Journey Home

It is just that: a journey. Both emotionally and physically, as I sit in the Enteebe Airport, I feel the weight of my trip about to travel through my body. I find a place in the waiting area with my backpack and rolly suitcase, watching the flight information board with so much anticipation that it freezes me. Friends that I've met here have told of African life hitting them only as they take off from the ground- erupting out of them as the plane engine roars under their seats. To be clear, I certainly have experienced culture shock; things about the life, society, even the small manerisms of the Ugandan people that hit me in the core several times over, sometimes without the slightest recognition from my mind until days after. But when the feelings come to a head, they are impossible to turn away from. It's like a force of emotion, and jolt to the body, that leaves you weak. And sitting in the airport, I can feel that those emotions are going to hit me...and not knowing when or how is certainly challenging. I don't want to forget- to return home to running water and air-conditioning and lose the experience. I want to hold onto everything- all the lives and memories, the discomfort and the beautiful connections that I've grown to love.

As I delve into 'deep emotional thought' with you all, I realize just how grateful I've been-I am- to have you! the simple process of wanting to share my trip with the people who helped me get to Africa, quickly turned into a beautiful feeling for me, and in some ways, a way of coping with all that was around me. So I truly thank you for that, from the bottom of my humbled heart.

...and I'll tell you a little secret... this blog is now ranked!?! Some crazy number like the 120,968th ....but that's out of something like 20 million?!?!! Well I think that's amazing anyway, so I think we should all be proud!!
I also think perhaps that I'll continue to post things on this blog address about 'African Sole'! (HOW COOL!) And I've decided after some consideration, to get a PO box at the post office instead of having people send shoes to my apartment. (Or, as some suggested, you can just give them to me when I see you? Ha!)
I'll be 'on holiday', as they say in Uganda, at the beach with my family after I get home, but I look forward to catching up with everyone around the 16th of August!

It truly has been a ride of a life-time!
Here's to the future!
Here's to Uganda's future!
Here's to African Sole!
and Here's to all of you!!!


Thank you!!
More soon!
Love always,
Carly

African Sole!

July 29th

We wake at 5:30 am to prepare for the early-morning start of our Safari. After teeth brushing and cool-dressing, we make our way to the canteen to pick up our packed breakfasts. Felix, the 20-something technological engineer student, laughs at me when I ask about tea of coffee. He came back from the kitchen to say that's he's sorry but they're out of instant coffee and do I have ten minutes to wait while he brews me some in a french press?! Ummmm, 'Yes!' The coffee is delicious and I'm in heaven, quickly turning my morning from groggy, to peppy and excited! We take our Safari van down to the Nile, (precisely the same spot the four of us girls stood to watch the sunset the evening before), and board a burg to carry us, our van, and six other vans and their passengers across the river just as the sun rises over the water.
Coffee, the Nile, and the sun rise- my trip has just been made. I decide it's already worth the ten-hour bumpy hell-ride from yesterday that I'm fairly sure left cranial bruising...the sun rise is my ice pack. ( :
Once we're across the river we lift the roof off our Safari van and the scene is awe-inspiring, spontaneous-laughter-inspiring...just all-around inspiring! As I stand up on my seat, with my head above the van and the African wind whipping through my hair, I can feel my chest muscles begin to loosen their grip on this month's stress. I become sick with glee and drenched in sunshine as we ride with the sunrise into the African terrain for a Safari of a lifetime.

Palm trees bearing hundreds of unripend, creamsicle-colored coconuts tower over wide, canopy bonsai trees. I think of Jen, Scott, Amanda, Aunt Lisa, and I singing 'I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, deedley-dee!' as we walk to our beach blankets, spread on the sand in Bethany. And suddenly, I find myself feeling a strange combination of Safari thrill and longing for Delaware while in AFRICA!...strange. Little American memories have been popping back into my mind, and I find it somehow impossible not to think about the 'Lion King' ha! I'm sure it comes as such a shock to hear that I have been playing the music of that Disney favorite in my head throughout the Safari (until the guide points out the African Violet- a purple, pansy-looking flower- and 'Violets and Silver Bells' pops into my mind's playlist).
As for the animals, by the time it's 11 am, I feel like we've seen the entire African animal kingdom (sung: 'the cir-cle of life!'). We came across several dozen giraffe families, feeding on palm leaves high above our van. The dark in color are male and the light are female. Giraffes are my (and my Grandma Voigt's) favorite! They are so tall and regal with humorous mouths curving back and down as if they're taking a bite off the tree for emphasis on a dry joke they've just made. Their fur is so smooth with a sheen that begs to be pet. Most of the giraffes we see have white spots that interrupt their exterior pattern, and Jimmy, our safari guide, tells us that it is a fungal skin condition. So when I ask (only half jokingly) if I can reach out and touch them, he says no quite firmly (I'm sure it has nothing to do with their enormous front legs that are so lethal even the lions wont attack them...nah...it's the skin fungus).
I did not want to pet the hippos, however. The hippos are HUGE and can out run a human at twice our speed! They roam the land at night (including our camp site, so we are to be careful not to approach a baby hippo at night on our way to the bathroom, because the mother is nearby and will attack 'quite viciously'...great) and in the day, they keep cool in the water. When we drive out to the popular water spot where they swim daily, to find the baby hippo splashing about between parents, looking much like a bright-pink rubber ball being passed around. They let out a sound that's part groan, part grunt, bellowing so loudly and that it fells like they're right next to me....it smells like it too.
We also saw three different types of antelopes including the National Animal of Ugandan, the Ugandan Kop. Based on how many glorious birds we see, we gals decide to take advantage of the 7 am bird walk tomorrow morning before we leave.
After the 'tracking' portion of the Safari, we make our way back to the Red Chilli site for lunch. As I oder lunch I become increasingly aware of just how much my hip, thighs, and stomach have loved the poshu, beans, and matoke (mashed plantain bananas) in the last month. Undressing at night has begun to feel foreign- I don't even recognize my body to the touch. The same goes for looking in the mirror. Every couple of days we encounter a rare bathroom with a toilet AND a mirror and I notice the subtle changes occurring. Some eye-brow tweezers, mascara, and nail clippers will do me good, but it's more than that. My eyes have something different in them. Even Dana, a fun-loving sweetheart nurse from New York City, saw a picture of me before I left for Africa and didn't believe that it was me. Now don't get nervous- I've not morphed completely unrecognizable in one month, but it does feel as if my appearance has adjusted right along with my heart. I feel differently (I haven't quite figured out how yet, but I'll be sure to let you know when I do), and to see, for myself, the shifts in my appearance, has been jarring enough to make me wonder what else has changed. As I eat lunch, looking out over the vast African terrain in the middle of nowhere, I can at least put my finger on a new peace- a calming acceptance of the world as I know it now.

