One of my favorite things to do here in Kyarusozi thus far is to walk back to the parish from St. Joseph Hill Secondary School in Kyambogo. Of course, sometimes this is a terrible idea, like two days ago when I still had two and a half miles to go and the sky, which had been perfectly blue and sunny all day, changed to an ominous grey in the blink of an eye and opened up into a torrential downpour. I was alone and needed to buy more MTN airtime so my phone wasn’t working and there was no shelter on either side of the road. Whoops. But of course some children saw me and must have thought I looked funny because they ran at me shouting “Muzungu!!” and kept me company by playing with me in the storm. About fifteen minutes later, the driver for the parish, Rubani, drove by and I sprinted at the car as soon as I saw the unmistakable red flash of his token ball cap. I’ve never been happier to see anyone in my life.
Anyways, American girl stranded in an African rainy season thunderstorm story aside (actually I really did enjoy that afternoon even though I got soaked through…just goes to show, I can be entertained by almost anything) walking home is still one of the highlights of my day on the days I feel up for the trek. Students from St. Joseph’s who aren’t boarders always flock to accompany me for the first leg of my journey (actually sometimes even the boarders join in for a little bit too) and, after they all disperse, I still greet or have conversations with everyone that I meet upon the road. So I simultaneously have the opportunity to be observant and reflective as well as indulge my social side on the 8-kilometer (approximately 5-mile) stroll. I honestly get to see everyone and everything, and practice my Rutooro as I greet people that walk by. It gives me the chance to fully immerse myself in the deeply rich culture that I have thrown myself into for the next two months. Though it is clear how much I stand out in this area just by looking at the color of my skin, I don’t feel it while my feet are padding along the red dirt roads, slick from the rain, just like everybody else’s. Instead of comparing the world around me to what I know from back home in America, that time is dedicated to being as much of a Ugandan as I can be. Processing the poverty that I see in every one-room, over cluttered shop or house is something that I have time for before I go to bed every night. Through my eyes in those 8 kilometers, though, I see it as simplicity and the way of life here. Which may be a naïve way to think about it. I know that. But even if it is naïve here, it is the truth of the way life is here. It is simple and patient, lacking urgency and chaos (except when the boda drivers come speeding down the roads). It is a culture that appreciates every moment and every thing that the earth has to offer because they rely so heavily on both.
Anyways, American girl stranded in an African rainy season thunderstorm story aside (actually I really did enjoy that afternoon even though I got soaked through…just goes to show, I can be entertained by almost anything) walking home is still one of the highlights of my day on the days I feel up for the trek. Students from St. Joseph’s who aren’t boarders always flock to accompany me for the first leg of my journey (actually sometimes even the boarders join in for a little bit too) and, after they all disperse, I still greet or have conversations with everyone that I meet upon the road. So I simultaneously have the opportunity to be observant and reflective as well as indulge my social side on the 8-kilometer (approximately 5-mile) stroll. I honestly get to see everyone and everything, and practice my Rutooro as I greet people that walk by. It gives me the chance to fully immerse myself in the deeply rich culture that I have thrown myself into for the next two months. Though it is clear how much I stand out in this area just by looking at the color of my skin, I don’t feel it while my feet are padding along the red dirt roads, slick from the rain, just like everybody else’s. Instead of comparing the world around me to what I know from back home in America, that time is dedicated to being as much of a Ugandan as I can be. Processing the poverty that I see in every one-room, over cluttered shop or house is something that I have time for before I go to bed every night. Through my eyes in those 8 kilometers, though, I see it as simplicity and the way of life here. Which may be a naïve way to think about it. I know that. But even if it is naïve here, it is the truth of the way life is here. It is simple and patient, lacking urgency and chaos (except when the boda drivers come speeding down the roads). It is a culture that appreciates every moment and every thing that the earth has to offer because they rely so heavily on both.
