Leaving Africa

We have a really emotional day today - most of us go to visit the street kids home at Nsambya one more time, to say goodbye to the boys. It's quite a big deal, and the boys have practiced a traditional African song and dance which they perform for us. They have put paint on their bodies (likely paint we donated!) and they've made crowns of out cardboard boxes. It's nice to see them dancing to something other than 50 Cent: they seem younger, softer, more vulnerable - much more like the children they still are.

Nick takes a video of them yelling "THANK YOU SOFTCHOICE!" at the top of their lungs. Milton makes a speech about how much we mean to the boys and to him, which has my eyes starting to water a little, and then Nick talks about how much getting to be a part of their centre for a short while has meant to us. He lets the boys know we want to raise money so that they can go to school. He reminds them that Milton is a role model for them, that they should continue in his path and follow his example. He says that he knows they may have done things they don't feel too proud of, but that they should forgive themselves for the bad things they may have done in the past, and understand that life and love are about giving. That they should approach the future with this in mind. The words are well spoken and remind me of something you'd hear in church, except that Nick somehow manages to keep any religion out of it.

At this point Milton starts sobbing softly and holding onto to Nick. Watching this grown man weep is pretty moving. He just doesn't know how he can express his gratitude, he tells us. Then the boys start hugging us all, really tightly. One boy Phillip, puts his head in his hands and starts crying. These are tough street kids. I can hardly believe the scene in front of me.



When a taxi pulls up to take us back to our hostel, we are all mess of emotions. Even once we are inside the vehicle, the boys and all the neighbouring kids come up to put their hands up against the windows. I open my window and one of the boys hands me his cardboard crown. Amy is bawling in the seat in front of me - I give her shoulders a little squeeze, and put the crown on her head. And, then just like that, we drive away for the last time. Or maybe not, I don't know. Maybe some of us will be back to check up on our friends at African Child in Need. And at the OCA Computer Centre. And the babies and toddlers at the Sanyu Home. I hope that I will see them all again.


I have to figure out how I can continue to support these great people when I get back home, how I can share their stories with those who aren't lucky enough to have met them firsthand. I'm not sure what the answer to this is yet, but I feel sure there is a way.

In just over an hour another taxi will arrive - this one will take Jenn, Eric and I to Entebbe airport, where we will begin our journey home. I can't believe our last few hours are actually here. I'm going back to where there is consistent power and hot water; where the roads are maintained and there's organized public transit; where bathrooms are luxurious in comparison; where garbage is collected; and glass and plastic recycled. But I'm also going back to a place where everyone always wants more stuff, and bigger and newer and better stuff, and it's all about getting that stuff, and what you become when you have it. And that's going to be a bit depressing for me, I think. I hope that I'll be thankful everyday for the simple things.

I can't wait to share my stories with everyone. I can't wait to give Mike a giant hug and start at the beginning of my adventures here and not shut up until my throat hurts and my eyes are heavy. I can't wait to cuddle with Siris and Senor Snuggles; to call up friends; to sit at my favourite table at the Communist's Daughter and take in a little live music.

Goodbye Uganda, with your red, red soil and your loving people - I hope I'll be back one day to see what you're up to. I remain eternally grateful for these last two weeks, and I don't want to forget a single part.

Michael writes us a letter

Michael is one of the older boys living at African Child in Need. He slips a handwritten letter to Stephanie today and she shares it with us:

Hellow

I just want to say that plz thank you vary much and your team, for having left your families and decided to come to Uganda, to have fun with us and buying us mattresses, bedsheets, pillows and the beds. I also thank u for all the money you spent on us and transport from your home countries. I say that we have never had this before but because u loved us that's why you did all these for us.

I pray that may God bless you and pay you back everything and I promise that we shall never forget you for what you've done for us. I say that thanks a lot for all. I know I shall miss u and u shall miss us but through God the almight we'll meet again.

Yours happily
Micheal Heys Kiyingi

I try to figure out what strikes me the most about this letter, and I think it's the part where he talks about how he hopes that we are paid back for everything. How utterly sweet of him. Because what Michael doesn't realize is that we've already been paid back, that we are different forever because we have met him and the others, because of what we've been a part of here.

Tororo

Today is another road trip - this time to a town called Tororo. Anthony was born near this town, and if there's time we'll stop at the village where he grew up. We arrive in Tororo later than forecasted, but we kind of expect this. We've come to start tacking on 2 hours to whatever timeframe Anthony communicates to us.

Our time here is pretty much a whirlwind - we take a quick tour of the computer training centre that Anthony's group has set up in Tororo, have a quick meet up with some of Tororo's elders, (all pastor friends of Anthony's), and head to a local playing field where apparently tons of kids are eagerly awaiting our arrival.

When our bus pulls up at the playing field, we learn just how much hype has spread about our arrival. As we step off the bus, children of all ages swarm us, squealing excitedly as camera flashes go off. Everything about this is so unsettling and surreal. We feel like movie stars. Around us, everything is pandemonium - the teachers and pastors responsible for the kids try to get them under control, and eventually everyone is quiet enough for some introductions.

Things turn to chaos again, though, when it's time to hand out books and school supplies - it's almost a mob scene, pretty much. One child gets trampled, and has to be rescued - we have zero control, and it feels awful. The children who've been waiting patiently and who are doing as they've been told, end up being left without, when our supplies run out. Anthony assures us that every child will get something, that he will send extras from Kampala over, but to these kids, that's probably hard to believe, hard to understand even. Teachers and pastors step in again for crowd control duty.

The children have practiced some songs to welcome us - it's amazing how many songs they have here about welcoming guests to their country. Ian says a few words about what we've been doing in Kampala, how we are helping orphans, who we are and where we come from.

(Video above comes thru with crappy quality - apologies - any Blogger/You Tube nerds please email me if you know how to fix!)

In a bit of an awkward silence, Nick asks if the children have any questions for us. There is only one question. A beautiful girl, about thirteen, wearing a ripped school uniform steps out of the crowd to address us all. "Where does HIV come from?" she asks. Wow. It knocks the wind out of us. We can't answer. Nick ends up telling her that this is a very good question and one we don't have an answer for. She looks us each in the eye. Many of us, at this point, are mostly focused on keeping it together. Awkward silence again, until a pastor steps in to move the programme along, and the moment is lost. But not in our minds, not ever.

A few kids want to share with us some poems they've written. The subjects are so very sad. It's apparent that AIDS has touched each of these kids in a very real way...this is just life for them.

