Day 10: Assembly & Diarrhea

Woke up early with a serious grumble in my tummy. Well, it had to happen someday. I must've eaten something that didn't agree with me. Pretty sure it's not anything serious, but it ain't pretty nonetheless. I had to get to school early to rehearse the plays again with the P4 students for our 7:30am assembly, so I decided against breakfast. I had a simple lunch of several healing spoonfuls of rice in the staff room while the teachers had a very bright, competitive conversation about tomorrow's marathon and football games, which sound a lot like Field Day. I edited several English papers from the P-4 students about their holidays, which took a few hours and then I went home to nap and rest. A nice quiet afternoon and evening! I'm starting to get excited about the father-son Safari next Tuesday-Thursday!

Day 9: More Plays

Today Dad, John, Marissa and the Sims went to Bupoto to check on a health clinic and one of the outreach schools over there. They are staying the night and returning tomorrow evening. I asked if I could stay in Bumwalukani so I could work more with the kids - and we threw together four more plays! The fifth graders did The Ugly Duckling and The Three Billy Goats Gruff; the sixth graders did How the Zebras Got Their Stripes and a funny little story called The King, The Mice, & The Cheese. I found each of the stories in the library and adapted them in the morning. Before their 30 minute rehearsals, I sat each group down while I read them the story, then we did a little improv based on the animal movement needed for each story. They all really wanted to be elephants and were hysterical - they were far less successful as goats. It was a lot of fun and I got to really test my cat-herding skills. All the kids worked together very well and really seemed to enjoy themselves. As all of the classes were sitting down for our big presentations and the teachers were moving their chairs into the shade before we started, the mentally handicapped daughter of the janitor walked into the middle of the outdoor area that was our "stage" and embraced the tree in the center. One of the students went up to her and yelled at her to move, so the girl promptly hit him in the arm. The courtyard erupted in laughter. Another student came up behind the girl and tried to pry her from the tree so she hit him too, and the onlookers laughed and pointed. I took it as a teaching opportunity. "We are about to perform a play about people who look differently and sound differently than we do. It's about people who laugh and belittle others for being unique. It's about finding our family and being accepted by others. Right now you are not being kind to this girl - and she deserves your kindness. Would you like to be laughed at?" It was a really amazing moment and I couldn't believe the timing of it all. Once the janitor came to take his daughter's hand, we got started. The kids were far more focused than I expected them to be and there were some stand out performances. The boy playing the Greedy Baboon was fantastic and the boy who played The King was extremely committed. We had a blast and it all went so smoothly. After we finished all four, the Head Mistress Sarah wanted command performances right away of Zebra/Stripes and King/Mice/Cheese and another teacher suggested we vote for the best actor of the day. They are certainly competitive. Four whitegirl doctoral students from Penn State arrived yesterday to volunteer at a health clinic near the school for a month and are staying in the Guesthouse, so I wasn't alone. This evening we spent some time together and I taught them how to play Shanghai Rummy. (I smoked them.) Uganda factoids: - When greeting strangers on the street, which everyone does, people say "Mulembe!" or "Mulembe, Papa!" if you're speaking to a distinguished man, a la "sir." - When shaking hands to greet, women kneel all the way to the floor to show respect to men - and some elder women. - Folks here have no last names! They are given two names, an African name and a Christian or Muslim name, i.e. Mushika Seth or Nabutiti Jemimah or Wakooko Roger or Watsemwah Sarah. - The name Justin does not exist here, but there are several Justines, so a couple have laughed when hearing my name - "You have a girl's name!" And I'm like, "Your name is WAKOOKO."

