In this post I am going to attempt to share more of my thoughts and feelings about the things I am seeing and experiencing so far in Africa. I realize that the majority of this blog has been dedicated to recounting stories so far. I have been receiving emails and messages recently asking things like, "But how do you feel about all of it?" and "How are you doing, really?" I will assume the people voicing these questions aren't the only ones with these, or similar, questions.
I must say that the biggest reason I haven't talked so much about my thoughts and feelings is because they are very confused right now. I think and feel so many different things about the poverty I am seeing and all these different things are often contradictory. They haven't come together in a nice, cohesive, easy to explain package.
First, there's the issue of recognizing my wealth in the face of this poverty. At home I don't consider myself wealthy at all. My family has worked so hard, and are still working so hard, to get us where we are. Compared to other Americans, we are middle class. Compared to the world though, we are so wealthy. We have a two-story house, with electricity, running water, and my brother and I each have a bedroom. That's average in the States, but here only the wealthy can afford those things.
I walk around with 20,000 shillings in my purse, which is about $15, and I pass people who haven't seen that kind of money in months. We come back to our guesthouse, with our electricity and our lap tops when there are so many people here that have never lived in a house with lights and will never even touch the keyboard of a computer. People here look at us the way we look at the sort of people who have a tennis court in their backyard, a personal cook, and an indoor pool.
Then there's the issue of realizing that not only am I wealthy, but I am a part of the reason these people are so poor. Because of the way I live, the things I buy, and because I am an American, I cause others to live in poverty. I learn more and more all the time about the ways I (we) cause others to live with less, and support the oppression that causes poverty. We buy clothes produced by sweatshops, where people work for wages they cannot live by. We eat food grown on farms labored by slaves. We support an economy that sustains itself largely at the expense of others. We say we don't support slavery or child labor but those beliefs seem only to apply to those in our own country.
People from the world's twenty wealthiest nations have an average family income of about $27,000 (We are certainly in this category), while the average family income of the twenty poorest nations is only a little over $2,000. The top 2% of the world possesses 50% of the world's wealth. Sorry, I'm a statistics person. The numbers speak though, and they say that the way things are right now is so wrong. We have so much when others have so little and there's no way it's justifiable.
What's the response to be? There's the tough question. There are so many tough questions I am asking myself. What would it look like to live justly? What needs to change so that we can honestly say we are living in a way that empowers, instead of uses, our brothers and sisters around the world? How much do we give, and to whom do we give? What is the best way to help people? How do we know which cause, of all noble causes, to fight for?
I have some answers to those questions and I know some of the ways I will respond. None of it is very satisfying though because I am seeing firsthand how big the problem of poverty is. It is disheartening to know that, even if I am doing my part, the problem will still be of epic proportions. At some points in time, I am overwhelmed by the power I do have as a rich American. Other times though, I am overwhelmed with feelings of powerlessness because there is so, so much wrong in this world. It's a very confusing thing to have such polar experiences, both of them equally intense.
These are just some of the things I am constantly thinking about here. If you know me well, you know that at home I have asked a lot of the same questions. It's all so much more prominent here though. And here, these questions are being paired with all sorts of other questions that I haven't got around to sharing with you yet--questions about faith and questions about what to do with my life. So, there's more to come...
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
African September
I can't believe I have been in Kampala for a month already. Time is flying by. I have gotten into a routine of attending classes, going to the babies' home, and experiencing the city. We now call the guesthouse we stay in "home" and I no longer wake up surprised to be in Africa. I'm getting used to being here.
Classes are going well, but there is a lot of work since it's the last week. The material is interesting and I am learning a lot. In my Religion course, I have a 20-25 page paper due at the end of this week. My group is writing ours on polygamy, which is a rather common practice in traditional settings of Africa. I have had the chance to meet a few people who grew up in polygamous homes. They call all of their fathers' wives "mother", regardless of who their biological mother is, and their siblings are all equally considered brothers and sisters whether they are half siblings or whole. The wives don't generally all live in the same household though. They will usually live in different huts on the same compound. Paul's family, who I visited last weekend, was a polygamous family. I only met one of his father's wives though. In our paper, we want to look at biblical perspectives on polygamy, gender roles upheld through polygamy, and how children are effected by living in this sort of family. If we get started on it soon, it should be a pretty strong paper. But if procrastination settles in, who knows.