One of the poems goes like this:

HIV we wish we knew your home
The white man is searching for you
HIV where do you come from?
The black man is searching for you
HIV where do you come from?
The yellow man is searching 4 you
HIV where do you come from?
HIV you sweep the world
HIV you sweep the north
U sweep the south
HIV you sweep the west
U sweep the east

HIV U sweep mammy, U sweep daddy
HIV where do you come from?
HIV where do you come from?
HIV we wish we knew your home

There are many times on this journey that I have been overwhelmed with emotion, but hearing this girl read out this poem, with movement and rhythm and hand gestures, in front of our group of strangers, in front of her classmates, in front of her pastors, brave and unwavering, it is something.

Heather, Michon and I play a game none of us really understands with a group of young girls. The game is basically throwing a soccer ball to someone who then catches it and throws it to someone else, who then catches it and - well, this is all we understand. So, pretty much - catch. We add a twist to the game that when you catch the ball, you have to yell out your name, so that we can learn their names and they can learn ours. And so we meet Rose. And Esther. And two Brendas. And Carol. And Grace. And two Ruths. And Mary. And a little one named Innocence.

Later we drive to see a foster home. Because Tororo is small there is no formal orphanage - Anthony is hoping to raise enough funds to set one up behind the Computer Training Centre. Since there is no orphanage, orphans are cared for by local families in individual homes.

We meet one lady, a widow with one child of her own, who is caring for four foster children. The six of them all live in a small mud hut - a single room. We get to take a look inside, and we take pictures so that we can share this humbling experience with our friends and families back home, with anyone who isn't here to see it first hand. Again we are floored by the sense of community, by the generosity of these people who have so little, opening up their tiny homes to others in need.

An eye opener

This evening, the group who were volunteering at the babies' orphanage tell us about something they witnessed en route to their volunteer site. At the side of the road they saw a young boy being manhandled across the street, while he was crying loudly. They assumed, of course, as any westerner would, that this was a father disciplining his son. Later, the team saw the same boy alone, his face freshly bloody. Christine, the group's guide for the day, explained to them that street children are beaten all the time for stealing. And that often street children are beaten when they haven't even actually stolen anything - they are beaten because it is assumed that they've stolen, or that they will steal.

Christine further reveals that this one particular boy was lucky that he was so young. Older children, she tells them, those about twelve or thirteen years, would be beaten or stoned to death if they are found to have stolen from local merchants. She tells the group horrible stories of mobs burning homeless thieves to death in crowded markets. And the sad reality - mob justice goes almost entirely unpunished in Uganda.

This is why African Child in Need exists - because street kids have few options available to them. Starve or steal, really. And a child who is forced to steal to survive is really risking their life, just by being on the streets. What Milton's done - giving these kids a place they can feel safe - is incredible. And though our stomachs turned when we saw how dirty, how barren, how all around awful the living conditions were on our first visit to the centre, we now truly understand. What little they have in that centre is far far better than being left alone to fend for themselves on the streets. Talk about humbling. Hearing this story, even second hand, from the mouths of our friends makes it all the more real.

The Garbage Issue

Noticeable, even after a few hours in Uganda is a thickness, a dirtyness, a dustyness in the air. We struggle to find any public garbage cans. We notice a strange smell in the air, billows of smoke randomly stemming from roadsides and banks of forests. It is burning garbage, and it happens all the time. The options are not complicated: either let the waste accumulate, or simply burn it. There is pretty much no coordinated waste disposal strategy here at all.

We see this in action as we are unpacking a bunch of cables and mice from the plastic packaging they came in. When the job is complete, we have a pile of plastic we need to get rid of, and Cosmas, a staff member at Orphans For Christ, doesn't even blink. We watch him burn it all on the lawn in front of the computer lab...the smell of burning plastic lingers in the air a while, as we realize just how much we take for granted on a daily basis.

All this makes me wonder what will happen to the computers we brought over when it is their time to die. Releasing those toxic chemicals into the air, the soil and the water isn't exactly a pretty thought.

Back to the Computer Centre

I am back at the computer centre, teaching more life skills. Today's topic: "applying for a job" - which includes creating cover letters and resumes. I watch these young adults, high school educated people, struggle with double clicking a mouse. They ask questions like should they include primary school education on their resumes, or the fact that they may have been a prefect in the third grade. They add hobbies like "reading the bible" to their CVs; the girls accent their computer skills list in magenta; they set the background of the word document to rainbow coloured, because it looks pretty. These students have absolutely no business skills whatsoever, and more than halfway through their computer training course, their technical skill level with the applications is, for the most part, still abysmal.

Those of us involved with Softchoice Cares have been talking about what to do to help the centre, and unless there's quality instruction and ownership and commitment from the students selected to take part, I don't even know that it makes sense to continue providing equipment.

I wonder what secondary school in Uganda is like. These students seem programmed to follow a series of very specifics steps in a very specific order. There's not a whole lot of critical thinking in terms of, "would this concept apply in this scenario?" It is somewhat depressing, but we push through the lesson and when we're done, at least each student has their own simple resume. Office jobs in Uganda pay about five times higher than a typical Ugandan labourer job, so the work that this computer centre is doing is hugely important.

Behind the scenes, the techies in the group have managed to network all the computers, and image and configure the donated laptops we brought with us. Still no internet access though - maybe tomorrow.

Hot dogs at Teen Town

Today my group goes back to Teen Town - the dorky name we've come up with for the street kids home in the slums of Kampala. "My group" changes all the time, which is actually really nice - I'm getting to spend time with different people and changing it up a bit.

On the way there, we stop to go shopping - to buy supplies to make a ton of hot dogs, and to the market to pick up a stove, some charcoal and pots. The stove that Betty is currently cooking on is small, worn, and almost rusted through - it shouldn't be this hard for her to feed 18 boys each night. Back in Montreal, Stephanie's branch held a fundraiser in their office that raised a handful of cash, and with this we want to cook the boys lunch and see what we can do to upgrade the kitchen.


When we arrive, of course, the kids are thrilled to see us. It is the first time Michon and Dean are seeing the place and meeting the boys, and they have the same look on their faces that I'm sure I did when I first set foot in here. Betty nearly loses it when she sees the stove and the cooking implements.



We explain about the hot dogs - that they are not actually dog - which takes some convincing, especially for the kids who speak mainly in Luganda. We teach Betty and Milton how to cook them, and introduce everyone to mustard. So weird that something as simple as mustard is fascinating and needs explaining over here. The kids, once they know they are eating pork and not dog, go crazy for the hot dogs. We make sure to save some for those boys that are in school during the day.


The boys proudly show us their new beds - I guess some of our group, on a previous visit, have printed off some digital pictures for them, because each boy has taped a photo of himself to the wall by the bunk that he's claimed. The boys have also been creating some art - there are pencil drawings, self-portraits, or pictures of each other, also taped to the wall. Some of the boys are really quite talented as a matter of fact.

