted to interrupt her journey in Masaka to meet up with me and greet me (a very important thing to do in this culture.) She was waiting for me outside a cafe and when I got out of the car, she rushed over with a big smile on her face to give me a hug. We visited for maybe 20 minutes or so and she gave me a woven straw mat that she’d made. She told me that her family sent their greetings and was praying for me, and her smile got even bigger when I told her that I also brought greetings from my family. It was so great to sit across the table from her and make that personal connection.
The needs here are real and the challenge is great. However, it is not hopeless. A straw mat presented to me by an ambitious young woman is all the proof I need.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Unrest
A PowerPoint announcement slide in church this morning read something like “Welcome back from the previous week of gunfire, teargas and running exercise.” I can’t say that I’ve ever seen anything like that at church at home, but sadly, that was the experience here in Uganda this week.
You may or may not have heard that there were some violent protests that broke out in Kampala earlier this week and I actually happened to be in the city at the time. The violence extended beyond the capital and there were some blockades and rioters even here in Masaka. It was a bit of an adventure trying to get home on Friday, but thanks to the help and advice of some great Ugandan friends (and the prayers of many) we are all safe. Things have settled down now and people are getting back to routine, but the experience did highlight a few concepts for me:
1. Adversity brings people together.
2. Good friends are invaluable.
3. Cell phones are a wonderful invention.
You can read about the situation in more detail from various internet news sources, if you’re interested, but we’re all doing fine here and are maintaining positive attitudes. Keep Uganda in your thoughts and prayers!
You may or may not have heard that there were some violent protests that broke out in Kampala earlier this week and I actually happened to be in the city at the time. The violence extended beyond the capital and there were some blockades and rioters even here in Masaka. It was a bit of an adventure trying to get home on Friday, but thanks to the help and advice of some great Ugandan friends (and the prayers of many) we are all safe. Things have settled down now and people are getting back to routine, but the experience did highlight a few concepts for me:
1. Adversity brings people together.
2. Good friends are invaluable.
3. Cell phones are a wonderful invention.
You can read about the situation in more detail from various internet news sources, if you’re interested, but we’re all doing fine here and are maintaining positive attitudes. Keep Uganda in your thoughts and prayers!
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Waiting
Time is viewed in more general terms here than most Westerners are used to, so it shouldn’t be too surprising that more than a few well-meaning development workers have burned out trying to get tasks accomplished according to a rigid timeline. Everything just takes longer than you expect and you spend a lot of your time simply waiting—many times you don’t even know what you’re waiting for.
Personally, I try not to get too worked up about “wasted time” and try to keep myself entertained while I wait Good thing the cell phone I just bought has games on it!
I also came up with a helpful sort of acrostic poem that I could repeat over and over to myself as I wait.
While
Activities
Involve
Tedium
I
Never
Grumble.
I may have to say it through gritted teeth every once in a while, but I shall boldly attempt to stay positive in the face of frequent and interminable waits!
Personally, I try not to get too worked up about “wasted time” and try to keep myself entertained while I wait Good thing the cell phone I just bought has games on it!
I also came up with a helpful sort of acrostic poem that I could repeat over and over to myself as I wait.
While
Activities
Involve
Tedium
I
Never
Grumble.
I may have to say it through gritted teeth every once in a while, but I shall boldly attempt to stay positive in the face of frequent and interminable waits!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Understanding My Context: The Smells
Countries adopt national birds, flowers, sports and all kinds of national symbols. Well, I think Uganda really should try something new and be the first nation in the world to declare a National Smell. Towards this end, I humbly submit my nomination: Smoke—the National Smell of Uganda. (Not the cigarette variety, we’re talking the smoke caused by the burning of wood or grass.) You smell smoke in both rural and urban areas and it seems like every breath you take in has a hint of wood smoke in it. You may not believe me, but even as I write this I can smell the smoke from a nearby fire.
It is the end of the dry season at the moment, so farmers who keep cattle tend to burn the older grass at this time so that new, fresh grass can grow when the rains start. Similarly, other farmers burn brush in order to clear their land for cultivation. Driving through the countryside right now you can see charred hillsides where there has been burning and at night you can see the glow from these fires.
It is not just farmers that cause all the smoke smell in the air, however. Brick makers, charcoal producers and housewives all do their share in producing it. Bricks are baked in wood-fuelled kilns, charcoal suppliers obviously can’t make their product without burning wood and housewives cook the family meals over open fires or charcoal fires. It is no wonder that every breath has a smoky undertone.
