March 6th, Bulabakulu Uganda

Second day at the orphanage. I woke up feeling a bit better and decided to just take things as they came. I vowed to face the day with an open mind and a renewed sense of purpose. 'I can do this', I thought. This is why I came. I still didn't get a lot of sleep, but I was already starting to accept that might be something I would just have to get used to here.

The kids were in school most of the day so it was quiet and we could get some work done without having them under foot. Project #1 - paint the girl's dorm. Most of the buidings here are grey and pretty dreary. Some parts used to be grey, but are now a sort of a burnt orange colour from all the hands and feet that have touched them. There's not a lot of grass in the compound, just red dirt and mud so any part of any building lower than 4-5 feet high gets pretty dirty pretty quickly.

At lunch a couple of the guys starting talking about having a bbq for the kids.  The next day was a national holiday in Uganda and there was no school so the timing was perfect. The original idea was to have a pig roast, but the headmaster of the school nixed that as some of the kids are Muslim so that wouldn't really be acceptable. Plan B - a cow. Yes, we decided that we would buy a cow and slaughter it.

Apparently the volunteers bought some chickens for a feast at Christmas. But killing a couple of chickens is one thing. Killing a cow is another prospect entirely.

It was slightly disturbing to see how much some of the guys relished the prospect of slaughtering this poor cow. I wondered how much of it was just bravado. When it came right down to it would they be able to follow through? I couldn't do it. I like my beef already dead when it comes to me thank you very much. I'm a very spoiled 'First Worlder' that way.

In consultation with some of the locals in the village the guys went out in search of a farm with a suitable cow, while the rest of us tried to put together a menu and work out what we would need in terms of vegetables.  After a couple of hours the guys came back saying that they had a found a cow and had negotiated a price with the owner - 675,000 shillings.  We would go the next day and get it.

We decided to get the festivities started early by taking some of the locals who work in the village into Wakiso to watch the Arsenal v AC Milan Champions League game at 'The Mango Shed' - one of the local watering holes. It's not much more than a shed actually, but it does have cold beer and satellite TV. English football (soccer) is extremely popular and quite a few of the locals are Arsenal supporters so it was a nice treat for them to actually see the game.

The only real means of transportation are 'Boda Bodas' which are motorcycles which serve as taxis. I remember seeing them as we made our drive from our hotel to the orphanage that first day - motorcycles everywhere weaving in and out of traffic, cutting in front of cars and trucks. Sometimes 3 and even 4 people on one boda and not one of them wearing a helmet. I thought at the time that they were crazy. But if I wanted to go to 'The Mango Shed' I had to endure my initiation into the world of boda riding.

There were 18 of us in total (8 volunteers and 10 Ugandans) so we had to call an entire fleet to pick us up. They came roaring into the compound, their headlamps piercing through the darkness. It caused quite a ruckus with the kids as they always like to gather around whenever a boda arrives. This time there were 7 of them! They were all yelling and cheering by the time we left.

I squeezed on a boda with 2 other volunteers so there were 4 of us in total on the bike including the driver. It was a very tight squeeze - we were practically sitting on each other's lap. I was afraid to breathe too deeply lest the guy behind me go flying off the back of the bike. You get to know your fellow volunteers very well on these rides ;-)

Off we went into the night crammed on the back of the bike, no helmets, in total darkness, on dirt roads.  It was to be the first of many many boda rides I've had in Uganda so far. I had yet to be introduced to riding a boda through Kampala. Now THAT is an experience, but will have to wait for a future post.

We arrived at The Mango Shed in one piece and because there were so many of us we took up about 3/4 of the small area in front of the bar where you could view the TV. We drank cold beers, watched a great game (Arsenal almost pulled off a great comeback and the people in the bar were going absolutely crazy with each goal) and had a fantastic night out with some of our Ugandan hosts.

The only other female volunteer (Arielle) and I decided that we would stick together that night, which included accompanying one another to the bathroom which was at the end of an alley outside the bar. At least we had a 'room'. The guys had urinals in the alley itself - attached to the wall outside. We just walked past them awkwardly.

I was waiting outside the door for Arielle when I heard her say what I thought could either be 'Oh look, a big old cockroach' or 'Oh look, a big old pot roast'. Considering the setting I went with the latter. 'It's ok,' she said. 'I squished it'  Sure enough when it was my turn I walked in and saw a squished cockroach right about where  you would place your left foot beside the hole which served as the toilet. 'TIA' as we say. 'This is Africa'

Everyone seemed to have a great night and, most importantly, we all made it back to Bulabakulu in one piece.

