Proud to GLOW

Disclaimer: I don't think it's possible for me to write a blog about Camp GLOW without being mushy or overly sentimental.  Bear with me.


After spending an exciting, but exhausting week at Camp GLOW, we piled into the taxi to make the journey back to the Butaleja region.  Camp may have been over, but that taxi was packed with GLOW spirit as the girls and counselors annoyed the driver with songs and games the whole way back.  When we reached Busolwe, we all went our separate ways.  As my six girls waited to travel the 15 minutes back to Butaleja with me, I ran into a small supermarket to get us juice and cookies.  We hadn't eaten all day, and it was almost 3 pm.  I was worried that they would get home, but not find any lunch for them.  As I concentrated on my refreshing cold mango juice, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Proscovia was struggling with her juice box.  She was trying to tear it open on the side instead of just sticking the straw in the foil hole!  I stuck the straw in for her and watched her take her first sips from a juice box.  Checking up on the other girls, I realized they too were unsure of how to proceed.  I had just assumed that teenage girls knew how to drink from a juice box.  I can only imagine how many things at camp had been new for them.

This August was the first ever regional Camp GLOW for the eastern region of Uganda- that's where I live!  The camp hosted 80 young girls between the ages 12-17, 8 female Ugandan counselors and 8 female Peace Corps Volunteers.  Each girl became part of an animal family with a Ugandan and American counselor.  Every day, we had a different theme pertaining to pride: Proud of myself, to be a woman, to be Ugandan and of my future.  Additionally, every day, the girls would attend sessions about healthy living, life skills, team work and crafts.  The days were packed with games, singing, learning, dancing, questions, messages and relays.  Our camp song, which every girl could sing by the end of the week, is set to the tune of "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz.  Here's a sample of the lyrics:


We throw our hands up in the air this time,
Saying Ayyyy Ohhhh, Come on let's GLOW.
We want to celebrate, live healthy lives,
Saying Ayyy Ohhh, Come on let's GLOW.

We're going rock this world, show them how to live right.
We're gonna use life skills, 'cause they're DYNAMITE.
We will tell you once, now we've told you twice,
We're going to educate, 'cause we're leading our world.


At this camp GLOW, I was a Hippo mama, with my co-counselor Josephine.  We had ten girls in our group.  At first, I think they were blown away by how much energy Josephine and I had.  They couldn't understand why we were always cheering, talking during meals and asking them endless questions.  At our first group reflection, it was like pulling teeth to get the girls to tell us anything about themselves.  Thankfully, by the end, the girls not only voluntarily answered questions, but were eager to have their voices heard.  One of my girls told me: "At school, we count down how many days we have left before the end of term.  Some people calculate how many minutes.  But, we're not counting down for camp.  We don't want it to end."

The hippos also had a song, to the tune of "Where Them Girls At" by David Guetta.

So many girls in here
Where do I begin?
I'm all alone
Do I fit in?
Then she said,
Come be my friend.
I got to thinking,
And that's when I said:

Where my hippos at, hippos at?
Hip Hip Hip
Where my hippos at, hippos at?
Oh Oh Oh
Where my hippos at, hippos at?
Ah Ah Ah
So dance dance,
We can all be friends.

Then we would do the macerena, singing "1-Hippo, 2-Hippo, 3-Hippopotamus..."  We all got to perform our songs and dances at the closing ceremony, where every girl received a certificate for her participation.

I stayed busy during camp, teaching almost every day.  I taught about sessions female reproductive health, reusable menstrual pads, HIV/AIDS and kickboxing.  I've spent the last four months teaching about women's health and HIV, so it was a breeze.  But teaching kickboxing was new and interesting.  At first, the girls were very uncoordinated!  Arms and legs were flying everywhere.  But, when I finally told them to imagine they are uppercutting someone they didn't like, they got the hang of it.  They loved grunting for every punch they threw.  Of course, I told them not use their kickboxing knowledge for real fights.  We were doing kickboxing only for exercise, but maybe they'll feel a little safer knowing how to throw a right hook.

My only complaint about camp was sleeping, or lack thereof.  For whatever reason, my nights were always disrupted.  One night, my co-counselor was violently ill, so I sat up with her for an hour.  Another night, two of my girls had been locked out of the dorm when they went out to use the bathroom.  But the last night was by far the worst!  I woke up to fingers grabbing and poking at me starting with my feet and working up to my stomach.  "OH MY GOD!  What?! What?!  Who is it?!"  I ninja rolled out of bed onto the cement floor as I fumbled for my flashlight.  No one was there.  Anywhere.  No one was even out of bed.  I ran over to Audrey's bed, who had heard me screaming.  "Chelsea, did you just have a nightmare?"  I ventured back over to double check.  "OH S###!  IT'S A CAT!"  There was a stupid cat sitting on my bed.  How did it get into my mosquito net?  How long had it been sleeping with me?  Why was it jumping all over me?  I don't know, but I wasn't about to find out just how how cuddly it wanted to be with me.  I let the cat have my bed and made Audrey share with me.

