Monday, January 5, 2015

My feet is my only carriage, so I gotta push on through


So for the past few days I’ve been feeling like a total failure. I have to keep constantly reminding myself that I have 19 more months to go and I’ll figure it out soon and things will all fall into place. I feel like the hardest thing about Peace Corps is turning the visions we have for our communities into realities. Your community comes to you with a problem. You think of a solution. Then you need to figure out how to make it into a reality. Find the money. Find the time. Find the people who will carry it on after you leave. It’s all very daunting.

 

And sometimes I feel like I haven’t intergrated well. That I haven’t made an impact on my community and I’ll just be like another volunteer who’s come and went. Which in most regards is a normal thing. I think of peace corps volunteers like a random breeze on a sail. No one notices them, but they turn the ship to a different, better direction and then they are gone. And there is no record of them there. But a big part of peace corps is making connections with host country nationals so that they trust you and will go with you with these crazy ideas you have. And I’ve been worried that everythings moving so slowly partly because I’ve been super crappy at integrating. Which I’m not sure I’ve actually been bad at integrating….I could just be over thinking like I’m wont to do.

 

 

Anyway….I’m telling you all of these because of an experience I had just now walking to the market. My path to the market takes me through my neighbor’s backyard, past her pit latrine, through a field, through another backyard, through a football pitch, down the road, and then across the street. So I get to see a fair amount of my community when I go through. This time, as I went through the first back yard, one neighbor called out to me, “May I escort you?” Of course I said yes, and I was delighted to walk with someone new. We walked through the field and into the first backyard. As usual, around a dozen children came out of the wood work shrieking “Nagudi! How are you?!” They grabbed my hands and welcomed me through their yard and escorted us through the football field. Totally normal walk to the market. They shout “Nagudi” because I was annoyed at being called Muzungu in my own neighborhood, so I introduced myself to them. Nagudi is my African name. Anyway, the woman that I was walking with turned to me and said “The children like you. You know all of them. You are a good person with a good heart. You have good manners. You are good to the children and the adults that you meet. You have a good heart.” It was like the universe knew I needed a confidence boost today. It felt great! And about two seconds later, you know, just so I don’t get too cocky, the woman says to me, “ Ah Nagudi, but what are you eating? You are becoming fat!” Fat is actually a good thing here. And for the record, I’ve lost 18 lbs since I’ve been here. BOOM!

 

I wanna see ya be brave!


Hey Folks,

 

I haven't been writing because I haven't had anything interesting to tell you. It's either horribly depressing or comes off as “I am warm and you are cold  *sung to the tune of the eskimo from boy meet world* And even now I'm considering stopping because my new kitten won't stop sitting on the keyboard. Her name's Arwen and she's super cute. Except when she LICKS my face all night and I can't sleep. Cat kisses sound cute in theory but the scratchy tongue is just the worst. Also fish breath. Gross. I've been a little lonely lately, and Arwen is nice to come home to. *** edit Arwen is actually a dude and I thinking of naming him Lucic. LOOOOOOCH. *******edit decided to name cat, Goose. He’s so SO WERID.

 

Anyway, development—true development-- is so slow it's painful. Any project I want to start has to go through the planning stages, the convincing stages, the money stages, and the building stages. I'm almost positive I'll have to extend my service to accomplish anything I want to do. Sorry mom and dad.

