When I visit New Hope Orphanage Home here in Busia, I always leave smiling. The children at New Hope are incredible. Last night I went to New Hope with a new volunteer in Busia to visit the kids and we were dancing the Calypso until the sun went down. Neither of us wanted to leave!
I am attaching the link to New Hope's web-page, www.newhopeafricanchildren.org. If you are looking for a gift for someone this Christmas season or a New Year's resolution - sponsor one of the amazing children at New Hope! Its a gift that would pay for the education of a fantastic child! If you don't want a long term financial committment, you can donate to the community garden fund on the website that will help the children have good, nutritious food to fill their bellies!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Thought it was nice
Just finished a book called Africa Solo that my German neighbor loaned me. It was good...bout a guy who hitchhiked through the Sahara to Kenya. I find that I get a lot of travel lit passed on to me here. I guess we all read it to get ideas and sometimes use it as justification that "i can do this". Anyways, I liked what the author had to say about the continent at the end of his travels and since I am not so eloquent, I am posting his words instead of my own. In most ways his words are congruent with my feelings on this crazy, wonderful place.
"...Though I had longed to immerse myself in a world without the complications of modernity, I'd had no concept of what such a world would actually be like. Even through I had read about the sandy vegetables and rancid meat, the crowded trucks, the mud holes, the corrupt soldiers, the long sunsets, and the melodic songs, there was no possibility of conceiving it without having seen it.
I had wanted to be alone for a while, but I had not expected loneliness that was almost physically painful. I had wanted to experience new and different worlds, but I had not expected to learn what it was like to be marked as an outsider day after day, to feel at times desperate for something familiar to hold on to. I had wanted to meet some interesting people along the way, but I had not expected to find smiles and voices and brief friendships that would stand in my mind forever. Most of all, I had wanted to find art and expand my aesthetic sensibilities, but I had not expected to be touched by Africa's quiet suffering as much as its beauty...
...In the end, I had found something that I hadn't known I was looking for. I had wanted to learn new things about the world, but I had learned as much about myself as anything else. I had learned what it was like to walk alone through the world...Africa had given me much more than its colors and rhythms, its peaceful smiles and languid sunsets. It had given me a sense of reality and clarity about myself and the world around me..."
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Pardon Me!
Some things are just universally appreciated. When you discover those things with your Ugandan friends, unforgettable moments are made.
Christopher had a birthday in August and so began receiving packages from home that included presents and yummy American food which he was nice enough to share. One evening, he produced a present addressed to me from his grandma wrapped in tissue paper with the words "pardon me!" written on it.
Having never met grandma, I felt special to have been included in the presents from home. I eagerly tore away the yellow tissue paper and inside found a jar of Flarp which was bursting with fart sound potential.
I hope that those of you reading this blog were lucky enough as children to experience the full spectrum of fart noises able to be produced by the combination of pink putty and a plastic jar. If not, let me summarize just a few of the farts produced by Flarp for your gastronomical distressical education:
1. the Robusto - forceful, not overpowering, with a nice rounded ending.
2. the Dog Whistle - although the rectal flute is sounded, pitch is beyond the apprehension of human ears.
3. the Jingle - light, bouncy, fun. Often accompanies merriment.
4. the Shart - Often follows a hearty meal. Can ruin your favorite drawers.
5. the Ju-art - Familiar to Peace Corps volunteers. Resonance flapping is observed with occasional liquid expulsion.
