Well. Last day. And a lazy one at that. I stood up the HELP kids this morning, they weren’t quite sure of their plans for the day and I didn’t feel like getting up at 7 to help a group I freely declare my lack of full support for. Instead, I slept, tanned, and will head off the a local bakery to help out in the next hour or so. Then time to pack up! Mum is insisting on taking me to the airport rather than my paying a local church member, so I’ll head to Kampala with her in the morning and then we’ll head off to the airport around lunchtime. Then a 7 hour overnight layer in Dubai and I’ll be in Morocco! Let’s hope I can find Jason’s apartment….once again I find myself traveling to far off and unfamiliar places with nothing more than a paragraph or two of directions to get me where I need to go. That’s obviously putting a dramatic light on it, I’m not worried, Jason has been ridiculously accommodating and gave very specific directions and two phone numbers to reach him at should anything happen.
Check back soon to hear all about the next leg of my travels!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Not so bad
It cracks me up how as I repeatedly find myself explaining in conversation that my research group left already and I’m here for a few days until heading out, how many people say, “you must be so bored!” what a shame that locals see their town as so boring! I’ve actually been really enjoying myself the past few days. Maybe the most I have since I’ve been here this trip. Maybe.
Saturday I worked a bit in the morning, ran some errands in town (water, internet, fabric drop-off), and then headed off to Kampala. I will admit I got really lucky; usually the fast talking, pushy conductor just shoves you in the van, but this time the driver was looming around and his aged friendly eyes caught my searching ones. I told him I needed to get to Uganda house on Kampala road and he sat me in the front seat next to him and an hour and a half later remembered exactly where I needed to hop out, which is the part I was worried about. My life is too easy, I know. I found the bookstore I needed just up the road and grabbed the Lonely Planet Morocco travel guide I’ve been eyeing thirstily for about a week. After an intense boda bartering session (no I will not pay you 3,000 shillings for a 500 shilling ride across town!) I met up with Mum at her shop, where I was shown the entire warehouse, introduced to everyone and their uncle, given a cushy seat, hot samosas, an ice cold Coke, and promptly ordered to count the number of bags of rice that were carried through the door. My life is too easy, I know. Mum drove me home, speaking to me only in Lugandan (she insists I won’t learn the language any other way, which is sort of true, I don’t always know exactly what she’s saying in a transliteral sense, but usually get the point). We stopped by the market on the way back and then let me cook dinner under her supervision all the while discussing her life and her thoughts on some current events in Uganda.
Ok, that was long. Sunday will be more to the point. I got home from church to find Doreen, Mum’s daughter, home and promptly was begged to come with her to visit Patrick (Mum’s oldest son) and his new baby in Ntinda. So, I tossed my scriptures on the bed and headed off with her for the taxi. We caught up on life on the way; she’s still brazenly independent and completely smitten with the idea of going to the US or UK. She really is very American in a lot of respects, talking with her is a lot like talking with my friends back home. We arrived at Patrick’s house, which is pretty nice, I would totally be ok living there. Patrick lives there with his girlfriend of 6 years, Marianne, who just had their first baby not even a month ago (and he is SOOOO precious!). Marianne’s twin sister, Becky, lives there as well along with Mum’s third born, Keith.
It was REALLY interesting to get a glimpse into the lives of 20 something up and coming Ugandans. There is a huge TV with a sweet stereo system in the living room, and all the bedrooms also have TV’s. Keith has the same laptop I do, which they all share via their “flashes” (jump-drives) that have more storage space than mine does. The kitchen has gas tanks instead of outdoor charcoal ovens. Becky’s floor was strewn with at least a dozen pairs of enviously stylish heels, her closet filled to the brim with pretty summer dresses, skinny leg jeans, leggings, and tank tops. As we gabbed about hair, babies, Kenya, and clubbing on her black and white flowered bed, I noted a ton of jewelry next to near empty bottles of Smirnoff and So Co. Was I really still in Uganda? It definitely put a contrast to the more traditional life at Mum’s house, just a generation older, where clothes are still washed by hand, house girls are a must, food is cooked outside, and the décor and clothing is noticeably less modern. Uganda is changing fast.
The thematic juxtaposition between traditional and modern continued when I found Drake, Mum’s 4th and final child who is still in secondary school (US 11th grade), at the gate upon my return (ouy…bad taxi ride home, long story, apparently something about merely sitting next to a muzungu was ROARING hilarious for the two girls on my bench) who waltzed into my room, invited himself to a seat and declared he was “hanging out.” He proceeded to tell me all about what’s “so fly” and what’s not so fly among kids his age, his escapades at the rugby club, how bored he gets during the weekdays, and the clubs and parties he goes to on the weekend. He has a best friend that’s a girl but he doesn’t want to date her for fear of losing the friendship, and admits it’s nice having her around because where she is, other girls will be, and what can you except, he’s young and free, can’t be tied down, and loves the ladies. He knows he’ll have to get more serious in a couple years, but right now, he’s joyous aware of his ability to “play.”
Mmmk, grr, another really long post that everyone is just going to skim over, assuming anyone is actually looking at this. Oh well!
Saturday I worked a bit in the morning, ran some errands in town (water, internet, fabric drop-off), and then headed off to Kampala. I will admit I got really lucky; usually the fast talking, pushy conductor just shoves you in the van, but this time the driver was looming around and his aged friendly eyes caught my searching ones. I told him I needed to get to Uganda house on Kampala road and he sat me in the front seat next to him and an hour and a half later remembered exactly where I needed to hop out, which is the part I was worried about. My life is too easy, I know. I found the bookstore I needed just up the road and grabbed the Lonely Planet Morocco travel guide I’ve been eyeing thirstily for about a week. After an intense boda bartering session (no I will not pay you 3,000 shillings for a 500 shilling ride across town!) I met up with Mum at her shop, where I was shown the entire warehouse, introduced to everyone and their uncle, given a cushy seat, hot samosas, an ice cold Coke, and promptly ordered to count the number of bags of rice that were carried through the door. My life is too easy, I know. Mum drove me home, speaking to me only in Lugandan (she insists I won’t learn the language any other way, which is sort of true, I don’t always know exactly what she’s saying in a transliteral sense, but usually get the point). We stopped by the market on the way back and then let me cook dinner under her supervision all the while discussing her life and her thoughts on some current events in Uganda.
Ok, that was long. Sunday will be more to the point. I got home from church to find Doreen, Mum’s daughter, home and promptly was begged to come with her to visit Patrick (Mum’s oldest son) and his new baby in Ntinda. So, I tossed my scriptures on the bed and headed off with her for the taxi. We caught up on life on the way; she’s still brazenly independent and completely smitten with the idea of going to the US or UK. She really is very American in a lot of respects, talking with her is a lot like talking with my friends back home. We arrived at Patrick’s house, which is pretty nice, I would totally be ok living there. Patrick lives there with his girlfriend of 6 years, Marianne, who just had their first baby not even a month ago (and he is SOOOO precious!). Marianne’s twin sister, Becky, lives there as well along with Mum’s third born, Keith.
It was REALLY interesting to get a glimpse into the lives of 20 something up and coming Ugandans. There is a huge TV with a sweet stereo system in the living room, and all the bedrooms also have TV’s. Keith has the same laptop I do, which they all share via their “flashes” (jump-drives) that have more storage space than mine does. The kitchen has gas tanks instead of outdoor charcoal ovens. Becky’s floor was strewn with at least a dozen pairs of enviously stylish heels, her closet filled to the brim with pretty summer dresses, skinny leg jeans, leggings, and tank tops. As we gabbed about hair, babies, Kenya, and clubbing on her black and white flowered bed, I noted a ton of jewelry next to near empty bottles of Smirnoff and So Co. Was I really still in Uganda? It definitely put a contrast to the more traditional life at Mum’s house, just a generation older, where clothes are still washed by hand, house girls are a must, food is cooked outside, and the décor and clothing is noticeably less modern. Uganda is changing fast.
