All I Want for Christmas

Currently, I’m sitting in the Entebbe Airport terminal wondering how in the world my bag continues to just explode all over the floor whenever I open it.  Let’s back up.  Maybe some of you don’t know that I’ll be spending the holidays in Europe!  Yes, Peace Corps Volunteers get vacation, and we’re actually pretty particular about when we’ll take it.  We only get 48 days of vacation during our whole service, and we all want to travel, see friends and family and just take a break.  For this particular trip, I decided “shell out” 23 days.  Wowzers right?!  Thankfully, we get Christmas, Boxing Day and New Year’s as holidays, and we don’t have to claim the first and last days because we’ll be travelling.  So technically, I only asked for 19 days.  Phew.

Long before starting my service, I decided to not come home (home home) for a vacation.  I thought it would be way too hard to fall back into American life for a few weeks, and have to come back.  I don’t mean to say that I’m unhappy in any way, but leaving the first time was miserable enough.  In fact, due to this very strict rule, my older brother is actually delaying his wedding until I come home in 2013 (love you and Bridge both!).  When we started thinking about a trip over the holidays, we decided that Europe was a happy medium.  I could take a breather from my life here, get some good food and still not feel like I’m back home.

Despite my logical reasons for not going back home, I still can’t believe I’m missing Christmas.  For the last week, it’s been so hot that I feel like I’ve been melting, so I have to keep reminding myself that it’s even December, let alone three days until Christmas.  I was a little disoriented when my mom told me about how she still decided to put candy canes on the Christmas tree this year, and (surprise surprise) the dogs still tried to eat them.  Only this time, she put tinsel on the tree, so she knows can catch the dogs “silver-nosed” because the tinsel sticks.  It’s a silly story, but it made my heart ache.  Suddenly, it hit me that, oh yeah, I won’t be there.  Even though Christmas has never been quite as magical once I found out that Santa wasn’t real, I still get goose bumps when I wake up on Christmas morning.  It’s all about tradition, and I’ll be missing ours this year.

Although my present this year won’t be wrapped under a tree, I can’t think of anything I could want more.  Tomorrow I’ll be meeting Nathan, my boyfriend, in the London Heathrow airport.  We haven’t seen each other in over ten months, and no, video skype doesn’t count, but we’ve only done that a handful of times anyway.  Don’t let anyone tell you different: long distance sucks.  International long distance?  They need a new word for how much it sucks.  I keep hearing all these people bellyache that they live in LA but their boyfriend lives in Dallas.  Big whoop.  You skype all the time, you see each other every eight weeks.  I have no sympathy for you.  Ok, a little, but not very much.  Now, let me make myself clear, or I’m going to seriously upset someone.  Nathan and I are great- we don’t suck.  Just the situation.  Of course we’ve had some low points, some very stupid fights and some drama, it’s to be expected.  It is a very frustrating situation.  Despite the odds (we started with 10 long distance relationships in my training class.  We’re down to three remaining, so the odds are not good), we’ve done surprisingly well especially considering that Nathan was not a phone person in February, and I live in a developing country.  I don’t think I can put into words just how excited I am to finally just be with him.  On the phone, you always have to keep talking.  Why would you pay 16 cents per minute to just sit in silence?

I know what some of you are picturing.  It’s going to be some movie worthy reunion in the airport- you must not know me very well.  But maybe romantic comedy worthy?  Nathan lands first, but he’s the one who has the luggage.  It’s not like I own any London-ready clothes to bring with me!  So, yes, my wonderful boyfriend has been forced to carry warm clothes, boots, face wash, candy and all kinds of goodies for me.  I actually am starting to wonder if he had any space at all for his own things.  I land in a completely different terminal, but it was decided that I should come to Nathan’s because he’s got all the bags.  Logical right?  Well, I told Nathan.  “Hey, if you see me walking towards you, you have to stay with the bags!”  Yeah, it would suck if they got stolen.  But can you imagine if someone called a bomb threat?  I really don’t want to spend my first night in jail!  Nathan was none too pleased.  He’s way more romantic than I am, so this completely went against all his beliefs.  My mom also thought I was being way too dramatic, but suggested I could be the one running to him.  Considering that I’ll have at least 40 lbs in my backpack and 15 lbs in my purse, the best I could probably manage is a waddle.

I keep talking about Europe Europe Europe, but what am I actually doing?  I’m spending 10 days in London with Nathan, and then we’re flying to Florence to meet my mom and younger brother for 13 days.  Remember Grant from pre-Peace Corps?  His Uga-stache has really matured, so I’ll be sure to post an update on that front.

Although it’s going to be amazing to be in Europe, and after I post this, I bet I’ll get at least one email telling me to go to this museum or go to this restaurant, I’m not going to Europe for the sights.  Sure, it’ll be great to see and do somethings, but I just want to spend time with the people I love and miss.  It’ll be hard to leave them again, but I’ll do it knowing that I’ve only got a little over a year left.  We already know what Peace Corps like, well I do at least.  I can do another year.

Merry Christmas and happy New Year’s!

GLOWing with Pride

Even though it was eleven years ago, I can still distinctly remember that first car ride up in the Santa Cruz Mountains searching for the “Camp Kennolyn” sign.  I was so anxious, excited and had no idea what to expect.  It was going to be my first time away from home for more than a weekend.  When we finally arrive, we pull up to a scene so crazy that I wasn’t sure I was in the right place.  There were kids running around everywhere, semi-adults singing and welcoming us, my mom telling me to have a good time and before I know it, my trunk had already been taken to the cabin and I was left in the care of some overly cheery 21 year-old.  What just happened?  My first camp experience is a complete blur, although I think all camp experiences are.  Within three hours, you’re plunged into to this new world of songs, cheers, chants, late night cabin talks, dining rules, camp gossip, new best friends and this bizarre role model called a camp counselor. 

Once I got too old to be a camper, I graduated to counseling when I was 16 years old.  Being a camp counselor is one of the most demanding and unique positions I’ve ever experienced.  It’s a 24 hour job that requires you always to be overflowing with energy, create positive relationships with campers while enforcing camp policies, endure near sun exhaustion, strain your voice, act like a fool for the enjoyment of others, and constantly panic about safety.  By the end, the only thing keeping you going is coffee and adrenaline.  Once all the campers go home, you nearly collapse from exhaustion and relief.  It usually takes my body a week to recover from caffeine withdrawals, a sore throat, a painful sunburn and general fatigue.  I’ve taken a week of hibernation and isolation to gain back my strength- sorry the post is a little late.

