It’s harder than it looks

At least once everyday I walk the streets of Mbale. Usually this is on my way to a coffee shop or to buy a food in the market. Every time I go out I witness this thing. Something people do it here with relative ease… I don’t think I will ever be good at it





Maybe it is because I didn’t start at an early enough age. Maybe it is because I have some sort of birth deformity or maybe it is just a mere lack of balance. What ever it is, the people (especially women) here are great at it. They can literally walk, talk, and (insert impressive thing here) while doing it. I tried it once… It was a failure.

Post from CU Denver Student Veronica Tuerffs (source: IN THE MIDST OF IT ALL)

A True Oregonian

My boyfriend tells me that I am crazy. No, he isn’t verbally abusive, he is just from Ohio. He only says such a thing when it’s raining. You see in Ohio people stay inside when the heavens open up. Apparently they are all made of sugar and their kryptonite is water. I mean, he is sweet, but come on now; you’re not going to melt. Of the small population of people I know from Ohio, I would say they generally hate the rain.
Here in Uganda, people are smart. When it is raining, they don’t mind too much. They simply put a trash bag over their weaves, hop on a boda and go. Some people even wear rain ponchos. Again, this is when it is raining. On the equator, it also pours.  When this happens it is as if Lake Victoria gets dumped on the country for an entire days time. This is when all mode of transportation stop. Cars are parked and abandoned in the middle of the road; these roads turn into rivers after about twenty minutes. Every awning looks as if a mosh pit is going on beneath it. The unfortunate travelers who get caught in an area with little foot traffic hide beneath a mango tree or huddle in to a small airtime booth. (Picture a newspaper stand with a metal roof; now picture ten people underneath it for hours on end) Ugandans have a very love/hate relationship with the rain. I think this stems from the fact that they are an agri-based culture. People are grateful for the lighter rains because it nourishes their crops, but when it comes to excessive water there is a potential of losing a month’s worth of income.

And then there are those crazies from Oregon. The people who hear rain on their roofs, put some music on, go outside and dance. The citizens of this great American state tend to put on footwear such as Chaos to avoid having wet feet all day. That is, if they put on footwear at all. I know many of these creatures don’t even know what a raincoat is until they are exposed to such a device from an outsider. And umbrellas? What is an umbrella? Due to their love for the lush green environment of the state, be it because you come from a logging family and it helps the timber grow or because you love the organic produce growing in your backyard, Oregonians tend to love the rain. It may not be an outward expression, but it’s always there.
So what happens when you put an Oregonian in a torrential down pour in Uganda when she is trying to experience the rain so she can tells stories to her boyfriend from Ohio about how great this weather condition really is? She drowns… almost.
Yesterday was Thanksgiving and my roommate and I planned to go to “thee” Indian restaurant for our feast of “pizza” and beers. (Yes, that was my dinner. I also had a brownie sundae afterwards. Don’t judge.) We even planned to go early to fulfill that early-dinner-wack-time-thing Americans do on this holiday. So it is five and we are stuck inside due to this rain; the pour. We decided we were super hungry, put our slickers on and went for it. That lasted for about 50 ft; then we were forced to turn around… our clothes were already soaked through. We played mancala to the sound of roaring thunder hoping for a break in the storm. I worked on convincing Miss roomie to leave while we dreamt of stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie.

When 6pm rolled around, we finally made a break for it. The rain was the same as before, if not harder, but our early lunch/late breakfast idea drove us out of our guest house. So we start walking down the street and slowly it morphs into wading in a river. We were the soaked spectacle to many people on the street. “Muzungu, you are wet.”  Wow, really. Thank you for that observation. Every Ugandan in this weather had stopped what they were doing and sought out shelter. Megan and I splashed in the water and raced towards our holiday meal. A holiday that most of the population of the country we are in does not know even exists. I am not sure how I would even explain Thanksgiving to them. This adventure would take us about eight minutes on a dry day. It took us about 20. Once we arrived at the restaurant, we were soaked to the bone. Both of us cheers-ed with an American couple, wished them a wonderful, wet Thanksgiving and feasted. And it was good.

ou see, as an Oregonian myself, I figured I could handle this. A little rain never hurt anybody. A Ugandan would have just waited it out until the rain stopped at 10:30 pm and been fine. Someone from Ohio would have been fine because they would have made a feast off of their survival “just-in-case-it-rains” holiday food. I had a warm American meal washed down with some beers in a foreign land on Thanksgiving. I was soaked to my soul and made a great memory. I was not fine. I, the Oregonian who weathered the storm and has a soggy soul, was amazing.
Post from CU Denver Student Veronica Tuerffs
Source: http://veronicatuerffs.tumblr.com/post/13292492870/a-true-oregonian

HIV/AIDS

This is a medical worry that is very present in Uganda. It’s a topic that people think of when I tell them I am studying abroad here. It is something that headlines Google when you search “news in Africa”.