In my Literature class, we have read about 5 books that have all taken place after colonization. We are learning a lot about the coming of Christianity and Western culture to Africa. The West has done some really terrible things here. They have acted out of good intentions but have often not bothered to learn about the culture they are interacting with. So they have made terrible, ethnocentric mistakes that have hurt the people. Good intentions on their own don't go far.
I am still visiting the babies at the orphanage and I love it. It's still just as hectic and wonderful as when I started. It's so crazy there but I love the kids so, so much. The other day I had nine babies to feed at one time, all to myself. They were all lined up sitting on a bench and I went down the line feeding them each one spoonful of matooke at a time. Babysitting when I get home is going to seem like such a breeze. A lot of the kids recognize me now, which is so exciting. I wish I could bring them home with me. I've already looked up adoption laws though and I need to wait a few years.
It's so heartbreaking when a new baby gets there. One baby was found in the back of a taxi, another was dropped off because her mother was mentally ill and abusing her, another found in a bush. I'm so glad they were found, but it makes you wonder if all of them are found in time. It's terrible when the babies are sick too. A couple of days ago Kenny, who is probably about 9 months, was sick and I just held him the whole time I was there. He was warmer than I have ever felt a person be and had an IV in his hand. The nurse force fed him a glass of juice and he spent the rest of the day throwing it up. Having to put him down and leave was definitely one of the worst things I have ever done in my life. He cried and cried when I put him down and watched me until I was out of sight. Someone probably just picked him up and put him in his crib to cry.
It's really great to learn when one of the babies is getting adopted. One day a Ugandan lady was there choosing six children to adopt. Another day, a lady was visiting Elizabeth, who is three, and she was planning on adopting her. Elizabeth looked so happy, holding this lady's hand and following her everywhere. The adoption rate there is actually pretty high, and that gives me hope.
Along with classes and the babies' home, I have just been enjoying the city. We all feel much more confident walking around than we did at first, so we visit markets and shops a couple times a week. I like the Friday Market best. It's every Friday and it's all handmade crafts, like wood carvings, jewelry, and baskets. We also visit Ciao Ciao at least three times a week, which is this ice cream place right down the street. They have the best flavors, like Pistachio, Pineapple, and Lemon. Mmmm, maybe I will walk down there after I finish writing this post...
Well now that I am used to life in Kampala, I have only one week left here. I will leave for practicum on either Saturday or Sunday and I will be there a month. It will be myself and one other student, Allison. We will be doing different positions but living together, which will be fun. I am excited for the work I will be doing. I also am excited to get to know a community. I think meeting people will be easier in a rural area than here in the city.
Classes are going well, but there is a lot of work since it's the last week. The material is interesting and I am learning a lot. In my Religion course, I have a 20-25 page paper due at the end of this week. My group is writing ours on polygamy, which is a rather common practice in traditional settings of Africa. I have had the chance to meet a few people who grew up in polygamous homes. They call all of their fathers' wives "mother", regardless of who their biological mother is, and their siblings are all equally considered brothers and sisters whether they are half siblings or whole. The wives don't generally all live in the same household though. They will usually live in different huts on the same compound. Paul's family, who I visited last weekend, was a polygamous family. I only met one of his father's wives though. In our paper, we want to look at biblical perspectives on polygamy, gender roles upheld through polygamy, and how children are effected by living in this sort of family. If we get started on it soon, it should be a pretty strong paper. But if procrastination settles in, who knows.