The late afternoon boat cruise was gorgeous. We saw all the creatures of Africa make their way to the Nile for a drink. Elephants, single and in herds, more hippos and antelope, and the most exciting of all, crocodiles! (oooooooooo-aaaaaaaahhh). They are fascinating creatures mainly due to the danger they impose. Our boat guide, (and later our bird guide), David, says that crocodiles are indeed dangerous meat-eaters, but they are too lazy to chase after a human and, get this, they prefer their food to be in the decaying stages with a side order of maggots! (I know, ew!) With thick, dusty skin that appears to have hundreds of Egyptian pyramids spiking from their bodies, they sit, frozen atop a rock, with their mouths spread wide open to reveal rows of ragged teeth the size of my arms. I ask David if they are waiting with their mouths open to have food enter so they can snap down to eat it and he laughs as he says it's just to keep warm! He said that statuesque position is actually the safest point to approach the crocodile because it means they have just eaten, and since they are cold-blooded, they are now trying to warm their bodies for digestion! Wow. So I decide to do like the crocodiles do, and sit back, soaking up the sun to help digest my 'Nile Special' beer while I coast down the Nile.

Friday morning we took a short bird-watching tour. I have always loved birds, their sounds especially, but I never, in a million years, would have imagined myself as a bird watcher!? I loved it! We found beautiful birds with more colors, shapes, and sounds than I knew possible in one eighth of a mile! We then drove out to Murchison Falls for a hike. Opening in 2002, the park has been taking people on hiking tours through the steep hills and rocks up to the water falls of this area and I have to tell you- what we witnessed was stunningly powerful! We stood at the top of the mountain with our mouths all agape, taking pictures that caught maybe half of the beauty and force that we saw with our eyes. Then we made our way down a slippery cliff 'trail' to the bottom of the falls to be showered with splashing residue from the Nile explosion. We stood beneath a double rainbow feeling the coolness of the river shower, and I wonder just how many other beauties of the world I've missed.

I've often been wondering just that- 'What have I missed?' I lay awake at night seeing the faces of any one of the 300+ children that I've worked with on this trip, and wonder about what I did not do. What could I have done, and what can I still do?

On our way back to Kampala we are driving with the afternoon sun along the highway (the only highway) from Murchison Falls to Kampala. From 3-5 pm schools let out for the day, and the otherwise desolate highway is flooded with students in their colorful rainbow of uniforms. For five minutes I see all bright pink, then ten minutes of trees before we reach what resembles a swarm of bees, boys and girls buzzing with school excitement in golden-yellow t-shirts and black shorts and skirts. Blues, greens, oranges of all kinds, covering these children as they laugh and carry their books on their heads often holding hands as they go. The look of these school children, all of them, is obviously carefully considered. To go to school in Uganda (and I would imagine most African nations) is a privilege that the kids here value at the utmost, and they literally 'dress to impress'. I notice, all but their shoes. While driving I see that at least one out of every four students are walking, on the black, hot, highway, through random piles of trash, however many miles to the place they call home- without shoes.
And it hits me: a small thing that I've missed, but can surely still do. The kids here walk everywhere, so one pair of shoes doesn't last as long as one might think. Living in New York and walking everywhere myself, I can attempt to understand this dilemma on a lesser scale because I am constantly looking for a durable pair of shoes to carry me to and from work. So when Sula pulls to a stop behind traffic, I find a shoeless student (with ease) and reach out my window to hand him my sandals. They're good Havanah sandals that have lasted me the entirety of the trip- even hiking!- and so I know they will last even longer on his journey to and from school. There is a slight embarrassment on his part to be in need of the shoes to begin with, but he bends at the knees to say thank you in their culturally respectful way, drops the shoes on the ground in front of him, and walks away in his new sandals. I beam with happiness at the sight of him wearing my shoes. 'Perfect fit', I think, and suddenly, just like that, I know how I can help!?! For the last twenty minutes of the drive, I put together a draft version of my new, baby NGO.