 

Here's a break down of what I'm working on:

 

My first project that I'm super excited about and my organization is too is a cloth diaper project for the home. It'd be easy to just call up a good intentioned organization to do a diaper drop, but what happens when those run out? What happens when the company will no longer donate diapers? This babies' home has been around since 1968 so it's safe to say that it will continue one for years and years to come. It'll outlive any goodnatured individual's new year's resolution, any resume building mission trip, any mid-life crisis, or what ever else posses people to volunteer for a few weeks. So donating nappies is at best a temporary fix. I chose to help the mothers create a cloth diaper project because they already have a room full of sewing machines and caregivers who want to know how to sew. However, pricing out the materials and writing the start-up grant has proven to be a time suck. And with the holidays coming it's even more difficult to get everyone to together to plan. I was searching for a way to get a major company to donate material, but I realized that that is not sustainable either. Will the company donate forever? Will the suit with a heart that I've found always be working for the fabric company? What happens if they decide not to give us the free fabric? So now I'm on the hunt for a cheap fabric supplier in Uganda. But when you say fabric, they steer you towards the indian fabric markets in Mbale. The places with the silks for gomes and cotton kyitengue for dresses. I'm looking for nylon. Tough, umbrella quality, nylon. And I'm looking for it in rolls. For my prototype I just destroyed an umbrella. That's not cost effective in the long run. Also, Uganda in the world of estimation. To budget out this project I need exact numbers of yardage or meters of elastics and fabric. Exact numbers of what goes into making one diaper. Every time I try to get these numbers, the word “somehow” comes into the mix and I want to tear my hair out. Just keep swimming.

 

My next project is something the home has been asking for. It's sort of a “prove myself” project. I need to prove to the people working here that I'm not like the short term volunteers who come through, cuddle babies, and leave. I need to show them that I listen to their wants and needs and I'm working with them not for them and not telling them what to do. This project is the chicken coop that many of you have seen me chat about on facebook. The chicken coop is going to be a real game changer for this community. The babies home relies on donations from parents of the children and from goodnatrued souls through uganda and the rest of the world. Now, if you come here, they seem to be doing well. However, what if people can't donate one year? Living off the generosity of other, as any waitress will tell you, is always a gamble. And you cannot afford to gamble with the lives of children at stake. The chicken coop will allow the babies home to become completely self sustainable. To have money to provide for children for always.

 

Now, you might say that between the nappies and the chickens, how are these people going to have time to do all this work and watch the children. Well, that's what i've beeen thinking too. I've researched and found a babies home in Tanzania that invites relatives (older sisters, aunts, grandmothers, etc) to come and stay at the home. These women (because lets face it, women are the only ones who do anything in the developing world) come and learn how to properly take care of these children. I've gone on several resettlement visits and seen that some families can really take care of the their children once they come home. And some cannot. There's this one little girl who's face still haunts me, as cliché as that sounds. I can't pronounce her name, but I see her whenever we talk about children who have falling through the cracks. My counterpart says that one thing that we could really do to help these families is to give them an income generating activity. Eureka! Viola! It all comes together like a play or an after school special. The families send a representative to live at St. Kizito for one month. During that month they bond with their specific child, learn to cook nutritious meals, garden, prevent malaria, and keep hygienic conditions. They can also work in the chicken coop to learn chicken farming and work in the diaper IGA to learn to sew. A short term group also came and built an oven. They can learn to bake as well. And if I can swing it, we can make clay beads and they can learn to make and sell those. It's also a great opportunity for a village savings and loan. I've also had to go even slower to convince the people I work with that it's a good idea. Normally, after the host country nationals veto a project, it's dead. If they don't like it, they won't continue on with it after you leave so it's just a waste of time. However, I can't think of a better way that accomplishes all the problems they keep coming to me with. So baby steps. We'll do a dry run of this in August 2015 and if it works out we'll do another one in November 2015.

 

And the start up money for all of this can start with Peace Corps grants, but I'll need to find another institution to fund the health classes and the IGA classes after I leave. The Peace Corps grants leave when I do. I'm thinking Bill Gates but that might be thinking too big. We'll find it though, where there's a will, there's a way!

 

 

So that's what I've been doing—-as boring as it is!

 

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Keep ya sunny side up, up!