Day 8: Graduation Day

Today's journal entry is not going to be as long... We slept in until 7 and then walked to school holding a few homemade cakes that I helped Marissa make before bed last night. She's amazingly resourceful. She has a real old-school dutch oven that she bakes these big cakes in. Most of these Ugandans had never had homemade cake before Marissa came. At school I spent the first couple hours making a zillion rainbow daisy chains out of construction paper and decorated the library for the primary school graduation with Josh and a few of the teachers. As I was cutting all the strips of paper and stapling them individually, I started laughing out loud to myself about how ridiculously efficient I was being. I'm a machine. I said outloud to myself, "Just Mickey and Judy puttin' on a show!" (I thought of you, Matty.) A few minutes later, sweet Teacher Jemimah came up to me to ask "Who is Mickey and Judy?" Instead of having graduation on the last days of school, they hold it at the beginning of the next term, just before secondary school starts. The graduation celebration today also honored the graduates from secondary school that AAH sponsors. The graduation ceremony started very late and went on even later. It felt like every single person in the room had the opportunity to make a speech, some in both English and Lugisu. The most moving part of the ceremony was the recognization of the highest scoring student from secondary school, an albino girl named Pennina who has overcome many challenges to graduate in the top 99.8% of her class and get into an excellent university. I cried. She can't see very well, so she asked every teacher to please sit her in the front row and her sponsor got her glasses as an elementary student. Kids made fun of her as a child, but at AAH, children treated her as an equal. Also... Apparently, albino children are highly sought after by witch doctors here because their blood is rumored to heal dying people. So they kill them. Most parents either hide their albino children and don't send them to school - or sell them as babies. She was threatened several times in secondary school and had panic attacks, but Pennina is a survivor. And here she is now one of the most academically successful students in the country, humbly standing on the library stage. Cue the waterworks! After graduation and a brief lunch in the staff room, I was exhausted and not feeling well ...and took a 2.5 nap before dinner. Quote of the Day: After I slipped and almost knocked over the graduation sound system, which would have tipped over the table with 45 candles on it, Dad laughed almost to the point of tears and said "I think the worst thing I ever let you guys do was watch Airplane. You've never been the same."