I'll tell you my thoughts, and then (since we are practically best friends after this month-long travel) you can tell me what you think and give me suggestions!
I think I'll call it 'African Sole', and the premiss is this:

"African Sole!
To provide the safety and support of a good pair of shoes to students throughout Uganda at a sustainable and not-for-profit low cost. Literally carrying these students to school, and thus toward success, 'African Sole' will hope to accumulate approximately 310 pairs of shoes per year to send to four different Ugandan organizations to start. The majority of these students are also orphans, achieving highly successful marks in school, speaking a minimum of two languages by the age of ten, and staying out of troubled situations by studying in their evening time. Studies show that Ugandan students who are supported in any way, either through a sponsor or foster parent, have a much higher likelihood of finishing their schooling and even graduating to the University level or vocational work. 'African Sole' hopes that with our help, children can travel the distance to school, avoid nasty infections and contamination leading to missed school time or the loss of a limb, and most importantly, to gain the confidence that someone who cares about them can bring. With that said, please consider the shoes in the bottom back corner of your closet, and if you are able, pass them along to a child who will wear them with pride and motivation. The soul of Africa lies in the future generation of their hard-working and determined students. By donating one pair of shoes, you are helping the foundation of Uganda grow into the educated and bright future I have witnessed first hand to be possible.

For all donations, please include a pair of shoes (with a pair of socks and two dollars for international shipping if you're able). Send me a message on the blog and I will be happy to send you my address!

So what do you think?


More soon!
Love,
Carly

"Music to me means...'

July 27th! Wow! It's the 27th?!
Today is my final day- my final morning in Jinja! By no means of exaggeration, this morning is the most beautiful yet and I find myself in a state of bliss as I leave the house and walk in town. The past few day have ben uniquely beautiful with showers on and off- sometimes with deep clouds hovering close to land, and sometimes with a bold African sun that leaves rainbows falling into sunsets. However, my good old-fashioned, American heart loves a clear blue sky and slight cool breeze any day of the week! This morning's skies are so blue that the white puffs of clouds on the horizon almost look fake. I say good morning to Jesse, our grounds-keeper, for the last time, and I include a long babble about enjoying the 'beautiful day!' which I watched go right over his head (it felt good to say it at any rate!). The breeze floats me and my mug of green tea into town, along with about 50 pounds of weight divided between my two shoulders. On the left shoulder are about 25 books and curriculum for the teachers at MOHM and on the right are speakers and my lap top for my kid's activity today!
When I arrive to MOHM, I drop off the books to the teachers and receive the same kind of gratitude and excitement Americans give when they've been accepted to their first choice Ivy-Legue school, or they've landed their dream job, or they've just had a beautiful healthy baby. Sarah, Sophie, and Susan are hopping up and down and opening the books with wide and observant eyes, thanking me all the while. "Michelle and Fount got them for you,' I insist. "Tell Michelle we are so grateful. We love her. Please tell her 'Thank you'! and God Bless you!" they keep repeating. All I can do is smile.
I decide to spend my final day with the kids doing something FUN! I brought two boxes of 30 crayons each and 'art paper'. I explain that most of our past lessons were of the academic side of music- quarter notes, whole notes, Do, Re, Mi- and that music is 'SO much MORE!' I tell them that music is emotion; it can make you happy, excited, motivated, and if you aren't feeling well, music can lift your spirits! They seem unmoved and show only slight signs of comprehension, so I turn on my lap top (that got their attention) and play them a list of songs I made last night entitled 'MOHM' with artists like India Arie, Aretha Franklin, Dave Matthews (he's from South Africa you know?!), and some classical pieces as well. I pass out crayons and paper and ask them what music means to them? What does music look like? Is it colorful? Does it appear in nature, school, home? We all sit and draw pictures of 'what music means to us'! After they finish, some of the kids stand up and share what they drew. The colors that they crafted all over their papers are similar to the ones you see every day on a the streets of Africa. Streaks of pink and orange combined with green and blue made up the roofs of their pictured houses. They tell the class with giggles and laughter of sharing their work with the class (probably for the first time), "Music to me means the trees!" "Music to me means do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do!' Some kids drew houses, flowers, cats, trees, water, huts, clouds, fruit, (all of the above) and some of them drew me. ( :
In my example picture I explained that for me, I am surround by kids and trees, the ocean and rainbows all in a heart (don't laugh). I show them the picture of me in a heart with rainbow-colored children around me and music notes and 'Do, Re, Mi' floating in the sky above me. My stick figure of me had a yellow bun on the top of my head, and as the kids are sharing in their local language, I an barely hear the translation because I am fixed on that same stick figure with that same silly yellow bun reappearing on their papers. I tried, with little success not to cry several times today. Music means....me? I don't know of a better feeling.

