On my way home

Hey there my friends~

I am still in Kampala awaiting my red-eye to Amsterdam and then on to Portland (wait 3 hours) and then home!!  I am looking forward to seeing my babies.  My last trip to work trip to Africa was so different;  Now, everyone--even the dude with a cardboard "kiosk" selling bananas has a phone.  Boda Boda drivers speed through traffic on their phones.  Our friends in the variety of organizations had phones--so in some sense-- the factor of 'african time' is softened by the mere fact that you can atleast call the person who is an hour late for your meeting to see if in fact they are really coming. Genuis!

Since I'm a pilots daughter, I love flying.  My travel companions dread the long flights and the hassles of the airport.  And while I don't relish those things, I do love the feeling and sounds of the airport.  I LOVE the smell of jet fuel and like being in an international airport to people watch.  And so, that is certainly what I will be doing on my short layover in AMS. 

I have loads more to fill you in on and lots of pictures, video and observations to share.  But for now, I must get to the airport. 

Until later...

Today, we were at the New Hope Orphanage & School in Entebbe, Uganda. This is a primary school were the children live. The school and sleeping quarters for the director, teachers (2) and all the students consist of two buildings. The floors are cement and the roof is tin. There is a toilet facility out back with 4 open stalls with a squat toilet in each and four shower stalls. For those of you that aren’t familiar with squat toilets, they are simple holes in the cement over an open collection unit. I’m trying to describe nicely what is ever so unpleasant. And—in a school with very young children with very poor aim--believe me—they are so very unpleasant. But, of course, this is how most of the world goes. And so we did too.

The girls sleep all in one room, stacked three beds high. I think I counted 38 beds in the room. My new friends showed me around their room with pride. Jamirah asked me to climb up and hang out on her bed. After this picture was taken, one of the girls went into her chest and dug out a present for me—two packs of cookies. I was so touched and tried to gently decline since she clearly needs them far more than me. But, it was very important for her to give me something and so I took them. This is the amazing love of Africa.

I am finding that my wacky sense of humor and my love of dance are breaking down barriers with almost all but the sternest Ugandans. Everybody loves to dance here and so do I. So, I use my most kick ass, groovin’ jive moves a lot as an icebreaker. Mostly, it makes the kids and adults crack up that some ‘mzungu’ –white person—has such spazy moves. It helps to ease into a heavy discussion by first connecting through dance and laughter.  I do try very hard to copy their dances and moves (which are amazing) and children and adults alike love to teach me. Even during a game of soccer with these kids from the orphanage, we shared dance moves. Everybody loves to laugh here and smiles come so easily. I love that.

Working & Playing in Uganda

Hey my friends! I have so much to fill you in on. We are working hard and playing hard and so when there is time, I sleep.

I continue to do my work with rape survivors. The sad thing is, given Uganda’s history and culture, it is not difficult to find a woman who can use some sort of assistance in this regard.

We visited Shanti Uganda, which works to improve the physical, emotional, and spiritual well being of communities impacted by war, poverty and HIV/AIDS in Uganda. Once again it was lovely to escape the traffic and smog of Kampala and get out into the countryside.

Thanks to Ray and the Center for donating an incredibly large amount of medical supplies to Shanti Uganda. They were moved to tears when they saw our donation.

 From our motel to the Center, we took Boda Boda’s—Uganda’s form of cheap motorcycle transportation. But since white people don’t usually travel by this mode, we got lots of perplexed looks. It was fun and I loved the children who came out to greet us as we drove by down the road.

This is our motel in Kasana near Shanti Uganda. This one is for Ali

I spent what would have been my 18th wedding anniversary on the Nile. What a great way to look forward!! I felt scared shitless, energized, and rejuvenated by rafting Class 4 & 5 rapids and bungee jumping off a cliff over the Nile. I would bungee jump again in a heartbeat. I loved feeling like I was flying as I swan dived off the platform toward the water.

Until later…

My New Acholi Friends

Hello my friends. I am happily settled into my hotel in Kampala, Uganda –a city of three million people. I just finished my second day of work at the Acholi Quarter—working with Acholi women & girls regarding domestic & sexual violence. Having just only arrived here, I felt challenged trying to be culturally appropriate and relevant at the same time. But these amazingly strong and open women made my job easy. By the end of the day I was literally showered with beaded necklaces, adornments and hugs. My mind continues to spin on how I can continue to help rape victims in Uganda. If I had to pick a highlight of the entire experience, it would probably be the fun I had learning to dance Acholi traditional dances and some Acholi words. I endlessly entertained the folks with my continued efforts at pronunciation. My friend and dance mentor, Ester, is pictured above in the first and third photos. We became fast friends and were both sad to say goodbye to each other.

The city of Kampala is more developed than I had imagined. When I lived in Liberia in 1989, it was pretty run-down--a lot of rubble and mostly dirt roads. And that was before the war! This place has a financial center, fancy high-rise hotels and roundabouts that make maneuvering traffic mind-boggling. The smog is intense and the traffic beats out any other city I have ever visited as the worst—hands down. I saw a family of five on a small motorcycle yesterday weaving in and out of traffic with the mom and girls sitting side-addle.

What I do love about Kampala and Uganda more generally is how fantastically green and lush it is. In stark contrast to the more desert like Senegal, Uganda is in bloom. Thanks to heavy rain at times, exotic flowers and bushes invade every space. And just like Georgia, the dirt is red. I am at home.