* sorry in advance for the grammar and the just the stream of consciousness that this is*
Tuesday September 30, 2014


Happy Birthday Dad! So I’ve been at site about two months now. And in that time two babies have died. The second one died last night and no one knows why.  It’s unsettling.  I’m drowning my feelings in a cheeseburger and I don’t care. ( “ I wish they would die before I could love them”, one of the caregivers had said)

So I’ve noticed I’ve been chatting a lot on here about my thoughts and feelings and that’s all great. But I really want to use this blog to catch a snap shot of Uganda, for me and for you. So I’m going to try to tell more stories.

So I’ve started taking porridge. Millet porridge to be exact. It’s really just a cup of bread and sugar but I like it. My neighbors think it’s funny that I just make a cup for myself. The babies eat a version of it that’s fortified with sim sim and other things to give it a boost. I don’t understand the aversion to vegetables here. They’re ok with the legumes and the carbs but tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers and other things are just unheard of. I suggest them at our nutrition meetings and get shot down every time. It’s weird. We beg kids to eat broccoli and here it’s not even around.

A girl from another organization just arrived in Uganda a few days ago and had the misfortune of having dinner with all of us. We were in a little bit of “here’s what’s wrong with Uganda” chat and when you’re here for 2 days it’s really not what you need to here. Yeah PCVs get really bitter at times, but that’s just because it’s everyday. It’s not just a month, it’s not just a few weeks, and it’s not ever going to drastically change while we’re here. So yeah, people get bitter. But we really should have reigned it in a tad for the poor kid.

Things we struggle with (from that conversation at least) :

the Muzungu price--people always expect that you have more money because you are a muzungu. Which is very true. Middle class Ugandans v. Middle class americans are not the same. So stop trying to act like you are. Generally we don’t mind paying a bit more than the locals but not 10x more like some vendors/carpenters/taxi drivers try.

Sexism: A raging feminist in Uganda is going to have a hell of an adjustment period. Don’t kneel if you don’t want to. But sometimes it’s very awkward not to.

Catcalling: It’s funny, it’s annoying, it’s flattering, it’s gross, all at once. Much like America. I had a Ugandan woman stand up for me when I walked by a construction site.

                “Leave the Muzungu alone. Why are you disturbing her?” You go, nneabo, you go.

                We did tell the newbie what all the common things men throw at women when they walk by.
                “My size!” and the “scratch the palm” thing. UGH

There’s always dust everywhere. Even in the wet season. I wore lip stick the other day cause I missed it and then immediately regretted it when a thin layer of dust covered my month. Gross. My feet will also never be clean again. Ever.

If I could redo that conversation all over again, I’d have added this section as well.

 

Things we love about Uganda:

Everyone wants to help you get where you are going. Even if you turn down the boda men ( instead of having taxis all over town, Uganda and much of Africa have motorcycles that will take you wherever. Peace Corps Headquarters does not allow us to take them.) will tell you where to go. It might be “just there” which isn’t extremely helpful but if you’re really confused usually you can get someone to walk you there. Sometimes they ask for money, sometimes they don’t.

Local Food. Local food can be awesome or awful depending on the occasion or the creativeness of the cook. I hate matoke with a passion but it’s there at every meal. Matoke, rice, posho (like mashed rice somehow) irish, that is considered food. Anything else (beans, peas, what) is called the soup. So if they ask me what I had for dinner and I tell them I made cow peas with tomato and onion they will immediately say “Eh! But where is the food?” Highlights of local food is the pillow (fried rice), street chicken (so good, usually at home they roast and then boil but if it’s on the street it’s roasted and salted), samosa ( I stand by my statement that uchumi vegetable samosa is phenomenal, come at me PCVs), cabbage ( I don’t know what they do to this but it’s awesome and I can never recreate it), pork (hell yes to pork), fried Kasava ( another potato like vegetable with salt), ROLEX ( The PCV go to, chiapatti with fried egg, cabbage onion tomato. It’s like a breakfast burrito and if you put mustard on it it’s fantastic).