Now that you are all up to speed, I am sure you are in agreement that such a device can produce hours of entertainment. And this is exactly what it did for Christopher and I in my house. In order to share the joy, I decided it would be fun to introduce Flarp to my Ugandan neighbor children. I went over to their back porch with the Flarp and asked the youngest to please stick her hand into the pink goop. She reacted with a look of fear and refused. This was no good. I then moved on to the little boy and asked for his contribution. Being a 6 year old boy, he jumped at the chance to try something new. As the sound was produced, a glorious realization of this jar's purpose flickered in his eyes. While he experimented with some of the above-listed possibilities, the young girl's fear was eliminated and she joined in. After lots of laughter between Christopher and I and the children, the youngest decided that her parents (my landlords) also needed to get in on the action. As she called for her father, I knew I couldn't run. So, I stuck it out. When he appeared and sampled the goods, we all laughed harder. When her mother appeared, I thought, "this is the end of my credibility in this town." She watched her children and husband as a symphony of sorts was recited. After a minute or so, she too began to laugh and responded with a phrase that will forever be remembered with a smile, "Oh, it is a game that makes noise like pupu!"
The moral of the story is, children: No matter where you go, the music of the butt tuba will always be funny.
Christopher had a birthday in August and so began receiving packages from home that included presents and yummy American food which he was nice enough to share. One evening, he produced a present addressed to me from his grandma wrapped in tissue paper with the words "pardon me!" written on it.
Having never met grandma, I felt special to have been included in the presents from home. I eagerly tore away the yellow tissue paper and inside found a jar of Flarp which was bursting with fart sound potential.
I hope that those of you reading this blog were lucky enough as children to experience the full spectrum of fart noises able to be produced by the combination of pink putty and a plastic jar. If not, let me summarize just a few of the farts produced by Flarp for your gastronomical distressical education:
1. the Robusto - forceful, not overpowering, with a nice rounded ending.
2. the Dog Whistle - although the rectal flute is sounded, pitch is beyond the apprehension of human ears.
3. the Jingle - light, bouncy, fun. Often accompanies merriment.
4. the Shart - Often follows a hearty meal. Can ruin your favorite drawers.
5. the Ju-art - Familiar to Peace Corps volunteers. Resonance flapping is observed with occasional liquid expulsion.
Now that you are all up to speed, I am sure you are in agreement that such a device can produce hours of entertainment. And this is exactly what it did for Christopher and I in my house. In order to share the joy, I decided it would be fun to introduce Flarp to my Ugandan neighbor children. I went over to their back porch with the Flarp and asked the youngest to please stick her hand into the pink goop. She reacted with a look of fear and refused. This was no good. I then moved on to the little boy and asked for his contribution. Being a 6 year old boy, he jumped at the chance to try something new. As the sound was produced, a glorious realization of this jar's purpose flickered in his eyes. While he experimented with some of the above-listed possibilities, the young girl's fear was eliminated and she joined in. After lots of laughter between Christopher and I and the children, the youngest decided that her parents (my landlords) also needed to get in on the action. As she called for her father, I knew I couldn't run. So, I stuck it out. When he appeared and sampled the goods, we all laughed harder. When her mother appeared, I thought, "this is the end of my credibility in this town." She watched her children and husband as a symphony of sorts was recited. After a minute or so, she too began to laugh and responded with a phrase that will forever be remembered with a smile, "Oh, it is a game that makes noise like pupu!"
The moral of the story is, children: No matter where you go, the music of the butt tuba will always be funny.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
This Is What a Feminist Writes Like
“Mizungu, you are very beautiful, where is the husband?” “Ah! You are my size!” “May I escort you?” “I will give your father cows so that I can marry you.” “Mizungu, I want to sex you.” As a female volunteer, I am pretty much over hearing these horrible Ugandan pick up lines at least once or twice a week. They make me want to scream, punch, kick or never leave my house again.
I wouldn’t say I’m a bra-burning feminist, but I mean I like women’s rights. I understand that I am a stranger and that the culture here is different in that women and men have very specific roles in society. In college, I remember reading a lot of books on cultural relativity applied to human rights in my African Studies classes and found it fascinating. I guess after coming from a small, close-minded town it was refreshing to be introduced to a new way of forming one’s morality.
I know that as an American, my views on human rights are individualistic. That’s right I like privacy, being able to own things while having ovaries, and I like being able to choose what type of birth control is right for my body as an individual, not after being told to do so by a man.