Two weeks ago, I participated in Peace Corps Uganda second annual Camp GLOW: Girls Leading Our World.  One hundred and fifty 13-17 year old girls from all over Uganda travelled to Entebbe on Sunday, December 4^th to attend a weeklong girls’ empowerment camp.  Camps do not exist in Uganda for children, so these girls were in for quite a surprise.

Each girl was placed in a group with one American counselor and one Ugandan counselor.  Upon registering, I picked up the list of my Cheetah girls.  Nine in total, plus a note to see the directors.  Sounded suspicious, but I was not prepared for what they told me.  Our Peace Corps Education Program Manager, Mary, wanted to participate in the camp as a camper.  Let me make this clear: Mary is my Peace Corps boss.  She was going to be my “big cheetah.”  For the first day, I was nervous that I was going to do something seriously wrong, but Mary turned out to be a very good Cheetah, except she tended to stray from the group.  Considering that she’s at least 50, married with six kids, I figured that I didn’t have to sound an alarm of “lost child” when she went missing.  She participated in all the activities, worked well with the other girls and was only concerned that she kept making the group late to activities!  It was actually a great opportunity to get to know her better, to hear her opinions on prevalent issues and to see how she supported the other Cheetah girls as a successful Ugandan woman.

As we were eating our first meal together, I tried to get to know the girls by memorizing their names as fast as possible and asking them to tell me something special about themselves.  Not only were the girls speaking so quietly that I couldn’t understand them, some girls refused to answer me at all!  I wasn’t exactly prepared for that, and I realized quickly that this camp was going to be a different.  It took me one whole day to figure out the mealtime problem: at boarding school, girls at not allowed to speak while eating.  At first I thought it a cultural difference concerning manners.  In reality, this rule is intended for time management.  The students are expected to eat as quickly as possible; therefore, talking would slow them down.  Once I explained to our girls that we are most definitely not in school, they gradually began to chitter chatter.  By Friday, the dining hall was so loud that we had a hard time making any announcements!

The camp’s schedule was jam packed with activities, which kept us all very busy. Each day, we had four sessions relating to Life Skills, Healthy Living, Teamwork and Arts & Crafts, which were taught by a two counselors or staff members.  I taught a session on HIV Myths and Truths.  To begin the session, each girl was given a piece of paper with different instructions.  Most of the papers said “Shake hands with five people.  Write their names below.”  One person’s card had a special star in the corner.  After the activity, I asked the person with the star to come forward.  Anyone that shook hands with this girl, would they please stand up?  Anyone that shook hands with the girls standing, would they stand up as well?  Anyone else?  At this point, basically the whole room is standing.  Now, you reveal that in this game, hand-shaking represents having sex, and the star represents HIV.  Anyone standing is now infected with HIV.  At this point, the girls usually wore a very startled look and tried to sit down as quickly as possible.  There were other instructions, so I ask the people that had remained sitting to stand.  One card said “Don’t shake hands with anyone” to represent abstinence, and the others said “Find the other person who has a heart and only shake hands with that person” to represent faithfulness.  Before the activity began, I asked a counselor to wear a kavera (plastic bag) over her hand as she went about her hand shaking business.  Of course, the kavera represented a condom.  Before we moved on, I made two points very clear.  “Can we get HIV from shaking hands?”  NO!  “Is a condom a kavera?”  NO! 

By now, I thought I had heard every HIV myth Uganda had to offer.  Sadly, I was mistaken.  Some examples:

“If I drink a soda before getting an HIV test, it will be negative, even if I’m positive.”

“Young children under 10 cannot transmit or contract HIV if they have sex.”

“If I’m HIV positive and pray hard enough, I may be cured.”

“Lesbians cannot get HIV.”

Hopefully, we got it all straightened out.

Examples of some of the other sessions:

-Money Making Jars.  After learning about the importance of saving with a specific goal in mind, the girls decorated jars to serve as piggie banks.

-Islands.  The girls had to move from one “island” to another by crossing the “ocean” only using the materials available to them, such as basins, banana leaves and cardboard.  The team had to work together to get the girls across the ocean.  If someone “fell” into the ocean, the whole team was sent back to starting point.

-Picture Yourself in 10 Years.  The girls were asked to imagine where they would like to be in ten years.  They were given a card folded in half.  On one side, there were asked to draw where they would be, what they would be doing, what they would look like, etc.  On the other side, they were to write the steps they would need to take in order to achieve their dreams.

-Malaria Prevention.  We learned an awesome parody of a popular Ugandan song that described how to prevent malaria.  The girls sung it all week!

-Self-defense.  Although I gave an exercise session on kickboxing, Andrew gave a more formal lesson on self-defense.  The girls thought it was hilarious that an actual survivor tacit was to knee a guy… well you know where.

-Blind Obstacle Course: By only verbally directing your partner, you had to help her move from one end to another by avoiding hippos and alligators (which were drawn on the ground of course.  We didn’t ask Entebbe zoo for any loaners, I swear).

We didn’t spend all of our time in sessions!  We received four successful female guest speakers to inspire and motivate the girls.  We played camp-like games, such as kick-ball and relay races.  Each day, we had a theme, such as “GLOWing with Self-esteem” or “GLOWing with Leadership.  At the end of the day, we met as a group to discuss the meaning and importance of the theme. 

Each evening, we had a different activity to keep the girls busy before bed.  One evening, we projected an episode of “Planet Earth” onto a screen and we all sat in the grass under the stars.  The girls couldn’t stop asking questions!  They had never heard of a penguin, a shark, a caribou… the list goes on.  At one point, a wolf is chasing a baby caribou.  The girls started cheering, urging the wolf to run faster, would boo when the wolf charged and missed.  Let me tell you- that would never happen at a girls’ camp in America.  The girls would be crying to save the baby caribou!  I may or may not cringed a little when the wolf finally catches the caribou.  I guess Ugandan girls are more exposed to the harsh reality of the natural world: the fuzzy, cute ones are usually eaten.  At another part of the episode, a male bird was shown preparing to court a female bird; therefore he was cleaning the area by removing leaves and twigs.  Another surprise: the girls could not believe that a male bird was cleaning.  They were convinced that we were mistaken!