The thematic juxtaposition between traditional and modern continued when I found Drake, Mum’s 4th and final child who is still in secondary school (US 11th grade), at the gate upon my return (ouy…bad taxi ride home, long story, apparently something about merely sitting next to a muzungu was ROARING hilarious for the two girls on my bench) who waltzed into my room, invited himself to a seat and declared he was “hanging out.” He proceeded to tell me all about what’s “so fly” and what’s not so fly among kids his age, his escapades at the rugby club, how bored he gets during the weekdays, and the clubs and parties he goes to on the weekend. He has a best friend that’s a girl but he doesn’t want to date her for fear of losing the friendship, and admits it’s nice having her around because where she is, other girls will be, and what can you except, he’s young and free, can’t be tied down, and loves the ladies. He knows he’ll have to get more serious in a couple years, but right now, he’s joyous aware of his ability to “play.”
Mmmk, grr, another really long post that everyone is just going to skim over, assuming anyone is actually looking at this. Oh well!
The lone muzungu
Well, we went to our last school on Wednesday, ran errands in Kampala on Thursday, and the entire group headed out yesterday (Friday). I leave Tuesday for Morocco. Yeesh, that went by fast. First getting here feels like a long time ago, but it doesn’t feel like I’ve been here a long time, which is weird since my life has been so mobile, I would have thought the feeling of staying put for this long would be especially noticeable. But nope. Maybe it’s because there was so little readjustment, maybe it’s because our days haven’t been as full as I was expecting (and would have liked).
Regardless, I am now a lone Muzungu.
It was the oddest experience, hopping out of the van as the group headed off to the airport, saying my thanks, and losing sight of the crowded faces as I pulled the sliding door shut. I turned my back to the main road and exhaled. This was it. I was on my own. It was just me, and Mukono. I hopped across a gorge and started walking up the side road to the house. I didn’t feel naked or bare or revealed as I was walking, I’ve walked these roads many times before alone. But I felt somehow as if the world around me was frozen and I was moving through it. I knew something everyone around me didn’t: my group was gone. And it was so odd, moving along that road, everyone working and no one noticing. Nothing had changed for them, life continued just as it had two minutes ago, but for me, everything had changed. Tumbling up Jinja road to Entebbe was a van full of Muzungu’s that had been my source of companionship, laughter, discussion, during the past three weeks. The professors who had randomly caught my attention in the hallway two years ago and since became my mentors and opened up an entirely new world to me were gone and I would probably never see them again since I won’t be at BYU in the fall. Gone, gone, gone.
I won’t be lonely. I refuse. There’s no point. But…I am. A bit. I certainly know plenty of people in the area so I’m obviously not entirely alone, but from about 8pm onward, its me, myself, and I. Which is fine, I’ve certainly got plenty of work to get done. And I’ve got plans for the next three days to keep me occupied, but…it’s not quite the same, ya know? I can go places and do stuff and have occasional contact with people, but I don’t have Rachel or Caleb to tag along and share the experience with. It will be interesting though, I think. I feel a lot more focused on being here now than I was previously and maybe that’ll open up some new insight. Check back in a few days!
Regardless, I am now a lone Muzungu.
It was the oddest experience, hopping out of the van as the group headed off to the airport, saying my thanks, and losing sight of the crowded faces as I pulled the sliding door shut. I turned my back to the main road and exhaled. This was it. I was on my own. It was just me, and Mukono. I hopped across a gorge and started walking up the side road to the house. I didn’t feel naked or bare or revealed as I was walking, I’ve walked these roads many times before alone. But I felt somehow as if the world around me was frozen and I was moving through it. I knew something everyone around me didn’t: my group was gone. And it was so odd, moving along that road, everyone working and no one noticing. Nothing had changed for them, life continued just as it had two minutes ago, but for me, everything had changed. Tumbling up Jinja road to Entebbe was a van full of Muzungu’s that had been my source of companionship, laughter, discussion, during the past three weeks. The professors who had randomly caught my attention in the hallway two years ago and since became my mentors and opened up an entirely new world to me were gone and I would probably never see them again since I won’t be at BYU in the fall. Gone, gone, gone.
I won’t be lonely. I refuse. There’s no point. But…I am. A bit. I certainly know plenty of people in the area so I’m obviously not entirely alone, but from about 8pm onward, its me, myself, and I. Which is fine, I’ve certainly got plenty of work to get done. And I’ve got plans for the next three days to keep me occupied, but…it’s not quite the same, ya know? I can go places and do stuff and have occasional contact with people, but I don’t have Rachel or Caleb to tag along and share the experience with. It will be interesting though, I think. I feel a lot more focused on being here now than I was previously and maybe that’ll open up some new insight. Check back in a few days!
Thought
I was reading Rachel’s book, “In a Sunburned Country” (great book, the author is HILARIOUS, not kidding, I was crying from laughing so hard) and I had a small thought.
The author is giving accounts of some of the more ridiculous 18th and 19th century attempts to cross the outback (eg. the guy that lugged 3 boats all the way, or the guy that brought a Chinese gong and 2,000 lbs of sugar) and he mentioned some guy that was chosen for an expedition with no other qualifications other than a family name and big bank account.
And I realized, when its 1789 you’re on a boat to Tasmania, no one gives a darn about your wealth. It does you NO good. They certainly don’t have ATMs there. You can’t stop in the middle of the ocean to buy more supplies. And you definitely can’t change money over once you get there. It’s just you and whatever skills you have.
And wouldn’t that be an interesting experience. To leave all that behind. Here in Uganda, I know I have more than enough money in my account to get by, indulgently even. I know if I need anything, if anything were to happen, chances are, my money would help me wiggle out of it. So much of the “muzungu identity” revolves around having money; it effects your attitude towards things, how people treat you, basically your entire experience. But what if my “wealth” here meant nothing? What if I had only what I brought with me and was on the same par as everyone else? I think it would be a most valuable and interesting experience.
The author is giving accounts of some of the more ridiculous 18th and 19th century attempts to cross the outback (eg. the guy that lugged 3 boats all the way, or the guy that brought a Chinese gong and 2,000 lbs of sugar) and he mentioned some guy that was chosen for an expedition with no other qualifications other than a family name and big bank account.
And I realized, when its 1789 you’re on a boat to Tasmania, no one gives a darn about your wealth. It does you NO good. They certainly don’t have ATMs there. You can’t stop in the middle of the ocean to buy more supplies. And you definitely can’t change money over once you get there. It’s just you and whatever skills you have.
And wouldn’t that be an interesting experience. To leave all that behind. Here in Uganda, I know I have more than enough money in my account to get by, indulgently even. I know if I need anything, if anything were to happen, chances are, my money would help me wiggle out of it. So much of the “muzungu identity” revolves around having money; it effects your attitude towards things, how people treat you, basically your entire experience. But what if my “wealth” here meant nothing? What if I had only what I brought with me and was on the same par as everyone else? I think it would be a most valuable and interesting experience.
Blessing as a curse?
WARNING: CONTROVERSIAL
I’m still mulling a lot of this over, but it is an interesting thought.
Caleb and I had a pretty interesting discussion on the taxi out to one of the schools today (I think I’ve determined that intense conversations are the only type of dialogue I’m capable of…). Anyway. We talked about a lot of things, but one especially interesting point came up. Uganda, and this is something pretty much no one will deny, but Uganda is absolutely not hurting for resources. The soil is more fertile than they know what to do with. Crops literally grow wild here. It is, in a very literal sense, a land of plenty.
Talk to me about it and I’ll talk about mismanagement of land and misallocation of resources. It’s not that the resources aren’t there, they just aren’t getting to the people. The infrastructure isn’t strong enough to support the economy, which in turn is even further bogged down by massive inflation and unemployment, which isn’t helped AT ALL by the heads of state. Not that I’m entirely deterministic about it, but I will admit that I do think of the government and economy almost as living organisms which directly influence the tides of our lives/society, which in turn influence the government and economy. We are not ruled by our institutions. We rule them. But, sometimes we rule them poorly and it goes a bit Frankenstein on us. It’s a give and take, but one that I see as control coming in a more top-down sense. This might change as I learn more and wizen, but it’s how my mind is inherently geared to look at situations, it’s essentially why I’ve chosen the course of studies that I have: so that I can learn more about the function of government in people’s lives and hence how that government can be managed/run/etc. to improve the lives of “it’s” people.