So why are those convictions constantly questioned here? Why do I find myself scared to go and get air pressure in my bike tire without my boyfriend to accompany me and do all the talking? Why do I recoil when a newspaper salesmen comes up to Christopher and I having lunch and says, “Yes, big man would you like to buy?” and completely overlooks my presence, my ability to read, or a common interest in world news? Why is it that after I do these things, I am then at home, in tears, questioning the principles that make me, me?
Now I’m not boasting when I say that, generally, I view myself as a strong, individual woman. Its perfectly normal for a woman to feel empowered enough to say that. I mean my Mother says that I’ve been asserting myself as a woman since I was 5. I don’t think I have ever been one to back down from a challenge, especially if that challenge was posed by a man.
So, again, why am I backing down to a newspaper salesman with holes in his sandals? Have I been in Ugandan long enough now that I have begun to take on the submissive role of a Ugandan woman? Do I let Christopher do all the talking because it’s his role and I am just supposed to shut up and pop out a few babies one day?
And subsequently I ask myself, do I look down on Ugandan women then? I mean if I am thinking that I have lowered myself to submission, what does that mean I think of the women around me? Here follows guilt and sadness.
Yet it is not ALL Ugandan women that submit to the whim of men. I know this. I have friends that constantly lift my spirits when they discuss reproductive health openly or assert their rights. But they are few. I guess I get beaten down by the constant repetition of how amazing it is to be a man in Africa. I am constantly hearing men assert their rights or things that they want or need to live comfortably. Rarely do I hear this from a woman.
In a world full of attitudes like that, no wonder there are only a few women who feel comfortable enough to assert themselves! No wonder I am feeling their affect on my own sense of self. I can only imagine the daily struggle girls and young women go through to try to be successful. It is such an uphill battle.
I think I am in the midst of such a dilemma because I am half way through with the girls’ empowerment camp I am running. In trying to empower young girls within a traditional culture, I am bombarded by questions from them and from myself. I try not to lose hope that by working with them and teaching assertiveness I am helping the future generation avoid those horrible pick-up lines, but it is overwhelmingly hard. It’s hard because when I look around I see nothing but prostitution and sickness.
I wouldn’t say I’m a bra-burning feminist, but I mean I like women’s rights. I understand that I am a stranger and that the culture here is different in that women and men have very specific roles in society. In college, I remember reading a lot of books on cultural relativity applied to human rights in my African Studies classes and found it fascinating. I guess after coming from a small, close-minded town it was refreshing to be introduced to a new way of forming one’s morality.
I know that as an American, my views on human rights are individualistic. That’s right I like privacy, being able to own things while having ovaries, and I like being able to choose what type of birth control is right for my body as an individual, not after being told to do so by a man.
So why are those convictions constantly questioned here? Why do I find myself scared to go and get air pressure in my bike tire without my boyfriend to accompany me and do all the talking? Why do I recoil when a newspaper salesmen comes up to Christopher and I having lunch and says, “Yes, big man would you like to buy?” and completely overlooks my presence, my ability to read, or a common interest in world news? Why is it that after I do these things, I am then at home, in tears, questioning the principles that make me, me?
Now I’m not boasting when I say that, generally, I view myself as a strong, individual woman. Its perfectly normal for a woman to feel empowered enough to say that. I mean my Mother says that I’ve been asserting myself as a woman since I was 5. I don’t think I have ever been one to back down from a challenge, especially if that challenge was posed by a man.
So, again, why am I backing down to a newspaper salesman with holes in his sandals? Have I been in Ugandan long enough now that I have begun to take on the submissive role of a Ugandan woman? Do I let Christopher do all the talking because it’s his role and I am just supposed to shut up and pop out a few babies one day?
