Random musings

This morning a low mist hung over the tops of the pine trees and a light drizzle had been falling since midnight. I pulled on three layers of clothing, wrapped most of my belongings in plastic bags and stepped out into the cold air outside. No I have not made an early return to Western Europe; this is Uganda in the rainy season. The pine forest sits high on the hills surrounding my house and is a very lucrative government owned import crop. It creates a strange scene juxtaposed with the rice plantations and banana trees. As if someone just picked up the Forest of Dean and moved it to the tropics.

The track that links Busede with the main road to Jinja is more crevice than surface. Churned up by heavy rains, sugarcane trucks, tractors and zero maintenance it mainly consists of two small paths where the wheels of motorbike taxis can just about get a grip on the steep incline. This morning it was a mud bath. I clung to the shoulders of the random man riding along with me as we slid across the surface of the road. At one point we had to get off and walk up the hill, meeting the bike at the top to continue. Why would you be so reckless and put yourself in such silly danger? You may ask. Honestly, there is no other way to get around. If I want to get to town, I get on the back of a bike!

This scenario helps me explain why faith, of one kind or another, is so pervasive here. Take rain for example. The fact that it makes the roads impassible, dangerous, accident strewn mud pits is only the beginning. If the rain comes too early, too late, in too great or too little a quantity it will kill month’s worth of planting efforts in the garden. This is not just a minor inconvenience; it means people cannot feed themselves or their families. Too much rain floods the bore holes with poisons from the surrounding soil, leading to diarrhea and dysentery which regularly kill children and vulnerable adults. All of this and more is the result of a not abnormal level of precipitation; it can literally be a matter of life and death.

Dispassionate and objective thoughts on matters such God and faith are a luxury of those who are separated from this basic struggle to survive. When I tell people that I do not believe in God I am looked at as if I have just proclaimed my disbelief of trees or clouds: it is simply unthinkable. One of the questions I am most often asked is “well what do you do when you get sick if you do not prey?” The answer, that I go to the doctor, take medicine and hopefully get better, is met with blank stares. What if there is no doctor or medicine or the money for either? Then who would you turn to? I honestly don’t know the answer.

Easter

We began Easter Sunday with a sacrifice. Me and Emily (another international volunteer) had left our respective villages on Friday and travelled to visit Megan who lives in the grounds of a primary school in Nawansaso, about two hours from Jinja. When we arrived Megs, in her wonderful way, began filling us in on all the plans she had for the children over Easter. The school has some borders (which isn't posh here, it means mattress on the floor) and eighteen of them weren't able to go home for the holidays. Megs had decided that it would be cool to do an Easter egg hunt and some games with small prizes for them. On top of this we were invited for Easter lunch with the Headmaster and the children which we really wanted to contribute to....which brings me on to the sacrifice!

The cockerel, affectionately named Dinner, had been bought a few days before and had spent the last few mornings waking everyone up at 6am, not endearing itself to those who controlled its fate! At about eight in the morning Emily, who had chickened out (sorry) of this once before, tied up its wings and feet with the help of Sarah who is Ugandan and is very used to this ritual. It was taken outside to a bed of banana leaves for its final journey. Slaughtering a chicken by hand isn't easy but is pretty quick and humane. You lay it down and stand quite firmly on the feet to keep it from struggling, hold the head up and pluck some of the feathers from the neck so you can see where to cut. If this hurt Dinner he didn't show it and was quite silent. You then take a knife and, as fast as possible, cut off the head. It twitches for a long time afterward! I have some wonderfully gruesome pictures of all of this but have unfortunately lost my camera lead somewhere - which to be honest makes you all quite lucky, it was pretty gory! I have a memory card reader though (another of dad's wonderful additions to my packing) and so I will get some horrid photos up when I remember to bring it to town.

A Cockerel that looks like Dinner....but isn't. Damn camera lead.

We spent the rest of the morning painting our blown out eggs and putting them on top of little cones filled with sweets for the kids' Easter hunt later. We then proceeded to church which was long, hot, dull and in a different language! This was all more than made up for by the fantastic lunch we then attended. Rice, Mattoke (plantain) potatoes both normal and sweet, beef, two chicken dishes (one ours), chapatis (which we also made!) and soda were served for us, the few remaining teachers and the eighteen children who looked as if they had never seen so much food before in their lives (possibly true). We piled our plates as high as humanly possible sat on school benches under the shade of a tree to eat. Dinner was delicious.

Suitably full me and the girls hid the paper cones around the field and let the children loose to find them. While very happy with the sweets they simply could not fathem the hollow decorated eggs. You cant eat them, play with them; they have no use. Many of them broke them because they were convinced there must be something inside as the adults whispered to us under their breath "how did you get out the yolk". Once we explained they were an English tradition they were given a few more skeptical looks and abandoned in favour of the candy. Games followed with skipping and hula-hoop races cut short by a rain storm which caused us to flee inside and be entertained by songs from the teachers and children. When the rain had stopped some of the grown ups decided they hadn't had enough fun and, in their best Easter church clothes, began initiating more skipping, dancing and commandeered the SPW push bike for solo speed races around the field. Wiping the tears of laughter from our eyes we gave out prizes such as tennis balls for the winners of the games and more sweets for everyone, including the teachers, cooks and secretary for their truly terrifying cycling.

As everything was winding down, us three exhausted girls jumped on a mini bus to visit Cathal, another international volunteer who lives about an hour away. We sat with a few beers and played scrabble till past midnight.

Cathal (see the "Caddy in Africa blog" ---->) and some of the
cutest kids in the world at Nawanyago placement

Me and Megs top and tailed in their tiny spare bed and crashed out for the night. I can honestly and without corniness say that I don't think I have ever had a more entertaining and fulfilling Easter in my entire life; and I didn't even have an Easter egg.