You are always invited everywhere. Sometimes it’s weird when you’re at a wedding for someone you don’t know or whatever but how many times in America have you been like “Oh, is it ok that I go? Will it be weird? Did I know them well enough?” In uganda you just go. It’s fun and no one questions why you’re there. Like one of the women’s father died and we drove all over god’s green earth looking for the funeral to support her. We stopped at 3 different funerals and none of them was the right one but that’s beside the point. (Side note: if you are planning on using the “my mother died” excuse to get out of work in Uganda, don’t. Your boss will find you.)

People take care of each other. I never worry about my laundry when I go to town and it’s still on the line. If it rains, my neighbors take it and vice versa. I make too much food, I give some to Irene. She makes too much, I get food. If they don’t see me cook, someone passes me a plate. Food is love, people. Food is love.

Jury is still out about how we generally feel about the cleaniness. Some things they over clean and some things they underclean by American standards. Like we mop the floor 35 times a day and have to sit on a mat and not directly on the concrete. Then there’s garbage all over the streets. Handwashing is not really a thing and babies pee everywhere but you have to bathe at least twice a day. I’m just confused most of the time and have come to the conclusion that I will never know. It’s fine.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

My teeth and ambitions are bared....be prepared!


So sorry that’s been a month, but things have been crazy town and then we lost power for a week and then I was tired and preoccupied. But whatever.

 

So when we last left our traveler she was going to Lira for tech week. I loved it! We lived with a current volunteer in her living room and it was great. We built a mosquito forest there, took turns cooking dinner, and watched Fargo. Fargo forced us all to speak in Minnesotan Uganglish and we couldn’t turn it off. We later went to Gulu to visit a WASH project and have a little nightlife. That was also really fun!

We went back to Kampala for swearing in and supervisor’s workshop. It’s nice to be a real volunteer! This trainee business was nuts…it felt like the freshmen orientation that never ended. I’ll never say that PST isn’t necessary, because it totally is. It’s long, it’s tiring, it’s repetitive, but it’s all important. You want the degree, you need to go to class.

Now I’m at site and have been here about two weeks. It’s strange. I’m in this weird limbo area where I’m not supposed to be doing anything really hardcore, just observing. But it’s hard to find a place for me in the mix of things. So I’ve really just been following my counterpart (Irene) around, meeting important people in the area, and working in the home. I cause a little bit of a stir when I go into the toddler area though. They get a lot of white visitors to tour the home, and they tend to give the kids a lot of attention. So when I walk in they all rush over to me, crying and demanding to be picked up. So I avoid that area a little, introducing myself mapola-mapola (slowly by slowly).  If I don’t have anyone to meet or things to see, I’m usually in the babies’ part of the house, changing diapers, feeding them, and refereeing the various squabbles. It’s hard doing things there. Like really hard not to go full American. Never go full American. I don’t think the caregivers like it when I change diapers. I make too much laundry for them because I wash the bottoms and dry them. It’s hard to not just do things the way I’ve been raised and trained to do. Much of what I do is leading by example, but I can’t be the freight train undoing and redoing everything that they do, especially during the first three months I’m there. I also hate how much I say “but in America”, “Oh well, in America…” It’s word vomit. I can’t stop. I don’t even realize I’ve done it until it’s too late. It usually happens when I’ve done something that the HCNs think is completely nuts, and it’s how I excuse myself. I still hate it.

So with the power outage I’ve been reading a lot by candle light. Pathologies of Power by Paul Farmer is exactly what I should be reading but it’s kind of a depressing read when you’re in a depressing situation. The water is also out right now so I’m rationing water, living in the dark, and reading about how big government in many countries has furthered its own agenda at the expense of the poor (specifically healthcare).  One of the babies in the home recently passed away from malaria and that just fuels the dismay. But I’m still in good spirits… haven’t been beaten down just yet.