We had to leave early as I am making my way to Kampala (before it gets dark). I tell Sarah (for the third time this week along) that I'm sorry, but we can't stay for lunch and that I'll be missing it because it's so delicious! She hears nothing but that I cannot have lunch, and she is upset with me. 'Coy' in America is very different than 'coy' in Uganda. In America, a person will tell you, 'No, you must join us for dinner. Really you are so welcome and I'll be bruised for a life-time if you deny me the joy of cooking for you', all the while knowing when to cease-fire. In Uganda, the people honestly do not understand schedules let a lone driving-at-night deadlines; to them they wonder what must be wrong -why would you ever choose to decline a host's meal?! Sarah sees herself as my host and was genuinely upset that I was not staying to eat with her. As she smiled at me, she said 'No, you must stay' although I had told her yesterday that I had to leave at 1 and couldn't stay for lunch so not to plan for me. During this conversation, my bodda driver arrived and this made the eating situation worse. Sarah realized that not only was I not going to be able to stay for lunch but that this was the last time I would see her for a long, long time, and only if we were lucky. She began to cry (which is very embarrassing for an African woman) and push me away forcefully, only to pull me back into her arms and hug me again. Her reaction was startling to me, because all though we freely say 'I Love You' to each other, and I truly do care for her deeply, it is strange for me to be so close after so short a time. I (shockingly) began to cry as well, and said 'Sarah, you're gonna make me cry'. She then abruptly pulled me in one last time, and ran into the school. I said my goodbyes to the kids, hugging them and crying, just the way I met them, and as I was getting on the bodda, Sarah peeked, puffy eyes and all, from behind the side of the building to wave goodbye. I sat on the back of the rocky-riding moped and tried to wave, smile, and cry simultaneously as I passed the hundreds of other village children calling out Mzungu after me.
'Music Mzungu' they called me on my Mac 'Photo Booth' recording of today's drawing activity.


More after Safari?
Love,
Music Mzungu,
Carly

Final Week

Phew!
After last week, I almost don't know where to begin writing. What can top that!?! Wednesday and Thursday seemed to be the apex of my trip, and although I re-visited MOHM out in Iganga on Friday and will return there again Monday and Tuesday, my heart keeps pulling back to HODASSU's school for the hearing impaired. I felt like I struck a nerve- both in those children and in myself.
When I met with the deaf group again on Thursday, it was phenomenal. The kids were so happy and excited to see our team coming, and we laughed and played the whole day. For the 'music' portion of the day, I revisited the lesson of making sound, and they were not only making sounds, but actually excited to do so! I then spent about an hour and a half teaching the word 'music'. All together, we learned the sounds of the word: 'mm' - 'uuuu' - 'ssss' - 'eehhh' - 'kkkk' ! It was incredible. I ran to grab the Head Teacher, Flavia, who was originally supposed to be translating for us the first day, to share with her what the kids were doing. I found her sitting in a circle of other women outside the classroom, and upon my approach, the conversation immediately halted. I asked her if she had a few minutes to speak with me, and we made our way into the deaf classroom to sit. Flavia originated the deaf program at Walakubu West Primary School in 2006, so she does support the class, probably more than most teachers would, but still not as much as she supports the other Primary classes. When I ask her about what topics and subjects she began teaching her four deaf students in 2006, she responds with a complex combination of acceptance, nostalgia, and apprehension. I tell her about the work I have been doing with the kids for the past two days, and her curiosity is peeked. She says she wishes that she could have seen the teachings, and I quickly jump on the opportunity to take her back outside with the group and show her. The whole group makes sound for her, then we sign the letters of the word 'music' together as we make each sound together. She watches as I work on the letter 'i' with the kids showing the difference in sound possibilities with this letter. When one child doesn't make the correct sound, Flavia walks over and stands behind him making stern gestures with both her hand and her face. She slaps the back of his head when he does the vowel incorrectly again, and rather than trying to explain the placement of his tongue in relation to his teeth, she taps the bottom of her chin saying something in the local language, which he obviously cannot hear. I think to myself- 'Good Flavia, instill a fear of making sound in these kids by smackin' em- that's exactly what they need.' Out-loud I say "Perhaps gently is the best way?", but she either does not hear me or does not acknowledge me. She stays with our group for another five minutes before heading back to the school.
This would be discouraging if the kids weren't SO excited to be making sounds like this. At least Ustis and I are on the same page; he feels that the kids learning sounds can only help them in their job training, which for deaf children in Uganda, is their lives. I gave Ustis an outline of possible lessons with the kids in the order I thought might work best, with some lesson-plan suggestions included, and he was very excited about it. So while I am feeling discouraged by the amount of time I was able to spend with them, I also have hope that Ustis wont let the idea fall by the wayside.

Friday, when Julius and I ride up to the MOHM school on a bodda-bodda, the kids immediately begin to sing "Do, Re, Mi..." which warmed my heart to tears and filled me with such happy pride!! The Head Madame of the school, Sarah, came out to see who rode up on the bodda, and with her arms outstretched and her head leaning to the side, she swooped me up in a hug saying "Oh! You love us so much to come back!" I do love them. I love how respectful the kids are to their teachers and to each other. I love that they seem to love every second of life, even with life handing them minimal back. Most of these children have backgrounds of horror but they can only see the future; they have been treated poorly but chose to treat each other better. Their smiles are inspiring in so many ways and to be able to spend my final days with them is the best treat!
I was originally supposed to be with Fount's final organization, Care&Share, but Michelle, the leader of the educational team, thought it best for me to go back and reinforce MOHM's teachings because Care&Share is very young, (both in age and organization) and would best be served in the future. I am SO happy that this was the case! I love being at MOHM, but I also realized when I arrived on Friday that while the children remember my teachings very well, the teachers are still totally in the dark about what and how to teach music! So my final days will be split in two between furthering the kids' grasp on music, and solidifying the teacher's comprehension and curriculum plan.