However, when looking back on my journeys walking from Kyambogo to Kyarusozi in light of some of the readings for the summer there are many striking features of the social, cultural, and economic situation of the country that come to light. Uganda is a nation that has unfortunately heavily suffered from both massive tragic armed conflict and socioeconomic underdevelopment. “Security Redefined” addresses both of these issues, citing the fact that “whereas about 300,000 people were killed in armed conflicts in 2000, for example, as many people die each and every month because of contaminated water or lack of adequate sanitation.”[17] The Lord’s Resistance Army, “a guerrilla militia that…began as a rebellion against the ruling government [and] turned into a messianic military cult”[2] historically ravaged mostly Northern Uganda with repercussions and murders throughout the entire nation as discussed in Not for Sale. A tragedy, to be sure, and one that still weighs heavy on the hearts of the Ugandan people. However women walk miles every day to find clean water for cooking, drinking, and better sanitation. Papyrus stalks grow in one dip between two hills along the road that I travel back to the parish and women and children are always milling around the roots of the plants with tubs and buckets and pitchers because papyrus needs fresh water to grow, so it is a landmark for a more sanitary water source. But it is not just a lack of water that causes the people here to suffer. “Hunger – after falling steadily during the first half of the 1990s – grew in the latter part of the last decade, now afflicting some 800 million people worldwide”1 as is demonstrated by the fact that though agriculture is the backbone of Uganda (a statement much more eloquently made by Brother Patrick when he visited St. Joseph’s Secondary School and discussed the importance of agriculture in the secondary curriculum), children and adults alike still regularly approach me and ask if I have any food to offer. Not only that, but obesity is practically a non-issue in Uganda. Seeing someone who suffers from it is a rarity because the opposite issue thrives, malnourishment and hunger.
Aside from hunger, there is the ever-present issue of disease. I can barely count on one hand the number of immunizations that I had to make sure were on my record before I left America. “In the poorest developing countries, infectious diseases are weakening and impoverishing families and communities, deepening poverty and widening inequality, drastically reducing life expectancy, and severely taxing overall economic health” as can be seen by the prevalence of HIV/AIDS and the Ugandan government’s attempts to combat the spread of Yellow Fever by mandating proof of vaccination upon entry into the country alongside a visa. And by the fact that I never really see old people. That sounds silly, especially because I know that the life expectancy is lower here than what I am used to at home, but seriously either people don’t age here or the issue is ravaging rural Africa. Personally, I believe the latter. There are approximately three health clinics on my walk from Kyambogo back to Kyarusozi and only one of them, the one run by the Sisters of the Holy Cross, seems to be at least somewhat properly resourced. All advertise their attempts to reduce and prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS and the availability of treatment, but from what I’ve seen it is impossible for the majority of healthcare providers to have the tools and provide the medicines and treatments needed to improve the situation as much as it needs to be.
As Jeffery Sachs defines it, “extreme poverty means that households cannot meet basic needs for survival. They are chronically hungry, unable to access health care, lack the amenities of safe drinking water and sanitation, cannot afford education for some or all of the children, and perhaps lack rudimentary shelter…and basic articles of clothing.”[11] The first three issues I have already addressed. The fourth, the inability to afford education for some or all of the children, is something that I have become more and more familiar with the longer I spend teaching at St. Joseph Hill Secondary School. The majority of the parents that I have met of the students are just barely scraping together tuition costs. St. Joseph’s is notoriously a relatively good school in the area, so the parents are willing to do whatever they can to try and make sure that their children can continue to attend, but the drop in numbers from Senior 1 (the first level in the Secondary School) to Senior 6 (the last) is a testament to the inability of families to afford to keep sending their children to complete their schooling. Yesterday, in my Senior 1 computer class, we had approximately 60 students, and there are somewhere around 80 in Senior 2. I am not sure of the exact numbers, but I believe that Senior 6 is below 25 students, much more than a 50% drop from the initial years. There are also many students that are funded by outside sources. Father Potthast, the pastor of the parish here in Kyarusozi and one of the brilliant men who had the idea for St. Joseph Hill, pays the tuition of somewhere around 40 students to attend the school. Other children have other benefactors taking care of the funding. But it is a vicious cycle and impossible to escape…without the ability to receive an education, how can the future possibly look different from the present?
