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.
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