Camp GLOW is an amazing tool to empower girls, but it also helps raise awareness about the importance of inclusion.  In Uganda, children with special needs are often ignored and unable to get a proper education.  There are very few institutions for blind or deaf students; however, there are a few Peace Corps Volunteers that live or work at special needs schools.  These Peace Corps Volunteers sent girls with special needs to camp.  In my group, we had two girls that were visually impaired.  Sammy was totally blind, but Betty was only partially blind.  It was amazing to watch how Betty and Sammy helped each other.  Even more inspiring was watching my other girls learn how to help Sammy and Betty feel included in all the activities.  They would make sure they knew what was written on the board, run with them during the relay races and help them learn dance moves.

Every counselor, maybe for the first time, became aware of how to modify lessons or games to help include the girls with special needs.  All of the lessons needed to have a visual and audio component to reach everyone.  For example, the hearing impaired girls couldn't play telephone, where you whisper messages from one girl to the next.  So, we would pass along messages of patterned hand squeezes.  For the visually impaired girls, we all learned to introduce ourselves when we greeted them:  "Good morning Gloria, it's Chelsea!"  By the end of camp, most of girls could recognize our voices.  The hearing impaired girls helped teach us all some signs.  One evening, I helped a girl get a cockroach out of her bed.  Unfortunately, I chose to flick her sheets, which launched the cockroach into my hair.  I sort of freaked out and stomped all over making sure it was out.  That night, we all learned how to say cockroach.  Those groups translated their animal songs into signs too, so those girls would feel like part of the group.  One of the saddest things I learned: most parents of hearing impaired children don't learn sign language, so at home, they can't communicate with anyone.  They love being at school because they can actually talk to someone!

On the last day of camp, Betty confided in me: "Chelsea, you know, we didn't want to come to camp.  Our head mistress made us come.  We went to a workshop a few months ago, and they didn't even treat us like people.  They didn't help us at all.  We thought it would be the same camp- hat you would let us fall down.  But you didn't.  You all cared so much for us, and made sure we had everything we needed.  We don't want to leave camp!"

Camp GLOW East only made me more excited for Camp GLOW National, taking place in December.  I'll be one of the co-directors!  We're still fundraising.  If you're interested, take a look at this post:

Bare with Me

I spend a lot of time, probably too much, focusing on what strong American women have to teach Ugandans.  Let me turn the tables.

Something went dreadfully wrong between my mother’s generation and mine.  After P.E. in high school, it was mandatory for my mom and her friends to jump in the shower for a few minutes to rinse off before going to their next class.  I think I can say will full confidence that I was never completely naked in my high school locker room.  We had nifty tricks of changing to guarantee our bodies safe from… well, yes, what exactly were we afraid of?  It was a girl’s locker room!

Somewhere in the last fifty years, Americans have reverted back to our prudish, Puritan beliefs regarding our bodies and nakedness, which is completely ridiculous considering what you see when we flip on the TV, open a magazine or log onto the internet.  So, I propose a completely different theory.  Over the last fifty years, the overly demanding and critical diet scene has forced all of us to be ashamed of our bodies.  We have been trained to look for every flaw in the mirror; therefore we expect others to do the same when given the chance to judge, such as in a locker room. 

The American body image disaster is growing out of proportion.  We are constantly bombarded by diet pills, insane exercise regimes, dangerous cleanses and new surgical techniques- all of them telling us that our bodies aren’t good enough as they are now.  I haven’t been away long enough to forget that there is an obesity epidemic sweeping America right now.  One could argue that these are all trying to help those suffering.  The possible causes of the obesity epidemic are vast, but let me add one more.  Because our society demands perfection in the media, we’ve been forced to accept that a “healthy” acceptable body is never attainable.  If you can’t reach it, why try?  Faced with these unreachable expectations, it’s understandable for someone to turn to comfort- food.

It’s important for all of us to remember that what is represented in the American media is far from healthy, apart maybe from the Dove advertisements.  Americans seem to have forgotten that women are supposed to have natural curves.  A truly healthy woman is not a stick figure with plastic orbs jutting out from our chests.