On a happier note, there is this one baby that is just a star. She chirps and screeches (happy screeches). She hasn’t figured out crawling yet, so if she wants to get somewhere she rolls herself sideways. She never cries (unless she’s hungry) and loves holding other babies’ hands. It’s adorable. I tell the nuns and the caregivers that she is going to be president. Presidents love to hear the sound of their own voices and so does this little girl. The Ugandans laugh, and reply “Presidents can’t be ladies”.  My response is just, “She’ll be president.”

Speaking of president, we were in Mutoto for the festival to mark the opening day for circumcision season and Musevini was there. I’ve been closer to the Ugandan president than Obama….is that funny? That was trip btw. It helped if I thought of it more as a graduation ceremony. Seeing the traditional dances and garb was really cool. And we got on national Ugandan TV. Cool, huh?

So I’ve mostly been getting my house together, visiting babies, going to church, and trying to figure this whole African thing out. My house is coming together. Still looks like a homeless person is squatting in there but eventually I’ll get some decorations going. On a good day I have power and running water, which I wasn’t so stoked about initially. I really wanted to live deep in the village with a pit latrine and whatever. But I’ve come to realize that the biggest part of Peace Corps is going where you are called to serve. That’s the very beginning of being flexible because things are never going to go the way you wanted, planned or envisioned in that big wonderful full of liberty American brain of yours. That’s why I’m a little skeptical of the new Peace Corps application. People can apply to the region and the job that they want. Which sounds cool, you get to have some input on what you do, great. But what kind of volunteer are they attracting now? The kind that will go with the flow? Or the kind that when she buys a box of chocolates googles the exact flavor map so there’s never a surprise? The one that is confident in her ability to adapt or the one that freaks when things get hairy? I get that it’s been rough with people site changing all over the world because it just wasn’t a good fit. And that sucks too. And if you really hate your site you should change because two years is a long time.  But part of Peace Corps is accepting what you have and working within it anyway. "Here are my skills, where do you need me?" I think this new process is going to attract the wrong kind of volunteer.

                Alright off my soap box and getting in a taxi to Jinja and then Kampala for an all volunteer conference tomorrow!

P.S sorry back on the soap box for a hot second….theres a missionary giving a dissertation to a poor Ugandan waitress on how to cook over medium eggs. They don’t do those here…order rice and beans and shut up like a normal person. I don’t care that you used to be a short order cook or that you're here in the name of Jesus.

Monday, July 21, 2014

You've got a friend in me

So I’ve been back from my future site visit and have had a few days of training at the group training site in Entebbe. The future site visit or FSV was great. I finally had some down time to do important things like scrub all the red dust off my feet, organize my stuff, and watch a movie. I was up every morning early, had breakfast with the convent, toured the facility, had meetings, more food at the convent, then into bed by 8pm. It was magical. Now we're back in the giant group which is nice-- I missed everyone! 
St. Kizito has a ton going on and I’m so excited. It is located on Gangama Parish in Mbale district, about a 25 min walk from the city. In addition to the babies’ home there is a toddler home, an older child home (mostly elementary aged children), a school, a health center, a garden, a piggery, and a poultry farm. There are a ton of opportunities here. I’m very excited to work with the agriculture volunteers to improve the garden so that the children will have access to fresh vegetables year round. We’re focusing on increasing their vitamin A and iron intake. I really want to focus on the orphanage at first and then take the practices that I’ve worked on with the orphanage and branch into the village. Sack gardening sounds really interesting and it’s a direct overlap between the health sector and the Ag sector so that’s cool. It’d be really interesting to have a “Mommy and Me” type group and work on sack gardening/nutrition, hygiene/pressure sores, and malaria outreaches with them. It’s incredible how everything really is everyone’s problem. Like I can talk to the caregiviers at the home or the mothers in the village about proper nutrition until I’m blue but if they can’t afford it or don’t have access to it then it really doesn’t matter. I foresee a lot of gardening in my future and that’s totally cool.  I feel like I have all these projects that NEED to get done and I can’t wait to start. I’m overwhelmed, but in a good way, if that makes any sense.
It’s nuts how short my time seems here. The more people talk about the future and what’s going on in the coming months I feel like my service is almost over and it’s barely started. Like by the time I start to make real progress they’ll be chirping about my COS (close of service). Most of you probably think I’m crazy but it’s true. It might be because I’ve met a bunch of PCVs who are getting ready to COS.
I love love love the group I’m stationed with in Mbale. We all get along really well and all have something completely different to offer. We’re in a good spot too. Not so close that we’ll be up in each other’s grills all the time, but not too far away that we can’t sneak into town for a cup of coffee and a support session. The current PCVs in the area are pretty awesome too, but we’re losing a bunch of them in December.
So we still don’t know where we will be for our tech week, but rumor has it that it’s somewhere in the North. Hopefully Arua where the cool kyetengue is! Obv I should blow as much money on dresses and fabric as I can. Who needs to eat?