Instead of drawing himself or one of his roommates, one boy Ibra has drawn a picture of Osama Bin Laden, which is more than a little disturbing. It really makes me think that kids who miss out on a lot of love and learning at an early age are so vulnerable to 'evil'...it makes me understand how people fall prey to gangs, and cults, or the Taliban - they're all just searching for family, these outcasts. They want to belong somewhere. They are the perfect prey. These kids have been surviving all these years - in many ways they are tough as nails. When I see this drawing, it dawns on me how much these boys need counselling, one on one time, so desparately.

We wander to a music store nearby and pick up some CDs (all pirated) for the boys. One is 50 Cent, which we know will be a massive hit, and we are right. The boys go apeshit for it, and while the smiles and the dancing that ensue are inspirational and the happiness is real - I can't help but think there should be more to life than just hanging out with a ghetto blaster. These kids need structure.

One boy grabs my hand and asks if I am coming back tomorrow. I know that I'm not (back to teaching at the computer lab for me!), but I try to play up the fact that others from our group are. I tell him they are planning to make spaghetti, to play football with the boys, but his eyes have already dulled and I can feel him starting to withdraw. And wow, do I feel like a piece of crap. It makes me wonder how us leaving Uganda is going to affect these kids - they'll be back to the one meal a day they knew before, hope diminshed, very little to look forward to. I wish so much that we can do more for these boys.

In the taxi on the way back to our hostel at the end of the day, we are stopped for several minutes in traffic. A young boy, no older than four or five, stands outside our back window, at the side of the dirt road, hand outstretched. He says nothing, but watches this taxi full of mzungus intently. Dean finds a couple of coins and hands them to the boy through the open window. The kid remains pretty expressionless - he clutches the shillings in his palm and turns away - revealing a small infant, wrapped in a shawl, tied to his back. Three of us gasp. I see Dean tear up a little. It is unfathomable - this child, barely more than a toddler himself, in charge of a baby. What is his story? How many others like him are just down the road, ahead, around the corner? Nobody speaks for the next ten minutes. As our taxi rolls along we all simply stare out the window, glassy-eyed, transformed.

"Mzungu"

"Mzungu" means white person, and it is what all the African children yell when they see us. The big smiles, the frantic waving, the overall enthusiasm makes us feel like we are celebrities. The kids will run down the street to meet us - they want to us to touch them, to hold their hands, to take their photos. They especially love photos - they make funny faces and all jump into the frame when one of us takes out a camera. They giggle like crazy when we show them the image of themselves on the LCD screen, and then they want to do it all over again.


There are so many of these kids, all over the place, hoping that we'll acknowledge them - it's the weirdest feeling. "Mzungu!" they'll cry, and if you even make eye contact with them it's usually enough to incite a huge grin and an instant gigglefest.

"Mzungus" make merchants and service providers happy too - because they can charge us more than they charge their fellow Ugandans for pretty much everything. When getting taxis, our guides Anthony, Cosmas, Lillian and Christine will wander a couple of blocks away from our group, hire a car at a negotiated rate, then bring it back to pick us up. This usually causes some big time animosity - the drivers didn't know they'd be transporting a van full of mzungus, and they're angry that our guides aren't allowing them to make the money off us that they could.

Walking through markets in Kampala, sellers call us over - "Mzungu! Mzungu!" - hoping that we'll buy some of whatever they are selling at the "whitey" rate. We are big money in Uganda.

It is probably a slightly insulting term to use - mzungu - but if it makes the kids so happy, if we make the kids so happy, we aren't offended. And we've got so much more than these people, struggling to make a living, that we are usually okay with paying the mzungu uplifts. Strange that when we hear it, our ears perk up, and our heads turn. We answer to it. We are mzungus.

At the top of the falls & the long journey back...

Another bumpy ride back - red dirt and dust flying everywhere. We drive up the mountain on the perimeter of the park this morning, and I'm looking out the window into the forests at the side of the road. I'm dying to catch a glimpse of some chimpanzees, although I know the chances are slim. You can actually book multiple day chimp tracking or gorilla tracking excursions in Uganda, and when I come back to this country, I'm going to do this for sure - I've always been fascinated with the great apes.

I stand up and look through the sun roof, getting covered in red as the van in front of us lifts up dirt and dust and the wind carries it our way. A thin layer of dirt covers all my clothes and every area of exposed skin. I give myself a little sponge bath with Baby Wipes, and then give up - it is useless, I would need about twenty packs to get it all off. We're also covered in DEET. The tsetse flies are awful in this region, we've been warned. We aren't quite sure what these vicious little flies transmit - but we know it's something that we can't be vaccinated against. Dengue fever, we assume. (Actually it's something pretty scary known as "sleeping sickness").

When we get close to the falls, we pull over and get to hike up to the top. The water is rushing, as we look down on the Nile - on where we were yesterday, cruising around looking for animals. I feel a bit like we are the only people in the world. After some quick photos, we pile back into our van and prepare for a seven hour ride back to Lweza. Our "vacation" is coming to an end. Tomorrow we're back to our regular volunteer rotation.

The whole way home we are pelted with red dust - it's too hot not to drive with the windows open and too dirty to leave them open. Since I seem to be the only one wearing a light coloured t-shirt, all my trip mates are marvelling at how dirty I am. Although pretty much covered, for some inexplicable reason the reddy brown dirt is much more pronounced on the boob area of my t-shirt. When I step out of the van at a gas station, Dean calls me "Pigpen." Amy captures my awesome fashion statement in a photo that is far too embarrassing to post in this blog. I want a shower, stat. I'll remember this and laugh at it when I'm clean, for sure. There better be hot water when we get to our "base camp", because I have a feeling I'll need about 30 minutes to scrub all of this grime off.

Safari Day, Part Two: Land

Three hour safari game drive: the group is stoked. A van pulls up at the front of the lodge to pick us up, and the first thing we notice is that there is seating on the roof of the van, which is excellent. Jigna and I climb up to sit on the roof at the front of the vehicle so that we can have the first glimpse of any wildlife.

I spend the next three hours in this spot, holding on tight, feeling the breeze on my face, scanning the horizon for animals, and it feels incredible. Our van is rolling down the grasslands at a decent clip, but our guide slows down if we're approaching animals to give us time to take photos. We get to see a herd of 23 giraffes up close - they are literally surrounding us from all sides. What odd animals - huge, majestic, yet strangely awkward, with such dazzling patterns on their coats.

Later we stop the van amid tons of antelope - beautiful creatures of several different families - many specific to Uganda. Our guide sticks his head out the window and to yell their names out to me, still on the roof. Oribi, Kop, Hartebeest. They are all gorgeous.