As we wind down toward the end of the trip, (two more days in Jinja and then back to Kampala for a Safari) a good many people in our Fount group are getting sick- little things like the common cold or cough, upset stomachs- nothing to worry about. Plus...I have the immune system of a New Yorker- so I'm safe! ( : HA! (Chris would say I just jinxed it...but I'm sure he's wrong). I will however be taking all my medication with me on our Safari just to be safe!
Just as a head's up, I may not be able to blog on the Safari as the internet connection will be even less than it is here. We leave for Kampala Tuesday after teaching, and early Wednesday morning we leave for the Safari. My Grandma gave me an early Christmas gift of a Safari Trip with White Water Rafting! The rafting was last weekend and was amazing (thank you Grandma!!!) I swam....in the NILE!?! We only fell out of our raft once, which may have been the most terrifying and the most accomplished moment of the day. We rode all the way out to a strip of land that had the feel of a Tropical Island. It was called the Lousy Lemon? the Luscious Lemon? Juicy? I can never remember but it was something out of the Swiss Family Robinson! Big palm trees towering down over other farce African trees blooming deep red flowers from each branch. The butterfly population here is insane; with thirty thousand species in Africa, I truly believe that half of them inhabit Uganda, and nearly all of them at the Legendary? Lemon. Beautiful birds swoop and glide about as we ate a BBQ dinner by a little swimming hole. The feathers appear ordinary when they are perched on a tree, but when they take flight the shimmer of turquoise and yellow fades up to the stark black and white beaks, making it impossible not to watch them play. I have never seen anything like it! If the Safari is half as entrancing as our rafting trip, then I have to say ... I am SO excited!

It's difficult to think of the work coming to an end; all the undone, unseen, and unfinished things that I'll be essentially leaving behind, not to mention the people. Ugandan people, in my thus-far experience, take everything very personally. Each statement is a promise, whether you've said the word or not. Every visit is only the first of many to them, regardless of whether you've had conversations about the future or not. It is extremely hard to hear (each and every) teacher and organizer based in Uganda ask me when I will be back. At first I tripped all over myself, trying to put a sentence together while trying even harder not to make anything unclear or misleading. I have learned to say "I don't know" along with the word "No", which never used to present itself in my vocabulary, especially not in this very stern way. And as I begin to seriously contemplate what I think about a second trip, how I feel about another journey to Africa, I can only learn also the lesson of self-preservation: I made a promise to myself today, while walking in the sunshine, not to put too much pressure on myself for the future. I haven't even checked in to my flight home and I'm already getting knots in my shoulders at the thought of planning my next trip here, because honestly, I do feel like I belong here- not always, not forever, but definitely in some way. I think that's a gift Africa gives you- once you've placed your eyes on what can be done, it's impossible to turn your heart away.

More soon
Love,
Carly

'Try' and you shall receive!