In my Literature class, we have read about 5 books that have all taken place after colonization. We are learning a lot about the coming of Christianity and Western culture to Africa. The West has done some really terrible things here. They have acted out of good intentions but have often not bothered to learn about the culture they are interacting with. So they have made terrible, ethnocentric mistakes that have hurt the people. Good intentions on their own don't go far.
I am still visiting the babies at the orphanage and I love it. It's still just as hectic and wonderful as when I started. It's so crazy there but I love the kids so, so much. The other day I had nine babies to feed at one time, all to myself. They were all lined up sitting on a bench and I went down the line feeding them each one spoonful of matooke at a time. Babysitting when I get home is going to seem like such a breeze. A lot of the kids recognize me now, which is so exciting. I wish I could bring them home with me. I've already looked up adoption laws though and I need to wait a few years.
It's so heartbreaking when a new baby gets there. One baby was found in the back of a taxi, another was dropped off because her mother was mentally ill and abusing her, another found in a bush. I'm so glad they were found, but it makes you wonder if all of them are found in time. It's terrible when the babies are sick too. A couple of days ago Kenny, who is probably about 9 months, was sick and I just held him the whole time I was there. He was warmer than I have ever felt a person be and had an IV in his hand. The nurse force fed him a glass of juice and he spent the rest of the day throwing it up. Having to put him down and leave was definitely one of the worst things I have ever done in my life. He cried and cried when I put him down and watched me until I was out of sight. Someone probably just picked him up and put him in his crib to cry.
It's really great to learn when one of the babies is getting adopted. One day a Ugandan lady was there choosing six children to adopt. Another day, a lady was visiting Elizabeth, who is three, and she was planning on adopting her. Elizabeth looked so happy, holding this lady's hand and following her everywhere. The adoption rate there is actually pretty high, and that gives me hope.
Along with classes and the babies' home, I have just been enjoying the city. We all feel much more confident walking around than we did at first, so we visit markets and shops a couple times a week. I like the Friday Market best. It's every Friday and it's all handmade crafts, like wood carvings, jewelry, and baskets. We also visit Ciao Ciao at least three times a week, which is this ice cream place right down the street. They have the best flavors, like Pistachio, Pineapple, and Lemon. Mmmm, maybe I will walk down there after I finish writing this post...
Well now that I am used to life in Kampala, I have only one week left here. I will leave for practicum on either Saturday or Sunday and I will be there a month. It will be myself and one other student, Allison. We will be doing different positions but living together, which will be fun. I am excited for the work I will be doing. I also am excited to get to know a community. I think meeting people will be easier in a rural area than here in the city.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Visiting Iyolwa
This weekend I traveled with three of my teammates to our friend Paul's childhood village, Iyolwa. Iyolwa is a rural village in Tororo, about five hours east of Kampala. We were shown wonderful hospitality from Paul's family and got to have a taste of what rural life in East Uganda is like.
Our travels began with a bumpy and adrenaline inducing matatu ride from Kampala to Tororo. When we first got to Kampala, we were told by our doctor to never, ever ride a matatu in the countryside. This weekend, I discovered the reason for his advice. Matatus in the countryside drive at least eighty-five miles an hour, regardless of the quality of the vehicle or road. Matatus in the countryside also pass one another at ninety-five miles an hour going around turns and on hills. I spent much of the ride clutching the window bar with white knuckles,praying there were no cars around this bend or over that hill. Eventually, I decided worrying wasn't going to help anything so I went to sleep after fervently praying to arrive safely in Tororo.
We did arrive eventually and were warmly welcomed into Paul's family's home. It was a six room cement house with a tin roof. It had no electricity or running water, so dinners were eaten by candle light and I experienced my first bucket bath. On Saturday Paul showed us around the family's fields, teaching us about planting and harvesting each plant. We saw cassava, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes, sorgum, maize, and groundnuts.