We've heard reports of lion sightings from fellow visitors, and we are eager to stumble upon the lion family others have been lucky enough to see. It's getting dark though, and ominous clouds have formed. On the horizon, we can see it is raining. No idea how far away the rain is though. It feels like we can see for miles, and I struggle to judge the actual distance ahead.

Our guide steers us towards a known lion hotspot, and thinks he catches a glimpse of a female, but nobody can be sure. "We're going to try it off-road!" he exclaims, and suddenly our van steers into the brush, into waist high grasses, following what we think is the path of a lionness. The sky gets darker. In the grasses we are blind to obstacles - large rocks, uneven ground. From the roof, I wonder how safe this is. The trail goes cold - we never do find our lionness. Our guide is disappointed, but none of us seem too upset - we are still taking in the beauty around us.

When it starts to rain, we finally get down off the roof and into the van. Visibility is poor due to the weather, and the night sky is taking over. Out in the grasslands, we're not too sure how far we are from the lodge - at least a good hour, and we have only the headlights of the van to guide us back.

We veer around mud puddles and shifted rocks. Inside, we nervously look at each other, and buckle our seat belts. We swerve left and right to avoid obstacles, till finally we hit something hard, and end up in a ditch at the side of the road, the whole van tilted on a 45 degree angle. Everyone leans to the right, afraid we'll tip over completely.

Once we recover from the shock, we all step out of the van in the rain, into the mud, while our guide and driver manage to steady the vehicle and get us back on the road. We all feel like we are in the movie Jurassic Park - wild animals lurking in the darkness around us, rain coming down. What an adventure, though.

Of course, we make it back, safe and sound just like we always do, and we have many great photos to oooh and ahh over, and an amazing story to tell.

Safari Day, Part One: Water

Today we head out on the Nile - the Nile! - on a water safari. We board a small cruise boat, cameras poised. (This is around the time that I start to wish I had a Canon Rebel with a couple of big-ass specialty lenses, and not my little point and shoot 3X zoom digital camera. Fortunately, many of my tripmates do have amazing cameras, and we've all agreed to share photos.)

Our guide is the quiet type - he knows all the good spots to take us, but he doesn't say much. We cruise around the shoreline, searching for wildlife. I spot the first few hippos, floating, enjoying the sun. We then realize they are everywhere. We see hundreds of them.

As we're floating along, we are scanning both the waters and the shore for signs of life. Katie is keeping count of how many we see of what, so we can report back to other travellers. On the shore we see warthogs, baboons, antelope, elephants, and water buffalo. Looking through the binoculars, I am blown away by what I'm seeing. How amazing to get to see wild animals like these in their own habitat - it's like watching the National Geographic channel, except live, and eighty million times cooler. I start fantasizing about how amazing it would be to work on a National Park.

Our driver slows down and brings us to an area where tons of crocodiles are known to hang out. He tells us all to be very quiet. Sure enough, they are there, lots of them, slithering along on the ground and slipping gracefully into water. Wow.

The water around us is covered in foam - we are getting close to the falls. We'll see them from the water today, and tomorrow we'll hike up to the top on land. We stop the boat at some large rocks, where everyone gets out and climbs on top to take photos.

Before we know it, we are at the turn-around point and we spend the entire journey back to land pointing out wildlife to each other, snapping more photos, updating our animal tally sheet, not believing we are here.

First night in Murchison Falls

The bumpy roads and the day of travelling are worth it. We are staying inside Murchison Falls National Park, and it is incredible. After arriving, we take hot showers. (Hot showers!) We talk to other travellers from around the world; we order beers; we eat delicious food. No matoke in sight. The lodge has a campfire set up, a band playing some Ugandan music nearby, and a group of dancers showing us how it's done. It is so nice to relax. When the entertainment wraps up, a bunch of us sit around the fire, downing Nile beers (Slogan:"The True Reward of Progress") and sharing stories.

It's pretty dark, but we have a few flashlights and the campfire light to go by. The lights of our nearby lodge are fairly reassuring, except we start to hear some noises - twigs snapping in the bushes, not far from our bonfire. More branches crackle. "It's something BIG," says Eric. A warden walks by just at the right time, and Eric manages to flag him down.

When the man shines his flashlight down a small hill, into the brush, we are shocked at what we see. Elephants, a family of four, not 20 feet away from us. I think about taking a photo but am worried about what response a camera flash might instigate from these giant beauties. We are absolutely awestruck, and we don't dare make a sound. Amazing.

Day Six: Gulu

Gulu is the second largest town by population in Uganda. It houses a sizeable military base, which used primarily for operations against the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA). The last 21 years here have been war-ridden, with several attacks by the LRA. During the times of conflict, tens of thousands of children would flee from their neighbouring villages into Gulu each night for safety. Millions of people in the district were displaced by the war -though the LRA is not operating in Uganda today, probably about one million people are still living in displacement camps around Gulu, trying to earn enough to restart their lives.

I have learned a lot about this conflict before coming here, and my heart goes out to these people. I am dying to visit a camp, to talk to the people I've learned so much about. (You can watch a great documentary called Invisible Children: Rough Cut, about the LRA conflict here for free; and in fact, you should.)


Unfortunately, our time in Gulu is actually very short lived and kind of disappointing; we are running behind (ah, Africa time) if we are going to catch our scheduled ferry to Murchison Falls. Instead of making our stop at an IDP camp as we thought, our van pulls up at House of Hope orphanage, a home for children orphaned by either HIV/AIDS, or the war in Northern Uganda. Thirty three children live here, many of whom, we are told, have personally witnessed the deaths of their parents at the hands of the LRA. I can't even imagine.

The orphanage is run by an evangelical grey haired white lady from Texas, and feels a bit like a child brainwashing centre. The children are well taken care of, for sure; they're just also being indoctrinated with the word of Christ from a very, very young age, which is something pretty foreign to me, personally. (And, it's true that I'm disappointed that we're not going to an IDP camp, which is the whole reason I wanted to come to Gulu in the first place, so this is definitely skewing my perception.) Of course, in addition to the Bible, the orphanage staff are teaching the kids other things too: life skills (especially in farming and agriculture), and good values. The children are happy and healthy. They have clothes; they eat well; they go school; they know love. I'm quite sure they get a ton of funding and support from American churches.

We have four hockey bags full of donations we have brought to Gulu, hoping to leave in a camp. Since there is no time, we spread them out on the floor at the orphanage instead, and Dean gives a touching speech that makes the best of what we are all feeling. We show the kids some examples of what is in the bags. They stare, and look almost expressionless. I don't see many even crack much of a smile. Next we hand out toothbrushes, which we realize they probably already have. One of the supervisors says something in Acholi to the kids, and they all smile and clap. We feel a bit uneasy knowing there are others who clearly need this stuff more than these kids, but aren't sure what to do about it.