Biologically speaking, a truly healthy woman has to have some fat in order to support a baby; if not, her body will stop menstruating because it’s a lost cause.  A young girl will not start menstruation until her body is 25% fat.  A woman is supposed to gain weight during pregnancy.  I’m honestly sickened to hear our media congratulate women’s quick “recoveries” from pregnancy weight.  Without gaining enough weight, you’re actually starving your baby.  And it has been proven that the only way to loose baby weight quickly after pregnancy is not dependent on how much weight you gained, but whether you maintained a healthy exercise regime during your pregnancy.

Uganda does not suffer from this insane body image problem.  In fact, if you are too skinny, people tend to think you’re sick, most likely suffering from HIV.  Only when you gain weight, will someone compliment you.  Women here are dream to be curvaceous.  Big breasts, big hips, big butt.  Women don’t worry about sit-ups, burning a certain number of calories or restraining their diet.  They eat meals of mostly carbs, their work out consists of fetching water and digging in the fields and no one would consider turning down a full calorie soda.  The ads plastered in towns read: Want a big bum?

At Camp GLOW East, the American counselors had to face a situation completely new to our generation.  The bathing area was just one narrow room to be shared with all counselors at the same time.  Of course, none of the Ugandan counselors thought it was alarming.  But a number of the Peace Corps volunteers were shocked that they had to be completely naked among other women.  Although it may have been a challenge, everyone bathed.  No one smelled like a sewer by the end of the week!  Many of us may not have acknowledged it at the time, but I think the Americans learned a very important lesson at Camp GLOW: to be comfortable with and accepting of their own bodies.  Nearly all American women need to learn this lesson.

During the week of Camp GLOW, I helped one of my visually impaired campers, Sammy, by carrying her basin of water to the campers’ bathing area, while someone else lead her there.  I know that all the girls laughed at me because I carried it with my arms, slopping water every which way, instead of carrying it on my head.  I’m just not coordinated enough for the head maneuver.  The first time I entered the girls’ bathing area, after loudly announcing myself, I was shocked.  Among young, adolescent girls, there was no air of embarrassment or discomfort.  In fact, as compared to their first day of camp, I speculated they were more comfortable here than during their group reflection time.  One girl was practically dancing while another was loudly singing.  No one seemed to mind my presence.  If anything, the only judgment in that bathing area was directed at me and my water carrying disabilities. 

Many of the girls go to boarding school, and I imagine their bathing time may be the only time they allowed to be silly and disruptive because no one’s supervising them.  Instead of a time of dread, they may actually enjoy their freedom.  In the dorms, there were no swift locker room tricks.  The girls just got dressed will chatting and joking around.  And that’s the way it should be.

In Uganda, you will never that sick banter we’ve come to accept in America.  “Well, I just hate my thighs.  I can’t stand wearing shorts because my thighs are just too big!”  “Ugh, well you’ve got a great, flat stomach.  I’ve done everything possible, but nothing’s helping this flabby part.  See, right here?”  Why do we partake in this negative behavior?  And why are we nervous about the women that don't have anything to add to this body bashing ritual?  The only time I’ve ever heard a Ugandan women complain about her bodies, it has been in reference to my hair because they think it is so much more manageable.  To be fair, if they plait their hair, the process can take anywhere from 6 to 20 hours!

I only hope that women everywhere can say to themselves “I love my body.  It may not be perfect according to the media, but it is perfect for me.  As my goal, I have no weight, size or shape in mind; I only strive to be healthy.”  After the psychological damage that has been inflicted on us for many decades, this change won’t happen over time.  But as women, we have to work together to change attitudes, conversations and habits.  We want our daughters or granddaughters to be confident and proud of their bodies.

Needless to say, I won’t be running around naked just anywhere.  One evening at camp, as I was struggling to carry my basin of water to the bathing areas, I was forced to set it down to readjust myself.  With the wind blowing and my arms shaking, my thin wrap of fabric covering my naked body was threatening to slip off as I was walking in the school compound, in front of both dorms.  A nearby Ugandan counselor shouted, “You should have just kept going!  It’s only ladies here!”

My Trip Through Photos (Delayed!)

Here are some of the photos from my trip in May.  I didn't get all the cool safari pictures, but there are a few!

I'm not a fan of cats...

A teacher at my school who was SO excited to meet my visitors

Breakfast at the hotel closest to my trading center

JACKFRUIT

Whole fried Tilapia fish, fresh from Lake Victoria

The man who kept us safe from the leopards, elephants and hyenas at night!