And subsequently I ask myself, do I look down on Ugandan women then? I mean if I am thinking that I have lowered myself to submission, what does that mean I think of the women around me? Here follows guilt and sadness.
Yet it is not ALL Ugandan women that submit to the whim of men. I know this. I have friends that constantly lift my spirits when they discuss reproductive health openly or assert their rights. But they are few. I guess I get beaten down by the constant repetition of how amazing it is to be a man in Africa. I am constantly hearing men assert their rights or things that they want or need to live comfortably. Rarely do I hear this from a woman.
In a world full of attitudes like that, no wonder there are only a few women who feel comfortable enough to assert themselves! No wonder I am feeling their affect on my own sense of self. I can only imagine the daily struggle girls and young women go through to try to be successful. It is such an uphill battle.
I think I am in the midst of such a dilemma because I am half way through with the girls’ empowerment camp I am running. In trying to empower young girls within a traditional culture, I am bombarded by questions from them and from myself. I try not to lose hope that by working with them and teaching assertiveness I am helping the future generation avoid those horrible pick-up lines, but it is overwhelmingly hard. It’s hard because when I look around I see nothing but prostitution and sickness.
And that’s what my girls see too.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
How is the going?
How is the going, I think i get asked this question by my Ugandan friends at least 20 times a day. But, the going is busy here in Busia. Last week I had the stakeholder meeting to discuss the future of the youth centre project and girl's empowerment camp that Natalie and I have been working on for months now. It went quite well. It seems that many community members and organizations were very willing to pledge support or funds. We just got word that we will be able to pick up 200 books from the west of Kampala to place in the centre. We've also had an organization pledge to supply bookshelves and another to help with environmental outreaches. So, work is crazy busy.
I had a current PC trainee stay with me from Thursday through Sunday of last week. It was interesting in that we had very different motivations for joining the Peace Corps. It was also nice to have someone else around and talk about the issues that have come up during this first year of service as well as the wonderful things that have happened. The visit was exhausting though, we did a lot, travelled a lot, and the simple act of reflecting on the last year and answering questions was also tiring. But it was all great.
This week marks my one year anniversary in Uganda. One year since I have seen my family and friends, but one more year until I get to see you all again!! I hope I don't come back with leathery, way too much Equator sun skin. We'll see what the next year brings.
I had a current PC trainee stay with me from Thursday through Sunday of last week. It was interesting in that we had very different motivations for joining the Peace Corps. It was also nice to have someone else around and talk about the issues that have come up during this first year of service as well as the wonderful things that have happened. The visit was exhausting though, we did a lot, travelled a lot, and the simple act of reflecting on the last year and answering questions was also tiring. But it was all great.
This week marks my one year anniversary in Uganda. One year since I have seen my family and friends, but one more year until I get to see you all again!! I hope I don't come back with leathery, way too much Equator sun skin. We'll see what the next year brings.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Get Involved with my Youth Centre!
For those of you wanting to help out with my youth centre, I am going to create a list of things that we need or could use from the States on this blog. If you want to contribute, please email me at olivia.burchett@gmail.com and I will give you the address and directions. Of course, if you choose to send anything or help out in anyway, we would be more than grateful! Instructional and learning supplies are very hard to come by here so anything will be appreciated. I am going to break the list down in sections that match the centres we are creating within the room.
ART:
Art therapy instructional books
Sharpies
Ribbon
Glitter
Glue
Colored paper
Pipe Cleaners
Scissors
Felt paper
Brushes
Paint (Watercolor or Acrylic)
Stencils
Crayons
Sidewalk chalk
Anything else you can think of! :)
Math:
Number/counting aids
Ideas to help in basic arithmetic
Rulers
Pencils
Index cards
Science:
National Geographic books/magazines (especially focusing on East Africa)
Environmental education information
Ideas on how to integrate environmental ed into science classes
Pictures of the body (skeletal system/muscular/respiratory system)
All you nurse friends of mine could probably give me ideas, right?