By the end of the week, I felt like I had reached every girl in the group in some way, except one.  No matter how hard I tried, how many questions I threw her way, how many opportunities I gave her to shine, how much encouragement I gave her, I could not get Irene to open up.  I was beginning to wonder if she was even enjoying herself!  As we were finalizing our Cheetah Cheer, the girls wanted to add yet another section.  We chanted “Cheetah-Cheetah-Cheeti-yah”- it’s the to the tune of “Sawa-Sawa”-while clapping.  The girls wanted to use this chanting time to free-style.  Who wants to dance during this chant?  You can imagine my shock when Irene raised her hand in interest.  This is the girl who wouldn’t look me in the eye when answering a question, but she wants to dance, alone, in front of the whole camp?  And wow, that girl can shake her hips that you wouldn’t believe!  All of the other Cheetahs were just as shocked as me!  After everyone congratulated her, I finally saw Irene break into a full smile.  When the American ambassador came to visit the camp on Friday, we were asked to perform our cheer!  Although Ugandan girls are taught to be quiet and humble in the presence of a visitor, yet all the Cheetah girls were so energetic and yelled with such intense and self-confidence.  Even Irene.

On the final day, we merged with the boys camp- Camp BUILD - to have a Field Day.  It was not boys versus girls!  Each girl’s group was paired with a boy’s group as a team to play other boys and girls.  When we first met our brother group, things were a little awkward.  Even as we prepared for our first event, Tug-of-War, they weren’t quite a team yet.  Once the referee yelled “GO!” the kids really dug their heels in, while I was jumping around screaming "GOOOOOO CHEETAHS" (it's no mystery why lost my voice).  When our team emerged victorious, it was amazing.  Less than a minute before, these kids wouldn’t even look each other in the face, and suddenly they are high-fiving, cheering, running circles to celebrate- boys and girls.  It was an awesome way to show that we can all work together and help each other.

In only one week, we witnessed a distinct transformation in the girls.  In the last ten months, I’ve accepted that development is extremely slow, but it was so rewarding to see such a positive change in such a short amount of time.  Although by Saturday morning, I was nearly hallucinating from exhaustion and wishing to be back in my own bed, not in a dorm of 90 girls trying to get ready for early buses at 4 am, I was sad to leave the camp atmosphere and my Cheetah girls.  I sincerely hope that when they returned on Saturday, the girls returned with happy stories to tell and knowledge to share.  Mostly, I hope they learned that they are beautiful, unique, intelligent, talented and strong girls who are in charge of their lives and bodies.  If they believe that they were every bit as good as the boys, I know they will change Uganda.

 

For a few pictures and more information, you can check out the camp website!
http://glowuganda2011.drupalgardens.com

Visitors, Varnish and Vacation

Over the past week, I hosted my first non-Peace Corps visitor at my site.  Nearly three years ago, I studied French in Senegal for a brief stint.  Remarkably, my roommate, Tristen, rediscovered me on Facebook only to tell me that she was working in Rwanda right now!  For those of you who are geographically challenged (I'm not judging you!  My geographical knowledge is limited too), Rwanda is a bordering country to Uganda.  So, she suffered the 8 hour bus ride to reconnect.

Unfortunately, Tristen came into Kampala post-marathon, therefore we were all quite subdued trying to recover from our injuries, chafing and general fatigue.  However she may have been grateful due to her early morning start on the 5 am bus!  Traveling back to my site was an adventure, but we arrived safely.

While Tristen was in Uganda, she wanted to visit my site, but it can be pretty boring (no offense Butaleja) if we didn't have a project.  A volunteer nearby was planning on painting a world map, so I stole the idea for our resource center.  The resource center is supposed to be, well, a center for resources.  It should have all kinds of instructional materials to inspire teachers, sample lesson plans, even books.  My center is basically just that- a center, without any resources.  Although paper covers the walls, it's just notes from meetings.  Nothing inspirational in the slightest.  Sadly, I have neglected my duties of improving the resource room because I wasn't exactly sure where to start.  I have "blank page" syndrome sometimes, and I felt overwhelmed any time I thought about that stark room.  Painting an instructional material on a wall is actually a great solution to many of the problems faced by schools.  Posters and pictures don't stick to the walls very well here, either due to wind, humidity or water-based paint.  For whatever reason, these instructional materials tend to be stolen as well.  Painting can really add to the classroom environment, while avoiding those common problems.

In order to accomplish this task, I recruited Bethany, the volunteer, who had initially sparked this project idea.  She an artist, knowledgeable in local paints and had already printed the world map on 16 sheets of paper.  Bethany saved us because it quickly became apparent that Tristen and I were clueless.  Bethany had to explain multiple times the grid system we were using and how to freehand these complicated land masses.  The entire task seemed daunting, but we managed to finish drawing in less than three hours.

To increase the sustainability of the project and to encourage teachers to decorate their classrooms in a similar fashion, we used locally made paint.  The ingredients for the paint:

Clear Varnish (4,900 UGX/$1.50)
Flour
Hot water
Food Coloring (2,000 UGX per color/$0.75)

Although Bethany was the one who knew how to concoct this cheap paint, she had to leave immediately after we drew the map.  She tried to give us some pointers, but mostly just said, "Well, you know what latex paint looks like.  You want it to look like that."  Huh.  Well, ok.  Tristen and I mixed the hot water and flour together until it kind of looked like chunky paint.  No matter how much we stirred, it still had chunks.  Next, we added the varnish.  Tristen was the one doing the stirring, and suddenly became faint from the evaporating fumes!  Thankfully, we finished the job without any incidents, poured the mixture into different jars, added the food coloring and just prayed that it stuck to the wall.  The varnish certainly stuck to everything else.

Within four hours, we managed to cover the entire map in two layers of paint.  Our record speed may have comprised our health because the fumes were very strong.  If I ever do this project again, there will be mandatory "fresh air" breaks!  Despite our concerns, the paint looked pretty snazzy for under $5 of materials.  I'm looking forward to my teachers to see our work!  It felt good to accomplish a project and physically see results.  See for yourself:

Trying to freehand the world.  It's harder than you think.

The finished penciled map

The completed project.  Next week, I will add labels for all the continents.

East Africa!

Post-lunch photo with all the children in my "family" and our visitors

I may have been living in Uganda for too long, but having visitors was stressful!  In Uganda, a visitor is treated like a king, or in this case, a queen.  I was very concerned, borderline stressed, about catering to my visitors.  Even in my head, I realized that I should have relax a little bit, but I just couldn't.  Was the food enough?  Did we need fruit too?  Should I fetch water?  Is the latrine clean enough (well, it's never that clean)?  Should we watch a movie or just go to bed?  Ugh, power's out again.