Our tents on the safari

Zanzibar!

Trying to bargain for dresses and scarves

An "American" Visitor

One of the things I miss about America is our unwillingness to openly discuss religion and politics.  These topics are so emotionally charged, you never know whom you may offend, so you might as well say nothing at all.  At least that’s how I thought things were in America.  Ironically, a recent experience in Uganda challenged what I thought I knew about America, religion and gender.

About a month ago, on a particularly scorching Sunday afternoon, my landlord came to my door.  He was very excited to announce that an American visited their church that day and was hoping he could introduce us.  Apparently some missionaries had been visiting Busolwe, and one managed to make the journey to Butaleja.  Most people here assume that all Americans either know each other or have interest in making this acquaintance.  Despite the fact that Nathan and I were about to enjoy a wonderful lunch of hummus and chapatti chips, I couldn’t disappoint my landlord.  I agreed, but asked for time to “get ready.”  Even though it was approaching 3 pm, I still needed to change out of my pajamas, jump into a clean skirt, throw on a bra, wash my face and fix my hair to look somewhat presentable.

Nathan and I settled into the plastic chairs set on the veranda for our meeting and waited.  Within minutes, my landlord, a local reverend and the American enter the compound.  Nathan had already met the American earlier that week in Busolwe, so the American immediately says, “It’s Nate right?” and they shook hands.  I shook hands with him as he took his seat on my right, but he never asked for my name.  As a matter of fact, he never introduced himself, apart from the fact that he was from Dallas, Texas, he never asked us how we were doing or even what we were doing here.  Maybe I’ve been living in Uganda for too long, where greeting is essential for any interaction, but I was offended right off the bat.  If only I knew what was to come.

The only thing he did ask about ourselves, “So what religion do ya’ll believe in?”  Even in America, I refuse to answer this question.  It is no one’s business.  My go-to response in Uganda is to say, “Americans don’t like to talk about religion.”  Welp, this American threw that stereotype right out the window.  I simply stared right back at him, so shocked I couldn’t react, but Nathan thankfully managed a response, “I was raised Catholic.” 

“Oh, like the Mary, Joseph, Mary, Jesus thing?” as he mockingly crossed himself.  Not only did he break the cardinal American rule of respecting one’s privacy, he openly mocked a stranger’s religion.  Neither Nathan nor I knew what to say, but I don’t think he was looking for a response.  He just kept talking.

From there, he tumbled onto the subject of Islam.  I have no idea how he broached the subject, but he declared, “Islamists are closing in on Dallas.  They’re everywhere!  All those terrorists.”

I couldn’t help but say, “You know, not all of them are terrorists.” 

“Honey, have you ever heard of 9/11?” 

“Yes, but those were extremists.  I stayed in Senegal for a while, a predominately Muslim country, but they have a very peaceful history.”

“Senegal?  Where is that?”

Oh geez.  Ignorance and religious intolerance.  Should I really be surprised?  “West Africa.”

“Well, no, honey.  I’m talking about those extremists in Iran and Iraq!”

“Yeah, but there are extreme Christians too.”  I’m not sure he was even listening to me anymore because he instantly changed the subject.  In that short exchange, he realized that he was never going to get through to me.  I have a poisoned mind, so he focused the rest of his spiel for Nathan.  Poor Nathan- he wanted to be on his best behavior because he was worried about offending my landlord.

Leaving Islam behind, the American launched into the little known story of Adam and Eve.  And he wasn’t just telling us.  He was Baptist style preaching at us!  With all his passion, he jumped up from his chair and was bouncing around the veranda emphasizing one point or another.  I considered telling him that he was talking way too fast- no one besides Nathan or I could understand a word he said!  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Patricia pretend to wash a saucepan as she giggled at his garbled speech and flare for drama.  I decided against it.  I didn’t want to draw out this interaction any longer than it needed to be.  Unbeknownst to the American, the last time I had been preached the story of Adam and Eve, I was struggling to understand the French of my Muslim host parents in Senegal.  Amazing that the religion he was bashing only moments before has the same roots as his.

When the American finally reached the part about the creation of Eve, things started to go even further downhill very quickly.  “So God here, he made this perfect 36” 24” 36”.”  Yes, he means to say Eve, woman or female.  Any of those nouns would have been appropriate.  Instead, we’re only worth our measurements, according to this man of God.  He continued to say that although Adam was the perfect creation, God made him a companion.  Instantly, I cut in with my usual witty comment that never fails, “Maybe Eve is the perfect creation.  He may have realized that he made mistakes when he made Adam, so he made perfection when he made women.”  He laughed, told me I was entertaining, but get real, it doesn’t say that in the Bible.  “Maybe it would have if it wasn’t written by a man.”  He brushed me off and continued.