The orphanage feeds us - yes, an orphanage feeds us! It's actually one of the better Ugandan meals we've had so far, too. We ask that they review the donations and give what they don't need to the IDPs, and they understand, and assure us that they will. We pray with them about four times. The children say "Hallelujah" and "Amen" about fifty times.

We pass some IDP camps on the road. It sucks that we don't get to see one up close, but at least some of the victims of a conflict I've learned so much about over the last few months are the recipients of Softchoice's donations. I wish it were minus the evangelical Christianity, but I know their hearts are in the right place, and what really matters is that someone cares enough about these children to help them.

I am reminded today that roughly 50% of the population of the entire country of Uganda is under 15 years old - this is mind blowing to me. There is such need here. What is going to happen to these kids?

En route to Murchison Falls National Park now - we'll have missed our ferry by the time we'd arrive at the docking area, so we are taking the long route into the park on some of the worst roads ever. We've almost been in 3 accidents already, have passed a couple of wrecks so far on the roadside shoulders, and we are bouncing all over the road. My tailbone is numb, my knees are throbbing, and as usual, I have a lot on my mind. As it turns out, I might be ready for this cushy lodge after all.

Maybe I think too much

On the bus, en route to Gulu. We are cramped, and it's not exactly cozy. The seats are uncomfortable, the road infrastructure pretty poor. I miss good coffee - I am still in my morning fog, and don't feel like talking to anyone yet.

I've been embarrassed lately, or ashamed maybe, that our group has so much and that so many of the poeple we meet here have so little. I feel like we are the obnoxious tourists; loud, vulgar, pointing, gawking, constantly snapping pictures and asking "stupid" questions. Plus, forgetting to pay for things (like our contributions for the taxi, or the bottled water that sometimes is included in our meal price, and sometimes isn't), not appreciating that what's nothing financially to our group is a huge barrier to our volunteer coordinators, like Anthony, Lillian, Christine, Stella and Cosmas, getting pissed off if things aren't exactly on time...I feel like we're not all on the same page in terms of being sensitive to the Ugandan culture and trying our best to adapt. What's worse is we've talked about it before, and I feel like we are still a bit clueless, behaving in ways that that feel a bit disrespectful.

I've used squat toilets; I've eaten bad food off plates with ants crawling all over them, and I've done it because as much as possible I want to experience what the locals do. As much as I want comfort food, a hot shower, my apartment's bathroom, I think a lot of this trip is not having those things. Which is why I'm conflicted about staying at the lodge we'll be staying at, about anything "extravagant" like hair straighteners, and perfume, while we are here. I've tried to share this and people seem to think "we've earned this." Have we really though? I'm not sure.

We have two girls from Toronto travelling with us, Shanley and Diana, who are in Uganda on their own volunteering at the Babies Home. They are staying with a local family in a village outside of Kampala. I admire them for doing this. Even though our hostel is rustic and I feel like we're roughing it, what these two girls are doing is incredible. They will not be accompanying us to Murchison Falls - they'll be staying in Gulu for a couple of days on their own. I wonder what is in store for them during their time there.

During our time here so far, many of us have had our "breakdowns" - when we saw where the kids at Milton's place slept, when the boys first laid eyes on the bunk beds, when we met HIV positive infants, saw a family of five living in a four foot by four foot shack, or a two year old begging on the streets. And these things make me incredibly sad and make me feel exceptionally lucky (and guilty), but although of course I get a little teary, I don't bawl my eyes out in front of everyone, and tell those who didn't see me that I did. I save my little meltdowns for my "me" time, and I'm not sure why. I guess I'm just a private person. Nick has instituted these "sharing circles" - thirty minutes or so where our whole group gathers around in a circle, and we're supposed to all talk about our "Aha moments" (a term which makes me crazy), and it's incredibly hard for me, for some reason.

I finally got through on the phone to Mike last night, and it was amazing to tell him how things are going so far. Trying to summarize the last few days in a few short minutes, though, made me realize how hard it will be to explain this trip to anyone when I get back. And that's when I decide it will end up a blog.

The road is really bumpy, we are only two hours into the journey, and apparently the roads just get worse, and we have four more hours, at least, to go. I already have to pee and I have no idea when we'll be stopping next. Ah, group travel in Africa: it ain't easy, but it's well worth it's inconveniences. And people here live this infrastructure every day.

I feel as though I've won some sort of bizarre lottery of the universe, having been born in Canada, and I want to remember this feeling of appreciation. I want to not take anything or anyone in my life for granted, for a single second longer.

Lillian shows us her house

We have been learning a lot about our new friend Lillian. She is a totally selfless woman, with a heart of gold. She's had a really rough life that we hear about in bits and pieces: she's been abandoned by nearly everyone she has loved in this life.

From ever since she was a young girl, she's tried to trust and love those around her and has been hurt time and time again. Abused and raped, time and time again, starting from as young as age twelve, by those who were supposed to love her, she had almost given up on her own life by the time she was a young adult. She bravely tells about how she nearly killed herself with insect poison. And then about how she found the Bible, about how she met her mentor Anthony, about how she's been able to forgive those who have hurt her and to devote her life to helping children - so that they won't have to endure the hard times that she has.

We are so inspired by this amazing woman - by how much she has seen, and by who she is today. She tears up almost every time that she shares her past with us - and understandably. We can't even imagine the pain and suffering. And yet she's come out of it. She is strong today. Miraculously, she hasn't been infected by HIV. She was able to learn skills and get a job. She made decent money working in an office until a health problem forced her to reduce the hours she was able to work. She makes enough money to take care of herself... and what's more even more admirable: she's taken in twelve children. Twelve. Three of these children are in boarding school, paid for by Lillian, the rest of them are still living with her.

On our way home from a night out in Kampala, in the wee hours of the morning, Lillian tells us she'd love for us to see where she lives - to meet her boys. And so, we pile out of a taxi in the middle of the night to see her home. It is small, just two rooms - the largest room houses six boys in two bunks, and Lillian's room is in the back. She shares it with the remaining three.

The boys, aged about eight years old to seventeen, wake up confused, rubbing their eyes and say hello, big smiles abound. They're surprised, but excited, to see a group of seven or so of us taking a middle of the night tour of their home with their "mother". And Lillian is so proud to show us the home that she has made for herself, and her family of misfits. She is truly an outstanding human being, and we all feel honored to be here with her.

Day Five: More babies!