I miss cold milk. And real coffee. And pens that work. And the dog. But I love it here! Couldn't imagine being anywhere else!

Friday, July 11, 2014

running on sunshine

So I just shoo’d four boys under ten out of my room so I could write this, so enjoy. There's probably tears because they have to wait 10 min to watch Sleeping Beauty. 

I’m currently with my homestay family but I guess I haven’t written in awhile…ooops. The days are really long and by the time I get in a place where I could write something, I’m either sleeping or my mind is too full to really write a good entry. And I’d rather not just scribble something down just to scribble, that’s not how I want to remember these 27 months! Overall I’m just super excited to have my house and my space to really get a chance to digest it all.
So when we left off we were still in Kulika, our little American bubble. It was far enough away from the city that really just felt like we were in some college dorm somewhere in California or something. It’s weird, I keep calling it “home”, but I lived there less than I will live with my home stay family.
On June 13th (?) we all got “sorted” into our sites Harry Potter style. It was hilarious and fun. I actually was given my top choice which I was very very surprised about. I mean, I wanted to work in the Health Sector and in Africa and I thought it’d be too much to ask the universe to be allowed to work with my top choice site, but there you go. My site is St. Kizito Babies Home, but I’ll do a whole page of overview on that when it gets closer. I’m working with Nuns and there is a church right next to my house. I’m super pumped!
One of the other girls in my group met another PCV who is heading up a lacrosse league as her secondary project and she gave her my number! I’d love to be involved in that. I want to settle down first but once I get in the groove of things it would be great!
So  we moved to our homestay families on June 18th. I’m stationed in Mbale with a wonderful (huge) family! There are 7 boys and 1 girl, the parents, and various nieces and nephews who stay with them. They’re taking the “train the American” assignment very seriously which is great! I’m watching them cook, they speak Lugisu to me and expect me to answer back, so I’m really listening and trying to learn the language. It’s hard, I’m studying lumasaaba and they speak lugisu. Lugisu is similar to Lumasaaba but not the same, so some of the words get lost in the mix. I’m working at it though.
*REMEMBER THIS WHEN YOU HIT A LOW WEIRD POINT*
So I know things aren’t always going to rock, I get it, so when I’m sick of being called Mzungu, harassed, and sweaty, I need to remember last Saturday.
We had class in the morning and then spent the whole day roaming Mbale. We tried all different foods, had dresses made for swearing in, and really just socialized with the people. Every time someone screamed “Mzungu!” at us, we laughed and shouted back “Sndi muzungu ta!” Which means, “I’m not a mzungu!” Like, mzungu is not my name. Sometimes we’d introduce ourselves and chat with them, other times they just laughed and shoo’d us on our way. It was great exploring the city for the first time and learning what is expected of us at each stop along the way.
I’m convinced that Ugandan women were born at a 90 degree angle. They are constantly bent over, washing pots and pans, cooking, dressing children, washing laundry. It’s nuts. Nobody works harder than these women or these young girls. The girls are insane. They go to school all day, come home and clean, cook dinner, wash the babies, sleep, get up, wash dishes, dress the babies, go to school. So busy! So far Africa does not believe in sleep, mirrors, or hair conditioner. I have no idea about my hair situation ever, or my eyebrows, or weird chin hair. But neither does anybody else so that’s fine.
I’ve been letting the boys watch cartoons on my laptop and now they’re checking on me every twelve seconds to see if I’ve finished. I started doing it because the little boys kept sneaking in to watch action movies with their older brothers. They love the princesses which is awesome. I started handing out princess stickers to the girls and soon everyone had to have one. I’ve converted them to Disney Princess Mania and it’s hilarious.