Ok, now, talk to Caleb about it and he raises some interesting points. As background, he served his 2 year Latter-Day Saint mission in Uganda a couple years ago so not only has he spent a substantial amount of time living and working with the people, but lived looking at life here from a religious perspective. He’s considered things I haven’t especially given that with regards to this sort of stuff, I tend to be a staunch secularist. Caleb sees many of the issues here as a result of a lack of individual morality and integrity. If people would just live by the Christian principles they claim to accept, we wouldn’t see the type of people in power that we do. Whereas as I see a lot of the issues as results of having an imposed European modeled government dumped on a society where it didn’t jive with the culture, and thus there were gaps for people like Idi Amin to rise to power. If we can find a model that actually takes the society into account, things might work “better.” Rather, Caleb sees it as a problem with the society itself, and thus necessitates a change in the society. It’s two different perspectives, with some nuanced overlap.
What I did find especially interesting was Caleb’s point that because there are SO MANY resources growing here, it creates almost a sense of satisfaction and complacency that discourages discouraged workers from seeking out jobs. If you know you can grow enough to support your family on your little plot of land, why work to earn money to support the family? You could point to our “human nature” of being greedy (arguable, even though I’m no altruist) but then you add in the zillion issues that make education and finding a job such a struggle, and you find yourself sort of squished between not wanting to work and having no reason to work. I dunno. It’s interesting. It’s a different paradigm here with a different approach and perspective on life that I definitely don’t fully understand and thus can’t say a whole lot about. I think Caleb’s point leaves room for some questions, like why “struggle” is such a catch phrase here, everyone appears to be working so hard all the time just to get by (Caleb will say they actually aren’t working that hard, if you follow a Ugandan for a day, you see all the time they take breaks and chill and don’t work), or the people that DON’T have what they need to survive, that don’t have enough food, etc. But even, so, it raises an interesting question, could Uganda’s blessing of plenty actually be a curse?
I’m still mulling a lot of this over, but it is an interesting thought.
Caleb and I had a pretty interesting discussion on the taxi out to one of the schools today (I think I’ve determined that intense conversations are the only type of dialogue I’m capable of…). Anyway. We talked about a lot of things, but one especially interesting point came up. Uganda, and this is something pretty much no one will deny, but Uganda is absolutely not hurting for resources. The soil is more fertile than they know what to do with. Crops literally grow wild here. It is, in a very literal sense, a land of plenty.
Talk to me about it and I’ll talk about mismanagement of land and misallocation of resources. It’s not that the resources aren’t there, they just aren’t getting to the people. The infrastructure isn’t strong enough to support the economy, which in turn is even further bogged down by massive inflation and unemployment, which isn’t helped AT ALL by the heads of state. Not that I’m entirely deterministic about it, but I will admit that I do think of the government and economy almost as living organisms which directly influence the tides of our lives/society, which in turn influence the government and economy. We are not ruled by our institutions. We rule them. But, sometimes we rule them poorly and it goes a bit Frankenstein on us. It’s a give and take, but one that I see as control coming in a more top-down sense. This might change as I learn more and wizen, but it’s how my mind is inherently geared to look at situations, it’s essentially why I’ve chosen the course of studies that I have: so that I can learn more about the function of government in people’s lives and hence how that government can be managed/run/etc. to improve the lives of “it’s” people.
Ok, now, talk to Caleb about it and he raises some interesting points. As background, he served his 2 year Latter-Day Saint mission in Uganda a couple years ago so not only has he spent a substantial amount of time living and working with the people, but lived looking at life here from a religious perspective. He’s considered things I haven’t especially given that with regards to this sort of stuff, I tend to be a staunch secularist. Caleb sees many of the issues here as a result of a lack of individual morality and integrity. If people would just live by the Christian principles they claim to accept, we wouldn’t see the type of people in power that we do. Whereas as I see a lot of the issues as results of having an imposed European modeled government dumped on a society where it didn’t jive with the culture, and thus there were gaps for people like Idi Amin to rise to power. If we can find a model that actually takes the society into account, things might work “better.” Rather, Caleb sees it as a problem with the society itself, and thus necessitates a change in the society. It’s two different perspectives, with some nuanced overlap.
What I did find especially interesting was Caleb’s point that because there are SO MANY resources growing here, it creates almost a sense of satisfaction and complacency that discourages discouraged workers from seeking out jobs. If you know you can grow enough to support your family on your little plot of land, why work to earn money to support the family? You could point to our “human nature” of being greedy (arguable, even though I’m no altruist) but then you add in the zillion issues that make education and finding a job such a struggle, and you find yourself sort of squished between not wanting to work and having no reason to work. I dunno. It’s interesting. It’s a different paradigm here with a different approach and perspective on life that I definitely don’t fully understand and thus can’t say a whole lot about. I think Caleb’s point leaves room for some questions, like why “struggle” is such a catch phrase here, everyone appears to be working so hard all the time just to get by (Caleb will say they actually aren’t working that hard, if you follow a Ugandan for a day, you see all the time they take breaks and chill and don’t work), or the people that DON’T have what they need to survive, that don’t have enough food, etc. But even, so, it raises an interesting question, could Uganda’s blessing of plenty actually be a curse?
Chained
Grr.
I am chained to my computer. And I absolutely loathe it.
I both want and need to get away.
But every aspect of my life, especially at the moment, requires a computer. This blog is my journaling (or at least, a supplement to it), I have to email at least every other day to turn in work hours back at BYU, work with my dad on UNC stuff, figure out housing, loans, class schedules, etc. And I’m finishing up a research paper so I need my computer for that. And I’m starting data entry for my survey, which also requires a computer. What doesn’t require a computer!!!!
I am chained to my computer. And I absolutely loathe it.
I both want and need to get away.
But every aspect of my life, especially at the moment, requires a computer. This blog is my journaling (or at least, a supplement to it), I have to email at least every other day to turn in work hours back at BYU, work with my dad on UNC stuff, figure out housing, loans, class schedules, etc. And I’m finishing up a research paper so I need my computer for that. And I’m starting data entry for my survey, which also requires a computer. What doesn’t require a computer!!!!
I DECIDED!
I finally decided to officially transfer to UNC-Chapel Hill.
Be happy for me.
It’s been a long road and hard fight, but I got here and just made one of the biggest decisions of my life thus far.
I don’t know if I made the right choice, but I don’t really know that there is a right or wrong here. What I do know is that I made a choice. And I’m goin’ with it.
If everything plays out right, I’ll be double majoring in International and Area Studies and Economics.
Be happy for me.
It’s been a long road and hard fight, but I got here and just made one of the biggest decisions of my life thus far.
I don’t know if I made the right choice, but I don’t really know that there is a right or wrong here. What I do know is that I made a choice. And I’m goin’ with it.
If everything plays out right, I’ll be double majoring in International and Area Studies and Economics.
It’s official
I’m doing more research. I’m under the same IRB as last year so it’s a bit of a tangential extension from last year. It’s basically a few survey questions about what party the students support, along with their family and friends affiliations, the sources of information that are important to their affiliation, and their level of interest in politics.
Whoooo hooooo I get to do more work when I get home! Yay for more hours starting at a computer screen and crunching numbers and pumping out papers.
But I am doing this, and I am grateful for the opportunity and will be glad I took advantage of it in the long run…hopefully. I’m doing it mostly out of insatiable personal curiosity, but let’s be honest, I’m sure hoping it’s good leverage on my grad school application. Heaven knows I’m going to need it.
Whoooo hooooo I get to do more work when I get home! Yay for more hours starting at a computer screen and crunching numbers and pumping out papers.
But I am doing this, and I am grateful for the opportunity and will be glad I took advantage of it in the long run…hopefully. I’m doing it mostly out of insatiable personal curiosity, but let’s be honest, I’m sure hoping it’s good leverage on my grad school application. Heaven knows I’m going to need it.
The world revolves around me.
Yes it does. At least our little research world we have going. I’m not sure how to explain it clearly and simply, but we set up shop in one of the classrooms at each school we go to (we are going to 8, selected by government/private, rural/urban, and large/small), with the projector screen (so the kids can point on the map where exactly they live, so Patrick and Steve can do their GIS intensive study of student distance from school), with Julie and Patrick in the center of the room behind their computers; Patrick manning the map, and Julie doing writing down GIS coordinates as students come up and point to the map and then doing data entry in her humungous excel table as completed surveys come in. Bordering the edges of the room are desks for students to come in and fill out the survey (with some of Julie’s networking questions, some of Steve’s GIS questions, some of Caleb’s sleep questions, and some of my political questions).
I know. My head was spinning the first 5 times Steve explained it to me.