Back volunteering with the babies today - though I actually spend a large part of the day helping with the laundry, which is where the home really needs the most help. My non-glamorous responsibilities include pre-scrubbing various baby stains off lots and lots and lots of baby clothes before they go into the washing machine. The clothes are all donated, and some make me laugh, like the "My Grandma Went To Aruba And All She Brought Me Back Was This Stupid T-Shirt" shirt I remember a little girl named Angela wearing the last time I was here. It's not funny at all though, really, when you think about it. Angela probably never even knew her grandmother, and there's no way in hell she ever went to Aruba.

I do get to hang out with the babies during feeding time though. I really like this one kid, a one year old boy with a smile that would melt your heart, and big, bright eyes, and bumps all over his face. He is adorable. I teach him "give me five", and he thinks it is the best thing ever.

We stop at another Internet Café where I pay for 45 minutes of internet time and I can't even connect to my Hotmail inbox. Service is pretty unreliable - you pretty much click a link, then wait...and wait...and wait...and hope the connectivity gods are in your favour. Linda gets lucky, and is generous enough to let me connect from her terminal. I read a quick email from Mike, with her remaining 2 minutes, and don't have a chance to reply.

Early to bed for me tonight. Tomorrow we spend a long day on the bus; we are heading to Gulu, a war-torn area in Northern Uganda, to visit an Internally Displaced People's (IDP) Camp. I know I'm not prepared and I know that nothing will prepare me for just how sad and overwhelming it will be visiting these camps. Having seen War Dance, and Invisible Children, I understand what I am in for, but still...

From there, we continue to Murchison Falls for a 2 day safari, which was our add-on to the trip. We've seen the pamphlets, and our accomodations there look pretty swank. Something feels wrong about visiting an IDP camp, and then only hours later, hanging out at a swim up bar at luxury lodge. I bet the ride there will be deadly quiet after Gulu.

I need to change some more money and do some laundry, since everything I have is either sweaty, or covered in baby goo, or both. It is all going by so fast. This place is amazing.

Mid trip musings

Lately I'm thinking a lot about sustainability. How do we make our help last for these people? The computer lab training program is still in it's infancy, and they desparately need consistent quality instruction. Their teachers are doing the best they can, but they're not exactly trained in computer instruction. The students don't show up consistently, some due to other familial responsibilities or the chance to do odd jobs.

The street kids - they don't even get to eat regularly. On days where the boys don't have volunteers visiting, they typically head into downtown Kampala where they collect empty bottles. If they get enough, they can sell them for pocket change. They use this pocket change to buy food. They've never had a group as large as us come to visit. When we leave, things are going to go back to normal for them. While it feels amazing to contribute, to give them an extra meal, new clothes, soccer balls, these things are not long lasting. Will they simply be waiting, hoping, for a new set of volunteers to come and help them?

I have an awesome conversation with Heather, Michon and Linda about this today, and I'm glad to find people on the same sort of wavelength. We talk about people doing charity work for themselves and not for anyone else. About the competition to be the biggest Santa Claus; the hero delivering the goods. Everyone wants to do the jobs that will get them the best photo opportunity. I suspect that we're not going to find and implement the programmatic, sustainable answer for these people in the next two weeks, and I'm okay with that. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't start thinking about it. I've been feeling a bit like we're too busy patting ourselves on the back for the little we've done so far, sometimes. But sustainable change, that's hard work. So much more thinking and planning required - months, and years, maybe.

The bunk bed procuring adventure is a day that I will never forget and I loved every second of it. But I don't want the majority of my time here to be running around, buying things and then dropping them off. I want to spend time with people who need us, learning about them, or helping wherever they need the most help - even if there's very little "glory" in it.

The store down the road sells beer, and we pretty much clear them out of it at the end of our day. I stay up late drinking with Dean, Amy, Heather and Ian sharing stories - it is great to get to know each of them on a more personal level. Ian tells an amazing account of 9/11 from his own eyes in New York that sends chills up my spine. Heather talks about almost dying during childbirth, and some other stuff that I won't document in an internet blog, but I feel honored that she shares it with me. It feels good to connect with people.

Day Four: The OCA Computer Centre

At the computer centre today, we have a weird adventure teaching high school graduates. With so many varying skill levels in one class, it is hard to help so many at once and still cater to everyone's own individual level. Some people are almost as good as I am at Excel, and others don't understand how to save a file, what CAPS LOCK is, or haven't yet quite nailed the hand-eye coordination to double click on something. But man, do they want to learn!


Our topics we have decided to teach, thrown together at the last minute, are as follows:

a) Using some of the templates in Word, such as writing a Business Letter
b) Filtering in Excel
c) Basic Powerpoint Presentation Skills

I'm a little baffled by the Powerpoint decision, personally, as I don't exactly think these young people are going to be creating powerful presentations anytime soon, but hey, we go with it.

The students can barely type - most use the hunt and peck method. And they are so polite that I'm not sure if they are pretending to get the concepts, if they really do get the concepts, or if they've done this before at some point. I really can't tell how much I'm even helping. They all seem really keen to learn Microsoft Access, and I don't think they're ready for that just yet. But Access is apparently required for the majority of jobs in Kampala, and these students know it.

I have my "side" of the room, where I float around and help make sure people are on track with the lesson, aren't stuck somewhere, or don't press the wrong key somewhere along the way. The girls on my side are great - they really want to learn. They are super religious - the whole class is actually. It's funny, they create Powerpoint presentations about "Our Lord, Jesus Christ". (Agenda: 1. God Loves You 2. God Takes Care of You 3. God Loves Your Family, etc.)

Dean is in the back room, getting the new laptops installed. By tomorrow they should all be imaged and up and running. Dean is our resident Tech Guy - he's been here at the lab the whole time so far. I kind of feel bad that he hasn't gotten yet to see the Babies Home, or the Street Kids Centre, but he's where he needs to be, so good for him. Later this week we'll be networking the whole lab. Dean is working on getting Internet Access - these students are going to go nuts. We hope the Ugandan Internet Provider people will be able to make it happen: all the online help these students could have access to! Today we think we have it nailed, and then it turns out the location doesn't have a clear path to the signal or something, so we're back to square one calling new providers, looking at new options.

On the way back, I stop at an Internet Café, and have a chance to sent Mike a super long email. I buy a phone card and try to give him a call on Dean's phone but get voicemail and the connection drops shortly after I start to even leave a message, anyway. It's still nice to hear his voice, even if it's just a recorded greeting. The comforts of home, the people who I love, are so far away.

Matoke

The Ugandans love their bananas. Not sure how many I have eaten so far but they are everywhere and in everything. A very common dish is "matoke" which is essentially cooked mashed bananas, and uh, not very tasty. At first we ate it up, wanting to seem eager to eat like the natives and not wanting to offend anyone. The first time we tried it, we all said how much we loved it. Now, thankfully, we are bypassing it at the buffet table in our hostel's dining room. And it's there almost every day.