March 7th, Bulabakulu, Uganda

The great cow trek of 2012.

We set out to get the cow in the morning. We hopped on some bodas in search of the house of the farmer from whom we'd arranged to buy our cow.

When we arrived we learned that the farmer wasn't home but his wife said that she would call him on his mobile. So we waited. Arielle and I had no sooner sat on the grass when the wife came out and gestured for us to stand up. I thought we had violated some Ugandan custom and was getting ready to apologize, but then she pulled out a scarf and laid it down on the ground for us to sit on.  That's when I learned the word 'Webale' (waybalay) - Lugandan for Thank you.

As I sat there I thought, 'a couple of weeks ago I was sitting at a desk answering emails and reviewing presentations and now here I am sitting outside a farmer's house in a remote part of Africa waiting to buy a cow so we can walk it back to an orphanage and slaughter it'

The farmer arrived, but was not the man that the guys had originally negotiated with the day before. He informed us that he was the true owner and that he wanted 700,000 shillings. We said that we only had 675,000 with us as that was the price we'd been quoted. The farmer talked to his wife and agreed to sell us the cow for that price. Who knows who the real owner was.

He took us to a field where our cow was grazing. I have to admit to feeling a bit guilty when I looked him in the eye. We let one of the locals we brought with us from the village lead the cow out of the field and back to the house.

The farmer tied the cow to a tree and then walked away. When we asked where he was going we were told that he was going to get us a receipt. A receipt? He was kidding right? But when we thought about it it made sense. What if we got stopped by someone and they asked us where we got the cow? We had to show that we had bought it legally.  The last thing we needed was to end up in a Ugandan jail because we were suspected cattle thieves.

He came back and said that he couldn't find any paper so he would just walk back with us to the orphanage - he would be our proof that we didn't steal the cow. But even then our local friends suggested that we take a circuitous route back to avoid the possibility of passing any police.

So off we set on our long march back to the orphanage - cow in tow. I'm not sure that the locals we passed along the way knew what to make of us. The sight of Mzungus is enough to turn heads and cause people to stop what they're doing,  but 5 Mzungus and a cow walking down the road....well that's something completely unexpected.

Every house we passed the kids ran out and shouted Mzungu, Mzungu as they normally would, but then they actually stopped short when they saw the cow and just stared at us. And the adults looked at us even more perplexed than usual. We could see heads turn in every car and on every boda that passed us on the little  roads we took on our journey home.

The walk took nearly 2 hours - in the heat of midday - and we took turns leading the cow and taking pictures along the way. By the time we made it back to Bulabakulu we were all very hot, very sweaty and very dirty. But when we walked through the gates with the cow all the kids came running and were so excited that it made it worth the journey.

While the guys debated how best to slaughter the cow, Arielle and I decided that we would accompany our caretaker, Favor, to the market to buy the vegetables. Neither of us wanted to be there to actually witness the bloodshed.

We bought the biggest sack of potatoes that I have ever seen in my life - it was so big that it needed it's own boda to get it back to the village. It was the size of a person.

By the time we got back to the village the cruel deed had been done. We were told that it was just as well that we weren't there to see it as it was pretty grim and not done with particular skill or grace. We did watch the video of it though. We both agreed that seeing that was bad enough.

A crowd had gathered around the cow which had already been skinned and was in the process of being butchered. Despite our squeamishness about witnessing the killing, both Arielle and I seemed to take a kind of sick pleasure in taking turns holding up the head and taking pictures. It was all a bit bloody and a tad 'Lord of the Flies'

Once the butchering was complete, the meat was hung and the veggies were stored and we were ready for the feast the next day.

March 8th, Bulabakulu, Uganda

Right after breakfast Arielle and I headed to the area outside the kitchen. Armed with Swiss Army knives we set to work peeling what looked to be at least a thousand potatoes.

Favor seemed surprised that we both knew how to peel a potato. Ugandans always seem to be surprised when a Mzungu can actually do anything domestic like peel a potato or hand wash clothes.

Soon some of the older girls joined us and then some of the boys joined in and we had a community potato peeling party. It took a few hours, but eventually we had all the potatoes peeled, and the onions, tomatoes and garlic chopped.

We brought the tables and huge pots to the top of the compound and set up for the feast.

When the meal was ready the kids all lined up with their plates to be served. They were so excited. They eat posho and beans every meal, every day. Posho (Ugali in other parts of East Africa) is a dough made of cornmeal mixed with water. They rarely get meat or vegetables. We even had enough for seconds and when Favor announced that, a big cheer went up from the kids and they raced to get in line for more.