Day 7: A Skeleton and Storytelling

Another full day at the primary school today! The Sims Family purchased a life-sized Halloween skeleton made of plastic and brought it over from the US to Uganda in a duffel bag. Today, I volunteered to carry the skeleton up as we walked from the Guesthouse through the small trading centre and up the fifteen minute path to AAH. The locals were mystified, amused, and terrified by the sight of a group of Americans walking around holding a skeleton by its spine! It was hysterical. Some schoolchildren squealed, some farmers wanted a close look to count the ribs and inspect the shoulder joint, some teenagers wanted to shove their hand through its jaw. We took Mr. Gregory Bones around to each classroom so the kids could inspect it up close. A fun start to the day. You'll love the pictures of the kids climbing over one another to touch the spooky guy. I spent the next two and a half hours with a red pen, editing letters that the fourth graders (P-4) wrote to their sponsors and pen pals in the States. Lots of spelling and grammar corrections, but also very enlightening for me! I learned a lot about local culture while I made a list of consistent mistakes the students made so that the teachers could address common problems. Then I worked on adapting The Three Little Pigs and Goldilocks and the Three Bears for this afternoon's Drama Session with Teacha Jah-sten (DAS ME!). I rewrote the stories for the purpose of presenting each one within the P-4 students, one group of 25 and one group of 30. No props or costumes - and better yet, no lines! I told the story while they acted it out. They said "Once upon a time!" with me and a few other key phrases in unison and then "The End!" together before bowing. Each story was simple: there were three boys that were the bowls of porridge (although we changed it to matooke, ma-toe-kay, a traditional Ugandan plantain dish), three chairs made out of girls, three beds made out of four students each, and of course, three bears and a goldilocks. We rehearsed and then switched. The other half of the class were the three pigs, a wolf, and three groups of materials: straw, sticks, and bricks, which the pigs built their homes out of. It was so cute to see the kids cooperating and becoming sticks and bricks and chimneys and doors. Even though the plan was to perform them tomorrow, we took so little time rehearsing, I decided we should just perform then right then! We presented each of the plays for the other half of the class, a few special guests, and the P-6 students. It was a major success and the Head Teacher (principal) Sarah used the performances as a teaching tool. She asked the students afterwards what the morals of each story were and how we could learn from them. Then they talked about how important creativity and cooperation are in all areas of life, not just putting on plays for each other. I was so proud. Head Teacher Sarah told us that she would like the children to perform the stories at the assembly on Friday. (I hear the African Guffman might be there!) Afterwards she pulled me aside to ask if I could do it with the rest of the students. Sarah noticed that some of the more active and creative students were some of the those that had been doing poorly academically and it made her emotional to see them succeeding at something. We had a great conversation about the value of exposing the students to theatre and storytelling - that the teachers are trained very mechanically and it is difficult to infuse the curriculum with this much fun and play. She thinks that these kids will remember today's lessons far more than their other more bland, rote assignments. After the performance, I went back to the fourth grade class and read them two books: Princess Sophia's Grand Tea Party about fairies and golden plates and ice sculptures and floating chairs and a swan-themed birthday party (WTF?!?) and a shortened version of Frozen. I hadn't seen Frozen the movie, so I really enjoyed reading them that little book. Totally cool story - Girl Power! After school I went to the library and got a few other storybooks to adapt more plays for tomorrow and Thursday. Who knows what other stories are headed these kids' way? I'll let you know. Josh Sims, the other volunteer my age from Boston with some rad tattoos, took me aside while we waited for Marissa, John, and my dad. He told me that he really enjoyed the plays today and videotaped them - and wanted to ask how comfortable it was for a guy like me (gay) to be doing theatre with the kids in such a disapproving country. We chatted for a little about the irony of the situation and then agreed that everything was fine as long as I didn't bring up my sexuality. No one would even think about it or care. I realized that part of my wanting to come and help out was to subvert the politics a bit. I have no plans to change anyone's minds, nor am I capable of that single-handedly, but I do feel like they deserve to meet someone gay - even if they never find out he is gay! It's good for them to see a man who is expressive and dramatic and fun and colorful. Does that make sense? Sidenote about washing hands and latrines: I'm somehow fine with it all. The constant dirty hands, the dark, smelly squat latrines, the rusty bent nails to lock the door, the old bleach jugs filled with rainwater that you use to wet our hands over the ground and the little square bars of hand soap sitting nearby. It's kind of a fun game. And makes me feel weird about harshly judging men back in NYC who don't wash after using urinals. Who cares? These people don't give a SHIT. I've shaken every person's hand in Bumwalikani and I've seen them all eat with their hands and pet their filthy cows and pick up roosters and sit on the ground. We hiked up the insanely steep mountain to John's mothers' home to enjoy a big family dinner, complete with the Best Cabbage Ever (a lot like moo shu vegetables, my favorite Chinese food) and delicious bamboo shoots. We sat on the mountainside overlooking the tall, rolling hills and mountainsides and had a nice talk with several of his relatives. The family has a big cow named Bernice and a 2 month old male calf, who they hadn't named yet. I spent some time with him, giving him a little massage and letting him lick my legs. Hilda told me it was time to name him and I should pick one for him. He was a sweet little guy and being a young, pacifist bull myself (Taurus), I immediately thought of Ferdinand the Bull. Remember that cartoon? I thought it was appropriate. We walked home together after sunset in the bright moonlight down the mountain, satisfying exhausted. The only way I have had to access wi-fi at all on this trip has been to coax Marissa the Volunteer Coordinator to turn her Android into a hotspot. Knowing that every text, email, and picture costs her precious data, I have limited my begging to once a day - and even gave her 10,000 shillings. (That amount seems generous as I was handing it over, but then I realized it was equivalent to $4. I'm awesome.) Anyway, the point is that for a couple days her hotspot hasn't really been working, so I can't even send this daily update. I'll send it when I can!