But the most stressful part was the visitors' effect on my community.  By now, the community has gotten used to Audrey, my closest visitor, and it's not very exciting for them when she comes to stay at my house every week.  But two visitors?  This caused a field day!  Greeting is very important in this culture, and I was on lookout for the next person we had to formally greet.  If we formally greeted everyone, we wouldn't have gotten anything done!  And, the community put a lot of pressure on me to be a good hostess.  "Chelsea, the visitor can't walk in the rain!"  Well, how else were we going to get home?  "Chelsea, has the visitor eaten posho/millet bread/potatoes."  We haven't spent the whole day eating, so no.  "Chelsea, you can't feed the visitor beans!"  She doesn't meat... so do you want her to starve?  In the end, everything went great.  My family really helped out, and even cooked us a local lunch that was absolutely delicious.

Note: I hope this doesn't discourage anyone from visiting!  It was my first time hosting, and I think I've learned a lot.  Hopefully, I can chill out a little bit more next time.

One great thing about having Tristen come: she had no reason to shy away from photo taking.  I tend to avoid snapping photos because I don't want to create more distance between my community and I.  But Tristen got some great ones.

The main road in my trading center

Tristen's first papaya

All of the rice fields were flooded as we tried to leave my site.  The trip is usually an hour and a half, but we spent well over two hours on our way to Mbale.  The water flooded the floorboards of the vehicle.

Tristen's visit was short, but I didn't want her to only experience my site!  I wanted her to see something at least mildly touristy.  On Thursday, we headed to Sipi Falls, a beautiful valley with three waterfalls north of Mbale.  Accompanied by a guide, we hiked through the valley and visited each fall.  As climbed up, we fiercely battled muddy trails, which would only carry us back down.  We had to forge a freezing river with a disconcerting current.  The guide showed us coffee plants, wild banana trees and cabbage fields.  By the end, we were covered in mud but had thoroughly enjoyed our adventure.  Unfortunately, the "shower" was a very cold dribble, so we remained mostly dirty for the evening.

Cabbage is the prettiest vegetable in the ground

Bootleg chunky peanut butter

Although I am smiling, I am also about to slide down this rock face on my booty

In the end, Tristen's visit made me realize that I've been in Uganda for quite some time and that I've adapted quite a bit.  Apparently it's not normal to shove seven people into a Toyata Corolla.  Go figure.  The entire week was jammed packed with so many activities, which is very different from my usual pace.  Although I am dead tired and really looking forward to vegging out tonight at home, it was so much fun to have a week of girl talk and giggle fits.

Nothing Half About It

On the eve of our epic feat of endurance, we all fussed about proper marathon preparation.  Does carb loading mean that we should get Italian food or sandwiches or does my afternoon milkshake count?  Should I wear a shirt under my jersey?  Do I have safety pins for my number?  Did my tracker get crushed during transport?  What should we eat in the morning?  What time do we need to get there?  Where is it exactly?  How are we getting there?  I'm not walking to a marathon!  In the spirit of getting pumped for the race, we all tried on our yellow MTN jerseys.  This marathon is actually a genius PR stunt for the cell phone company because every runner wears an MTN jersey, so the entire race is like "free advertising," but we were the ones that paid to register!  Don't we look like beasts?  We were ready.

That night, we all tried to go to sleep by 9 pm because we had to be at the field by 6 am.  It was a rough night though because the bar downstairs was having an intense karaoke session.  Not only was the music blasting through the floorboards, but the singers were disgracefully bad.  Thankfully, I managed to get enough sleep that I woke up feeling slightly refreshed by the time our alarm started buzzing at 5:15 am.  After wolfing down three bananas, a few handfuls of peanuts and a liter of water, we headed out into the cool dawn.

Upon arriving to the field, I was thoroughly impressed by organization of the event and by the sheer number of the people participating.  There were at least 10,000 people sporting those trendy jerseys, but most people were running only 10k (6 miles), while our crew was signed up for the 21k (13.2 miles) event, except for Erik who ran the full marathon.  A lot of the participants were intimidating.  Some ran to the event.  Some were just jumping up and down while we waited for the race to start.  Most people were stretching.  Were we serious?  Nope.  We were just goofing around taking silly pictures.

You get the idea.

By the time the race started, we were all nervous and jittery.  I just kept feeling like I had to pee!  It was a nervous thing, I know, but I was still worried.  We weren't sure what the race lay out would be like.  Apparently in the states, it's common for a race to have numerous porta-potties along the route.  Ends up this was not true in Kampala.  So, I used the latrine at the field twice.  I actually almost missed the race due to my last minute "short call."  And, the latrine that the field was nasty.  I've had my fair share of disgusting toilet experiences, but this latrine was full.  If you don't know what that means, consider yourself blessed.  Sorry for all the toilet talk, but this is just funny.  One volunteer during the race had a more serious business to accomplish, so she just ran into a restaurant.  The restaurant acted like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a sweaty marathon runner sprint into their bathroom to take a dump!  Another volunteer had to pee, so she did the extreme thing.  She just peed her pants mid-run!  The guy behind her figured out what was happening and couldn't stop laughing.  Now that's commitment.

I have never ran a half marathon before, and I wasn't sure what to expect.  During the first 20 minutes, I had a horrible cramp in my right side.  I couldn't think about anything else as I tried to stay even with all my friends.  I'm sure it can be attributed to the early morning, the quick breakfast and anxiety.  Regardless, once that pain subsided, I felt like a rockstar, and I started to enjoy the sights, the rising sun and the camaraderie with my fellow runners.

The marathon had shut down all the streets we were running on, or at least I thought.  Around the fourth mile, the road opened to motorcycles, cars, buses and semis!  We had to share the road.  This is a terrifying thought in a country that doesn't respect the right of pedestrians.  They set out these really flimsy cones to keep runners safe, but that didn't stop boda drivers from veering in and out to avoid the traffic jams.  I finally understood why the marathon rules had to explicitly state "boda riding would disqualify a runner" because that could be tempting.  Thankfully, we survived with only a few close calls.  At one point, a car started to slowly back into our path.  My friend, Bethany, had no qualms about yelling at the driver and smacking his car twice with her bare hands to send the message home.