I have a big mouth.  It’s not surprising that I cut him off again, around the time he’s preaching about the order of all things: God, Jesus, man, woman.  “How do you even convert women to this religion?”  I honestly don’t think he answered the question.  He just reminded me that women start most cults.  No wonder.  I wouldn’t want any part of religion that told me to serve men.

In the end, I learned a few things about Christianity- or his version of Christianity- that day from our fellow American:

1.     A marriage can only be successful if a woman is submissive to her husband.

2.     Women were created to serve men and be their helpers.

3.     Women are not allowed to teach or preach, unless it is to younger women.

4.     Women are the leaders in creating cults.

After about an hour, he finally tired himself out.  I doubt he sensed that both Nathan and I were seething just beneath the surface.  We said our good-byes, but before my landlord escorted them out, he said, “Oh I’m so sorry if he offended you!”  Regardless of what the American said, I would never blame my landlord.  I was comforted though that at least my landlord had sensed at least our discomfort, if not our anger.  “No, no, it’s ok.  He’s American.  He should know better.  Americans don’t talk about religion with strangers.  Don’t worry about it.”

Uganda doesn’t have the same idea of privacy as we do.  A common exchange will follow the following questions: what’s your name, where are you from, what do you do, what’s your religion.  I’ve been in Uganda for a year and a half and had many in depth conversations about religion.  It took me until that day that I have never had anyone actually try to convert me to anything.  Some people joked about it, but no one ever seriously evangelized to me.  In Uganda, Christians, Catholics, Born Agains and Muslims all live together without trying to change one another.  On the P7 social studies test, they have religious questions.  For every number, there is a Christian question and an Islamic question.  Most schools actually prefer to teach both religions because it gives their P7 studies a better edge on the exam because they can pick and choose which questions they want to answer.

Religion intolerance isn’t a big issue in Uganda.  And although America was founded on the tolerance of religion, maybe we refuse to talk about it because we know that many people won’t let us just be us.  But that’s what tolerance is all about: letting other people just do their thing, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone.

Growing up in California, I was sheltered from sexist views, like the ones this Dallas man expressed.  I couldn’t have a more feminist mother!  Growing up, I probably thought that girls could do more than boys, not the other way around.  I spend so much time in Uganda fighting for gender inequality, forgetting that there are places in America that still need that message.

It's Your Turn

I've spent a lot of time on my blog talking about what I do to help my community and Uganda.  Now, it's your turn! 


What are you helping with?

My dedicated followers will remember my past posts about Camp GLOW.  For those who need a refresher course:

With hopes to improve gender equality in Uganda and empower girls with leadership skills, Camp G.L.O.W. (Girls Leading Our World) is a weeklong camp for 13-16 year old girls. Although Uganda is slowly improving the educational and employment opportunities for women, men still dominate most aspects of Ugandan life; however, history has proven that an empowered woman is an integral part of development of a community and country. Additionally, the camp strives to bring together and unite Ugandan girls in a nation of 54 languages and cultures to help promote a national identity.

Camp G.L.O.W. will inspire young Ugandan women to overcome their cultural differences, bond over the common language of English and work together for gender equality. By addressing the important issues facing young Ugandan women in a safe and comfortable environment, we hope to develop well-informed, confident female leaders of Uganda. Camp G.L.O.W.’s activities strive to equip the girls with skills that will lead to a happy, healthy and successful life through health education, life skills, goal setting, sports, creative arts, and testimony from successful Ugandan women. After Camp G.L.O.W., each girl will return to her community as a leader ready to spread her new knowledge, skills and experience among her peers.

In short, Camp GLOW is pretty much a summer camp, for girls only!  They have a chance not only to learn about important like life skills, healthy living and leadership, they get to have fun.  It's an amazing opportunity for girls to, maybe for the first time, realize that they are special, important and just as good as any boy.

Peace Corps Uganda is in the midst of creating some very important traditions hosting Camp GLOW.  Last year, I was a counselor for the second annual National Camp GLOW.  This year, I'm one of the co-directors for our third annual National Camp GLOW, which will be taking place in December 2012.  At this year's camp, we expect to host 150 girls from all over the country for a week of learning, fun and friendship.


How can you help?