Day 6: The First Day of School

Ooooooh child. Today was the first day of school! After rolling/carrying a sixty pound suitcase of books up the mountain (and across a two by four bridge above a little stream), we made our way to the Arlington Junior School, the primary school that just celebrated its ten year anniversary. They began the day with an assembly, where they did calisthenics together before greeting their new teachers, getting speeches from the Head Teacher Sara and Founder "Uncle John" Wanda. Then several of the students got together into configuration and sang and danced welcome songs for us for ten minutes! (I will try to send a separate email with an audio clip.) I was very busy volunteering throughout the day, meeting all the staff and teachers, getting a full tour from Marissa, reading a book to several classrooms ("The Day the Crayons Quit"), handing out sponsor letters to the fourth and fifth graders - and letters from peers from their American sister school, Arlington Traditional School (where Garen and I went, and where Holly has been the principal for 24 years), helping them read all of the letters, eating lunch with the staff, editing the students' response letters, and teaching a step routine to the fifth graders. (Yes, Sarita, THAT step routine!) The children were adorable. So enthusiastic and inquisitive and welcoming and adorable. Their little uniforms were so sweet and their smiles melted my heart. It was incredible! I really don't have the words. I'm pooped. Tomorrow I am working with the fourth graders to create plays of "The Three Little Pigs" and "Goldilocks and the Three Bears," which we will present on Wednesday to each other. The rest of my day I will be volunteering in the library, taping up all the abused books. They don't have that many books for their appropriate age groups, so the books that they do have lose their spines very quickly and have have beat-up, rounded edges, with pages falling out. I wish I could buy a thousand more books for them.

Day 5: Church on the Hill

I can't maintain the kind of journaling I've done the past few days. Today I was so busy and active all day that I am just now able to take a second and jot down some of my thoughts... Today you get bullet points: - Slept beautifully until 8:30am - Short, freezing cold shower, much more fun and invigorating than I expected - A quick banana, buttered toast, hard-boiled egg - An extremely strenuous 75 minute hike uphill on dusty, slippery red rocks in the beating hot sun to a church service on a mountaintop (can't wait to show you the pictures and play the songs I recorded!) - Gorgeous, arid mountainside farmland replete with mud huts, wooden sheds, goats and cows tied to stakes by one leg, and hundreds of sweet, dirty children peeking out of homes with curious eyes and wide smiles saying "Mulembe!" (Meaning hello in Lugisu) or "Howareyou?" (the only English they know until starting school) - Several men eager to come out and meet us, introduce themselves (David, Richard, Peter...), shake our hands, join our walk uphill - A lovely two hour church service, with a sermon entitled "Arise and Shine" featuring English translation and a few speeches by a few goofy Americans (us) - A super friendly 23-year-old aspiring doctor named Vincent (and recipient of an AAH scholarship to acquire his nursing certification) who volunteered to translate our goofy speeches during the church service and insisted on holding my hand as we made our way on... - An insanely steep walk ("sloping" they called it) down the other side of the mountain to have a big meal at John's mother's house with two dozen family members and the best cabbage I've ever eaten. - A wonderful conversation with Vincent about faith and self-confidence while walking to see the grounds of Arlington Academy of Hope for the first time. - Garen's sponsored student, Joshua waiting for us at the Guesthouse this afternoon, eager to meet us and send his deep gratitude for Garen paying his school fees for years. I gave him a flashlight and Dad gave him some cash for back to school supplies. Joshua's begins his second year of secondary school tomorrow, S-2. - An adrenaline pumping boda-boda ride to Joshua's home 3 km up the dusty road. - Joshua's sweet family Winston & Naomi and his siblings Aaron, Don, and Rachael. They made a video on my phone for me to share with Garen when I return to NYC. They referred a couple times to Garen's amazing dance abilities and how flexible and gymnastic he was. - Delicious Quest Bar snack (chocolate cookie dough), especially yummy when warmed in your pocket all day! - A lovely walk back to the Guesthouse with Marissa during my favorite time of day, sunset, with some nice conversations about her experience working in the village for the last eighteen months and what exactly a stage manager does. - Reflections on Ugandan rural lifestyle: They have so little. It's like colonial times. It's shocking and also, completely simple. I am inspired and humbled and curious and grateful and eager to help and see myself in them and feel like an alien and feel like I'm on Mars and wish they could see other countries and wish I would see other countries and ... My hope for all of us is that we fight to understand more than what little we see of our corners of the world. - A big pasta dinner with Marissa and the Sims, who spent the day with their sponsored student Brian and his family. - Thinking of going to bed early because tomorrow is a big day - the first day of the new school year! Lots of celebrations and we have to BE at school by 7:30am!