Literacy:
Books!!
Reading aides
Ideas on how to increase student literacy and make it fun!!
As we move along in the centre's renovation and development, I will be posting the proposals Natalie and I have written as well as pictures of the progress. We want you all to be involved, so please if there is anything (especially information or ideas) you could send our way -- you'd create 2 happy Peace Corps volunteers! Thank you for your love and support!!!
ART:
Art therapy instructional books
Sharpies
Ribbon
Glitter
Glue
Colored paper
Pipe Cleaners
Scissors
Felt paper
Brushes
Paint (Watercolor or Acrylic)
Stencils
Crayons
Sidewalk chalk
Anything else you can think of! :)
Math:
Number/counting aids
Ideas to help in basic arithmetic
Rulers
Pencils
Index cards
Science:
National Geographic books/magazines (especially focusing on East Africa)
Environmental education information
Ideas on how to integrate environmental ed into science classes
Pictures of the body (skeletal system/muscular/respiratory system)
All you nurse friends of mine could probably give me ideas, right?
Literacy:
Books!!
Reading aides
Ideas on how to increase student literacy and make it fun!!
As we move along in the centre's renovation and development, I will be posting the proposals Natalie and I have written as well as pictures of the progress. We want you all to be involved, so please if there is anything (especially information or ideas) you could send our way -- you'd create 2 happy Peace Corps volunteers! Thank you for your love and support!!!
Anniversaries and Reflections
As I approach my one year mark as a foreign resident of Uganda, I have become more aware of how my attitude about myself, my environment and my decision to come to Uganda changes a jillion times a day. Never in my life have I been so conscious of the evolution of my outlook, my goals, and what is important to me. It's really encouraging but terrifying at the same time. I must constantly keep it in check, so as not to become some horrid, jaded expat before the next year is up. It's amazing how fast the time has gone in retrospect, but there were moments when I thought that life was crawling by. For example, my first few weeks in Uganda tested all of my limits, patience, and my perception of myself as somewhat tough. I think it was around week three, last March:
I found myself trying to talk to my Mom on my new cellphone in my room in my Ugandan family's house, bottle of Raid in hand stalking the largest cockroach I have ever seen (seriously it must have been half monkey or something), when the power decided to go out, the connection with my Mom lost, cockroach scattered, headlamp nowhere in sight, and I felt the now familiar rumblings of an American stomach in Africa. It was at this moment that I lost it. Crying, in the dark, inhaling the Raid that missed its mark, questioning myself and my decision to join the Peace Corps.
That was the first of many days that I began to wonder, why did I want to do this? I can't say that I still don't have those moments, even now. The moments come in smaller instances, but they are ever present. The daily attitude battle usually begins like this:
I begin to think, why did Ajambo just call me Mzungu? She knows my name is Olivia, and I have asked her to call me that!! Then my emotions and thoughts start stewing, "it is probably just because I am always going to be the perceived stranger. No matter how many neighbors I know, no matter how much I can talk to the ladies in the market in local language, no matter how many trainings I conduct or workshops I develop, no matter how easily I can light my charcoal stove, I will always, always be that white woman who lives down the street. Or, the Americana. Or the mizungu. Or Nabwire. Never just Olivia."
I understand this some days, yet on others it just makes me furious. I mean, can't I just walk to the nearest vegetable stand and buy eggplants unmolested by 50 people yelling my local name or mzungu?!? I just want an eggplant!!!! But on other days, its amazing how much this same yelling makes me feel accepted and wonderful. When I see the little boy down the street who only wears a shirt (doesn't roll with pants) who stands on his front stoop and waits for me to come by on my daily afternoon walk to town and yells to me, Mzungu! I'm fine!! instead of waiting for me to ask him how he is doing, it lifts my spirits. He just can't wait for me to give my part, he's been waiting all day to tell me he's fine. And that's just fine with me. In this way, I am not a stranger. I am one of the highlights of his day, and he is one of mine. It's our routine. I have a routine! I live in Africa and I have a routine, man life is good.
