Last week (what I really mean is 2 weeks ago) was crazy. I know I say that every week, but I’m
serious every time. There are so many things I can’t describe so hopefully the
pictures can help you understand what it’s really like here. We started the
week with another eye (glasses and eye drops) outreach and finished with
another cataracts outreach. This week we treated 172 for eye conditions,
and many more received cataracts
surgeries. In between those projects I taught institute, worked on my muscular
system painting, and helped educate young girls about reusable menstrual pads
(RUMPS).
We had to teach how to give eye
drops..
I also never realized how hard it
was to teach young girls to sew. Not sure how long these pads will last…. But
at least they’re pad shaped…
Again grateful for the multiple uses for Athletic tape. Entertaining boys during a RUMPs project isn't easy.
After taking care of all my projects I left for Rwanda with
my friends Matt and Holli (part of my group) and my African friends Moses and
Stephen. I think of all the vacations I’ve had this was the worst I’ve ever
had- and that’s why it was the best. On the way to Rwanda we stopped in several
towns to visit friends and cool sights.
Several years ago I visited the equator in
Ecuador, at the time I never would have thought I’d visit the equator again on
the other side of the world.
While visiting
my friend Moses’s family he introduced us to his neighbor, a young boy who takes
care of bee hives and sells honey to pay for his school fees. We were happy to
buy honey from him. This was the best and sweetest honey I’ve ever had. Even
walking by the hives you could smell them from more than 20 feet away.
Their community was so kind! I don’t think I’ve ever
been in a place where I felt so loved and welcomed.
My friend Moses was the only one that spoke English, but even with the language
barrier we loved each other.
His mom was one of the coolest ladies! I didn’t want to
cross the river across the collapsed bridge to hike to their house- but his mom
did it in high heels.. If she can do it while in her 70s, I can do it too. And I
did.
The next day we visited the Pigmi tribe.. they’re real! The night before meeting them in their village
we saw one at a restaurant and wanted to talk to him. But he didn’t speak
English. Holli turned to Moses to ask him for a favor and he said “Sure, But
don’t ask me to go over there, I’m scared of him!” It was hilarious! Even
though the pigmis are tiny, I guess they can be scary.
The Pigmis were great, but there was a huge contrast
between their tribe and Moses’s tribe. The Pigmis loved us because they knew we
had money. The whole 20 minute walk back to our car the children followed and
said over and over and over “give me money!” That’s the only English they knew.
When we were leaving Moses’s tribe they kept saying goodbye and handing us
gifts because they loved us- not for our money, but because of who we were. We
were friends, not a means to an end.
The Pigmis culture has been ruined by Mzungus coming in and
handing out money. A lot of the problems we face as NGO workers are because
communities expect free handouts. There are many communities we visit but are
unable to teach because they are unwilling to listen. They sit and wait for
foreign aid. And it’s a problem. Their communities suffer. The communities we
end up working with are the ones hungry for education. They know the best way
to get out of poverty is to do it themselves without waiting for outside help.
The communities who don’t expect free handouts are the ones that are receptive
to our teaching and they’re the communities who will one day bring Uganda out
of poverty.
People are lined up all day to get water, but when we passed, they were leaving their places in line to ask us for money.
We also visited a third community- a refugee camp in
south Uganda. It wasn’t as exciting as it sounds, but hearing their stories
opens your eyes to many more problems people face in Africa. Right now, many of
the refugees are from Brundi. When we went to Rwanda most of the hostels were
also filled with people from Brundi who weren’t accepted in the refugee camps.
Hopefully their political unrest will end soon.
We were also lucky enough to see the
Silver Back Gorillas. They were BEAUTIFUL. There aren’t words to describe the
experience there.
While we were wandering through the forest to find them
I was talking to Moses about his cannibal ancestors- he swore he wasn’t a
cannibal (even though cannibalism is still practiced). While talking he turned
to Matt and Holli, put his arm around me and said “If I was a cannibal I’d eat
this one because she’s fat!” and it was the funniest compliment I’ve ever
heard! We still laugh about it.