Day 4: A Long Day of Driving

Sat 1/31 - 6:55am Last night I wisely chose to use the mosquito nets around the bed and found myself waking up from a much sounder sleep. I used ear plugs to block out the noise of the guard dogs in the neighborhood barking incessantly at each other and when I took them out as the sun was rising, I heard the sweet sounds of birds chirping and calling to one another. Far more tropical and varied than I am used to, these dozens (hundreds?) of birds sang and cawed and twittered to one another in a happy cacophonous chorus that made me smile. I sat listening to them for a while in a meditative state before doing my morning reading of The Book of Awakening. Today's passage was incredible, addressing the practice of breathing as a spiritual teacher. "As a man in his last breath drops all he is carrying, each breath is a little death that can set us free." For a guy who came to Africa for three reasons, the most important being to relax and let go, this passage set off some very poignant gongs in my head. "Breathing is the fundamental unit of risk, the atom of inner courage that leads us into authentic living. With each breath, we practice opening, taking in, and releasing. Literally, the teacher is under our nose. When anxious, we simply have to remember to breathe." So I took some deep breaths and could feel myself begin to unravel in a new way. 8:50am I took my vitamins and daily malaria medication, ate some breakfast (giant pineapple, baked beans, and beef sausage dogs again), and hopped into the car with our John Wanda and all of bags, headed for Kampala on the way to Jinja (the source of the Nile), Mbale, and our final destination, Bumwalukani in the Bududa district. Of the 100 districts in Uganda, Bududa is one of the smallest with only about 180,000. Bumwalukani is one of about 100 villages in the Bududa district. Earlier I mentioned that I was here in Uganda for three reasons. Yes, to relax, but also to spend quality time with my father and to serve the rural school, clinic, and community that Dad and Holly have devoted so much time and energy to for years. I am so looking forward to seeing these places in person, meeting the people, and doing my little part to help in whatever way I can. There was a story on CNN as we ate breakfast about LGBT visibility in China. Marissa and I discussed the Ugandan stance on homosexuality. Apparently the country has always been religious, conservative, and intolerant but three Christian fundamentalist missionaries came over in 2005 and met with high level politicians and encouraged them to create legislation criminalizing homosexuality. The government went so far as instilling the death penalty, the Kill the Gays bill. In the schools they teach homosexuality as a deviance akin to incest and bestiality and in church there are sermons demonizing gays. Marissa thinks that the gays in this country probably don't even know that it's possible to be gay. It's just not an option. There are no stereotypes here and folks don't know how gay people act, they just assume all people are hetero. I talked about how nervous I was to come initially but made the leap because I realized that as long as I didn't tell anyone, no one would know I was gay. Marissa lamented how difficult it has been to adjust to how women are treated here. She has a wall up, she said, with Ugandan men. They are very forward with her, often asking her whether she is married, and it has made her very uncomfortable. 9:55am Maybe the worst traffic I've ever been in. We are seven miles out of Kampala and probably going an average of 2mph. It's bumper to boda-boda to bumper. The sightseeing isn't pretty, not an inch of real estate is unused: shanty towns, lean-tos, kiosks selling double the merchandise of a Chinese shop on Canal Street, makeshift butcher shops with meat hanging from hooks on the street. Some buildings are cement but most are constructed of wood and corrugated steel. Lots of small homes and shops are painted by businesses, mostly in red by Airtel and Coca-Cola. John explains that owners get a free coat of paint, businesses get free advertisements. I was wearing a long sleeve shirt, but changed into a tee shirt because I've already sweated through it. It's a sticky 80 degrees out and I'm sitting in the direct sun in our van. 10:15am We are picking up John's friend Anthony in Freedom Village, the place we visited him last night. The poverty is astounding. So many children everywhere. John tells me that 55% of Uganda's population is under 17 years old. In America, the equivalent number is 20%. The children around the van while we wait for Anthony stare at me through the window, but communicate nothing. I think about how little opportunities they have. The very few possessions they own. The dirt roads they play in. The preverbial fishbowls they live in are very small. I don't know how I feel. I feel grateful and compassionate and jealous and sad and angry and don't let myself think very deeply about their circumstances. I smile and wave at them and they smile back. We are very different fish. 10:40am On the road into Kampala. The entire highway was completely stopped for 10 minutes, not sure why. We made small talk with our driver, Ronald. Dad: Exactly how many lanes are there? Ronald: As many as possible. 