Today was worth the cost of the trip ten times over. If I had to pick one day, thus far, that made me feel alive with excitement over what kind of work I'm doing here, it was today. We were with our second HODASSU organization, also with Ustis and also in Jinja. This second Jinja group of children are deaf. I have (minimal) experience with sign-language but found that minimal is plenty to communicate with these incredibly unique and truly beautiful children. They all have slight tendencies to act out for attention, especially a particular few, but when it comes time for them to have the attention, the fear of sounding or appearing silly dominates their insecurities and they shy away. Some of the children hid their heads in their arms, covered up their smiles with their hands, and even refused to stand up and share their names with the class. Each child has a Ugandan surname, a European name (Lillian, Winnie, etc.), and a sign-name, and before we began teaching, the class asked us if they could share their names with us. The Fount of Mercy group stood up in the front of the room while each child went in rowed succession, sharing their sign-name first, followed by the other names. After we heard the names of the children, each of us signed the letters of our names and then the children all assigned (as a class decision) each Fount member a sing-name. I love my sign name, mostly because it feels very personal to have them assign a name to me within five minutes of knowing me. My sign name is both pointer fingers on either side of my mouth while smiling. Ustis tells me it's indicating my dimples. (I only have one dimple, but I'm not going to mention that because I don't want them to change my name!)
While we wait for the Head Teacher of the school (and also our supposed translator) to lead us outside, I decide not to waste time and begin my lesson with the chalk board. I write three words on the board: 'Music', 'Sing', and 'Rhythm'. The sign for Music and Sing are the same, (possibly because their singing is signing without sound...say that five times fast), so I tell them that I have a sign that I use for singing: five fingers closed at the lips (a la delicious Italian pasta sauce), and pulling the hand up and away while opening the hand fully. They seem to like this because they mimic the sign well ( : The word 'rhythm' is completely new to them. So I have them all clapping, then stomping, then tapping their legs. When I raise my hands above my head to clap they hoot and holler, releasing squeaks and screams of suppressed excitement. This is wonderful because it tells me two things: the first is that they are both excited and able to make sound, and the second, by the extreme force of their sounds, I can tell this is something that they don't do often. How exciting for us to begin voice work!
When the head teacher, Flavia, walks in, she tells them in signage that they will be outside for our lesson and then she dismisses the kids saying she cannot come with us because she must go 'meet other visitors' (other Mzungus from a different organization here to work with the 'regular' students). By this point in the trip, it is quite obvious how little the school system actually cares about these able-bodied, intellectually-minded, deep-hearted children, and I have to force myself not to think about that or my time with them will be compromised.
I follow Ustis out to a far side of the school grounds under the shade of a tree. As I walk, the kids grab my hands and I swing their arms up and down and teach them to skip; they sign my new name. Once we're in the shade, we all make a circle; I tell the kids that music and rhythm can be felt by every human on earth, regardless of circumstance. I teach them eight counts of a semi-'step' routine with the same claps, stomps, and leg taps that we did in the classroom. They can do it very well and almost in unison. For the next part of my lesson, my idea is for them to count or make noise on each beat in the step routine so that they can connect their voices (the vibrations of air meeting their vocal chords) with the rhythm in their bodies. The students are incredibly reserved about this idea, and I realize immediately that my lesson is about to adapt.
The translator at this time is Ustis because the primary teacher, Jillian, is sitting on a bench (which she had the children carry out for her) in the corner by the bushes. Ustis is looking at me as if to say 'I don't know how to translate that they should be making sound'. He signs the word 'try', all-the-while with a huge smile on his face.
I ask them to sit down, and I begin to take their hands and place it on my throat. I know this seems odd, but for these kids making sound is an incredibly vulnerable thing to do. They are afraid of what they can feel but cannot hear. They are laughing and hanging their heads, even politely pulling away. I turn to Ustis to let him know that what I'm about to say should be signed to the kids. I tell them not to be afraid of their voices. I remind them that no one else in their class can hear them making the sounds- that it's entirely about their feelings. When Ustis trips up on the sign for 'feelings' (shockingly the Ugandan sign language doesn't have a word for this tabu thing called 'feelings') he turns to Jillian on her bench and asks her in their local language how he might sign something close to 'feelings'. Jillian saunters over to the circle with her palms on the back of her hips and looks at me like I have three heads. I keep smiling at her and explaining that the feeling of making sounds is very beneficial to both the nervous system and the over-all well-being of the children. She shakes her head at me and tells me that the children don't make sounds. "They cannot" she states plainly. Ha! Cannot? They did when they were excited about clapping! They did when they were skipping through the school grounds with me! I decide that I need to talk her into at least 'trying' (since I now know that sign) and cross out of the circle to stand next to her. Jillian does not look at me while I explain how wonderful it feels to make sound and that I know this is something different from their normal teachings and I realize it's new, but I ask her to please understand how great it can feel to them. I make a joke about being the 'crazy Mzungu' and lightly touch her shoulder while I laugh at myself, and when she turns to glance at me with a hesitant smile, I discover that Jillian is just as nervous about the kids making sound as the students in her class.
It is at this point that I frankly ask for her permission to try something new. She freezes momentarily before she gestures me back into the circle. -Not the encouragement I was hoping for, but I'll take it!
One at a time I went to each child, took their tiny hand and placed it to my throat, then on my chest bone, on my diaphragm, and on my cheeks, letting them feel the resonance of my voice making sound in my body. I then placed that same hand onto their throats and the other lightly pushing on their diaphragm and helped them to feel- truly feel - the power of their voices for the first time. I don't know if it was my persistence or if it was the agreement from their teacher, but each child made sound! Giggling and laughing, turning red and closing their eyes the whole way through, they took a chance, opened their mouths, and pulsated sound with such force and such pride that both my eyes and theirs were filled with tears.
One of the final kids to make sound (after maybe 20-25 minutes with all the other children) was one of the most self-conscious children, Stella. Stella speaks English as opposed to the local language (possibly from her prior up-bringing), and is very heavy. The kids in the other classes who are not deaf make fun of Stella constantly, laughing at her even as they pass. She is used to being out-cast, and if I had not offered my hand to her, Stella would not have even come outside to participate. When I approach her, she turns her side to me and covers her eyes with her hand. Jillian, who has finally gained interest in the class, has joined the circle sitting on the ground behind Stella. As I turn my attention to Stella, Jillian tells me 'She cannot make sound'. Now listen lady, Stella not only has made sound, but she's spoken full words in English!? I hate to say I that I did this (sorry Grandma) but when I heard Jillian's tone, I flat out ignored her. I knew that Stella couldn't hear her (and thank God, because children will always lower their expectations of themselves in times of vulnerability, especially if someone gives them the 'out', so-to-speak, on a silver platter!) so I proceeded. Slowly, I took Stella's hand from her eyes, keeping my face positive so when her eyes met mine, she knew it was safe to try. I saw her face change as I made noise, and when she looked at me, I laughed, loud and hard, so she could both see my joy in sharing my voice with her, and feel that same joy reverberating on her hand. I then lifted my eyebrows with the question of 'now you?' and when she didn't object, I slowly lowered her hand to her own throat and took a deep inhale to cue her breath and sound. Well whatta ya know Jillian? Not only can Stella make smooth, loud sounds, she can also laugh from her big belly about how wonderful it feels to have the freedom of expression.