My energy level was surprisingly high throughout the race despite my inadequate training.  The most difficult part of the race were the killer hills.  Kampala hills are abrupt and steep!  Although going up them were torture, I think more damage was done during the downhill.  By the last mile, my right knee was seriously complaining.

At a few water stations, there were signposts to inform you of your mileage.  When I saw one that said "2k to finish," I was stoked and shocked.  I had only been running for 1:45.  How fast could I be going?!  I was so pleased with myself.  My goal had been to finish, but this was going to be a very reputable time.  I picked up my pace and was juiced to cross the finish line.  Twenty minutes later, I began lagging.  What could have happened?  2k is a little over a mile!  Why wasn't I there yet?  I started feeling like I would never make it.  My pace slowed a lot, especially because the final section was mostly uphill.  Regardless, I never slowed to a walk.  Miraculously.  Another signpost boasted, "1k to finish."  I wanted to die.  Is this one right?!  Or do I have another 30 minutes to go?  Ends up this one was appropriately placed, and I was in the final stretch.

When I approached the straightway, I was running on fumes, but I wanted to finish strong.  I started to sprint, only to realize that I started my glorious finish too soon.  The finish line looked so far away!  I managed to run across, only to immediately hang my head over the side barriers because my body was threatening to reject my morning breakfast.  I didn't end up tossing my bananas, but I desperately needed water.  It was my number one priority.  Sadly, all the 10k runners had demolished the water station at the finish line!  I don't know what happened to all the water, and it was nowhere to be found.  I spotted one crate that was being guarded by a backpack.  It was quite obvious that someone was saving it, but I didn't care.  I scavenged the crate for six bottles of water.  From a distance, I noticed that the owner was not happy when he returned.  Sorry.  That was probably not very spiritual, right John-Paul?

My finishing time was 2:18.  Honestly, I wasn't too hung up on the time.  I'm most proud that I finished my first half marathon without walking one step.  I felt like hell for the next few hours, but my post-marathon meal couldn't have tasted better.  We're already planning for the next marathon in May.  Only next time, we're hoping to have sweet costumes for our Peace Corps team.

Skinny Jeans

One year ago, as I was preparing to leave for Uganda, I distinctly remember guffawing at other people’s packing concerns, “Why is someone bringing a blow dryer?  I don’t need to look cute.  I’m going to Africa, and my boyfriend’s staying in America.  I just need practical clothes.”  Ten months later… I’m kicking myself.

I’ll admit my thinking is relatively logical for a shorter trip, but I’m not camping for two years!  Why do most Peace Corps Volunteers succumb to this expectation?  I’m living here for two years.  I thought that I wouldn’t mind looking frumpy and hiking-ready for two years.  Despite my change in heart, I still have no one to impress.  Most of the people in my village always think I look “smart” (British for looking good or put together).  My boyfriend’s still in America, and thankfully doesn’t have to see my mismatching outfits.  So, what’s the deal?  I’ve realized that I need to look good for me.

In college, I had a very simple rule.  No wearing sweatpants to class.  So everyday, I forced myself to throw on a pair of jeans, a sundress, a skirt, whatever.  Anything but sweatpants.  In sweatpants, I didn’t take class seriously.  I would usually snuggle up in my seat, and prepare for a 50-minute nap instead of note taking.  On days when I felt really lazy and resentful that my major required me to take a 9 am class, I would add some make up just to make me feel more put together.  From college, I learned that the better I felt about my appearance, the better I felt overall.

So, how did I forget these lessons when I joined Peace Corps?

Sadly, there are a lot of things about my appearance that I have had to come to terms with.  First, I had to admit that, yes, even though I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer, I don’t want to look homeless.  I always thought that I’d be rugged and dirty, and that I’d be totally ok with it.  False.  Most of the changes were immediate: now I wear glasses instead of contacts, I chopped about ten inches off my hair, I constantly look greasy from sunscreen overdose, my clothes aren’t fitted, my shoes are clunky, my nails are unpainted, even my panties aren’t colorful!  God, I know all of this sounds so petty, but it took me a very long to get used to the new me.  In training, when I passed by a mirror, I didn’t recognize my own reflection. 

All of those things took a few months to get over.  Now, I’ve gotten used to the glasses business.  I know that contacts would be a pain in the you-know-where.  My hair grows like a weed, and it’s almost back to its original length!  It’s still bluntly cut and a little uneven, but I finally don’t need ten bobby pins to keep it in a ponytail.  I’m still a little greasy from sunscreen, but at least I can throw some powder on top of it if I’m around other Americans.  I’d prefer greasy to crows feet at 25.  My mom helped me solve the rest.  Thankfully, she doesn’t bat an eyelash if I ask her to send me fun dresses and pink poka dotted panties.

However, there’s a nasty well-kept Peace Corps secret: men lose weight, but women gain weight.  During training, the staff and more senior volunteers tried to warn us, but no one really could accept it.  How could women gain weight in Africa?  Unfortunately, it’s true in many cases.  After our first few months at site, the boys were slashing new belt holes to keep their pants up, while the girls complained about not being able to button their pants!  Often, when weight was brought up among our group, it became a battle of the sexes arguing about which was worse, gaining or losing weight.  No one can say for sure why this happens, but I’ve got a few ideas.

1.     Especially at the beginning of our service, you’re trying to fit into the community, which means following community expectations.  In Uganda, it’s pretty rude to turn down food.  There have been times when I’ve just finished my very filling breakfast of oatmeal, and I am given an oily chappati only moments after arriving at school.  In order to do the polite thing, I would wolf it down and feel sick for the next few hours.

2.     Ugandan food is 70% starches, 20% fat and 10% protein.  Now, I’m not sure if those are exact statistics, but that’s how it feels.  It’s really common to have two or three starches in a meal, and a meager source of protein.  I still don’t understand male vs female metabolism, but I feel like men just torch through these simple carbs and women hang onto them.

3.     When we’re not being force feed Ugandan food, we’re cooking at home.  I hate to be stereotypical, but in general, women know how to cook and men struggle a bit.  In order to fill up the day and drown our stress, a lot of female volunteers throw themselves into cooking and baking.  One volunteer said that she spends about four hours a day cooking!

4.     Once we discovered the “western” restaurants in our closest towns, we all tended to gorge and feast.  Even though we went every weekend, there was always this panicky feeling that we may never have another chance to have a milkshake or pizza.  A lot of the time, the food wasn’t even that good, but it didn’t matter.  It vaguely tasted like home, so you ate every last bite.