11:00am Finally in Kampala and waiting at the bank for the other van of volunteers. The ATM just ate my card. 11:25am The very unhelpful assistant manager actually comes through and retrieves my card for me, scolding me for not making my transaction fast enough. Thanks, lady! Dad laughs at the situation, which infuriates me, but after a few minutes I'm no longer upset. Between all the traveling and the traffic I am so ready to be in the village already. 1:00pm Marissa has finally arrived with the Sims family, Peter, Wendy, and their son Josh, who are also volunteering this week at AAH, and have been over a few times before. Although there are train tracks, there is no working rail system in Uganda, only trucks, so in addition to the cars, vans, taxis, and boda-bodas headed out of Kampala with us, there are a zillion cement trucks, fuel tankers, and big cargo trucks headed towards Kenya and Mombasa. 1:23pm Traffic has not improved. We are now turning off through Mbuya, a small side suburb, trying to beat traffic on the main road. John breaks down the sizes of the towns to me from smallest to largest: trading centre, township, town, municipality, and Kampala, Uganda's only official "city." 2:40pm We are finally out of the frustrating Kampala suburbs. There are still lots of little kiosks off of main road we are driving on, but much more space everywhere. Shallow valleys and massive fields of tea (green tea, John suggests), then sugar cane plantations. Densely populated little markets and clusters of shacks pop up every other hill. The landscape is much more lush and green but very dusty, and all of the plants and trees look almost crisp. The edges of every sugar cane plant are dried up, brown, and wilting down. Dry season here ends in March. Apparently it hasn't rained in weeks across the country, and there is generally little to no precipitation for months. John tells us that March and April are considered planting season, harvest is July and August, and dry season begins again in November. The roads are still busy, but moving a bit quicker now. Some buildings are made out of stone and brick with cement, which I realize now was not the case back in Kampala. 3:05pm Mabira Forest has a very thick undergrowth and tall trees, unlike anything else we've driven through. The traffic is lighter and we are really moving now. Trash litters the frayed edges of the dirty highway and every kilometer or so we pass a pair or trio of children walking or women carrying baskets or bags on their heads. Here I can faintly make out a middle white line in the road. With 17km left until Jinja, it begins to sprinkle. Road workers and market owners scramble for cover as the rain falls. John tells us that whenever rain comes during dry season, which hasn't happened in weeks, they say that the visitors have brought it, along with good luck. The sprinkling turns into pelting rain briefly and I can feel the luck. 3:45pm It has stopped raining. The bridge in Jinja that goes across the mouth of the north-flowing River Nile was built in 1952 has not been upgraded since then. There is a dam and 10 turbines, only a few of which still work. They were built to power both Uganda and Kenya, but even though there are only a few turbines left, the two countries still split the power apparently. We stop to eat just after crossing the bridge. I have Vegetable Samosas, a very bread-y Chicken Pie, a Banana Muffin, and some Chapati. The Indian influence is strong here and I've heard a lot from John about the politics of Idi Amin and his abolishment of the Indians and the current struggles between the two nationalities coexisting in this country. John says that Ugandans do not like Indian food, but it seems to me that a lot of the food I consider Indian is eaten here and has been adopted by Ugandan cuisine. We have decided to bypass Jinja Town to avoid traffic. We are now seeing much more livestock - loose cows, goats, and chickens. Here on this new road, there are much clearer lines painted between lanes and the shoulder and a nice median with a curb and maintained grass landscaping. Even though it briefly rained, it is still very dusty out along the road. I wipe my nose with a napkin from lunch and it is brown. 