The food we were served was pretty good. I was pretty nervous after hearing stories of past students having matooke shoved down their throats for half hour after being full, but our food experience was good. I was sooo glad that we didn't have matooke for once. Tororo's staple food is millet instead of matooke. It was nice to mix things up. I just could not eat the chicken we were served though. The girls in my group had to slaughter the chickens and I had to pluck the feathers. It was a pretty traumatizing experience. I slipped the chicken I was served under the table for the other girls to eat. They got back at me by passing all their avocado to me though, so I ended up with six pieces of avocado.
Church on Sunday was, as always, an interesting experience. The service was scheduled to begin at nine but didn't actually start until eleven. The music was so energetic and joyful; I am really falling in love with the music here. The assistant pastor gave a sermon then we were asked to introduce ourselves to the congregation. It is courtesy to share a song, so we sang "Come Thou Fount". After introductions, there was a time of testimony. A man got up and was speaking excitedly in Jap, so we couldn't understand him. But while he was talking, he came over to us Americans twice to shake our hands. Later, Paul told us this man had said he was so glad that he was saved because it meant he could fellowship with white people. It makes me so sad the way so many people here glorify white people. I just don't understand it at all. The pastor also went on and on about how excited he was to have whites in his congregation. I wish they saw us white people for what we are; we are the same as them, not better in any way. Well, after the testimonies, we though it was time to leave but apparently there was going to be a second sermon...haha
Visiting Paul's town was really great. It was so nice to escape the city for a little while. It was so nice to look out and see nothing but green, instead of the brown and gray of the city skyline. There's nothing like the smell of the air when everything is still all dewy and glistening in the morning sun. I feel so much more at home and at peace when there is nature around.
I left Iyolwa really hoping that my practicum would be somewhere rural. I will spend all of October in a new place, doing a full time practicum. I applied for a placement last week and we found out tonight where each of us will be going! I will be going to Mukono, where I will have a position doing research. I'm going to be doing interviews with people from a couple of communities to discover how Food for the Hungry is doing in meeting their goals. I will research the communities' needs and strengths and then formulate some suggestions on how Food for the Hungry can best be helping the communities. The research position was my top choice, so I am so, so excited about this opportunity. It's going to be so much fun.
Our travels began with a bumpy and adrenaline inducing matatu ride from Kampala to Tororo. When we first got to Kampala, we were told by our doctor to never, ever ride a matatu in the countryside. This weekend, I discovered the reason for his advice. Matatus in the countryside drive at least eighty-five miles an hour, regardless of the quality of the vehicle or road. Matatus in the countryside also pass one another at ninety-five miles an hour going around turns and on hills. I spent much of the ride clutching the window bar with white knuckles,praying there were no cars around this bend or over that hill. Eventually, I decided worrying wasn't going to help anything so I went to sleep after fervently praying to arrive safely in Tororo.
We did arrive eventually and were warmly welcomed into Paul's family's home. It was a six room cement house with a tin roof. It had no electricity or running water, so dinners were eaten by candle light and I experienced my first bucket bath. On Saturday Paul showed us around the family's fields, teaching us about planting and harvesting each plant. We saw cassava, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes, sorgum, maize, and groundnuts.
The food we were served was pretty good. I was pretty nervous after hearing stories of past students having matooke shoved down their throats for half hour after being full, but our food experience was good. I was sooo glad that we didn't have matooke for once. Tororo's staple food is millet instead of matooke. It was nice to mix things up. I just could not eat the chicken we were served though. The girls in my group had to slaughter the chickens and I had to pluck the feathers. It was a pretty traumatizing experience. I slipped the chicken I was served under the table for the other girls to eat. They got back at me by passing all their avocado to me though, so I ended up with six pieces of avocado.