5.     On these weekend adventures, we tended to egg each other on.  It was a horrible group mentality, which still exists.  If your friend orders another coke float, you don’t feel so bad about your extra plate of French fries.

6.     Unfortunately, we don’t have a village gym.  Although most volunteers do a lot of walking, it’s nothing compared to how much time we used to spend pumping iron, busting out killer dance moves at Zumba or pounding pavement every day.  It’s very difficult to be motivated to work out here.  Either you’re going to work out by yourself at home, doing god knows what, or you’re going to brave running.  Running is a very bizarre idea in the village.  Why would you run if you could dig?  People laugh and point while children run after you, sometimes with sticks.

To make matters worse, Ugandans have a very different perception of weight.  Ugandans consider “being fat” means you have status or wealth to afford a lot of food.  If someone says, “Eh, you’ve reduced,” it’s actually a fairly serious insult.  Therefore, especially among people in the village, having curves for a woman is a very good thing.  The ultimate compliment: “Eh, you’ve really gotten fat this way.”  Great.  As if I wasn’t already feeling self-conscious.

In America, we don’t talk about weight.   And one year ago, I couldn’t imagine broadcasting to the world my insecurities, but I guess I’ve changed.  It has taken me months to get the courage to write this blog, but I finally feel ready.

In my first three months at site, I gained at least ten if not fifteen pounds.  I was devastated.  In Newport, I went to the gym six times per week, ate the super healthy Greek yogurt and weighed myself every morning.  Suddenly, I was drinking full calorie soda almost every day, I couldn’t wake up early enough to go running and I pigged out with my friends on the weekends.  And it became a vicious cycle.  The more horrible I felt about myself, the more I wanted to eat and sleep.  All of my frumpy, stretchy clothes still fit, but my skinny jeans laughed at my attempts to pull them over my hips.  My closest friend and I would make new diet and workout plans every Sunday after our banana chocolate chip pancake feast, but nothing changed.  Although it's really pathetic, I'll admit that I had at least one or two... or three.. good sob fests about my weight gain.

Is it terrible to say that my turn around was a direct result of giardia?  After getting deathly ill three months ago, I instantly lost at least five pounds.  For weeks, my appetite was non-existent.  I had to force myself to eat yogurt, hard boil eggs, oranges and bananas- about the only things my stomach could handle.  When I finally recovered, I realized that hey, I feel a lot better about myself. Giardia jump-started my new way of life.  I stopped feeling guilty about politely declining food that I didn’t want.  As awkward as it was, most people didn’t really care.  I stopped using three tablespoons of oil to make popcorn.  I stopped eating peanut butter straight from the jar.  I stopped gorging on the weekends.  Mbale will always be there.  Why can’t I just get one treat instead of five?  And I finally discovered the joy of running in the evenings, not at the crack of dawn.  Who cares if people laugh at me?  I actually started challenging the young men that were giving me a hard time.  Ends up I can out sprint most of them.  Everyone leaves me alone for the most part now.  My knees can only take so much running, so to supplement my runs, I’ve started working out at home.  Yoga never felt like a real workout- sorry yogis!  Now, I combine yoga, dance, kickboxing and strength training moves to create an hour-long sweat drenched, cardio boosting and stress relieving session.

Finally, I feel like myself.

Last weekend in Kampala, I slipped into my skinny jeans for the first time in ten months.  I can’t describe how good it felt to finally look and feel American.  Jeans must be so deeply ingrained in my self-image that I couldn’t shake their power.  Wearing those jeans made me feel feminine, ironically.  For the first time in country, I felt beautiful.  I felt like Chelsea, pre-Peace Corps.

I hope that I can keep up with my new commitment to health and sanity.  Although I never thought my weight would be an issue in Peace Corps, I know now that feeling good about my body is a key element to my self-esteem and happiness. 

In celebration of running again, I’ll be participating in the Kampala half marathon on Sunday.  I have no intention to make good time, I only hope to finish!  Stay tuned: I'll let you know how it goes!  Only five more days of training.

My New Neighbor

Just wanted to share with you all the wonderful surprise I found yesterday morning.  After leaving my basins out for the night during a welcomes rainstorm, I discovered someone else enjoying my precious rainwater.

Don't worry.  The water didn't go to waste! I was happy to share... I still brushed my teeth with this water.

Adam and Eve

It’s taken me almost three weeks to finally cool down, and somehow objectively write about the following incident.  Regardless, I know that I’m going to get a worried phone call from my mom that ends in a fight because she won’t want me posting anything potentially controversial.  Oh well.

I was having a perfectly pleasant conversation with one of my head teachers discussing this and that about America, Uganda, education, whatever.  You get the picture.  Not a riveting conversation covering any hot topics: religion, money, sex, etc.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, he asks, “So, Madam Chelsea, what are your beliefs?”  Beliefs?  About what?  I still haven’t been able to shake that aspect of my Americanness.  It actually took me a second to figure out what he was talking about.  Usually, I just throw the line that I grew up Protestant… and forget to mention that I’m essentially agnostic.  Believe me, I miss that Americans avoid religion like land mines.  It made my life so much less awkward.  On this day, I just shrugged my shoulders, too tired to even pretend.

His response?  Well, it may shock you.  “Well, in my religion, men and women are not equal.  In fact, women were only created to make men happy.  God created man first, therefore he’s superior.”  I felt like I had been slapped across the face.  In training, Peace Corps tried to prepare us for this moment, but it ends up that you can never be fully prepared.  My gut response was to slap him back, but physically.  Thankfully, I restrained myself.  My next response, although I’m sure I was speaking way too fast and forgetting to annunciate properly, “Yeah, well maybe God realized he made mistakes when he created Adam.  So he decided to make perfection with women.”  He had no response to what I would call a very logical argument.  I honestly have very little recollection of what happened next, but I’m pretty sure that I left as quickly as possible to start teaching.

Now, before I really start getting into this, I want to make something very clear.  I am not singling out Uganda or Ugandans for their beliefs or practices about sex and gender.  Gender equality is a tricky business.  This whole argument must date back to when “men” made fire.  Hey, you never know!  It could have been a woman to figure that one out.  They were the ones trying to cook, right?  I would like to acknowledge that even in America, we have gender issues.  Women do not earn the same salary as men for doing the same work, and there are fewer women in leadership positions.  Did you know that in the United States, one-third of women will experience harassment or assault?  So, we’re not perfect.