5:35pm Just woke up from another nap. The square shacks have been replaced by small circular huts with thatched roofs, huddled in clusters with dirt. They are farther from the street and each other. I see a few naked children here and there and more meticulously maintained farmland in small family patches. Less trash. More crispy palm trees. A big trash fire in the distance. We have just passed through a busy township with a very wide walkways where hundreds of people were gathered on either side, far more than we've seen today. There were loud radios playing and people milling about, not hustling for passerbys to buy their merchandise as they were around Kampala, but engaging with one another socially. It is possible they were just out of a church service of some sort? As we are leaving town I see two men approaching the township laughing and talking, and as we get closer I see that they are holding hands. A poignant image for a country that demonizes and misunderstands gay people. I am transfixed by the view. Each stretch between communities now has a few cows grazing. A brother and sister are pushing a bicycle with three big dirty yellow jugs filled with river water. Mothers are squatting together in this village with laundry. Teenage boys in rolled up jeans are playing with a soccer ball in that village. A group of people are walking together from one village to the next, dressed in colorful fabrics, almost like saris. A few young women are drying casava along the hot roadside, laid out carefully to dry on the shoulder of the highway. Children are hugging each other whispering and giggling, while turkeys congregate to peck nearby. So many beautiful little pictures of rural roadside Africans. These people feel far more relaxed and content than the folks we saw on the other side of the Nile. 6:00pm The road is now going through the very shallow Lake Kyoga (pronounced cho-ga), which seems more like a gigantic swamp. I inhale deeply. It smells incredible, sweet and earthly. The "lake" is a jigsaw puzzle of little rivers and deltas and tall plants with puffy heads, like those little white weeds that we used to blow on to make wishes. What are those called again? 6:30pm We are a few kilometers away from Mbale, where we had a 4pm meeting planned with a solar panel company, but due to the extreme traffic, we had to cancel. The goal was to get to the village before sun down at 7, but there's no way we'll make that. I have had The Sun Magazine sitting on my lap this whole trip and have only read two pages. The landscape is captivating and the afternoon sun is unbelievably intoxicating. You can see farther out into the horizon and Wanale Mountain looms in the hazy distance. We are passing by magical little moments and I can't capture any of them with my iPhone camera - not well enough to do them justice. Deep breaths. Little deaths. 6:50pm We have turned onto the bumpy red clay dirt road, 24 miles away from our destination. If I thought the other roads today were dusty, I don't know how to explain this. There are a couple other cars on the road and they kick up an unbelievable level of dust and dirt into the dozens of pedestrians walking and riding bicycles and motorcycles. There is still a bit of visibility, but not much breathability. I ask John how people can live and walk along these roads. He says "When you grow up with the dust, you don't even notice it." As the sun sets, it becomes much harder to see, with the occasional fluorescent light, roadside fire, and approaching car lights through the dust the only real sources of light beyond the quickly dimming skyline behind us. 7:45pm After 10 hours on the road (and a flat tire for the last quarter mile!), we have arrived in Bumwalukani at the AAH Guesthouse. It's a simple five room house with four bedrooms with four twin beds in each, off of a main gathering room. There is a separate house for cooking, storing food, and bathing (cold water showers only 5 minutes tops each from a rainwater storage tank), and a separate house for two latrines and a chicken room. You read that right. 10:25pm Dad and I unpacked our clothes into our room. There is a big bookcase where I was able to organize my things. The two housekeepers at the Guesthouse, Ruth and Jennifer, cooked us a delicious meal and we got to know the Sims Family.