On the days I put myself through an emotional rollercoaster of trying to decide whether or not I really belong here, something almost always happens like the little boy with no pants who wants to tell me he's fine. There are days when I go out into the slums to visit with bedridden HIV/AIDS patients in hopes to figure out a way to better address their needs in the community based health system. I spend the entire day walking from hut to hut in the relentless African sun, only to find sick person after sick person waiting for me. When I reach home at the end of the day, I find myself staring into space, lost in thought. Or crying. Or fighting the urge to call home and say, I can't do this anymore. This is the lowest point. I can't find clarity, I can only focus on what is sad or what is unfair. I am not looking for a solution or a way forward, I can only see what I can't do. I can't provide ARVs, I can't save a life. Why am I here? And then there is a knock at the door. I wipe my face and go to see who's visiting. I find my five year old neighbor Simon standing there with a boiled sweet potato in his hands. He says, this is for you Auntie Olivia. Then I hear his family, from the next porch over, say, Come and we eat! And I put on my shoes and eat lunch on their porch. I end up talking about my day with Simon's mother and my frustrations. She reassures me, says yes it is hard. We all feel that way Olivia, but we can't give up hope. And I realize, yes - enough now Olivia. I eat my beans and sweet potatoes and regain my faith in people and my hope for a solution.
The constant struggle to reassure myself and my intentions will most definitly continue until my last day in Uganda. Yet, in being aware of this persistent conundrum, at least I can try to accept what I cannot change and learn how to solve what I have the capability to solve. I cannot ask any more of myself than this. And that is enough.
I found myself trying to talk to my Mom on my new cellphone in my room in my Ugandan family's house, bottle of Raid in hand stalking the largest cockroach I have ever seen (seriously it must have been half monkey or something), when the power decided to go out, the connection with my Mom lost, cockroach scattered, headlamp nowhere in sight, and I felt the now familiar rumblings of an American stomach in Africa. It was at this moment that I lost it. Crying, in the dark, inhaling the Raid that missed its mark, questioning myself and my decision to join the Peace Corps.
That was the first of many days that I began to wonder, why did I want to do this? I can't say that I still don't have those moments, even now. The moments come in smaller instances, but they are ever present. The daily attitude battle usually begins like this:
I begin to think, why did Ajambo just call me Mzungu? She knows my name is Olivia, and I have asked her to call me that!! Then my emotions and thoughts start stewing, "it is probably just because I am always going to be the perceived stranger. No matter how many neighbors I know, no matter how much I can talk to the ladies in the market in local language, no matter how many trainings I conduct or workshops I develop, no matter how easily I can light my charcoal stove, I will always, always be that white woman who lives down the street. Or, the Americana. Or the mizungu. Or Nabwire. Never just Olivia."
I understand this some days, yet on others it just makes me furious. I mean, can't I just walk to the nearest vegetable stand and buy eggplants unmolested by 50 people yelling my local name or mzungu?!? I just want an eggplant!!!! But on other days, its amazing how much this same yelling makes me feel accepted and wonderful. When I see the little boy down the street who only wears a shirt (doesn't roll with pants) who stands on his front stoop and waits for me to come by on my daily afternoon walk to town and yells to me, Mzungu! I'm fine!! instead of waiting for me to ask him how he is doing, it lifts my spirits. He just can't wait for me to give my part, he's been waiting all day to tell me he's fine. And that's just fine with me. In this way, I am not a stranger. I am one of the highlights of his day, and he is one of mine. It's our routine. I have a routine! I live in Africa and I have a routine, man life is good.