It is also something very private here in the country. People feel ashamed when they test positive and it is not often talked about in daily interaction. Therefore, I have not much interface with the infection.
Until Thursday.

I went to Busia town with my sales partner. We were given free condoms to distribute and I knew exactly who I wanted to give them to. I had traveled to Busia three weeks earlier to talk with some sex workers about their views on Trust condoms and gave them t-shirts. They were the ones that would use them; so we went.

When men go out at night, they not only choose a bar by which drinks are available, but also by which women are offered on the side. They usually buy the girls many drinks, “go behind” to their beds, do the deed and leave. Unfortunately, the women told me that about once a week they have to deal with a man who won’t pay. Some even pull a knife out on them and steal their weekly earnings. Busia is a border town with Kenya and many travelers and truck drivers are looking for company. Therefore, it is labeled as a “high-risk” town.

 

When we arrived at the bar, we simply just walked behind it to their “houses”. They are small stalls in a concrete building. About six women live back there. We were greeted with warm handshakes and big smiles. They all knew we had condoms and were extremely grateful to see us as their supply from the government was running low.

Then I had it: my first run in with HIV/AIDS. 

Last time I was there, the women were making lunch during my interview. They all were very willing to answer my questions and loved that I was willing to come into their living quarters to do so. They said most muzungus fear the place. The woman that was cooking always gave the wisest of answers. She was quiet until the rest of the group looked to her for an answer. I could tell that she was the leader amongst them.

When we all sat down to talk on Thursday, one of the women told us that her friend had died. She pointed to one of the rooms and said that she passed away last week and they found her in the bed. They said she was very weak and that it was “the HIV’ that did it. I am sure that another sickness was main the contributing factor, but her being positive made things much worse.

They showed me her picture. Right then my heart sank. It was the women I had met three weeks earlier. Her name was Frida and she was only 22 years old. She was my age. She was living her life as a leader to those around her in a community that needs strong-willed women. I couldn’t believe how close to home HIV/AIDS had just become. I was overwhelmed. This was a human, an equal to me, someone I had become acquaintances with. She died. She died from something that could have been controlled.

I talked with the women about it more. They all had tears in their eyes and said that they had known she was positive. I asked them how often they get tested. All four of them said that they never had. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I wanted to scream at them “your friend just died from this, if you’re positive you can get free treatment. It doesn’t need to be the end.”

Instead, I asked them “why not”? They told me that once you know you are positive, that’s it. You know you are destined to a life short-lived. Two of them said that this would cause them to live out the rest of their lives. When I asked them what that meant, they said that they would just drink and party all the time. They said they would do this since “nothing could change their status”. I wanted so badly to tell them about how so many people that have HIV live a long, healthy life with the resources available to them. My heart was breaking.

I was about to cry and looked up, a women that was there with her two year old son told me that she felt the same way. She said that right now she works at the bar because her husband died a year ago and it is the only way to have her daughter in school and to feed her two children. She said that if she knew she was positive she would just leave her children and “go live”.  She said she will never get tested and that she would rather fall deathly ill and find out she was positive that way than feel as though she has nothing to live for and abandon her children.

As we were leaving I wished all of the ladies well and told them that I hope they get tested. I looked right into their eyes and told them that it would help them to know their status. They smiled and shook their heads. It was as if I could read their minds from the expression on their faces. “Silly muzungu. She thinks she understands our lifestyle. She thinks she can come in and tell us what is good for us.”

Thing is, I wish they could have read mine: “You women are beautiful and have so much potential. I love you and want you to be able to work your way out of this chapter of your life in a healthy manner. I don’t understand your choices, but I want to learn more and converse with you for hours on end.”

Post from CU Denver Student Veronica Tuerffs
Source: http://veronicatuerffs.tumblr.com/post/13107997500/hiv-aids