Jillian rushed after class to pull me aside and ask me "Is it really good for their bodies to make sound?" Delighted, I quickly responded that not only does it ease the nervous system, but making sounds is a great way to initiate deaf children into speaking. "Speaking?!" she spit back. "Oh my God YES!!" I then had the pleasure of sharing a bit of information I had taken for granted during life in the States: 'Deaf people can both speak, and speak well!' She was shocked to learn that they can read the mouths and understand not just what is being said, but lots of other little things like whether the person talking is telling the truth, and if they're in a hurry, or not feeling well. Tomorrow Jillian and I will sit down and figure out a way to incorporate a way for the kids to make some kind of sound each day. Jillian will be changing the lives of deaf children in a way Uganda has never taught! "an iah haylped!'



More soon!
Love,
Carly

'Sorta-Kinda'

Laurie's house is a wonderful safe-haven of equal parts comfort and rest. Sometimes after our long teaching days, we arrive home to the smell of Laurie's cooking filling the front lawn. Laurie creates delicious things like baked garlic cloves spread out over toasted bread, and lemon pepper Tilapia straight from Lake Victoria with rosemary carrots and potatoes...oh my yum! On the nights we eat in we play movies like 'Julie&Julia' (and I think of y'all when Julie writes on her blog) and 'My Sister's Keeper' (of which I opted out...isn't Uganda intense enough?). Lots of down-loading about our days, about each other, and about ourselves, which helps to cope with most issues that we face on a daily basis- very healthy and very appreciated.
Sometimes, however, our living situations are a test to us all! It's like living in a dorm- but instead of one roommate, you have six, and instead of a known and comfortable culture- it's Uganda. Awaking to the smell of burning trash because Uganda doesn't have a trash-removal system, so they burn huge dumpsters of decomposing food, plastic bottles, and paper on the corner of each street (sorry if you're just finishing your breakfast...). The preventative medication for Malaria is also no help to the moods of the house-hold; while most are taking weekly Doxycycline, which holds symptoms of upset stomach, several of us, including myself, are taking a daily Malarone pill that is a known hallucinogenic (one of the reasons why I take it at night even though it's been producing some very vivid dreams of bats?). These kind of conditions are enough to make any person 'sort of' on edge. In actuality, each female is her own well of strength with deep compassion to match, and it has been beautiful to watch as each one of us comes out of the wood-works to support another. All-in-all, we are all here for the same reason of betterment and growth for this struggling up-coming generation, so the support system we're creating for each other is far stronger than the trials of culture shock.

Perhaps I'm speaking too soon, but I have yet to feel like I'm in the throws of culture shock. I certainly have been crying a lot- mostly happy - but even when they're tears of frustration or helplessness, it has been healthy and helpful to cry. I have not been feeling lost or scared, afraid or beyond upset...maybe it's because I am used to New York? New York City is not all that different from Uganda; you must watch with extreme care before crossing the street, keep your belongings close to you and always attended, and you have the occasional bartering with local transportation conductors. I realize walking around in Jinja or Kampala is not exactly the same as walking through New York City, but the preparation for seeing a homeless man asking for money five minutes after leaving your house is certainly not something I'm unaccustomed to. It doesn't make it any easier, by any means, but perhaps the reason I am not feeling overwhelmed.

Today, however, is not in the least overwhelming- It's my sorta-kinda- day off!! Sort-kinda because I planned to teach my final day with TAOST this morning, but when I went out to work with the newly appointed music teacher, Paul, (who is also the 4, 5, and 6 English teacher as well as the 3, 4, and 5 Math teacher...but what's one more class right?!), Paul ended up needing to be in town and no one knew when he'd be back! Thus...my sort-kinda-half day off! Tonight before dinner, I'm also going to be sort-kinda teaching a (very relaxing, less sweating) yoga class to some of the other ladies working for Fount. We all are bringing towels to this shaded lawn over-looking the Nile at the 'Hotel Paradise'- aptly named and precisely why we chose that spot.

While I sorta-kinda make my way around town today, meandering and weaving my way from place to place, I'll be replaying the visions of this past week in my mind, contemplating just HOW I managed to fit everything in and still have a brain.
I'll share some with you if it let's me! Enjoy!

Half way point

So Today is exactly two weeks for me in Uganda. I think you may have been able to tell by the word most frequently used in my blog- 'amazing'- that I having the time of my life.
That expression is funny to me, because it seems to come with an implication that there will not be future times ahead of equal impact and amazement. False. Even half way through this experience I can tell that I will never be able to shake the travel bug (sorry mom).

The privilege of meeting these people, and creating this change in the orphan school systems, even the adjustment to new foods, different transportation, and wide variety of societal expectations, have each made me want to learn all that I can about this incredible place.