Regardless, I feel like I’m dancing in circles around the room the entire day and it wasn’t until I sat down and thought about it that I realized, I’m the liason between every piece of the puzzle, not in an important way, I just didn’t realize how many things I was doing at once. I have to work with Caleb to time when new students come in and sit down for the survey. Then I have to work with the students to answer questions, while working with Steve to bring him students to point to the map as they get to a certain point on the survey (or finish it, there’s usually a bit of both going on at once). Then I have to bring the completed surveys to Julie, after checking for absolute completion. All while working with Stacy to pull students of certain demographics so he and Rachel can interview them for their own project on family leisure.
And it’s not like a straight forward bucket brigade of moving from point A to B, the students come in waves so at any given time, there are some just starting (who I have to orientate) some in the middle (who I have to bring to Steve and tell Stacy about) and some finishing (who I either still have to bring to Steve and then check over the surveys with Julie). So at any given time, I’m orchestrating the flow of students and surveys to 5 different people. It’s amazing it hasn’t broken out into absolute chaos yet.
I know. My head was spinning the first 5 times Steve explained it to me.
Regardless, I feel like I’m dancing in circles around the room the entire day and it wasn’t until I sat down and thought about it that I realized, I’m the liason between every piece of the puzzle, not in an important way, I just didn’t realize how many things I was doing at once. I have to work with Caleb to time when new students come in and sit down for the survey. Then I have to work with the students to answer questions, while working with Steve to bring him students to point to the map as they get to a certain point on the survey (or finish it, there’s usually a bit of both going on at once). Then I have to bring the completed surveys to Julie, after checking for absolute completion. All while working with Stacy to pull students of certain demographics so he and Rachel can interview them for their own project on family leisure.
And it’s not like a straight forward bucket brigade of moving from point A to B, the students come in waves so at any given time, there are some just starting (who I have to orientate) some in the middle (who I have to bring to Steve and tell Stacy about) and some finishing (who I either still have to bring to Steve and then check over the surveys with Julie). So at any given time, I’m orchestrating the flow of students and surveys to 5 different people. It’s amazing it hasn’t broken out into absolute chaos yet.
I’m going to kill Caleb!
Caleb is doing his research on student’s sleep patterns, with the hopes of connecting it to student’s school performance. Hard thing is, Ugandans don’t really care about time. One of his survey questions is a table with a box for each hour, starting at 9pm and continuing until 8am. There is a top row with the hours in Lugandan, a second row with the hours in English, and a final row for them to put an ‘X’ in each box for each hour they sleep.
Makes sense right?
NOPE.
If it weren’t for that bloody question that NONE of them understand, I could just hand out the survey, tell them to fill in the lines and circle the answers and be on my merry way.
But no. Instead, 20 times a day, like a broken record, I have to explain it to every single group of kids that comes in and tell them to “turn to the back of the sheet and find numba 10. Numba 10 is asking what? Numba 10 we want to know the numba of hours that you sleep at night. You see the table? There is a box for each hour. What we want is for you to put a tick in each box for each hour that you sleep at night, starting from when you fall asleep and continuing to put ticks in every box for every hour that you sleep, even until you are awake. So for me, if I sleep for 4 hours, I will put four ticks in four boxes, like so” and then motion to the blown up example that I have on my clip board.
But that’s just the start of it. Apparently my directions don’t work. I’ve tried a zillion different ways of explaining it and started to find ways that work better than others and things not to say, but still, every time, without fail, 80% of the students will either just put a mark for the hour when they first fall asleep (and nothing more) or put a mark when they fall asleep and then another one when they wake up.
So that means that I have to go around and re-explain the question to each student individually 3 different ways until they at least put more X’s in the boxes, even if they still don’t fully understand it. Over and over again, all day.
Caleb, thank you for making my life so easy.
(I’m not upset!!! And it’s not tiring! But, it’s easy to whine about)
Makes sense right?
NOPE.
If it weren’t for that bloody question that NONE of them understand, I could just hand out the survey, tell them to fill in the lines and circle the answers and be on my merry way.
But no. Instead, 20 times a day, like a broken record, I have to explain it to every single group of kids that comes in and tell them to “turn to the back of the sheet and find numba 10. Numba 10 is asking what? Numba 10 we want to know the numba of hours that you sleep at night. You see the table? There is a box for each hour. What we want is for you to put a tick in each box for each hour that you sleep at night, starting from when you fall asleep and continuing to put ticks in every box for every hour that you sleep, even until you are awake. So for me, if I sleep for 4 hours, I will put four ticks in four boxes, like so” and then motion to the blown up example that I have on my clip board.
But that’s just the start of it. Apparently my directions don’t work. I’ve tried a zillion different ways of explaining it and started to find ways that work better than others and things not to say, but still, every time, without fail, 80% of the students will either just put a mark for the hour when they first fall asleep (and nothing more) or put a mark when they fall asleep and then another one when they wake up.
So that means that I have to go around and re-explain the question to each student individually 3 different ways until they at least put more X’s in the boxes, even if they still don’t fully understand it. Over and over again, all day.
Caleb, thank you for making my life so easy.
(I’m not upset!!! And it’s not tiring! But, it’s easy to whine about)
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Winds of Change
I was about to head into town when I paused at the front door. The air smelled different; denser, greener. I looked up just as a thick grey storm cloud swallowed up the friendly sun. As I stepped out the air became moist with tiny invisible rain drops. Hm. Weather is hard for me to predict here and I strained to see what the sky in the distance foretold. I couldn’t see through the trees so I climbed up to the balcony. The nearby sky was a swirl of white and grey, with only a few blue patches in the distance. But which way were the clouds moving? I couldn’t tell. They seemed stationary. A light breeze had kicked up and fluttered the palm fronds leftward. I looked right. A pots and pans crash of thunder collided above me and I could hear the metallic on-pour of rain in the distance. I still wasn’t sure. Was it moving my way? Would it pass quickly? I looked into the neighbor’s yard and saw a cat emerge from behind a tree. How was it acting? It took a few hesitant steps forward and turned its nose up to observe the air. Another slow half a step forward and it dashed back behind the tree. Hm. Bad sign? It was definitely raining lightly by this time, but the clouds were still only threatening. I looked out over the town as the hiss of wind and clamor of thunder whooshed through the trees, taking with it the sounds of the city.