This is where you come in!  We need to fundraise to help pay for the camp's expenses.  A wonderful school near Kampala has agreed to host us, provide cooks, nurses and security guards, water, electricity, classrooms and dorms, all for FREE!  The remaining expenses include food, transport for campers and counselors, printing handbooks and some normal camp materials for friendship bracelets and painting. Every girl coming will contribute about $5 to show her commitment, but the rest is coming from our loving friends and family back in America. Anything you contribute will help us reach our goal of $10,000! Don't forget, it's all tax-deductible.


How do you donate?

www.peacecorps.gov/donate
Search for our grant with its number: 617-057
Double check that you've found the right one.  Below is all of our information:

Country: Uganda
Project Name: National Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World)
Volunteer: Briston, L.  (One of my fellow co-directors)
State: PA
Number: 617-057


Want to know more about Camp GLOW? 

Check out my blog post from last year that also has some photos:
http://ugandareadthis-iaintlion.blogspot.com/2011/12/glowing-with-pride.html
http://ugandareadthis-iaintlion.blogspot.com/2012/01/camp-glow-through-photos.html

Thank you so much for all of your support and interest in our girls!  Don't worry, I'll be sure to post lots of pictures of Camp GLOW 2012 so you can see the joy you helped bring.


Any further questions?
Either email me directly or just comment here, and I'll do my best to answer them.

Lion Around

Following my Mid-Service Conference, I was anxious for Saturday night to finally come- Nathan was flying into Entebbe at 10:15 pm.  I made my way to our lovely, decadent hotel in the Entebbe area that afternoon so I could take two showers, a nap and maybe a run at the hotel gym.  When I arrived, I realized immediately that I looked practically homeless: dirty clothes, an overstuffed backpack, a beach back, two on-the-verge-of-breaking plastic bags of groceries and windblown hair (not in the good way).  The Serena is nothing like the hostels I usually stay in.  Even though I looked quite out of place, the receptionist brought me a glass of chilled passion juice as I attempted to check in.  Much to my surprise and their guess, I had no reservation!  Yes, there was a reservation for my father, who would arrive on Monday, but nothing for Chelsea Roberts.  Regardless, they gave me a room and told me to get settled in.  I finally was able to relax, stripped down immediately for my first shower, threw on a robe and turned on some TV while I ate my sandwich.  When I picked up the ringing phone, I could not have been more shocked when they informed me that I had no reservation and demanded a deposit.  I don’t have any money… was my first thought.  Thankfully my second thought was NATHAN!  “Uh, sir, is it possible it is under the name Nathan Quilling?”  I felt like a 50’s wife who couldn’t possibly have made her own reservations.  “Why, yes, of course.  The room is paid in full.  Do you need anything else Madam?  Are you comfortable?”  Although they were now convinced I did indeed belong at their hotel, I’m sure they were not pleased that I hand washed all my clothes in the sink and hung them outside.

When the evening finally rolled around, I spoiled myself by ordering room service and taking another shower.  Despite my excitement to pick up Nathan, I am still a very cheap Peace Corps Volunteer.  On our way to the airport, I had the driver stop at a supermarket to pick up 15 liters of water for the next few days, even though we were staying at one of the nicest hotels in the Entebbe area.  My water stop made me a little late getting to the airport.  As the driver was trying to find the best parking spot, I assured the driver I could walk the short distance and practically jumped out of the moving car.  All kinds of foreigners were trying to navigate the little sidewalk leading away from the arrivals terminal.  I was rushing through rolling suitcases and confused tourists, until I saw him.  Nathan was not wearing a suit this time, but the same disbelieving emotions sweep over me as I hugged him for the first time in months.  Well, the hot, humid, Ugandan night sweep over Nathan.  Nathan has never lived in a humid climate before.  Needless to say, he sweat non-stop for the next three weeks.  Even his shins would sweat!  He claims he had never smelt that bad in his life.  As we left the airport, Nathan looked out the window watching flashes of Ugandan nightlife fly by as he wondered at his first glimpses of Uganda and my life here.

Due to Nathan’s jetlag and my laziness, we spent the next two days sleeping in, taking advantage of the amazing breakfast buffet, and laying by the pool.  On Monday, my dad arrived with his girlfriend Shiera.  It was the first time I’ve seen my dad since I left last February.  One of the things I love most about seeing my dad is his all encompassing, borderline suffocating, bear hugs, which I received right away.