Looking beyond the states, the United Nations has officially declared that one of the top priorities for development should be the empowerment of women.  It is a worldwide problem.  Studies have shown that when a country empowers a woman through equal rights, education and employment, the economy improves, the infant mortality plummets, the use of family planning increases, malnutrition decreases, etc.  Armed with more power and knowledge, women become important members in the workforce and can make healthier decisions for her family.

You may be asking… what’s the situation in Uganda?  From what I understand, it’s improved a lot, but we still have a ways to go.  Women are given the same opportunities for education and the same rights.  So the government is on par with the UN’s program.  The burning question?  How do you get people’s attitudes to jump on that bandwagon as well?  The problem does not only lie with men like my head teacher.  Some women themselves do not have the proper attitude.  Let me give you an example: I was asking my P-7 kids what they wanted to do when they grow up.  At least four girls told me they wanted to be a nurse.  Finally, I asked, “But, why not a doctor?”  “Madam, don’t you know?  Women can’t be doctors!”  Huh, I guess I should give my aunts a call.  They must not know.

In most of Uganda, women are expected to do the bulk of domestic chores.  And hello, these are not American chores.  This is backbreaking, all day long, exhausting chores.  Fetching water, washing clothes by hand, sweeping the compound, caring for the kids, digging in the gardens, washing dishes, cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I swear, if my kid ever complains about chores, they’re going to fetch 20 lbs of water on their head from the kitchen to the bathroom.  These women are amazing.  They are awake before the sun is up and must go to sleep after midnight.  I’m really not sure when they sleep!  This domestic responsibility comes at a young age of about four.  Female children are expected to perform all of these duties in order to help her mother and her probably six other siblings.

So, why are women still not empowered in Uganda if they have access to education?  A lot of girls don't finish their primary, let alone secondary, education.  Girls drop out for many reasons.  The list below may not be comprehensive, but it gives you an idea.

1.     Responsibilities at home, such as chores and caring for younger siblings.

2.     Early marriage.  In Uganda, a man must pay a bride price; therefore, if a family is really struggling, it can be tempting to marry the child while she’s still quite young.

3.     Poverty.  She may try to find another way to bring money to her family.

4.     Pregnancy.  The information about sexual and reproductive health can be spotty, and practicing safe sex at an early age is not stressed.  Ugandan schools take an abstinence only stance.

5.     Menstruation management.  Once girls reach puberty, they are not prepared to manage their monthly periods.  Although pads are available, they are considered to be too expensive to buy every month.  Girls will stay home during this time, and begin to miss so much school that they become discouraged.

As a fellow woman, who just so happened to be raised by an ultra feminist, I find the current situation appalling.  Never in my life did I dream that a man would tell me that I was not equal to him in a professional setting.  Can you say fired?  If only we were in America.  Unintentionally, I realized that most of my Peace Corps work is leaning towards girl empowerment.  I’ve got a number of projects in the works or on the ground to help girls gain self-confidence and stay in school!

One of my projects was suggested to me by one of my female teachers.  It just so happens that she teaches at the very school of the head teacher who doesn’t believe in gender equality.  Perfect.  All the female teachers wanted to create a club for the P-5 to P-6 girls to teach them sewing skills, which are practical in domestic life and could potentially provide an extra income.  I jumped on it.  With the approval of the teachers, I gave our club a twist: a positive, safe environment in which the girls will be able to bond with successful, knowledgeable women who will serve role models that they may lack at home.  Plus, we added a life skills session once a month.  Bam!  You’ve got yourself a girl’s club that is targeted to keep her interested in school, to improve her self-worth, to facilitate companionship with her peers and elders, with the potential to become an income generating activity!  I wrote up a lovely club charter to get the ball rolling.

Only two days after our godly meeting, I presented the club charter to the head teacher.  Did he have any questions?  Just one.  “Why are you only helping girls?”  Oh baby, you just set yourself up.  I finally found my tongue.  Maybe after stewing for two days, I was able to have a respectful, but strong response, in a very stern tone to boot.  “Sir, what you said to me the other day was completely inappropriate in a professional setting.  Particularly a school setting.  It is because attitudes like this exist that we need this club.  Women are not treated equally in this country, and we need to help our girl children stay in school.”  Ahhhhh, I felt so much better, although I was shaking due to my intense fear of confrontation.

I know what you’re all thinking.  I even know what some of you are thinking because you’ve told me.  Yeah, so what?  You told off one teacher, at one school.  Are you so self-righteous to think that you actually changed his mind?  You didn’t.  It’s nearly impossible to change people’s minds, especially when they’re on defense.  Just leave it alone Chels, you won’t be able to get him to think differently.

If I’m completely honest with myself, I can admit that you’re probably right.  He’s at least 40 years old.  Pretty set in his ways.  And why would he want things to even out?  Do you think he wants to wash clothes by hand?  Or cook?  Nope.

But that’s a very dangerous way to think.  As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’m not bringing some fantastic project with an unlimited budget.  Oh no.  It’s just me.  With no funds.  My entire position is to challenge people’s thinking.  I’m here to help teachers improve, which means challenging their current teaching methods.  I’m here to help Ugandans understand Americans, which means challenging all the bizarre rumors they’ve heard.  I’m here to help Americans understand Ugandans, which means challenging our own preconceptions.  I know it’s a long shot, but I don’t care.  If I didn’t think I could make a difference, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be able to get up every morning to go to work.  I wouldn’t survive my service.  I have to hope that although my words may go one ear and out the other, my actions and programs can at least get people thinking.  That’s all.  I just want people to think about what’s going on.  About whether or not they agree with it.  And about whether or not they can make a change.

At the end of my service, I doubt I’ll see all the women in my village wearing trousers and refusing to kneel to men.  I do hope that I’ve planted a seed of an attitude change, particularly in my young girls.  I want them to know that they can do anything in the world.  And that if no one believes in them, at least they know that I do.