The smell, the sounds, the air, all seemed to swirl together and I breathed in deep, swirling with it, feeling the coming change. The rain picked up a tad and I bailed down the balcony to the covered patio to continue watching. I couldn’t see the clouds anymore, but I could still hear the rain coming, like the shaking of big aluminum sheets used for sound effects. I watched absent-mindedly as light, causal drops of rain hit the stone wall sideways and darkened the stone in scattered spots. Like an artist throwing paint. Then, suddenly, in an equally artistic fury, the wall exploded with a splash of thick droplettes. The air picked of energy and the atmosphere became frenzied as the rains raced down in an untempered waterfall. The ground turned bright orange and glossy with wet as the drops fell hard and jumped up inches in the air. Big, fast drops plunked off the warped white railing of the balcony in all sorts of directions. The wheelbarrow seemed to be emitting sparks of water and the wall took on a quick staccato pace as the notes hit and then bounced off again. The sky continue to rumble and a loud explosion came from somewhere behind the house. I guess I would have to stay for the performance. Even if I was willing to brave the now muddy, slippery roads and the mosquitoes that would surely be swarming, I wasn’t likely to find any of the people I needed to visit with; Ugandans are deathly afraid of water and disappear inside at the first sight of rain. Wonder how long it’ll last…
The smell, the sounds, the air, all seemed to swirl together and I breathed in deep, swirling with it, feeling the coming change. The rain picked up a tad and I bailed down the balcony to the covered patio to continue watching. I couldn’t see the clouds anymore, but I could still hear the rain coming, like the shaking of big aluminum sheets used for sound effects. I watched absent-mindedly as light, causal drops of rain hit the stone wall sideways and darkened the stone in scattered spots. Like an artist throwing paint. Then, suddenly, in an equally artistic fury, the wall exploded with a splash of thick droplettes. The air picked of energy and the atmosphere became frenzied as the rains raced down in an untempered waterfall. The ground turned bright orange and glossy with wet as the drops fell hard and jumped up inches in the air. Big, fast drops plunked off the warped white railing of the balcony in all sorts of directions. The wheelbarrow seemed to be emitting sparks of water and the wall took on a quick staccato pace as the notes hit and then bounced off again. The sky continue to rumble and a loud explosion came from somewhere behind the house. I guess I would have to stay for the performance. Even if I was willing to brave the now muddy, slippery roads and the mosquitoes that would surely be swarming, I wasn’t likely to find any of the people I needed to visit with; Ugandans are deathly afraid of water and disappear inside at the first sight of rain. Wonder how long it’ll last…
Minor frustration
I’m slightly frustrated. Which is nothing new for me as it seems to be my perpetual state of being. Nonetheless, I was expecting to hit the ground running and instead have found this week to be a down week as my professors confirm appointments with the schools we will be researching at. I’ve had some work to keep me occupied, they needed me to find textbooks to give to the schools so that’s been a tiny project, but I’ve found myself otherwise unoccupied. Certainly I can find things to do to keep myself busy; sleep in till 9am, write my paper, design this new project, read Grapes of Wrath, lay out on the balcony, wander the market, cook with the house girls, journal and blog, etc. Today most of the group is out white water rafting but I stayed behind because, quite honestly, I just can’t justify spending the $125, for this at least (and I’ve been rafting before, more than once, and I went kayaking on the Nile here last time). So, I’m wrapping this up, then will stop by the tailors to get more details on a project I’ve sort of got going, and then swing by the local clinic to see if the HIV/AIDS director from last year is still around and willing to let me volunteer. Even so, given the amount of work ahead, I was anticipating long, intense, exhausting days and very much looking forward to it. Hopefully next week will be better…
I just can’t help myself
So I think I’ve decided to do more individual research. I don’t want to, all I really want is to chill and relax when I get home without the burden or stress of yet another paper to write. Publishing a second paper under the same IRB is only marginally more impressive than publishing just one paper, so there’s not a huge incentive there. I started college less than a month after graduating high school and have been in school, in some form or another, nonstop since that time over two years ago. I think it’s time for a break. I’m not burned out or frayed, but I do notice myself working less efficiently and taking luxurious breaks that I shouldn’t be, which is slowing me down overall. When I work, I work HARD. I think what I’m learning about myself is as far as efficiency, productivity, and quality of work is concerned, I need intense nonstop work, and then equally intense nonstop play. Mixing the two doesn’t bode well for me, I just end up being lazy all the time. So…a break would be nice so that I really can truly take a break and then pound dirt again.
But I’m just too damn curious. I’m absolutely dying to better understand why students are FDC and their parents are NRM (political parties) and what the heck implications that has on the political future of the country. FDC is newer and more radical, NRM is the old Museveni party. Museveni’s been around for almost 30 years, but the scrapping of the Movement system (single party democracy) ended only recently and there’s only been one presidential election since that time. So now all these new political parties are cropping up and younger kids, who can vote, seem to be eating it up. Why is that? And what does that mean? It’s so different here because in the states political affiliation is largely longitudinal, passed on generationally. Here, there seems to be a bit of a generation gap. Does that mean political affiliation is more lateral, coming from peers? I’m dying to know. I’ve got my professors talked into letting me slip in a survey with their research which will give me a sample size of about 400 students from a variety of schools in the district. Sweet. If that doesn’t work out, I might stay behind a couple weeks to go to the schools on my own and conduct interviews. Right now though, I’m hoping for the survey because not only is it easier, but if I use Likert scales, I can do a quantitative project, whereas last year I did qualitative. It’d be nice to get experience in both since they have slightly different methodological approaches. And hey, let’s be honest, running a chi-square test and a few regressions is a TON faster than sitting and transcribing every little word of an interview!
But I’m just too damn curious. I’m absolutely dying to better understand why students are FDC and their parents are NRM (political parties) and what the heck implications that has on the political future of the country. FDC is newer and more radical, NRM is the old Museveni party. Museveni’s been around for almost 30 years, but the scrapping of the Movement system (single party democracy) ended only recently and there’s only been one presidential election since that time. So now all these new political parties are cropping up and younger kids, who can vote, seem to be eating it up. Why is that? And what does that mean? It’s so different here because in the states political affiliation is largely longitudinal, passed on generationally. Here, there seems to be a bit of a generation gap. Does that mean political affiliation is more lateral, coming from peers? I’m dying to know. I’ve got my professors talked into letting me slip in a survey with their research which will give me a sample size of about 400 students from a variety of schools in the district. Sweet. If that doesn’t work out, I might stay behind a couple weeks to go to the schools on my own and conduct interviews. Right now though, I’m hoping for the survey because not only is it easier, but if I use Likert scales, I can do a quantitative project, whereas last year I did qualitative. It’d be nice to get experience in both since they have slightly different methodological approaches. And hey, let’s be honest, running a chi-square test and a few regressions is a TON faster than sitting and transcribing every little word of an interview!
Bus or taxi? Real life econ
So apparently someone figured out that buses can transport more people for less money than taxis. So they set up a bus stop at one of the main squares in Kampala. We were walking around it looking for a taxi one evening and there must have been…oh gosh, upwards of a thousand people, standing around, hoping to catch a bus. Meanwhile, empty taxi’s were driving by. Crazy, eh? There were so many people, completely filling the long sidewalk and wrapped all the way up and around the corner. All to save the few hundred shillings by taking a bus. We weren’t able to locate a taxi going to Mukono so we went back to the huge taxi park (I have pictures up from last year, it’s a massive arena shaped parking lot crowded to the brim with taxis, it really is an experience to try to navigate your way through, it’s so crowded and disorienting, and has its own certain scent of…wet dirt, trash, and oil. I’ve been there many, many times and have yet to see another muzungu walking around, it’s all locals) Anyway, we found the Mukono spot but…no taxis! We had to wait a bit and when one drove up people RAN to the taxi. It was me, Caleb, and Rachel. I made the bad call of trying to swoop in from the side and just kept getting shoved farther to the side away from the sliding door; Caleb basically had to throw his whole body in front of the door to open up a space for me to slip in (poor guy, the number of idiotic muzugu mistakes I make that he has to cover for me for!). Amazingly, we all got spots on the taxi. Or not so amazingly. I looked around and realized the taxi was at minimum capacity of three to a bench, no one was double seated. At this time of day in Kampala they usually try to get 4, even 5, people to a bench. Had buses really crowded out the market that much? Apparently.
I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last though. Just thinking about it a bit on the way back, I became curious how this would play out over the next couple months. The buses might be the better option right now, sure. But as the buses take over the transportation market, the taxis will start going out of business and subsequently start charging more to cover their costs, until the loss becomes so big they have to leave the market altogether. We were already starting to see it happen (it would make sense for them to charge less to try to compete with the buses, but we are starting to see them charge more). But then what? Then the buses have a monopoly on transportation and can’t boast themselves to be a cheap alternative to taxis. Rather, they can become more competitive among themselves and drive up the prices. Because they can. Before long, buses will be just as expensive as the taxis used to be, assuming gas stays relatively the same price and there isn’t some amazing increase in production technology or whatever. I don’t know. I might be comparing apples to oranges and I’ve never been great at econ, but it seems to make sense to me that while the buses might be a great alternative now, it’s only temporary. But then, since when do western economic models hold true in the developing world? Anything could happen.
I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last though. Just thinking about it a bit on the way back, I became curious how this would play out over the next couple months. The buses might be the better option right now, sure. But as the buses take over the transportation market, the taxis will start going out of business and subsequently start charging more to cover their costs, until the loss becomes so big they have to leave the market altogether. We were already starting to see it happen (it would make sense for them to charge less to try to compete with the buses, but we are starting to see them charge more). But then what? Then the buses have a monopoly on transportation and can’t boast themselves to be a cheap alternative to taxis. Rather, they can become more competitive among themselves and drive up the prices. Because they can. Before long, buses will be just as expensive as the taxis used to be, assuming gas stays relatively the same price and there isn’t some amazing increase in production technology or whatever. I don’t know. I might be comparing apples to oranges and I’ve never been great at econ, but it seems to make sense to me that while the buses might be a great alternative now, it’s only temporary. But then, since when do western economic models hold true in the developing world? Anything could happen.
Uganda: one year later
Ok, I thought this would make a nice complement to “My life: one year later” and I have had several observations, but…I’ve only been here 5 days (oh wow, it feels longer than that, in a good way). I’m still observing and will get back if and when some of my initial perceptions are confirmed.