My final day with the blind school was on Friday and it was wonderful. Ustis was so pleased with our breathing exercises and yoga work, smiling throughout the work, and running to get his camera to capture the rare image of his kids in yoga action! Ustis is amazing (there's that word again) ...but he IS! He is one of the sole advocates for these children- fighting for their education and proper care. Just to be fed, the children have food sponsors who donate a bag of corn grain per week for their dinners, or four chickens a month for their Sunday meals, even monthly donations of salt, pepper, and cayan seasoning- and all because Ustis has worked to send the message that 'these children may be blind, but they still deserve to eat!'
I am truly shocked by the lack of acceptance these children get from their fellow students, teachers, and community. Forget about teaching music, I want to sit down with this fancy-pants, government-funded, teaching staff and give them a class on humanity. They push and pull the blind children with such rough dismissal it was all I could do not to smack their hands like their ninety-year-old grandma and tell them to 'knock it off!!'
One of the younger boys, Karum was very clearly abused physically prior to being taken in by the HODASSU organization. I say this not because he has marks on his body but because of his strong, negative reaction to touch. As a child without sight, when someone touches you there is a natural reservedness and hesitancy because you aren't able to see that person and therefore trust that person. However, when I ask the children permission to gently show them where their diaphragm is located by gently placing my thumb below the center of their ribs, and I guide my hand with there's so they feel safe, all of the children received the touch accept for Karum. When I placed my left hand on his right shoulder, his first reaction was to swat my hand away in reflex. He then took my wrist, as if to say 'I'm sorry- I didn't mean to push you away', and began to shake slightly with nervous ticks. After a third try, I was able to show Karum his diaphragm and the moment I completed the task, he turned his body from mine and hunched himself to the ground with his arms wrapped around his knees.
What this child must have gone through, I can't imagine. I made it my mission to connect with him for the remaining days of lessons. I spoke to him often (as his English is far-and-away better than the majority of children I've worked with thus far) telling him what a good job he was doing and when he was doing the stretches correctly. I sat next to him after our listening section of class as he rocked back and forth on his heels, in his signature squatted position, holding his knees and asked him which part of the music was his favorite. "The beginning was fast" he said, "I liked that."
After two days, Karum grew more comfortable with me and with my voice and in my final exercise with the group, Karum allowed me to help him with the stretch. I told him that I was going to lift his arms up and he shook his head yes. I came behind him and placed my arms under his, lifting him into an open-chested stretch. 'Like a bird' I said, without realizing that he may or may not have seen a bird in flight. I saw his ears spread and his cheeks puff up into what I can only have imagined was a wide and content smile. Just beautiful.

Saturday was a rest day for the rest of the group in Jinja, but Michelle and I traveled two hours to Kampala (sorry mom) to work with Fount of Mercy's first organization, ORM, Orphan Rescue Missionary. The beginning of the organization was just that- rescuing mother-less children or abused run-aways from their current street life and taking them in for food, water, and love, and placing them with families that would care for them. Over the past five years, this group has gone from a a dusty, dirty shack, housing thirty children, to four buildings rented out with a Kitchen to cook meals, a sewing room with three machines to make clothing for regular income, and forty four children in school, two of which Fount has just sponsored through college (a lawyer and a business major!).
My work with them today was mostly casual- fun games, sing songs, and unique exercises, with the exception of the oldest group. I wanted them to remember my four hour time there, and I wanted to help them as much as four hours can. I introduced 'positive visualization' to a group of twenty six Kampala orphans, looking at me like 'you crazy Mzungu'...and possibly other things, but I was trying not to notice. I asked them to lie down on their backs and close their eyes- this took fifteen minutes. Some of the kids simply refused, crossing their arms and staring at me as if they don't understand what the translator had just said.
At this point I can fully feel that today was supposed to be my day off. The travel is a lot: the city of Kampala has the intensity of New York- times ten, with an extra added weight of all eyes on the minority, and while most people are kind and call me sweetheart, I'm learning that it's mostly because I carry a purse.
On a normal day, I would take it with a grain of salt (or fine poshu corn)- I would 'brush my shoulders off' as they love to say here, but again, my fatigue is setting in and I am struggling to keep my cool (which I'm sure they can sense). I then I spot one of the kids sleeping in the corner of the room (as is more frequent than you might think due to the heat, travel, and lack of nourishment) and it's like someone smacked me. I immediately feel awful for even thinking about being tired. My adrenaline kicks in partly due to internal embarrassment, and partly due to my dwindling time with them, and I instruct the kids to get up and stand on the left side of the room while I fix the mats in an order that everyone can have there head in the middle and feet off the mat in a circle formation that allows for their spines to be straight.
The kids notice the change in my attitude, and move with a quickened pace, until they are all laying down doing deep breathing. After ten minutes, I tell them to imagine their perfect future- "Picture your goal, your dream in your mind". I tell them to exhale any negative emotion that comes into play, to picture their doubts leaving their bodies through their mouths and drifting far into the sky, where they can't affect their dreams (hippie, I know, but something they have NEVER done before!). When we finish, I ask them to open there eyes and sit up- I say "Who wants to share their vision?" ...crickets.
"Who can tell me what they want their picture to be? What did you see?" Slowly, a young boy raises his hand. He tells me he saw himself flying an airplane. The kids all dart their eyes to me to see how I will respond. I could not have been more delighted! This young boy (maybe fourteen years old) gets it! I tell him that's wonderful! and that I LOVE his vision! Suddenly, more hands go up to share and one-at-a-time, we go around the room hearing the future dreams of these lost-and-found children: "I'm in a lab making medicine for doctors!" "I was fixing cars because I want to be a mechanical engineer!" "I saw myself giving a speech at my academic graduation"..(verbatim!) I told each one to keep their visions in their mind's eye every night before they go to bed. I explained that God can hear your prayers (as they are VERY religious and say 'God will take care of it') but that we have to do our own part here on earth to help our dreams come true. I told them to exhale every bad thought that comes up (one child saw military guns and warfare) and push it out of our minds through breath.
Their goals have inspired me. I don't know how yet, but I think perhaps my nightly vision should be shifting soon! ( :

More soon
Love always,
Carly