The looks on their faces as they savoured that meal and the laughter that rang out throughout the village made it worth all the effort.

James came and brought a case of beer for us which we shared with the teachers and some of the locals who are old enough to drink. We sat with the kids and ate and laughed and just enjoyed the day.

We ended the day sitting around a big fire and talking until it was time for bed.

We all agreed that while we'd been to a lot of BBQs, this one would definitely stand out for all of us.

Photos of the great cow trek and BBQ of Bulabakulu 2012.

Our cow in happier times...at least for him.

The great cow trek of 2012 begins.

We all took turns leading the cow 'home'.

Loading our potatoes onto the boda at the market.

Am I enjoying this a little too much?

How the hell are we going to peel all of these potatoes?

Our potato peeling party.

Some cow kebabs.

The kids lining up for their meal.

And tucking in.

What's a BBQ without beer?

First let me offer my apologies for taking so long to get this updated. You'll notice that I've changed the name of the blog to '5 Mzungus and a cow'. You're probably saying, "Uh?" Well, you'll have to come back to read a future post to get the meaning of the name. All will be revealed in time.

Below I've captured only up until my first day/night here at the orphanage, but will cover the rest - up to the present - sometime this week. There's a lot here already and I figured it would easier to read 'in chunks'.

March 3rd, 2012 Kigali, Rwanda


I touched down in Africa. As we arrived late at night and I had an aisle seat, I didn't see anything on approach. Now on the ground I looked out the window and got my first glimpse of Africa - a Martinair cargo plane.  An airport is an airport is an airport. Oh well, I have 6 moths to see the place I guess.

March 3rd, 2012  Kampala, Uganda


Touched down in Kampala. A long journey almost over.  I felt like I'd been travelling for a week. I got through immigration, got my visa and then picked up my bag....it was there...phew, the first moment of truth passed. I walked out and hoped that the rest of night would go as smoothly. There were a lot of people  standing inside the terminal holding placards with names on them. At first I didn't see my name and I thought, 'Uh-oh'. But then I noticed that there were more waiting outside and there was one holding a placard with my name on it...phew...second moment of truth.

 The first thing I noticed when I stepped outside was the heat. The second thing was the bugs. The heat was welcome. The bugs...not so much.  I was introduced to my driver and off we went. James from IVHQ called the guy's mobile and asked to speak to me, I guess to reassure me that the guy was legit and was going to take me to the hotel. James said that he would come to see me in the morning.  So far so good.

The drive from the airport to the hotel took about 30 mins and was an interesting and, as it turns out, fitting introduction to traffic and driving in Uganda. No lanes to speak of and even if there were I'm not sure anyone would take notice. Driving on the other side of the road to pass on a hill or on a bend? Why not? Speed limit? What speed limit? People walking along side and even on the road itself - which is a main highway - motorbikes darting in and out of traffic.

But the place was so alive! There was activity everywhere - music blaring out of clubs as we passed, people out and about everywhere you looked. Women cooking in big pots right by the side of the road.

We got to the hotel and  I staggered into my room so tired and ready for bed. I had no Ugandan shillings and no small American bills so I ended up giving the guy a $20 US tip. His face lit up like he'd just won the lottery.

The room was small, but clean. It had a shower, which I desparately needed, but decided would have to wait until morning. I threw my stuff down, got undressed, climbed under the mosquito net and into bed for what I thought would be a good night's sleep. But Mother Nature had other plans.

It took a while for me to fall asleep, but when I'd finally managed it I was woken by the sound of a torrential downpour and the loudest thunder I have ever heard in my life! I've been in some thunder storms in my time, but nothing like this. One crack actually made me jump like a bomb had gone off in the room. I love thunder storms, but this startled me so much that I couldn't really fall back to sleep for quite a while.  I tossed and turned for a while, fading in and out of sleep until a rooster finally woke me for good. I didn't know it at the time, but this sort of established the template for what my nights in Africa would be like....at least so far.

March 4th, 2012 Kampala, Uganda


I had breakfast in the hotel which was pretty good actually. An omelette with onions in it and some bread. Coffee was a jar of Nescafe and hot water in a pink thermos, but that's ok, it was welcome. I needed the caffeine as I was pretty much running on adrenaline by this point. I'd been so tired already before I even left Canada - not having slept much that last week - so I was seriously sleep deprived.