Many things seem the same, I’m amazed that I keep bumping into people I met last year. The same house girls are still here (which is actually unusual). The same shoe lady still has her shop in Kampala. The same chapatti guy is still in the same place every day, selling hot chapat for 200 shillings. Caleb ran into Lamec, our boda driver last year, and I really need to track him down and see how the family is. Apparently the guys in the chapel I went to last year are asking about me so I might have to make an appearance before I leave.
Some things are a little different. And I think that things will become clearer when I go back to some of the schools I interviewed at last year. Mountain Dew is everywhere now. The Celtel phone company has been replaced by some new Zani company. A few new industrial companies have come in just outside Mukono; apparently Mukono is on the rise as a new industrial hub. Roads that were under construction last time are finished now. Buses! Buses are crowding out the taxi business! It’s fascinating real life economics. Ok, pause. I gotta talk about this a bit.
Many things seem the same, I’m amazed that I keep bumping into people I met last year. The same house girls are still here (which is actually unusual). The same shoe lady still has her shop in Kampala. The same chapatti guy is still in the same place every day, selling hot chapat for 200 shillings. Caleb ran into Lamec, our boda driver last year, and I really need to track him down and see how the family is. Apparently the guys in the chapel I went to last year are asking about me so I might have to make an appearance before I leave.
Some things are a little different. And I think that things will become clearer when I go back to some of the schools I interviewed at last year. Mountain Dew is everywhere now. The Celtel phone company has been replaced by some new Zani company. A few new industrial companies have come in just outside Mukono; apparently Mukono is on the rise as a new industrial hub. Roads that were under construction last time are finished now. Buses! Buses are crowding out the taxi business! It’s fascinating real life economics. Ok, pause. I gotta talk about this a bit.
My life: one year later
Where to start. Returning to the same place a year later definitely gives pause for some reflection and introspection. A lot of my thoughts are as yet un-nuanced with specific words and even more are somewhat disconnected. Even so, it’s sort of amazing to look back on the last year. It requires squinting hard to see way off into the distance, because SO MUCH has happened in the last year. It feels more like 5 years. I could go on for several paragraphs about all I’ve done in the last year; classes that have changed my…life, Model UN, work, transfer applications and acceptances (and wait-lists), research conference after research conference, it goes on and on. Not to mention all the experiences I’ve had outside of an institutional context, the things I’ve thought about, done, tried. The experiences had, the lessons learned. Love, lust, and loss. Surprising triumph, and pathetic failure. Great and amazing moments, moments of anguish and deep frustration.
It’s also interesting to see where I’m at with the people in my life a year later. The ups and downs I’ve been through with certain people. How close I’ve gotten to certain people. The people that have drifted away slightly. And the people that are in my life now that I didn’t even know existed this time last year. Wow.
One thing I seem to have found myself saying to myself over and over again throughout the last year is, “there is no way I could have done this a year ago.” And that’s been amazing and liberating to realize and watch myself doing all these things I never thought I could have done, which in turn has increased my self-efficacy to levels of being able to face daunting situations and say, “I can do this.” Some things over the year have been bigger and label worthy of “accomplishment” and other things are smaller personal victories that probably only I could appreciate fully. Regardless, I think I’m much more self-assured now. More strong, confident. Definitely a ton more independent. Still just as insatiably determined as ever, but now with more self-motivation and initiative, meaning I actually get up and make things happen rather than sitting around thinking about it forever. I’m still super lazy and undisciplined, but maybe more self-disciplined in some ways. I think my perception of the world has expanded in consequence, as I’ve grown more strong and confident, I’ve been able to branch out and be a lot of different places and meet a lot of people and have a wider variety of experiences. It still takes me a long while to trust people, but I think I’m growing less skeptical; people are…people. Human. And are usually willing to help and work together. Looking back on the “little girl” I was freshman year brings thoughts of being small and scared of the world in a lot of ways. Many of the same old frustrations and contradictions and complications of my life still prevail, I certainly have a very, very long way to go and a mile long list of things to work on, but at least I can somewhat see the ground I’ve covered in the last year. Now I need to stop gawking and marveling and keep trekking forward!
It’s also interesting to see where I’m at with the people in my life a year later. The ups and downs I’ve been through with certain people. How close I’ve gotten to certain people. The people that have drifted away slightly. And the people that are in my life now that I didn’t even know existed this time last year. Wow.
One thing I seem to have found myself saying to myself over and over again throughout the last year is, “there is no way I could have done this a year ago.” And that’s been amazing and liberating to realize and watch myself doing all these things I never thought I could have done, which in turn has increased my self-efficacy to levels of being able to face daunting situations and say, “I can do this.” Some things over the year have been bigger and label worthy of “accomplishment” and other things are smaller personal victories that probably only I could appreciate fully. Regardless, I think I’m much more self-assured now. More strong, confident. Definitely a ton more independent. Still just as insatiably determined as ever, but now with more self-motivation and initiative, meaning I actually get up and make things happen rather than sitting around thinking about it forever. I’m still super lazy and undisciplined, but maybe more self-disciplined in some ways. I think my perception of the world has expanded in consequence, as I’ve grown more strong and confident, I’ve been able to branch out and be a lot of different places and meet a lot of people and have a wider variety of experiences. It still takes me a long while to trust people, but I think I’m growing less skeptical; people are…people. Human. And are usually willing to help and work together. Looking back on the “little girl” I was freshman year brings thoughts of being small and scared of the world in a lot of ways. Many of the same old frustrations and contradictions and complications of my life still prevail, I certainly have a very, very long way to go and a mile long list of things to work on, but at least I can somewhat see the ground I’ve covered in the last year. Now I need to stop gawking and marveling and keep trekking forward!
Psycho-analyze this.
It’s funny how many things are upside down and backwards for me here. One weird thing is that I dream here. A lot. Back home it’s super, super rare if I am conscious of dreaming and when I do its usually some intense nightmarish type scenario along the lines of being caught in some impossible situation, cornered on every side with nowhere to turn and the future of the world resting on my shoulders. Or something along those lines.
But in Uganda I dream almost every night and have the most random dreams. I still remember dreaming about shopping at Wal-Mart last time I was here. And I don’t even shop at Wal-Mart. The one I had the other night actually is beginning to make more and more sense in context of my life at the moment but it still was ridiculous. Holding a few details back, it was along the lines of my friend’s frat had decided to go co-ed and I was apparently applying to join but nervous about the fact that I didn’t go to the same school so neither of us really discussed it because we weren’t sure how it was going to play out. I just remember sitting on his desk in one corner of the room staring at the application and him huddled in conversation with some other people at the other corner of the room, like I wasn’t even there. Then, suddenly, on the same campus (that wasn’t mine) I was in a cafeteria type place (sure looked like UNC though) and eating lunch with random people I had met just walking around but was really frustrated by the salad bar because they had apparently gotten rid of lettuce because it was so light and they wanted to get you to take more of the heavy toppings because you paid for the salad by the ounce. Man, I was ticked about that. And then the salad ended up costing $16. For a salad?! Do you see how ridiculous this dream was?
Why is that? Why do I dream so frequently and randomly here? Less stress? More things on my mind? Sub-consciously missing home?
But in Uganda I dream almost every night and have the most random dreams. I still remember dreaming about shopping at Wal-Mart last time I was here. And I don’t even shop at Wal-Mart. The one I had the other night actually is beginning to make more and more sense in context of my life at the moment but it still was ridiculous. Holding a few details back, it was along the lines of my friend’s frat had decided to go co-ed and I was apparently applying to join but nervous about the fact that I didn’t go to the same school so neither of us really discussed it because we weren’t sure how it was going to play out. I just remember sitting on his desk in one corner of the room staring at the application and him huddled in conversation with some other people at the other corner of the room, like I wasn’t even there. Then, suddenly, on the same campus (that wasn’t mine) I was in a cafeteria type place (sure looked like UNC though) and eating lunch with random people I had met just walking around but was really frustrated by the salad bar because they had apparently gotten rid of lettuce because it was so light and they wanted to get you to take more of the heavy toppings because you paid for the salad by the ounce. Man, I was ticked about that. And then the salad ended up costing $16. For a salad?! Do you see how ridiculous this dream was?
Why is that? Why do I dream so frequently and randomly here? Less stress? More things on my mind? Sub-consciously missing home?
I’m here! I’m here!