Aside from hunger, there is the ever-present issue of disease. I can barely count on one hand the number of immunizations that I had to make sure were on my record before I left America. “In the poorest developing countries, infectious diseases are weakening and impoverishing families and communities, deepening poverty and widening inequality, drastically reducing life expectancy, and severely taxing overall economic health” as can be seen by the prevalence of HIV/AIDS and the Ugandan government’s attempts to combat the spread of Yellow Fever by mandating proof of vaccination upon entry into the country alongside a visa. And by the fact that I never really see old people. That sounds silly, especially because I know that the life expectancy is lower here than what I am used to at home, but seriously either people don’t age here or the issue is ravaging rural Africa. Personally, I believe the latter. There are approximately three health clinics on my walk from Kyambogo back to Kyarusozi and only one of them, the one run by the Sisters of the Holy Cross, seems to be at least somewhat properly resourced. All advertise their attempts to reduce and prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS and the availability of treatment, but from what I’ve seen it is impossible for the majority of healthcare providers to have the tools and provide the medicines and treatments needed to improve the situation as much as it needs to be.
As Jeffery Sachs defines it, “extreme poverty means that households cannot meet basic needs for survival. They are chronically hungry, unable to access health care, lack the amenities of safe drinking water and sanitation, cannot afford education for some or all of the children, and perhaps lack rudimentary shelter…and basic articles of clothing.”[11] The first three issues I have already addressed. The fourth, the inability to afford education for some or all of the children, is something that I have become more and more familiar with the longer I spend teaching at St. Joseph Hill Secondary School. The majority of the parents that I have met of the students are just barely scraping together tuition costs. St. Joseph’s is notoriously a relatively good school in the area, so the parents are willing to do whatever they can to try and make sure that their children can continue to attend, but the drop in numbers from Senior 1 (the first level in the Secondary School) to Senior 6 (the last) is a testament to the inability of families to afford to keep sending their children to complete their schooling. Yesterday, in my Senior 1 computer class, we had approximately 60 students, and there are somewhere around 80 in Senior 2. I am not sure of the exact numbers, but I believe that Senior 6 is below 25 students, much more than a 50% drop from the initial years. There are also many students that are funded by outside sources. Father Potthast, the pastor of the parish here in Kyarusozi and one of the brilliant men who had the idea for St. Joseph Hill, pays the tuition of somewhere around 40 students to attend the school. Other children have other benefactors taking care of the funding. But it is a vicious cycle and impossible to escape…without the ability to receive an education, how can the future possibly look different from the present?
To be honest, all of this information actually makes me feel pretty terrible for “appreciating the simplicity” as I walk home from school. But I realize that it is not so much appreciating simplicity as it is appreciating strength. Though these people and families lack some of the most basic elements of life that they need to not thrive, but survive, they make do with everything they can and keep pushing forward. And they take care of each other. Everywhere you look, you can see little ones carrying around littler ones and looking out for their safety. Parents are still having children and scraping together every shilling that they have to send them to school, and families still go to church on Sundays to praise God for what they have even though, by many standards, they have been dealt a pretty tough lot in life. Now, I have addressed a lot of issues in this particular journal entry. And I don’t mean to focus solely on the negative because I do truly love it here. The country and the people are beautiful and inviting and I am so impressed with the resiliency that I have witnessed in this culture thus far. The hopes outlined in the briefing paper on “New Hope for Malnourished Mothers and Children” about a focus on reducing malnutrition, “increasing agricultural productivity and raising rural incomes” alongside “the administration [scaling] up nutrition interventions and [integrating] nutrition into its development programming”[3] are promising steps on the path to improvement. Similarly, the recognition of “a substantial increase in funding for agriculture is needed but aid by itself” being inadequate and the necessity for “reforming trade distorting policies in rich countries” and the provision of “supportive policies, along with additional investments for donor resources to be effective”[2] in developing countries demonstrates the understanding that the reduction of poverty needs to be a global effort and, particularly for Uganda (because agriculture is it’s backbone after all) agriculture is a good place to start. Plus, even though it is especially clear in this rural part of Uganda that there are many issues where individuals basic needs are not met and people do not have the resources to survive that they need, the situation is slowly improving. But it is imperative that this trend continues.
There is a reason that Uganda is called the Pearl of Africa, and it seems that it will continue to be a beautiful, strong gem that will only continue to strive to shine brighter.