I sat out in the gardens for a while as I didn't want to sit in my cramped little room by myself all day. I didn't know how safe the neighbourhood was so I didn't want to wander off either - not until I'd checked it out with James first. So I sat there with my little journal and just enjoyed the sunshine and the smells. This place smells like Ireland, at least what Ireland, and more specifically Belfast, used to smell like when we were there as kids. My sister and my cousin will know what I mean by that. That mixture of earth and burning coal and wood. I found myself taking great comfort in the familiarity of that.

James and Joyce came to the hotel to get me and take me to change some money. It was good to get out for drive and to stretch my legs a bit. Later they introduced me to another of the volunteers and took us to dinner in the local 'mall' which is popular with the westerners who live in the area - it turns out that we were in a suburb of Kampala where several international universities are located so there are a lot of westerners who teach and live in the area.

I spent the rest of the evening in the hotel hanging out with the other volunteers, taking advantage of the free wifi in the hotel and trying to get geared up for our orientation the next day. I had hoped to catch up on my lost sleep from the night before, but that was not to be. This night it wasn't the rain, but a strange cocktail of barking dogs, roosters with no sense of time and the high pitched whine of the mosquito that buzzed around my head all night - thankfully on the other side of the net. Second night in Africa, second night getting very little sleep - definitely a pattern developing here.

March 5th Kampala, Uganda


We had our orientation with James and Joyce at the hotel. We were told that contrary to what was in the IVHQ brochure, we would not be staying with a host family, but would be staying in a 'guest/volunteer house'. "Ok", I thought...no biggee.

It turned out that 3 of us were going to the same place and the other 3 volunteers were going to an orphanage about 6 hours outside of Kampala in Fort Portal - close to the border with the Congo.
We hopped in James' truck and off we went. He had to stop to buy supplies (paint, brushes, rollers) along the way so we got to see more of the outskirts of Kampala. It was a very quiet ride....we were all just soaking it in. The tin shacks, the falling down shantys passing for shops and homes. People everywhere....just everywhere. On the roads, in the alleys, in cars, on motorbikes, on foot - just teeming with humanity everywhere you looked.

The drive seemed to take for ever. The 'roads' here, and I use that term loosely, are really something. We're in the suburbs of the capital and largest city in the country and there's no pavement to be seen anywhere. The roads are dirt, very narrow and filled with potholes big enough to swallow a hippo. You have to cross on to the other side of the road just to avoid some of them. You could make a fortune here fixing broken suspensions, shock absorbers etc...

We passed through what appeared to be a collection of shantys and tin huts and just as we got to the other side James told us that that was Wakiso, the closest 'town' to where we would be staying. That was a town?

We drove along the road for a little while longer until finally James turned up a laneway and we saw a sign 'Wakiso Children's School of Hope'.

As I said, we were told that we wouldn't be staying with a host family but rather at a guest house. So I envisioned a place with other volunteers from other programs/placements where we would live and from where we would go to and from our placement every day and night. It quickly became apparent that we would be living onsite at the orphanage itself - right in the thick of it. I have to admit that sort of threw me a bit. I hadn't mentally prepared myself for that.

We pulled into the gates of the orphanage, drove past the school and down to where the dorms are for both the kids and, as it turned out, the volunteers as well.

I thought that I knew what to expect. I thought that I was prepared. I wasn't. Maybe I was prepared intellectually, but not emotionally. I knew the kids were orphans. I knew that they had nothing and lived in extreme poverty in startling conditions and I knew that they would swarm us and and want to meet the new Mzungus (white people). I knew all this because I had read about it, seen it in magazines and on TV and the internet.  I knew all this before I came and yet I was totally unprepared for stepping out of the truck and being confronted with the reality of it. Not a picture, not footage on TV, but here..in the flesh right in front of me.

Unprepared for the visceral reaction I would have - the assault on the senses - the sounds, the smell, the touch of the seemingly hundreds of hands reaching out to touch us, hold our hands, hug us. Just get close to us however they can.

I felt like I'd been hit in the chest with a rubber bullet - it took the breath right out of me.

I've heard war veterans  say that even the best movies (e.g. Saving Private Ryan) come pretty close to capturing the sights and sounds of combat, but that they can't capture the smell. And there's something about that missing element that makes all the difference. Now I know what they mean. I have to admit that that's what struck me the most and what I took notice of most of all those first moments.

The kids just swarmed around us the second our feet hit the ground. "What's  your name? What's your name?" from a hundred different directions all at once. 'What country are you from?" We'd say our names and that we're from Canada. They'd repeat both our names and our country back to us and reach out to touch us again. Over and over and over again. It seems like a million times this was played out over the course of those first few hours.

The boys were really forward and swarmed around while the girls were a bit more reserved. Some at first offered no more than a tentative smile. When we smiled back they reached out to touch us.