We spent five days traveling around Uganda.  For the first time in the history of my dad’s travels, I was in charge.  I carried all the cash, arranged all the drivers and made the decisions.  It was quite the role reversal, but I’m happy my dad got to witness how well I’ve managed to take care of myself in Uganda.  We first made the 6-hour trek to Sipi Falls, where we hiked with our guide George.  George was a hilarious guide, with lots of fun stories and information, who is currently trying to start his own guiding business.  After our hike, Nathan and I sat down with George to edit his business description and try to help him plan a website on paper.  The lodge had a resident dog and cat; unfortunately, the cat was not a quick learner.  He never quite figured out that Nathan and I were not cat people.  Every once in a while, we would feel some commotion under the table when Nathan or I freaked out because cat rubbed against our legs.

From there, the gang got to experience “A Day in the Life of Chelsea.”  We took a terrifying ride down the mountain in a tiny sedan that took several pit stops to be refilled with gas from glass coke bottles sold on the side of the road.  Once we reached Mbale, I repeated several times that we wanted to be dropped near the taxi park.  Quickly, I realized he did not know where the taxi park was!  When he pulled into the bus park, I started yelling at him to just stop so we could all jump out, which is exactly what my dad, Shiera and I did.  Nathan stayed in the car, as he clarified later, because all of our luggage was still in the trunk.  Immediately, we are accosted by a man, “KAMPALA JINJA KAMPALA!”  The driver tells the man we’re going to Tororo.  He grabs my arm and says “TORORO!”  “No, we’re not going to Tororo,” I try to explain as I follow the car to where it finally stops.  We collect all of our luggage and Nathan, and this man again grabs me and says “TORORO!  We go!”  I just snap, “NO, you are not LISTENING to me!  We’re not going to Tororo!”  And off we went to the taxi park, where everyone got the sardine can experience of public transport to the village. 

In the village, we were treated to white ants, a huge lunch and sodas from my Ugandan family, who could not have been more excited to have so many American visitors.  We took a short walk to my school, which was empty and quiet during holiday time.  Two teachers were still living at school, and were thrilled to show my visitors around.  I got to finally unpack the infamous “blue bag”- a bag only packed of goodies for me: beef jerkey, dried mangoes, new clothes, a new bag, 3 lbs of almonds, etc.  The dried mangoes are now all eaten!  That night, we stayed at a nearby guesthouse where there was no power all night!

After experiencing village life, we recuperated by taking a private hire to Jinja, drinking Oreo milkshakes and laying by the pool.  That night, we walked down to watch the sunset over the Nile.  As we stood admiring the orange, yellows and red spill over the water, we realized we were not alone.  Troops of little monkeys were playing on the grass, in the trees and on top of the roofs.  Of course, my dad wandered off trying to snap photos.  A few minutes later, we see my dad, who is 6’5”, running away from a monkey that stood no more than 2 feet tall!  Apparently, the monkey thought my dad was a threat to the plastic bag he was playing with!  It was the first of many hilarious animal stories we would experience on this trip.

The following morning, as we made our way to the Entebbe airport to embark on our Tanzanian adventure, I finally relinquished my travel responsibilities to my father.  In Tanzania, we went on a five-day safari through Ngororo Crater and the Serengeti with an addition to our party, Jim, a family friend.  Unlike everyone else, I never received paperwork detailing what to expect.  I was completely unprepared: we spent most of our time in the car, we saw tons of animals very close, we were “camping” in the bush, and I was freezing most of the time.  I put camping in quotes because it was luxury camping!  We had several helpers including a cook, showers, huge tents and hot water bottles at night in our beds; however, we also were not allowed out of our tents at night because buffalo or leopards could attack us!  For two nights, a man with a spear kept watch by a fire.  One night, the cook’s leather shoes went missing because hyenas snatched them.  I spent most of the day expected to spot a fashionable hyena in dress shoes.  Our last morning, as we filled out evaluations of the services, my dad came running to tell us that a monkey had just run out of the tent.  None of us believed him, until five minutes later when a monkey jumped on the breakfast table, took two handfuls of cornflakes and dashed off!  Apparently, the safari company has a history with monkeys disturbing the tents by jumping on the beds- I’m being completely serious.  You can’t make this stuff up!

As for the animals we saw on the safari, not in our camp, here’s brief list, but I’m sure I’m missing some: zebras, giraffes, lions, leopards, cheetahs, elephants, impalas, antelope, wildebeests, ostriches, rhinos, monkeys, baboons, hippos, crocodiles, hyenas, jackets, dik-diks, buffalos and lots of birds.  My favorite animals were the elephants and giraffes, especially the babies.  We learned about how zebras communicate danger- it looks like they are nodding along to a really good song.  I do a pretty good impression, don’t worry.  We witnessed the migration of thousands of wildebeests and zebras across the Serengeti.  We saw so many things all the while hearing the click-click-click of my dad’s camera.  He scored a grand total of 1,544 photos over five days!  Sorry, I can’t post all of those.  Actually, I’m in the village right now, so I can’t post any right now.