Bananas can be a nice snack though. And I discovered the best breakfast ever.

1. Toast bread
2. Slice banana and mush into bread.
3. Spread peanut butter on top. Enjoy!

We found peanut butter at the store down the road, but it was even good with just the banana.

Can you OD on potassium?

Operation Bunk Beds

Eric, Jenn, Jigna, Amy and I are on a mission. We need to buy mattresses, sheets, pillows, pillow cases, and bunk beds for eighteen boys. We need to rent a truck that will get carry all of this to the African Child in Need Centre. We are hoping to accomplish this all in one afternoon. We do not know yet Kampala well -this is only our second full day here - but it seems straight forward enough, at first. The logistics, however are difficult. Kampala is crazy - crowded, busy, confusing. Traffic is insane, and stores are sometimes nothing more than small stalls, tucked away inside larger complexes. We don't know the first place to begin our search. Thankfully, we have Lillian.

Lillian is one of the volunteer co-ordinators helping our group while we are in Uganda. She is a friend of Anthony's, a kind woman, about our age. She takes us under her wing, and agrees to be our chaperone on our afternoon adventure.

First we hit the bank - because it's hard to find anyone that takes credit cards in Kampala. We get roughly $2000 worth of Ugandan Shillings (which is an obscene amount of cash for a group of white people to be carrying around) and we proceed to follow Lillian through narrow streets and hidden markets. She brings us to vendors that she buys from regularly, people that she knows, haggling on our behalf the entire time. She is a machine! On top of everything, she's constantly making sure that noone in our little group gets lost in the crowds, noone is a target for thieves, and that we are buying good quality stuff at good prices. With her help we are able to procure eighteen mattresses, sheets sets and pillows in fairly short order. Then, once we hire a truck, we and our new mattresses and bedding are off to find and haggle for the actual beds.

We find the bunk beds eventually, let Lillian work her magic again until we get a good price, and then end up hiring an even bigger truck to load and deliver the bunk beds, bedding, pillows and mattresses. It feels good to hand over the money - the vendor is beside himself. This is probably his biggest single deal in a long time. And, we're not carrying a huge wad of Ugandan Shillings anymore, which is a good feeling also.


Just as we are loading the bunk beds into the truck (or rather, our hired help is doing the loading), a car pulls up beside us. They're white people, which is weird, and upon closer inspection we realize they are our white people. Out step Ian and Stephanie who had arrived to strangely enough, pick up bunk beds for Milton's Street Kids Centre. Talk about a communication snafu! Turns out, they'd misunderstood that we'd be handling this - they thought we'd planned it for later in the week, and they'd wanted to surprise us by getting it done right away. They'd actually negotiated pricing and put on hold the beds that we had just purchased. Thankfully, though, they hadn't handed over any money yet. Talk about serindipity. We team up to get the beds over to the Centre, adding a seventh bunk so that Milton can take in three more kids right away.


We hit another snag when it becomes obvious everything won't fit in one truck. Luckily white people are basically dollar signs to the locals and we don't have to look too hard for a second car. Word is spreading about what we're doing and who the beds and mattresses are for, plus we have Lillian, so noone is really trying too hard to rip us off, even, at this point. We hire a pick up truck to transport the extra bunk bed, the mattresses, and ourselves to our final destination. Jenn gets to ride up front in with the driver, but the rest of us will have to ride in the bed of the truck with the goods.

And what a ride! The beds are tied to the back of the truck with simple twine, and the mattresses are tied on too. There are seven of us (Amy, Myself, Steph, Ian, Jigna, Eric and Lillian) all crammed into the back of the pick up. I am squished into a ridiculously small space in a ridiculously uncomfortable position. As the truck starts to move, we are clutching onto the beds, the sides of the pick up, and each other; hanging on for dear life. The roads are bumpy and uneven and we're being jostled left and right. Our hired driver doesn't even seem to be taking it slow. We are facing backward, so we can't even see the road ahead and what we're about to face. The cargo doesn't seem that secure, and I watch the twine loosen a little with each bump we take. There are times I think the entire truck, beds and all, is going to tip over and crush me underneath. We have to yell at the driver to stop on three separate occasions because Lillian is worried about us: our collective comfort level, and our overall safety. She feels responsible for our group, and this probably isn't how she was envisioning our afternoon together. Even the locals are looking at us as if we are crazy when we head through a tunnel- through which we probably have an inch of clearance, or not even. I hear the bunk beds scrape across the sides of the tunnel, and watch the top most mattress rip a little. Deep breaths. My heart is beating faster than I thought possible. I am terrified, but this is probably the most exhilirating ride I'll take in my life - better than any roller coaster I've ever been on.

Once out of the tunnel, the road evens. We all breathe a little sigh of relief. The scary part seems like it's over. We will make it there in one piece. Things start to look familiar - we are close. Local kids are chasing our pick up as we drive by, waving and shouting things we don't understand. We feel like we are celebrities in a parade. Our harrowing almost half hour ride is coming to an end. We've asked Milton not to let the boys in on our plans, and naturally, we're excited to surprise them when we show up. I'm not sure what the boys think about us coming to visit them. They've clearly had visitors in the past, and I'm sure they expect some hand-outs, but I have no idea what is typical. It still seems like they have next to nothing.


We arrive at African Child in Need and are suddenly surrounded by activity. We can barely even get out of the truck as we are mobbed by the boys from the Centre and random local youth, swarming us from every direction. Everyone is helping to unload the truck, the little ones take the pillows, while the older kids help to lift the heavy stuff. Everywhere, everyone is smiling. Milton meets us by the now empty truck and he has tears in his eyes. He takes turns hugging us, and wow, does my heart feels good.


The boys work fast - thirty minutes later, not only are the shiny new bunk beds set up, but the sheets are fitted, and the pillows are laid out. Each boy has claimed their individual bunk, and we are already taking the after pictures. Magic. One boy actually rubs his eyes, saying "I can't believe it. I can hardly believe it's true." And I can hardly believe it either, to be honest. That I'm here in Uganda, that I'm a part of this, that I have had such an incredible, important, whirlwind of a day. I want this feeling to last forever.

Day Three: Babies!

After yesterday at the Street Kids Centre, we have a lot on our minds. We are eager to get back there, to put our bunk bed plan in action. We want to help, now, now, now!

Today, though, it is another group that is going to visit our homeless street kid friends, and my "team" heads to the babies home to hang out with homeless little ones, under three years old. On the way there, we are uneasy. Mel, Rebecca, Linda and Katie, who were there yesterday, have already warned us that these children are going to keep us on our toes.