After I explained my new club to the head teacher, he followed me to the classroom.  He wanted to see me attempt to teach mathematics.  He was surprised to learn that I thought I could tackle P-7 math.  Of course, I teach math better than English.  It’s just how I do.  He couldn’t get over that not only could I explain the concepts, but that the pupils could actually perform the operations after.  Finally, he motioned to the club charter, “So, where did you go to get this typed up?”  “Oh, you know the place by the vet?” “Yeah, they’re great over there.  So fast!” “No, uhh, I actually made them let me type.  I’m much faster.”  He couldn’t believe it.  Maybe I just need to be around more.  Yes, I can do math.  Yes, I can type like a maniac.  Yes, I can wear trousers.  Yes, I can run 8 miles.  Yes, I practice kick boxing (there are even rumors that I'm a boxer).  Yes, I have a bachelor's degree.  Yes, I can drive a car.  And yes, I am a woman.

BOO!

Halloween may be the most bizarre holiday we celebrate. I’ve tried to explain it to my Ugandan teachers and friends, but somehow I just end up sounding crazy. Let me explain.

1. Let’s start easy and simple. Jack-o-lanterns. There are pumpkins in Uganda, so thankfully I don’t have to start from scratch. We scoop out all the insides, carve a scary face into the vegetable, place it outside our house, stick a candle in it and now you’ve got yourself a Jack-o-lantern. You buy food, ruin it, then let it rot outside your house? Well, when you put it that way, yeah I guess we do. Why? Uhhh, I don’t really know. I think in the past it was to scare the ghosts that are out at night. You think a scary pumpkin will make ghosts away? Good point. Moving on.

2. Alright, I’ll admit that Jack-o-lanterns are a strange tradition. But, how about costumes? Everyone dresses up in a costume! Children, teenagers and even adults. Scary costumes? Yeah, usually they are supposed to be scary, but sometimes people just dress up as other people or things. That aren’t scary? Yeah, like teachers, baseball players, hippies, Christmas trees. Well, now I’ve just lost them at baseball player. What would they think if I told them that people tend to blow a lot of money to be the best dressed or most original?

3. Trick-or-treating! So, on Halloween, all of our children go door-to-door collecting sweets. Who buys the sweets? The owner of the house. Why? It’s Halloween. Only the poor children go begging? No, they aren’t begging! Every child, no matter how poor or wealthy, goes trick-or-treating.

4. Oh, and we make our compounds (our yard and house) look scary so when kids come to ask for sweets, it’s spooky. How do you make your house look scary? How do you explain that weird, fake spider webs? Or that some people make their lawn into a graveyard?

5. Funny story! My mom used to dress up like a scarecrow and sit on the front porch. She would play creepy music- what does creepy music sound like?- and try to stay as still as possible. When kids would come get candy, she would scare the, well, poop out of them. It was hilarious! Wow, that sounds awful! Why would you do that to a child? Great, now I sound sadistic and crazy.

6. So what is Halloween exactly? I’m honestly not sure, but something to do with All Saint’s Day. The ghosts, witches and spirits supposedly come out that night. You believe in witches? No. Then why do you celebrate? I have no idea.

If you really think about, Halloween is sooooo strange. Regardless, my American friends still wanted to celebrate it. We thought it would be best to travel away from our sites to dress up. The last thing we needed was our neighborhood suspecting a gathering of witches. That would really hurt our reputation in our communities.

We decided to make the journey to Gulu, NGO central in Uganda. We had heard that because there are so many NGOs there, they would celebrate Halloween. Even though Uganda is about the size of Oregon, it was a very long journey to get there. About 12 hours to be exact! Once we got to Mbale, we had to board a bus that would travel through Soroti, Lira and finally Gulu. Despite being stuck on that bus for nearly eight hours, we had a blast! It was about six of us, and we talked nonstop from 9:30am-3:00pm. Finally we got tired of each other and put in our headphones to relax. It was fun though. Almost like a road trip without having to worry about distracting the driver. We stopped often for bathroom breaks and buying snacks. We ate most of the trip. Bus snack food? Bananas, peanuts, oily tortillas called chapatti, omelets wrapped in chapatii which is called a rolex, samosas, chips, roasted corn, fried corn, popcorn, snickers, soda, trail mix, roasted meat etc. Yeah, we did a lot of eating.

To our surprise, we did find a Halloween party! A bunch of other Peace Corps Volunteers met up with us in Gulu, so we were rolling about 15 deep. It felt surreal. I had pictured everyone meeting up at a bar in our costumes. Sure, the other Ugandan patrons may be creeped out, but at least there would be a lot of us. In reality it was a house party that honestly resembled something like a frat party. How could a Halloween part in Uganda feel like frat party? The booze was free, we were totally welcome without anyone knowing who we were but there was definitely an “in crowd” that we were not part of.

As for our costumes, we were relatively creative considering most of them were thrown together last minute. One of my girl friends was a middle-aged man with a beer belly getting back into exercising. Two guys dressed in rice sacks that were labeled as “Posho” and “Beans”- the most common Ugandan meal. I guess you’d have to be there to appreciate it. I dressed as Donatello from the Ninja Turtles! He’s the one who wears purple. A friend “borrowed” the broom handle from our hotel to be my staff. It was the perfect finishing touch to my lazy costume, but ended up being a hazard in the hands of others. Believe me, most people cannot twirl a giant stick and should never throw it into the air. We had a number of close calls that could have resulted in a lost eye.

We had a great time dancing, but we definitely stuck to our group. Maybe we’ve been here too long, but sometimes it can be annoying to interact with other volunteers. You always have to ask the same questions to other volunteers: What do you do? Oh wow, that’s great. How long have you been here? That’s nice. How long are you going to be here? As Peace Corps Volunteers, we’re kind of snobs- I’ll admit it. Of all the volunteer programs (don’t quote me though!), we have the longest minimum service of 27 months, we get paid the least, we live alone, and we learn the language. I’m not against new friends, but if I’m visiting a town far away from my site, it seems kind of troublesome when I can just be dancing.

Once we got back to the hotel room, my friend Ryan asked the same question about three times. “Did anyone talk to anyone else besides us?” Only Bethany can claim being social! She had a lengthy discussion with another volunteer about the importance of bringing Richard Simmons workouts to the village. Yes, she was the one dressed as the newly athletic man. I guess we’re a little antisocial. I actually never figured out who was even throwing the party. It was definitely either the entire crew dressed up as the characters from Peter Pan (they even had an alligator!) or the eighties girls who couldn’t figure out how to do a cartwheel. I don’t think I helped our case because I wore a backpack as my shell, which I managed to stuff full of water bottles at the beginning of the night. When all the drinks ran out, guess who still had water? I know, unspiritual, but I sweat so much when I dance that I needed to replenish! Hey, it was a health issue.