On the days I put myself through an emotional rollercoaster of trying to decide whether or not I really belong here, something almost always happens like the little boy with no pants who wants to tell me he's fine. There are days when I go out into the slums to visit with bedridden HIV/AIDS patients in hopes to figure out a way to better address their needs in the community based health system. I spend the entire day walking from hut to hut in the relentless African sun, only to find sick person after sick person waiting for me. When I reach home at the end of the day, I find myself staring into space, lost in thought. Or crying. Or fighting the urge to call home and say, I can't do this anymore. This is the lowest point. I can't find clarity, I can only focus on what is sad or what is unfair. I am not looking for a solution or a way forward, I can only see what I can't do. I can't provide ARVs, I can't save a life. Why am I here? And then there is a knock at the door. I wipe my face and go to see who's visiting. I find my five year old neighbor Simon standing there with a boiled sweet potato in his hands. He says, this is for you Auntie Olivia. Then I hear his family, from the next porch over, say, Come and we eat! And I put on my shoes and eat lunch on their porch. I end up talking about my day with Simon's mother and my frustrations. She reassures me, says yes it is hard. We all feel that way Olivia, but we can't give up hope. And I realize, yes - enough now Olivia. I eat my beans and sweet potatoes and regain my faith in people and my hope for a solution.
The constant struggle to reassure myself and my intentions will most definitly continue until my last day in Uganda. Yet, in being aware of this persistent conundrum, at least I can try to accept what I cannot change and learn how to solve what I have the capability to solve. I cannot ask any more of myself than this. And that is enough.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Youth Development Centre!
I feel like a Peace Corps volunteer today. Natalie, my closest neighboring PC volunteer and I have successfully written our proposal for the renovation of the town's youth room as well as a proposal for a girl's empowerment camp that I am going to run and a literacy program that she is heading up. We've been in lots of meeting and working really hard and today I got reassurance that this is really going to happen. The best part is that it's not my or Natalie's ideas - they are the ideas of the many youth and organizations in town, they've just not had the capacity to coordinate their efforts to make the youth centre grow to its full potential. Right now the room is empty but for a tv and computer donated by Christian Children's Fund. There is water damage in the ceiling that we just got word that we will have fixed by a volunteer youth environment group and we are also hoping to get timber donated to build wall to wall bookshelves in the room. We are planning on painting it lots of fun colors, as well as creating centers in the room that would include a reading/writing center, art center, computer/typing center, and a math center. WE have a concept meeting planned with the district officials, town council government officials, NGOs, the youth and community based organizations planned in two weeks. I am so excited, I can't wait to begin. It's amazing, I had no idea that we'd be able to get this far in such a short amount of time. Everyone in Busia has been really supportive and willing to work to get this project off the ground. There isn't a library in the whole district, so if we make bookshelves and get some books it will be such a blessing for the children here. I am going to document the process and hopefully put our proposals on my blog as an attachment so that everyone can get involved if they feel as though they want to. As the program develops, there may be a way I can get everyone from home involved in the camps and literacy program if you'd like. Just let me know! Great, great, great day!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Long Time
So it's been a long time since my last post, and I apologize. Things here have been busy. The main issue has been the Kenyan crisis. We are all watching and reading the news fervently as things seem to worsen daily. For about a month after the elections on December 27, my town had a steady influx of refugees. I was working at the camp helping to distribute food, carry sacks of charcoal and register new arrivals. It was exhausting but really worth it in the end. Everyone was so humble and I even learned some new Swahili words! Also in the last month or so, I have been working hard to develop a youth center and girls empowerment camp proposal. Fingers crossed this should be completed in the next few weeks. I begin renovations on the center in February, I will begin posting more and putting up pictures of the progress. If anyone out there knows of a good way or organization that could donate books or art supplies, please let me know! Thanks so much! I am also going to try to implement art therapy for some of the kids that are most affected by the issues here - any help or feedback on this subject would be so helpful. Thanks everyone for all the letters and emails and packages. Christopher and I are going to camp out in a rain forest this weekend - I am stoked! I will put up pictures when I can, I promise! Great week and merry weekend to you all!
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