Most of the kids have no shoes and are wearing clothes which are dirty and torn - some shirts and shorts are barely whole enough to stay on them.

But they all have big smiles and warm welcoming eyes.

We were greeted warmly by the volunteers already here - the grizzled veterans of the place. It was like that scene in Platoon when Charlie Sheen first arrives - all green and wide eyed, just in from the 'world' - and he meets the guys who've been 'in country' for a while.

They took us around and showed us the dorms where the kids live. The rooms are crammed, dark and dank - the beds practically on top of each other. There are more kids sleeping in some dorms than there are beds. The younger ones have to double up. Sometimes they wet the bed and its just left to dry. The smell was overwhelming.

It was all too much. I couldn't breathe. I had to sneak away behind one of the buildings for a few moments to gather myself. I seriously questioned whether or not I could do this. Did I miscalculate? Overestimate the strength I have?

We had arrived in time for lunch, but I couldn't eat. I felt like I could barely function.

'This is going to be so hard', I thought.  Much harder than I thought. It's one thing to come here in the morning and leave at night but it's quite another to be totally immersed in this 24/7.

We were shown our rooms which are basic, but very clean. There's no electricity (wasn't counting on that) and running water only during daytime as the pump is solar powered.

We mingled a bit more with the other volunteers and learned a bit more about the place and some of the kids.

There are 3 programs running here: teaching, orphange and renovation/construction. But because all the volunteers live here, the lines get blurred and everyone just pitches in wherever needed.

Soon it was time for dinner. I had regained some of my appetite, but was still feeling a little shaky. As we sat eating on our porch I noticed 2 geckos on the wall right above my head. I was most definitely not in Kansas any more.

I went to bed still wondering whether or not I truly had the stomach for this and if I could see out the entire 2 months here in Uganda and 6 months in Africa.

I was thinking about the kids. About how they had nothing. And about how we flit into their lives for a few weeks here and there and then we go back to our nice, cushy and comfortable lives. And they stay here ready to welcome the next crop of Mzungus.

I was thinking about about how unfair it is - that some people have so much while others have so little. And it's all mostly an accident of birth. Just as I was feeling really down, I heard singing. It was the kids in the chapel behind our dorm.  They have nothing, they live in squalor, and yet they were singing with such joy in the hearts.

I stood watching and listening from my window for a while and then climbed back into bed. I cried until I fell asleep.

Packed and ready to go. Tired beyond belief and I haven't even left yet. I almost think a 21 hour journey will seem like a relaxing respite at this point.

You know in the movies, how people just up and take off - they just run to the airport, buy a ticket and away they go? Yeah, it doesn't work that way. Getting ready for this trip is one of the most mentally taxing things I have ever done. Not getting together things I'll need in Africa, but rather tying up all the loose ends here at home - making sure that I've wrapped up everything before I go. Aye carumba....I'm going to have a nice big glass of red wine on the plane. Maybe 2 or 3 if it'll help me sleep ;-)

First post - February 26th, 2012.

T-minus 4 days until I leave for Africa - the great adventure. I figured that since I've told just about everyone that I know that I'd be keeping a blog, I better actually start one.

On Friday I leave Toronto and by Saturday night I'll arrive in Kampla, Uganda (via Amsterdam) for the first of three stops in Africa - Kenya and Tanzania will follow.

For as long as I can remember Africa has held a fascination for me. I'm not sure when or how the seed was planted, but it took root somewhere deep inside and I've never quite been able to shake it. And so finally, after wondering about it and thinking about it and talking....and talking...and talking about it, I decided to actually do something.

I sold my house, quit my job and off I go. Crazy? Maybe....probably. But what the hell, you only go around this crazy mixed up life once so you might as well leave it all out there on the table, right?

This next few days will be busy, so busy I hope that I don't have time to actually think about what I'm doing. Because if I think too much about it, I'm afraid I might chicken out and decide that I really have lost my mind and try to get my old life back. Nah....I don't think I'd really do that, but the thought does go through my mind, however fleeting.

When I tell people that I'm going to Africa to volunteer for 6 months, the reaction is overwhelming, universally positive. It's easy to get and stay excited as I feed off their positive energy. With other people I feel really great and confident and excited about what I'm about to experience. But in those quiet moments, when it's just me alone with my own thoughts, that's when the uncertainty and anxiety begins to creep in.

I know that it won't be easy and there will most certainly be times when I'll be miserable and desperate to get home.

Oh well, in for a penny in for a pound. Fortune favours the brave, right?

P.S, I need some suggestions for the name of the blog. Any ideas?