Church on Sunday was, as always, an interesting experience. The service was scheduled to begin at nine but didn't actually start until eleven. The music was so energetic and joyful; I am really falling in love with the music here. The assistant pastor gave a sermon then we were asked to introduce ourselves to the congregation. It is courtesy to share a song, so we sang "Come Thou Fount". After introductions, there was a time of testimony. A man got up and was speaking excitedly in Jap, so we couldn't understand him. But while he was talking, he came over to us Americans twice to shake our hands. Later, Paul told us this man had said he was so glad that he was saved because it meant he could fellowship with white people. It makes me so sad the way so many people here glorify white people. I just don't understand it at all. The pastor also went on and on about how excited he was to have whites in his congregation. I wish they saw us white people for what we are; we are the same as them, not better in any way. Well, after the testimonies, we though it was time to leave but apparently there was going to be a second sermon...haha
Visiting Paul's town was really great. It was so nice to escape the city for a little while. It was so nice to look out and see nothing but green, instead of the brown and gray of the city skyline. There's nothing like the smell of the air when everything is still all dewy and glistening in the morning sun. I feel so much more at home and at peace when there is nature around.
I left Iyolwa really hoping that my practicum would be somewhere rural. I will spend all of October in a new place, doing a full time practicum. I applied for a placement last week and we found out tonight where each of us will be going! I will be going to Mukono, where I will have a position doing research. I'm going to be doing interviews with people from a couple of communities to discover how Food for the Hungry is doing in meeting their goals. I will research the communities' needs and strengths and then formulate some suggestions on how Food for the Hungry can best be helping the communities. The research position was my top choice, so I am so, so excited about this opportunity. It's going to be so much fun.
Monday, September 8, 2008
A Wedding and A Proposal
Yesterday, we all attended the wedding of one of our Ugandan friends, Jumah. It was a very interesting experience. I can't say I'll be wanting to attend another Ugandan wedding any time soon, but it was an experience to remember for sure.
The ceremony was very Westernized, full with a white dress, matching bridesmaids' dresses, and men in tuxes. It was much more celebratory than weddings at home though, which was really cool. Ugandan churches don't have the same quiet reservations that our churches do. People felt completely free to yell out and cheer during the middle of the service. It was wild. I didn't really appreciate the remarks from the pastor though. First, he talked about how Jumah chose his bride because she was so beautiful, more beautiful than all the other women. There was no mention of the bride's character. Then he talked about how a woman's place is in the home serving her husband, even if she gets a good position, for example, as a headmaster or the country's vice president.
After the service, we walked to the reception. It was scheduled to begin at 3:00. Silly us, we got there at about 2:45. Naturally, an African reception doesn't start until at least two hours after its scheduled starting time. So we sat around for a couple hours and the bride and groom finally rolled in at nearly 5:30. By this time we were ravenous and quite excited for some food. Again, silly us for thinking we would get food right away.
First there were presentations, which means people sang karaoke. It was humorous at first but then hunger took over and my patience was being severely tried. After the presentations were speeches. What a wonderful practice it is in the States to have just two speeches at our weddings! I think we heard at least five yesterday. And Ugandan speeches are not concise.
Finally, it was time for cake. They had eight beautiful pink cakes up front and I had been eying them for about four or five hours at this point. Instead of cutting up all the cakes, they cut just one of them and each guest got this tiny morsel! They just wrapped up the seven other cakes; I have no idea what they did with them. Well, when we got our pieces of cake, we greedily stuffed them in our mouths. Silly us to think this cake would taste like cake at home. I don't know what was in that cake, but my taste buds did not appreciate it.
After cake it was finally dinner time, but there was no silverware left for us. So we ate rice and matooke (which is the consistency of mashed potatoes) with our hands. I tried reminding myself that I was in Africa and needed to be flexible but I was too grossed out to finish, so I gave it to someone else.
After dinner, I met this young man from the Congo. We talked a little about how his parents had died and he moved to Kampala and was learning English. It was difficult to understand him, what with his thick accent and the loud music. He started telling me that he was all alone in Kampala and that it's not good to be alone. Then all my friends said we were leaving, so I tried saying good bye to this guy. He said he would walk me out. I told him I didn't want him to but he followed me. While I was on the stairs exiting the church, he caught up to me. He told me people shouldn't be alone then looked at his feet and asked me to marry him. Oh my...