Entering Rwanda was exciting, but
that’s because we had no idea what a struggle was ahead.
In Rwanda nobody speaks English. It was hard just
finding food. On the bus ride to the city a kind lady on the bus shared her
breakfast with me- it was sad I couldn’t even thank her for her kindness.
Somehow we met a man from Uganda who did speak English and he helped show us
around town. Finding him was a miracle. Otherwise we would have missed the main
sites we wanted to see.
Everywhere we went there were memorials with thousands
of bodies buried at each site. We traveled to one Church (Tutsis would hide in
churches because they thought they would be safe inside. They weren’t.) to see
thousands of dead bodies, and less than 10 minutes down the road we could see
the same thing at another church or another school. 10,000 at one+ 4,000 at the
next+ 100,000 at the next +another with 20,000, etc. It was hard to see.
The hardest was the skulls of all the children. There was a
wall at a school where the children had their heads smashed in against the
wall. The wall is still covered in blood and brain and skull. In the main
museum they have stories from the children that died. Patrick, age 6, liked to
ride his bike and eat rice and beans. Another girl, age 8, who loved jogging
with her dad. Sisters, ages 2 and 4, both dady’s girls who loved cake. Story
after story. If they had lived they would be my age.
After visiting the museums we went to the community built
for the survivors to hear their stories too. Every story I heard was hard.
There aren’t words for it.
The ride home was also insane. Fun fact- prisoners are
transported in public taxis with the rest of us.
I rolled my window down (because we’re in Africa.
It’s really hot.) and the taxi driver pulled over, got out, and rolled it back
up without even talking to me. I guess if the prisoner escaped from the man
who was holding him down, they didn’t want him to get out through the windows?
Definitely not the best taxi ride I’ve had…
So many other crazy things happened but I can’t tell them
all without this post turning into a novel. And for most of the stories there
just aren’t words.
On Wednesday we set out for Mbale. We wanted to take the 4AM
YY bus home. Our tickets even said 4AM, but the bus didn’t leave til 6AM. I had
planned to deliver some babies for my birthday to celebrate, but because I was
2 hours late, I missed all the deliveries that day. I was sad I couldn’t
celebrate my birthday the way I wanted to, but my team still made my birthday
the best ever by making me a chapatti cake. I’m so grateful for the incredible
people I’ve met here.
Because I missed all the Wednesday births I went early today
to see any deliveries. Fortunately I arrived at the same time as a woman ready
to give birth. She was completely dilated but contractions were still too far
apart. We waited and encouraged and waited. She had awful discharge which was a
bad sign- it showed that she used natural drugs to induce dilation even though
the baby wasn’t ready to come. While we waited I got to examine the tummy and
check the heart rate. There was a heart rate. After 3 hours of waiting, the nurse
decided to inject oxytocin to induce labor. The baby was coming. Except the
baby was breach. On the way out she suffocated. And we couldn’t save her. And
it was really hard.
When the nurse realized the baby was dead she put her on the
mom’s chest, cut the cord, then took the baby by her feet, wrapped her up, and
left her to be burned. All while yelling at the mother for taking the natural
drugs. That’s how it’s done here. No comfort, just scolding for a problem that
could have been prevented. As a volunteer I’m not supposed to cry- After the
whole ordeal I had to leave.
There are hard days here. I’d be lying if I said it was all
rainbows and butterflies. But I love every second of it. I love the Ugandan
people so much. One of my favorite poems says
“Your joy is your
sorrow unmasked
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises
was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being,
the more joy you can contain.”
I’m grateful for the hard times. There really aren’t words
for the things I’ve witnessed. But every time I suffer with them I love them
more. I love their strength, and their persistence, and their attitudes towards
life. And it’s the suffering that makes us close. It’s the suffering that helps
me understand. Just like the suffering Christ did to help us be close to him.
He understands. I can never understand the mother’s feelings, just as you
will never understand mine as I delivered a dead baby. But Christ does. He
understands.
