Volunteer Abroad!

There are tons of organizations that are set up to faciliate these types of volunteer abroad opportunities and airfare is typically the biggest expense. I definitely want to do more - because trips like this one are enriching, and eye-opening and all around important.

Our group used A Broader View Volunteers, but other NGOs offer the same type of service - they'll plan the majority of your trip, set you up with a place to stay, a local liason, and the organizations you'll be volunteering with in your time abroad. You just come up with the cash and say when. And you could even fundraise to help you afford your trip. (Airfare and two weeks in a developing country might come out to about four thousand dollars, tops, and these days many companies might even pay you for X hours/days volunteering time.)

If I stow away a $100 a month into a special stash, I'll have enough for a two week volunteer stint in Vietnam or Peru, or Kenya or Tanzania, or to go back to Uganda by 2011. And I'll bring whoever wants to come with me.

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.

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.

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.

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 are we doing here?

This morning Anthony gives us an short introduction to life in Uganda as well as the vague low down of what our time in Uganda will entail. He tells us about "Africa Time" - which basically means we should forget the notion of time entirely, because nothing here ever operates on time. (Anthony himself is an hour and a half late for this little 'introduction talk' we have - so, we start to understand what he means.) "Don't worry about the time," he says cheerfully, "No one here will ever get mad at you for being late." I could get used to this. He also tells us that we'll be cramped pretty much everywhere we go, especially because we're such a big group. "You'll have to squeeze," he tells us, "But it's okay. You will see." (I guess we will.)

We'll be split amongst 3 volunteer projects:

The first is the Orphans for Christ Computer Lab where we'll be training computer skills and business skills to secondary school graduates. We'll be helping about 20 young adults per day learn skills that will help them get jobs. Orphans for Christ is Anthony's organization. (It should be noted that almost all charities in Uganda are faith-based, and the majority of them Christian. We are also staying at a Christian Conference Center. We become used to God-this, and Jesus-that, very quickly.) Anthony's had the lab running only a little while. They have old equipment, not much space, and no internet access. The students are currently 3 months into a 4 month certificate program, and we'll teach two classes per day. Anthony wanted to set up the lab in Kampala, but rent was too expensive, so it's just outside the city, for now.

Next is African Child In Need, which is a home for street kids in the slums of Kampala. The kids are aged thirteen to seventeen and most have been homeless for years. They are all boys. (Girls in Uganda are generally better cared for, we learn, because they can be married off for a dowry.) We'll get to meet the boys and hear their stories. It's unclear what we will actually do while we're there, however. Anthony isn't too concerned. We'll figure it out I guess.

Last is Sanyu Babies Home, which is an orphanage for abandoned babies - aged one day to three years. We'll be helping with the day to day program while there: playing with babies and toddlers, changing diapers, feeding meals, doing laundry, and everything else associated with caring for babies. This makes me a little nervous. I think about the last time I was in charge of a baby, and realize it goes way back to my teenage babysitting days.

We'll split up into small groups, and rotate projects so that everyone has a chance to do everything, and the staff at each centre will show us the ropes apparently. Or they might not. And if they don't, we should just jump in, says Anthony. Fair enough.