After a drive to the Dusseldorf airport from Cologne, a three hour layover at the Dubai airport, and a two hour nap on the plane parked in Addis Ababa, I stepped off the plane and onto the Entebbe runway. I breathed in the thick air, tried to ignore the thick swarm of bugs, and looked around at the palm trees blowing gently in the wind, the lapping waters of Lake Victoria just feet from the runway, and people walking slowly with jerry cans along the road leading to the familiar rich green rolling hills in the distance. Alright, I was back. Walking into the vaguely familiar airport I was trying to decipher how I felt. I noted a bit of relief, after traveling around essentially for the last three months, most particularly the last two weeks, I was finally at the final destination I had been working towards. It didn’t feel weird. Rather, it felt pretty…normal.
Feeling comfortable and normal has pretty much been the prevailing emotion since I’ve been here. I was slightly concerned about feeling like the rest of the group was missing, since it’s just Caleb and I that are back this year and I’m staying in the same house, same room, as I did with a bunch of other girls last year. While little random things do bring up memories of last year, I’m glad that they do feel like two very separate, distinct experiences and thus I’m able to be here without feeling like something is missing. Absolutely no insult intended to the girls who aren’t here right now, heaven knows they are great and amazing and I definitely miss them, I think it’s more that I’m (fortunately) able to focus on the here and now. Because of that, life here sort of feels just like life as usual. Back to the cold showers, shaving my legs with my Dad’s old electric razor, a diet almost solely of carbs and fat, etc. etc. It doesn’t feel rough, it doesn’t feel strange or unusual…it just is. But without a sense of complacency or apathy. It almost odd to consider as I’m standing around the back of the house brushing my teeth that this is the exact spot a year ago where I brushed my teeth everyday for two months. Or as I’m walking along the roads in town to think about the number of times I’ve walked these roads before, last year. It feels interesting and distant, maybe because I’ve changed so much in the last year that it’s almost like looking back on a different person, different life.
Regardless, I’m here, safe and sound, readjusted, and loving it.
Feeling comfortable and normal has pretty much been the prevailing emotion since I’ve been here. I was slightly concerned about feeling like the rest of the group was missing, since it’s just Caleb and I that are back this year and I’m staying in the same house, same room, as I did with a bunch of other girls last year. While little random things do bring up memories of last year, I’m glad that they do feel like two very separate, distinct experiences and thus I’m able to be here without feeling like something is missing. Absolutely no insult intended to the girls who aren’t here right now, heaven knows they are great and amazing and I definitely miss them, I think it’s more that I’m (fortunately) able to focus on the here and now. Because of that, life here sort of feels just like life as usual. Back to the cold showers, shaving my legs with my Dad’s old electric razor, a diet almost solely of carbs and fat, etc. etc. It doesn’t feel rough, it doesn’t feel strange or unusual…it just is. But without a sense of complacency or apathy. It almost odd to consider as I’m standing around the back of the house brushing my teeth that this is the exact spot a year ago where I brushed my teeth everyday for two months. Or as I’m walking along the roads in town to think about the number of times I’ve walked these roads before, last year. It feels interesting and distant, maybe because I’ve changed so much in the last year that it’s almost like looking back on a different person, different life.
Regardless, I’m here, safe and sound, readjusted, and loving it.
Too clingy
Good heavens I was clinging to “civilization” about the last…week before I left. I realize I’m jumping the gun by saying this at this point, but it’s funny in retrospect because I was so incredibly bracing myself for getting here, and then I got here, and now I’m wondering what I was bracing myself for! But wow, that last week, I indulged myself. Ice cream, cheeseburgers, anything I remembered randomly craving last time. Sleeping in, long hot showers, straightening my hair, driving myself places, cooking for myself what I wanted when I wanted, wearing pants instead of skirts…I clung to every last shred of it. Although, I will admit, I think I was justified in clinging to the hot showers! Everything else though, meh.
I like driving in Europe!
Rather than take the train (meaning having to lift and lug all of Sandra’s luggage, and mine for that matter) we accepted a ride with our Dutch friend who was driving home and basically had to pass through Cologne on his way. I suppose I had room to be hesitant and Sandra kept asking me over and over again if I was ok with it, but quite honestly, I didn’t have any weird feelings or bad vibes on the matter. I didn’t know Martin super well, but I was impressed by how open, honest, and genuine he was in conversation. He didn’t try to persuade you of anything, nor did he present himself in any certain light or attempt to make a certain impression…he was as he was. I had a number of people tell me not to accept the ride and even told him straight up while we were sitting around the night before that I had a lot of reasons to take the train instead. He admitted that I had every right to feel that way given that I didn’t know him very well, but reassured me that I would get to my destination.
So…we threw our stuff in the trunk and headed off! Good heavens Europeans take their time with travel. Every two or three hours he needed to stop for a café break or just something to break up the day. What was probably an 8 hour drive took us about 12. Although, I’ll admit, randomly stopping in Lyon for lunch and exploring a bit afterwards was really enjoyable. After Lyon he asked if I wanted to drive (Sandra couldn’t because she doesn’t know how to drive stick…YET.) which I a little too eagerly agreed to. I was both surprised and impressed with how nicely that little Volvo drives; perfectly smooth clutch, and lots of get up and go. I was so proud that I drove from Lyon to Luxembourg! The rules are a little different but even Martin remarked how quickly he was able to relax with me behind the wheel. He also remarked how aggressive my driving is, which is partially true, I was a little more aggressive because I could get away with it on the European roads, good heavens they push their way through, but it is true I’m much more an offensive than defensive driver. 5 years and zero accidents though! (more than enough speeding tickets though…yeesh…). It was really an enjoyable drive, most, if not all, the experience I’ve had with long drives has either been alone or with just one other person so it was nice to have the company and long conversation/interrogation about current European perspectives on Europe, the EU constitution/treaty of Lisbon, other European countries, and the rest of the world. If you know me, you know part of nature is to be untrusting and skeptical (just another contradiction in my life; I think positively of humanity, but at the same time think everyone is out to get me. It’s complicated.) so the act of really, truly trusting someone is an exceptionally rare occurrence. But Martin, I think he is one who can be trusted.
He also offered to let me drive to the Dusseldorf airport from Cologne after we got to Germany so I can officially say I’ve driven 180km/hr on the Autobond! Sweeeeet.
So…we threw our stuff in the trunk and headed off! Good heavens Europeans take their time with travel. Every two or three hours he needed to stop for a café break or just something to break up the day. What was probably an 8 hour drive took us about 12. Although, I’ll admit, randomly stopping in Lyon for lunch and exploring a bit afterwards was really enjoyable. After Lyon he asked if I wanted to drive (Sandra couldn’t because she doesn’t know how to drive stick…YET.) which I a little too eagerly agreed to. I was both surprised and impressed with how nicely that little Volvo drives; perfectly smooth clutch, and lots of get up and go. I was so proud that I drove from Lyon to Luxembourg! The rules are a little different but even Martin remarked how quickly he was able to relax with me behind the wheel. He also remarked how aggressive my driving is, which is partially true, I was a little more aggressive because I could get away with it on the European roads, good heavens they push their way through, but it is true I’m much more an offensive than defensive driver. 5 years and zero accidents though! (more than enough speeding tickets though…yeesh…). It was really an enjoyable drive, most, if not all, the experience I’ve had with long drives has either been alone or with just one other person so it was nice to have the company and long conversation/interrogation about current European perspectives on Europe, the EU constitution/treaty of Lisbon, other European countries, and the rest of the world. If you know me, you know part of nature is to be untrusting and skeptical (just another contradiction in my life; I think positively of humanity, but at the same time think everyone is out to get me. It’s complicated.) so the act of really, truly trusting someone is an exceptionally rare occurrence. But Martin, I think he is one who can be trusted.
He also offered to let me drive to the Dusseldorf airport from Cologne after we got to Germany so I can officially say I’ve driven 180km/hr on the Autobond! Sweeeeet.