Na Nga Def--"hello" in wolof

Today was another fantastic day in Senegal. This place is living up to my high expectations that it would be an incredible place to visit. I think the Senegalese people are so warm and gentle. This was certainly reconfirmed after Else & I spent the day on the Ill de Goree with our new Senegalese friends, Abdu & Ali. These two lovely men who are brothers showed us around West Africa's biggest "House of Slaves"--a slave market from the beginning of the Portuguese trade (1557ish) until 1849 when the French ended slave trading.


Here is Else in a room where more than 20 men would be held for at a minimum 3 months until the ship could return to take them to the West to be sold.

This is the interior of the slave house with the masters quarters pictured above. It was a remarkable experience to be one of only two white people in this incredibly moving place while the tour guide explained its history to several classes of 10th graders from Dakar. Despite this opportunity to make us feel outrageously uncomfortable, these Senegalese teenagers were gracious and had a sense of peace about them.

This is the height contest we had during our day. :) Let me tell my friends, with my 6 foot tall travel companion, Else, and all these tall Senegalese, I will always lose this game. (Ali, Abdu, Else et moi)

Else & I have decided that plane travel is for wussies and that we are going to travel overland to Uganda instead. So, this is our rig that we will drive over the continent to Kampala...I wish! This is our friend Daniel's truck who is headed to Lake Tele.

Sleeping Past Dakar?

So we land in Paris after a 10-hour flight on which I did not sleep. This, of course, is not unusual for me. I load up on Xanax (most relaxing for me), don eyeshades, earplugs and carry a special pillow--all to no avail. I lie there like a dead woman, but I do not sleep.

Once in Charles de Gaulle, Else & I grab a quick bite, pay out the nose for Internet access and I blog quickly. I am heinously jetlagged—feeling as though I have been drugged. I feel like I am floating—having an out of body experience. And—yet—I blog.

After just a little bit, Else & I decide that we should just close our eyes for a bit. We figure we can do all the things we have planned- shop, get pedicures (!), blog more, and email our Dakar hotel when we wake up since we have a 10-hour layover.

We find a deluxe little corner with two brown leather couches facing each other, tucked away from any other foot traffic. Feeling secure, we sleep lusciously. Miraculously—we sleep…hard. Really hard.

I am awoken by my need for a second bathroom trip when upon return to our snooze nest I happen—just happen mind you—to glance at the tire size clock. It reads: 3:50 –that would be 25 minutes from when we take off for Dakar and we aren’t in the right concourse nor do we know where that is. Two problems here: first, the plane was already boarding and Else was still sleeping with our crap strewn about everywhere. Second, we had to figure out Charles de Gaulle well enough to hustle to our proper concourse and gate.

Here’s what went wrong: our 10-hour layover was really a 7-hour layover; we didn’t pay attention to when we actually arrived in Paris. Second, being neurotic sleepers, we didn’t really expect to sleep at all so we didn’t set an alarm to awaken us.

So we run. We go in the wrong direction. We ask directions several times, we await the mini-train to the E concourse and then once on the right train it sits for more passengers. Upon reaching E concourse, we must go through security for the third time that day. My god, our flight leaves in six minutes and we are just going through security? And listen friends--this ain't no Redmond security. This is taking every mother f@#*ing electronic gadget or ounce of liquid out of your bag and bending over for an anal cavity search. Lord Jesus, now I have 4 minutes until our plane leaves.

And so I run for the gate—half the electronic contents of my backpack are in my hands because I didn’t have time to do my meticulous micro packing that my north face pack back requires. And so I keep running—albeit slower. My lungs are burning. I am not a runner. I vow to do more cardio. As I run, I remember the last time I vowed to do more cardio—I was running for a plane.

I arrive at the gate and incredibly the plane is still there. I can’t speak. I throw my ticket, passport and my upper body onto the ticket counter. The French ticket agents tell me that I am late. Thanks. They ask me “where are you?” I am totally taken aback by this question—like I f@#king know right now? Then I get it that she doesn’t speak English that well, and she wants to know from where I have just arrived. “Where did the plane you just got off and ran here from come from?” is what she wants to ask me. I can only answer in my French (also not great) that I was sleeping. She clearly is not impressed. She asks where my husband is.

Okay—so stop right here. I am flabbergasted that she is asking about Ray. My god—he is not with me—like not only not here, but like not WITH me—get it? And why do you care woman? But then I realize that she is really speaking about Else who is running behind me from security. I thought she was ahead of me and already on the plane so I didn’t connect all these dots. Just then Else runs up and similarly throws herself at the mercy of the Air France Ticket Agent. While our agent mumbles in French to herself—not thinking that anyone understands—that the plane is delayed because of us—Else & I try and recover enough to speak.

But because the universe sometimes smiles on you, they lead us on board and we take our seats with big smiles on our faces. We were finally heading to Africa.

Jërejëf (wolof for thank you)

Floating in Paris

Hey there my friends. I have just gotten off my ten hour flight from Salt Lake City to Paris. Despite having scored two seats all to myself, I couldn't sleep. I'm a neurotic that way--earplugs, eye mask, pillow, and my sleep drugs....and still no sleep. I feel so bizarre. I feel so tired that I feel like I am floating.

Oh well, on the front end of the trip, my adrenaline is fueling me. I loved seeing the icebergs toward the end of the flight as we flew over Greenland. The sun was rising over the horizon and the yellow and orange huge masses of ice were on fire. It reminded me of when I was flying down to Antarctica 22 years ago. So beautiful.

Now off to find that illusive sleep here in this loud, sunny airport.

Au revoir mes amies!