Other nominations for Ugandan National Smell could be diesel fumes or “just-rained-on-dirt,” but these would be distant runners-up. Smoke takes it.
It is the end of the dry season at the moment, so farmers who keep cattle tend to burn the older grass at this time so that new, fresh grass can grow when the rains start. Similarly, other farmers burn brush in order to clear their land for cultivation. Driving through the countryside right now you can see charred hillsides where there has been burning and at night you can see the glow from these fires.
It is not just farmers that cause all the smoke smell in the air, however. Brick makers, charcoal producers and housewives all do their share in producing it. Bricks are baked in wood-fuelled kilns, charcoal suppliers obviously can’t make their product without burning wood and housewives cook the family meals over open fires or charcoal fires. It is no wonder that every breath has a smoky undertone.
Other nominations for Ugandan National Smell could be diesel fumes or “just-rained-on-dirt,” but these would be distant runners-up. Smoke takes it.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Stories
There is that stereotypical image of traditional life in Africa with a village elder sitting in front of the campfire telling stories to the children in order to impart wisdom and teach the history of the tribe. While modern academics may bemoan the perceived loss of this practice in post-colonial Africa, it seems to me (from my admittedly limited perspective) that oral tradition remains alive and well in these parts. The village elders may look a little different and the campfires may have changed somewhat, but stories are still a vital form of communication here.
Just as the village children would gather around the tribal elder to listen to stories, I have found myself listening to the wisdom of people who have been here longer than me. I have heard amusing anecdotes, cautionary tales, historical accounts, genealogical chronicles, epic sagas, exaggerated yarns, local legends, extended narratives and just about any kind of story imaginable. I’ve barely been here two weeks and in that time I’ve heard stories of persecution under Idi Amin and tales of close encounters with snakes, lions, elephants and all manner of wild animals. I’ve listened to tragic accounts of the vulnerability caused by poverty and learned of the innumerable challenges people have to overcome to make a better life for themselves and their families. But for each of these sad stories, I have heard inspiring tales of generosity, courage and resourcefulness.
I have listened as the Canadians with whom I work tell of their experiences, but I’ve also heard stories told by Ugandan teachers, school administrators, and even a game warden. One evening, I listened to stories recounted by two young Irish women working in a hospital here and in church one Sunday a visiting Kenyan pastor shared stories from his home. I’ve heard varying political and religious viewpoints and have heard stories from both the male and female perspective. People have shared stories to pass the time in the evenings or on the long drives from place to place; each day presents many opportunities for the telling of tales and I never tire of hearing them.
Right now, I feel like that village child sitting at the feet of the elder; I am trying to learn as much as I can from the stories I’m hearing because each tale adds to my understanding of this place and the people who live here. The problem is that every new story makes me realize how much more there is to learn! I appreciate each of the “elders” so far who have shared their wisdom and I can’t wait to hear the stories tomorrow will bring.
Just as the village children would gather around the tribal elder to listen to stories, I have found myself listening to the wisdom of people who have been here longer than me. I have heard amusing anecdotes, cautionary tales, historical accounts, genealogical chronicles, epic sagas, exaggerated yarns, local legends, extended narratives and just about any kind of story imaginable. I’ve barely been here two weeks and in that time I’ve heard stories of persecution under Idi Amin and tales of close encounters with snakes, lions, elephants and all manner of wild animals. I’ve listened to tragic accounts of the vulnerability caused by poverty and learned of the innumerable challenges people have to overcome to make a better life for themselves and their families. But for each of these sad stories, I have heard inspiring tales of generosity, courage and resourcefulness.
I have listened as the Canadians with whom I work tell of their experiences, but I’ve also heard stories told by Ugandan teachers, school administrators, and even a game warden. One evening, I listened to stories recounted by two young Irish women working in a hospital here and in church one Sunday a visiting Kenyan pastor shared stories from his home. I’ve heard varying political and religious viewpoints and have heard stories from both the male and female perspective. People have shared stories to pass the time in the evenings or on the long drives from place to place; each day presents many opportunities for the telling of tales and I never tire of hearing them.
Right now, I feel like that village child sitting at the feet of the elder; I am trying to learn as much as I can from the stories I’m hearing because each tale adds to my understanding of this place and the people who live here. The problem is that every new story makes me realize how much more there is to learn! I appreciate each of the “elders” so far who have shared their wisdom and I can’t wait to hear the stories tomorrow will bring.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