The ceremony was very Westernized, full with a white dress, matching bridesmaids' dresses, and men in tuxes. It was much more celebratory than weddings at home though, which was really cool. Ugandan churches don't have the same quiet reservations that our churches do. People felt completely free to yell out and cheer during the middle of the service. It was wild. I didn't really appreciate the remarks from the pastor though. First, he talked about how Jumah chose his bride because she was so beautiful, more beautiful than all the other women. There was no mention of the bride's character. Then he talked about how a woman's place is in the home serving her husband, even if she gets a good position, for example, as a headmaster or the country's vice president.
After the service, we walked to the reception. It was scheduled to begin at 3:00. Silly us, we got there at about 2:45. Naturally, an African reception doesn't start until at least two hours after its scheduled starting time. So we sat around for a couple hours and the bride and groom finally rolled in at nearly 5:30. By this time we were ravenous and quite excited for some food. Again, silly us for thinking we would get food right away.
First there were presentations, which means people sang karaoke. It was humorous at first but then hunger took over and my patience was being severely tried. After the presentations were speeches. What a wonderful practice it is in the States to have just two speeches at our weddings! I think we heard at least five yesterday. And Ugandan speeches are not concise.
Finally, it was time for cake. They had eight beautiful pink cakes up front and I had been eying them for about four or five hours at this point. Instead of cutting up all the cakes, they cut just one of them and each guest got this tiny morsel! They just wrapped up the seven other cakes; I have no idea what they did with them. Well, when we got our pieces of cake, we greedily stuffed them in our mouths. Silly us to think this cake would taste like cake at home. I don't know what was in that cake, but my taste buds did not appreciate it.
After cake it was finally dinner time, but there was no silverware left for us. So we ate rice and matooke (which is the consistency of mashed potatoes) with our hands. I tried reminding myself that I was in Africa and needed to be flexible but I was too grossed out to finish, so I gave it to someone else.
After dinner, I met this young man from the Congo. We talked a little about how his parents had died and he moved to Kampala and was learning English. It was difficult to understand him, what with his thick accent and the loud music. He started telling me that he was all alone in Kampala and that it's not good to be alone. Then all my friends said we were leaving, so I tried saying good bye to this guy. He said he would walk me out. I told him I didn't want him to but he followed me. While I was on the stairs exiting the church, he caught up to me. He told me people shouldn't be alone then looked at his feet and asked me to marry him. Oh my...
I stood there baffled that this guy I had known for thirty minutes was proposing! My friend Kyle, another American on the program, saw what was happening from afar and came over to help me out of the situation. He put his arm around me and said it was time for us to leave. My new suitor assumed Kyle and I were married and took the hint.
It was an interesting experience. This guy really did have a very sad story. It's very depressing that he felt so desperate and hopeless in his current situation that marrying an American girl seemed like the best option for him. So many people here see getting to the States as their only way out of difficulties and therefore see white women as opportunities for visas. It's hard that we American girls always have to be on our guards, assuming the men here just want to use us for a visa. But it's even harder to know there are so many people who feel so hopeless that marrying a stranger and going to a foreign land seems better than their present lives.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Matooke
Today I'd like to talk about some of the local food we have been eating here in Kampala. Lucky for us, our cook at the house makes fabulous American food. So when we eat at home, it's lasagna, soup, vegetable stir fries, and Grace's famous pumpkin cake. We eat at local restaurants for lunch though, and it is quite an experience. Our favorite restaurant, which we frequent regularly, is the Millennium Dynasty Hotel. Classic name, right?
First, just because an item is listed on the menu does not by any means indicate the restaurant can serve you that food. We have learned that, when asked what we would like to order, it is best to ask what they do have. Usually we have an option of five or six items. At home, beverages are ordered and served before food but here you order drinks after your food and you often need to call over the server.