The littlest child is about a year old. And I’ve never seen anyone so loved by so many people. The family adopted him, as if they didn’t already have enough to do! The younger boys call me “Sis-stah!” and the littlest one has adopted that, which is nice J.
                For the 4th of July we spent all day cooking with our Ugandan families. They cooked a Ugandan style meal while we cooked an American style meal. We called the kitchen “little America” and made roasted chicken, fruit salad, veggie salad, and potato salad. The Ugandans were just as skeptical of the American food as we were of the Ugandan food at first. It was really funny to see people afraid of potato salad. Which reminds me of our walks home from school. Every day we walk with armies of children and try speaking lugisu/lumasaaba with them. They tease us about our accidents and word choice. It’s very funny/ different to be in the minority here. Every child in America has teased an immigrant or a foreigner about their voice or pronunciation. It’s very new and weird to be on the other side of this. Very interesting.
                The following day we went on a hike to a nearby mountain.  Elevation and dehydration really kicked my butt. Sea dwelling beach bums do not do well in the mountains, but I’ll get used to it. We went with some of our homestay family members. I took my brother, Chris. I don’t think anyone really knew what they were getting ourselves into. It was quite the day. At one point there was this huge ladder made of bundles of sticks that we all had to use both hands and feet to climb. However, right behind us came two Ugandan women who scaled the thing barefoot, one handed, while balancing humongous bundles of firewood and rice on their heads. We couldn’t believe it. We took pictures at the top then jumped over a river and headed down the mountain. More like fell all the way down the mountain. We were so muddy by the end of it I was convinced my host mother wouldn’t let me in the house. It was a blast.
Grey’s quote to sum up our climb and probably most of Peace Corps:
"They take pictures of the mountain climbers at the top of the mountain. They are smiling, ecstatic, triumphant. They don’t take pictures along the way, cause who wants to remember the rest of it? We push ourselves because we have to, not because we like it. The relentless climb, the pain and anguish of taking it to the next level – nobody takes pictures of that, nobody wants to remember, we just want to remember the view from the top, the breathtaking moment at the edge of the world. That’s what keeps us climbing, and it’s worth the pain, that’s the crazy part. It’s worth anything”

                So now we’re nearing the end of homestay. I really love my family, and I’ll be sad to leave them. On Monday morning I’ll be traveling to St. Kizito Babies Home on my “Future Site Visit” to make sure everything is in order. My house should be finished by then so I’ll take a look at that, make sure it has all the Peace Corps requirements. You can google St. Kizito Babies Home Mbale, Uganda if you’re interested. Then I make my way to Entebbe for a week of technical training, then I live with a current PCV for a week, then I swear in! PST sometimes feels like it’s dragging, but I still didn’t think swearing in was this close! I’ll try to post some pictures when I have down time during my future site visit. I’m really excited to have some time to myself to breath and get organized. Haha, whenever my host brothers are all over the place my host mother yells “ Organize yourselves!” which is exactly how I feel. I’m in 20 different places, my belongings are strewn all around Uganda, I’m nervous about my LPI (language proficiency interview) which we took today, and I hope my site likes me. It’s nuts! But I’m happy. I love it here and couldn’t imagine being anywhere else!