The reason we didn’t see much of Nice
Our first day in Nice we planned to take a beach and city exploration day. Then it rained. So we swapped up our plans and decided to head off to Eze and Monaco. The bus ride out was so spectacular that when it was sunny our second (and last) day, we decided to head out to Eze again, just for the coastal drive along the way (the Dutch guy with a car from our hostel in Marseille had caught up to us at this point…long story…). Sandra and I really enjoyed Eze, it was small and only took a few hours to really see, but the winding streets were incredibly enjoyable nonetheless. And incredibly hard to photograph. Oy, difficult lighting. Narrow, winding streets with all sorts of weird rooftops throwing the light around in all sorts of weird shady ways, I hardly took any pictures because I just knew my camera couldn’t do what it needed to get the shots to turn out decently. Oh well. Wandering the alleyways was great, as the was the drive out and back, and driving made it especially great because we could see a great coastal view and randomly pull over the car to hop out and take in the scene. Great scenes; dramatically steep craggy coastline dropping straight into the deep blue med sea, going off into the distance until water blended perfectly with sky. Build me a villa on one of those cliffs, please and thank you!
Hostel Review: Villa de Saint-Exupery, Nice
After a long and windy road out of the Nice, we pulled up to a tiny little gate. Entering found us a…oh gosh, I don’t even have the words to explain it the right way…well, the building was L-shaped, open to a gravel parking lot. One guy came up to help me carry my bag to the reception desk and upon thanking him I got a, “no wurries!” I turned back in confusion as he walked away…aussie? We walked up to the desk and I heard chatter, in English, but with a slightly different pace and was welcomed with a hearty, “good’ay!” Yep. This place was run by a load of aussies! And as it later turned out, Brits and New Zealanders. It was a strange new world we’d stepped into. The guy at the desk picked up the phone and said, in a very poor accent, “parlez-vous anglais?” and then handed off the phone to the one guy in the room that spoke French like it was a baby with a dirty diaper. Posters lined the walls with possibilities for outdoor excursions; canyoning, water skiing, rapelling, everything. We were shown to the “chapel” (we think because of the stained glass wall on the inside) which was a huge two-story vaulted ceiling room buzzing with American radio music and chatter of people chilling on the couches or at the 24 hour open access computers with free internet (and wi-fi throughout the entire complex).
I could go on about this place for a long time, trying to explain the unique vibe it had. It was almost like…the ultimate summer camp for young adults. I felt like every other person we talked to was Aussie, but there were also several Londoners , and they were all pretty much your young, university aged, bright-eyed adventurous back-packers, which was a change after the spread of continents, age groups, and walks of life at the Marseille hostel. While the diversity of Marseille fascinated me, I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say I felt more chill and comfortable here. It was really weird hearing all the English though, sort of like a bubble world, detached from the fact that we were still in France. Probably the only downside to the place. Dinner was AMAZING. The chef must have been a retired gourmet chef or something because the food truly was sublime and we were getting fed risotto or salmon for a scant 5 euro. House beer is just a euro, but I swear everyone was walking around with a bottle of bring-your-own-wine in hand. From about 6pm to upwards of 2am The Chapel is loud and comfortably crowded and buzzing with music and voices. And let’s be honest, it was an attractive crowd, but then I’ll admit my preferential bias; throw me a tall, slightly scruffy brunette with an aussie accent and at least half a personality and I’m likely to start giggling like a school girl, nondiscriminate of my relationship status. It sort of amused me how many girls look like they got dressed up just for dinner and hanging out in the chapel afterwards, I can only imagine how many hookups were probably going on under the radar.
Ok, good food, incredibly social…what else…oh. The rooms. We were in two rooms. The first of which I think I described to Sandra as a WWII underground bunker. It was a winding series of two connected bunk beded rooms, but the rooms had an in house bathroom and shower room, and plenty of space for luggage storage. The second room we were in was smaller and more…quaint, with bathrooms just down the hall.
I seriously could go on a lot longer singing my praises to the place, given how social it is, it looks like it would be a great place to work, if it weren’t for having to go through the trouble of getting a bloody working visa, I’d probably be seriously looking into going back for work after Uganda (I still have no clue what I’m doing with my life July/August). In any case, if you’re ever in Nice…stay at Villa Saint-Exupery. The staff is super accommodating and friendly, the vibe is chill and social, and the amenities are great, new, and super clean.
I could go on about this place for a long time, trying to explain the unique vibe it had. It was almost like…the ultimate summer camp for young adults. I felt like every other person we talked to was Aussie, but there were also several Londoners , and they were all pretty much your young, university aged, bright-eyed adventurous back-packers, which was a change after the spread of continents, age groups, and walks of life at the Marseille hostel. While the diversity of Marseille fascinated me, I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say I felt more chill and comfortable here. It was really weird hearing all the English though, sort of like a bubble world, detached from the fact that we were still in France. Probably the only downside to the place. Dinner was AMAZING. The chef must have been a retired gourmet chef or something because the food truly was sublime and we were getting fed risotto or salmon for a scant 5 euro. House beer is just a euro, but I swear everyone was walking around with a bottle of bring-your-own-wine in hand. From about 6pm to upwards of 2am The Chapel is loud and comfortably crowded and buzzing with music and voices. And let’s be honest, it was an attractive crowd, but then I’ll admit my preferential bias; throw me a tall, slightly scruffy brunette with an aussie accent and at least half a personality and I’m likely to start giggling like a school girl, nondiscriminate of my relationship status. It sort of amused me how many girls look like they got dressed up just for dinner and hanging out in the chapel afterwards, I can only imagine how many hookups were probably going on under the radar.
Ok, good food, incredibly social…what else…oh. The rooms. We were in two rooms. The first of which I think I described to Sandra as a WWII underground bunker. It was a winding series of two connected bunk beded rooms, but the rooms had an in house bathroom and shower room, and plenty of space for luggage storage. The second room we were in was smaller and more…quaint, with bathrooms just down the hall.
I seriously could go on a lot longer singing my praises to the place, given how social it is, it looks like it would be a great place to work, if it weren’t for having to go through the trouble of getting a bloody working visa, I’d probably be seriously looking into going back for work after Uganda (I still have no clue what I’m doing with my life July/August). In any case, if you’re ever in Nice…stay at Villa Saint-Exupery. The staff is super accommodating and friendly, the vibe is chill and social, and the amenities are great, new, and super clean.
Nice is nice! (and I’m criminally unoriginal with my puns)
To be quite honest, we didn’t see much of Nice. Which I lament, because I have the feeling it was a city I could easily fall in love with. In a lot of ways, it stands in contrast to Marseille. From what I saw, (disclaimer reiterated, I didn’t see much), it seems that Nice has the ritz and glamour, and posh pretentiousness typical of southern France. Posh pretentiousness I might not be so big a fan of, but after roaming the city a bit, I think I’m to the point where I sort of can’t deny my love of the dramatic and glamorous. Which sounds pathetically superficial, but hey, at least I’m honest with myself. I think a better way to put it might be that I just have a very strong appreciation for quality; for things that are done well, things that are well taken care of, things that strive to be the best they can be. Couple that with my love of a great atmosphere and comfort in a tropical climate, and I can almost explain away my interest in Nice.
Regardless, upon arrival we got in our luxury grade Lexus taxi, driven by a driver with matching Louis Vuitton belt and shoes (although he had a cheap watch and non-designer sunglasses, I couldn’t figure it out), who tied his price rates to the head rest with an Hermes ribbon and drank Pelligrino for bottled water. Just people watching at the train station, the crowd seemed well dressed, which only proved more to be the case as we watched out the windows of the taxi. The streets were lined with well taken care of cafes and restaurants, plazas were wide, open, and flower laden. Buildings with apartments on the upper floors has the typical clothes hanging from the balcony, but the buildings were ornately ornamented, brightly painted, and it seemed like every window had a basket of flowers in it. After the grey, graffiti of Marseille, it was like arriving at the and I was eating it up. We never did take a day to explore the city more up close, I guess I’ll just have to go back some day…
Regardless, upon arrival we got in our luxury grade Lexus taxi, driven by a driver with matching Louis Vuitton belt and shoes (although he had a cheap watch and non-designer sunglasses, I couldn’t figure it out), who tied his price rates to the head rest with an Hermes ribbon and drank Pelligrino for bottled water. Just people watching at the train station, the crowd seemed well dressed, which only proved more to be the case as we watched out the windows of the taxi. The streets were lined with well taken care of cafes and restaurants, plazas were wide, open, and flower laden. Buildings with apartments on the upper floors has the typical clothes hanging from the balcony, but the buildings were ornately ornamented, brightly painted, and it seemed like every window had a basket of flowers in it. After the grey, graffiti of Marseille, it was like arriving at the and I was eating it up. We never did take a day to explore the city more up close, I guess I’ll just have to go back some day…
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