The highlight of the safari was the kill.  One morning as we’re driving around, our guide spotted one lion, two lion, three!  Suddenly, we realize that entire pride of lions is hanging out to the left of our Landcruiser.  Then, our guide points out a lone male buffalo to the right in the tall, dry grasses.  Before we know it, lions are crossing directly in front of our car with swift determination.  The hunt was on!  But, our guide had cut the engine as we admired the lions.  Now, we wanted to see the fight in full action, which was a little ways ahead.  The car had been experiencing some technical difficulties: it needed a push start.  With hungry lions close by, Nathan and my dad jumped out of the car and started pushing!  Thankfully the car started, no one was mauled and we had front row seats to a show-down.  The lions worked together and took down the buffalo, but it put up quite a fight.  When the buffalo had turned into brunch, more lions started to pour out of the fields, all headed to the feast.  We guess there were about 20-30 lions total.  The guide said that most girls don’t like watching kills because they feel bad for the buffalo.  Looks like I’ve been in Africa for too long because I was rooting for the lions!

After our safari, we headed to Zanzibar, a beautiful, resort island off the coast of Tanzania.  For four days, we soaked up the sun while lying on white beaches with dazzling teal water.  We got massages, gorged buffet food, sailed on a catamaran, read books, kayaked and most importantly, machine washed all of my filthy clothes.  Zanzibar was exactly what the doctor ordered: relaxation time before getting back to Peace Corps life.  Now that vacation’s over, the doctor has ordered lots of exercise to reverse the buffet effect.

Blog Guilt and Feminism

For the last month, I’ve felt a pang of guilt every time I jumped on the internet to check on my email: how have a managed to neglect my blog for so long?  Unfortunately, it’s not a desperately necessary chore, like fetching water.  It’s been so long since my last post, can’t it wait for another day?  Sort of like a diet gone bad for a weekend- I already stuffed my face with an entire cake, what’s the harm of eating a tub of ice cream?  The last two months have flown by, and I doubt I’ll be able to accurately account for my absence, but I’ll do my best over the next few posts.

Even after our Mid-Service Conference at the beginning of May, I could barely believe we’ve survived over one year of service as Peace Corps Volunteers.  Our COS (Close of Service) dates will not be determined until January, but most volunteers are expected to COS in March and April of 2013.  Some days, I can’t believe I only have about nine months left in Uganda.  Other days, I can’t believe I have nine months left in Uganda.  Some days, I want to avoid “real life” for as long as possible- I’ll be homeless, jobless, carless, phoneless and directionless back in the good ol’ US of A.  At least in Peace Corps, I finally figured out my role, I have amazing friends, I can make my own schedule and hey, I’ve got two phones!  But other days, I’m incredibly anxious to get back to the states to start figuring out what my next step will be, all the while gorging myself on In-N-Out and Mexican food, going to a gym again, hanging out with my family and being completely anonymous in a crowd.

Most feelings in Peace Corps are conflicting, intense and ever changing.  I have never experienced such a rollercoaster of emotions as I do every day here.  One moment, I can feel so accomplished for holding a successful presentation.   The next moment, I may be screaming explicatives in a taxi park because a man slapped my ass through a window.  And then, I cannot be more grateful to meet my friends at the pool for some well-needed down time.  I have never felt more lonely, adventurous, frustrated, confused or determined in my life.  Ironically, in this patriarchal society, I have also never felt more proud to be a woman.

Recently, I’ve had many self-doubting moments wondering what I’ve really achieved in Peace Corps.  All of my projects have the potential to fail now or collapse once I’ve left. In those moments, I am only comforted in knowing that I have demonstrated time and again the strength and power of women.  The longer I serve in Uganda, the more I convinced I become that development will only move forward for this country when women are safe, can make healthy decisions, are educated and enjoy the same rights as men.  Although I can’t foresee the future, I am confident that the remainder of my service will be working solely to empower the girls and women of Uganda.

A few months ago, I tried an innovative lesson plan of examining song lyrics for my P7 class.  Yes, I rapped “Miss Independent” by Ne-Yo for my P7 pupils, who thought I was completely insane.  Insane because I have difficulty keeping a tune and because I was singing the praises of a woman who “is her own boss.”  By the end of class, I doubt I had convinced any of the boys.  I can only hope that one day, one of the girls will grow up to be a “Miss Independent” and teaches those boys a thing or two about girl power.