The drinks we most often get are Coca Colas (they are everywhere), Stoneys, and Krests. Stoneys are really, really strong ginger ale. They sting as they go down, but they are sooo good. Krests are bitter lemon sodas, also quite delicious.
As for food, it is all very starchy. The staples are matooke, posho, rice, and sweet potatoes. Matooke is mashed up raw bananas and posho is a mashed cornmeal type of dish. You usually get one of these staple foods with a choice of g-nut sauce, pea sauce, bean sauce, chicken stew, or beef stew. G-nut sauce is just peanut sauce like we have in the States but chunkier. So far, my favorite dishes are matooke with g-nut sauce and rice with bean sauce.
So far, I have been able to pass on the fish heads and goat meat. Unfortunately, I don't think I will be able to avoid them the whole semester.
First, just because an item is listed on the menu does not by any means indicate the restaurant can serve you that food. We have learned that, when asked what we would like to order, it is best to ask what they do have. Usually we have an option of five or six items. At home, beverages are ordered and served before food but here you order drinks after your food and you often need to call over the server.
The drinks we most often get are Coca Colas (they are everywhere), Stoneys, and Krests. Stoneys are really, really strong ginger ale. They sting as they go down, but they are sooo good. Krests are bitter lemon sodas, also quite delicious.
As for food, it is all very starchy. The staples are matooke, posho, rice, and sweet potatoes. Matooke is mashed up raw bananas and posho is a mashed cornmeal type of dish. You usually get one of these staple foods with a choice of g-nut sauce, pea sauce, bean sauce, chicken stew, or beef stew. G-nut sauce is just peanut sauce like we have in the States but chunkier. So far, my favorite dishes are matooke with g-nut sauce and rice with bean sauce.
So far, I have been able to pass on the fish heads and goat meat. Unfortunately, I don't think I will be able to avoid them the whole semester.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Nile Adventures
So, as planned, we all went white water rafting on the Nile this Saturday. It was one of the craziest, most fun experiences of my life. I figured that since it was with a commercial rafting company, it would be really safe and relatively low key. I keep forgetting that I am in Africa. Safety regulations probably don't even exist and precautions are a joke. This rafting was hardcore.
The first notable rafting story is when we got stuck on this waterfall called Over Time. Before we did the rapid, our guide told us that if we did flip, we might get stuck under the waterfall. So, we really, really didn't want to flip. We paddled our way to the waterfall and then just when we should have dropped, the back of the boat got stuck on rocks, leaving us hanging vertically over the waterfall. It seemed like the back of the boat was going to flip right over the top, throwing us all into the waterfall. We all looked to our guide and by the look on his face and the faces of the rescue team at the bottom of the waterfall, we knew this was not good at all. After looking around dumbfounded for a minute, our guide screamed with his fabulous South African accent, “Everyone hold the fuck on!!!” Let me tell you, we sure did hang on. Somehow, the boat came free from the rocks and we fell down the waterfall without flipping.
Rafting story two: We went down a rapid and everything seemed to be going well, until all of a sudden I felt myself being spilled out of the raft. I opened my eyes as I floundered around underwater and saw the raft above me. I swam and come up for air and saw the rest of my team flailing around in the water with me; we had flipped our raft. In a flurry of paddles and life jackets, we struggled our way back onto the raft and everyone was fine.
My third and final rafting story: During a calm part of the river, a couple of us jumped out of the boat to swim. We were enjoying the cool water immensely when our guide called to us, “Now don't panic but I'd like you all to swim quickly back to the raft.” As soon as he said it, I knew what was wrong. Someone had seen a crocodile in the water. We got ourselves back into the raft without anyone freaking out or losing an appendage though.
I think that's quite enough for today. I wanted to put my address on her because some of you have been asking for it. It is:
Food for the Hungry
Attn: Rachel Kleinow
P.O. Box 12167
Zzimwe Close
Kampala, Uganda
It takes about three weeks to get here and I leave Kampala at the end of September. So if you intend to write me a letter, it should probably happen soon.
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