When our taxi arrives at the home, we are asked to sign in and given Volunteer Passes. Already, we can tell things are much more organized than they are over at African Child in Need. We get a brief tour of the facility and are surprised to find that it is large, bright and generally quite clean. There's a sleeping area filled with cribs, several playrooms full of toys, a feeding area, a giant laundry area, an outdoor playground, a clean up area and lots of storage. By the entrance is a craft shop - where handicrafts are sold and proceeds from sales support the home. Behind the home is a guesthouse for volunteers, who can stay for the equivalent of about ten dollars a night.

Barbara, the home's administrator and general manager, gives us a bit of history. The home was started back in 1929 by a Christian missionary, and has been growing ever since. Currently they have 48 children staying there - many come to the home because they are found abandoned in garbage heaps, pit latrines, ditches, taxi parks or are left by the side of the road. Barbara tells us the adoption rate is about 60%; those children that are not adopted from the home, are moved into foster homes or transferred to an orphanage for older children upon their third birthday. There, they get will gain access to primary school. We look at some heartbreaking before and after photos of some of the current residents, and prepare ourselves to interact with them first hand.


Walking into the infant playroom, we are accosted by babies. Every single child reaches out their arms and clutches onto our legs. No words can describe it. We are told not to pick up the babies for two reasons: because obviously not every child can be carried at once (not enough volunteers), and because once a child is put down, they cry and cry and cry to be picked up again. Which causes the other babies to cry, which... well, results in total pandemonium. It's so hard not to pick them up though, once we are in that room with them.

Something interesting: I'm shocked at the maternal instinct I feel. Full on shocked! I mean, for some reason I feel more comfortable with these babies than I do with some of my tripmates. All my inhibitions go out the window and I'm on the floor, goo-goo gah-gah' ing with these kids. I have three children leaning against me and a forth toddling over with something in his hands to show me. I feel totally comfortable. One hand reaches out to rescue a young girl who is about to trip, while the other gives a toy to a child who is desparately trying to reach it.

One child, Fridah, is new: this is only her third day here. She is tiny, extremely malnourished, HIV positive and very anti-social. She doesn't want anything to do with toys, and she pushes me away violently when I offer her a rattle, scrunching up her face up, pouting and crying. When left alone, she is quiet, but she doesn't look happy. She doesn't play; she just watches. If you even look at her, tears and screaming are likely. About fifteen minutes in, though, something amazing happens...Fridah finally starts to warm up to me. I put a toy, a plastic ring, around my wrist like a bracelet and I offer one to her. She looks at me. I figure she's about to start up again with her wailing. She takes it! She puts it on her own wrist! She looks up at me for approval, and she even offers a little smile! Some staff members are watching us, and I hear them say how great it is to see Fridah interacting with toys and with people, how wonderful it is to see her happy. And as I'm marvelling at my awesome powers of goodness with babies, I'm told I'm needed in the toddler's room. (Heh. This is not about me. This is about the children. Duh.)

The toddlers' room is utter madness. Poor Eric is the only volunteer in there, and when I walk in, he's trying to wrangle about twenty toddlers. Cute as buttons, these kids are constantly defying instructions, acting out for attention, clinging to anyone who walks by. It's tough work, but we are reinforcing good lessons. Be patient. Don't grab. Say thank you. Don't throw things. Say sorry if you hurt someone. We have snack time and teethbrushing time. We sings songs, and go outside to the playground where we push kids on swings and catch them at the bottom of the slide. I keep telling one little boy, who is wearing a t-shirt that says "Little Terror" on it, not to eat dirt. Eventually he stops, but then he decides that what's way better than eating dirt is throwing it at people! Little Terror, indeed! I have total respect for the teacher, an extremely patient and even tempered lady named Harriet, who has the kids completely under her spell. Sure, they misbehave, but when they do, she has them back in line in moments. The children worship her.


We feed the kids lunch, which itself is a huge production. I myself am responsible for feeding five kids (at once!) and it's nearly impossible. Food is everywhere; every single child needs to be changed into clean clothes at the end of it. This is par for the course. Thankfully, next on the agenda for the babies is nap time. Covered in spit-up, dirt, food, snot, urine and whatever other grossness myself, I already have a soft spot for these little ones. Olivia, Fridah, Elijah, Dennis, Moses, Hope, Oscar, Eric, Robert, Godfrey - and all the rest of the abandoned babies who live here. I can't wait to come back and get to know them each a little better.

What we brought with us

Long before we left our home cities, we were each telling everyone we knew that we would be coming to Uganda to volunteer. We collected tons of donations from co-workers, family members, friends, and friends of friends to bring with us on our trip. We asked for things like clothing, toiletries, toys, sporting equipment, books, and school supplies. The response was overwhelming - we ended up with too much to even carry! We had to ship several boxes to Kampala ahead of us. The remainder of these random donations, we stuffed into hockey bags and split amongst all of us. As a carry-on bag, we each brought a backpack, containing a laptop computer - donated by one of our Softchoice vendor partners.

After our day at the Street Kids Centre, we realize none of us are quite sure what the contents of all of our hockey bags, exactly are. We don't know what we have in there that would help the boys. The group that spent the day at the Babies Home has no idea what bag, if any, contains baby supplies. No one knows quite where our stash of software and digital camera equipment, which we were planning to donate to the OCA Computer Centre, is. Chaos! Utter chaos!

So, tonight we organize all of our donations, spreading them out on the floor in the lounge at our hostel and sorting them by common themes and appropriate-for age group. We find tons of clothes and sporting equipment to give to our new friends at the Street Kids Centre. (Many of the boys were wearing rags: torn and dirty shirts and pants, shoes either too large or too small, falling apart.)



We find toys and baby supplies for the baby orphanage. We pack up bags of kids clothing, books, and school items to take with us to Gulu and to Tororo - day trips we have planned to rural villages. Katie, Melissa's cousin from Chicago, and one of the non-Softchoicers on the trip, creates a detailed inventory list of what the donations are, and what's packed where.

As we're sorting, we all recount the highlights of our day, so we get to hear what volunteering at each of the three project sites was like. Those of us from Softchoice made sure to earmark some money from our year of Softchoice Cares fundraising for Uganda-related causes as soon as we knew we'd be here volunteering. The team as a whole decides unanimously to spend up to $2000 CDN of these funds on bunk beds, mattresses and bedding for the boys we met, hours earlier. We'll talk to Milton and get his blessing when he comes to meet up with us tomorrow. With the goods all packed and organized, and a plan to put some of the fundraised money to use, we feel energized. We feel like we have accomplished something small, already.