Most Memorable Moments from Uganda

I feel like I could write about my very short time in Uganda endlessly, but that would get boring, so I’ll wrap it up now and conclude with my three most memorable moments. Since this is all I’ll write I should give a few honorable mentions…:

• skinny dipping in the Nile (first and last time I will ever go skinny dipping, so good job I made it somewhere memorable). It seems needless to say that I’ve never seen so many bare bums in my life;
• white water rafting (completely terrifying, especially given the fact that I can’t swim, but so worth it). The moment we went over the final rapid and I swam in the Nile with Meg making sure I didn’t drown was a big moment for me;
• the night I had a nightmare induced by the anti-malarial tablets I was taking in which the headmaster of the school I was living in was whispering through a foghorn that he loved me and was coming for me, and then tried to climb into my bed, at which point I woke nearly all of the girls up with a scream of abject horror (yeah, that was weird);
• a night I refer to as warthog-gate, when me and a few other people got rather drunk on gin and tonics – the drink of choice amongst our group – and watched thunder and lightning by our tents before we went to sleep, at which point Chris and Mark decided to imitate warthogs and scared the living shit out of me. The resultant cuddles with Ash were the end of a very strange and funny night (you maybe had to be there, but it was hilarious);
• Boda-bodas – I love bodas so much and I miss them something dreadful.
• My fear at the bungee jump, which it turns out I was too much of a wimp to go through with. Massive props to Meg and Katie, who got me through that awful fear, and reminded me that I wasn’t a massive failure.
• Quad biking – turns out that even though I’m a wimp in almost everything else, I have a proclivity for quad biking. Mud and speed are things I enjoy immensely, so much so that I’m thinking I should just go ahead and apply to become an extra on the next Fast and Furious film. Because obviously that’s the next logical step. 
  
• My circus freak arm – I feel fairly confident in saying that I took the bullet for the group in terms of bites. I had about 50 on my right arm, not quite sure what caused them (it wasn’t mosquitoes!), and they were so red and swollen that they required antibiotics and tar cream. I still have a few faint scars. It’s a small price to pay, I think.

Okay, I will stop, but only because I really have to. Now onto those three most memorable moments…

Source of the Nile 

This was part of the activity weekend (which included quad biking, bungee jumping and horse riding. It was a busy weekend) and also the last weekend we had in Uganda. I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my last few days in that beautiful country and luckily the whole group (19 of us altogether) had decided to pay for this activity. Basically it involved racing each other in kayaks (two people to one kayak) to certain points on the river, and then enjoying a very strong G&T for our efforts. Of course partaking in a potentially dangerous (a word I use very lightly because really it wasn’t dangerous at all) activity under the influence of alcohol is always fun, but doing it with a group of people who have seen you at your worst and whom you have had many a conversation with about your daily pooing habits seems to make it so much better. We all loved this activity, because it allowed us to be fun and silly with one another, to have water fights and jump into the Nile and act like kids – which seemed rather fitting really. I took so many brilliant pictures of our kayaking, which it turns out is a sure-fire-way of earning yourself a slightly broken camera, but it was so worth it. Kayaking the Source of the Nile also gave us plenty of time to participate in one of our favourite group activities, singing, which brings me rather nicely onto another of my most memorable moments.

Our many renditions of A Thousand Miles

I wish I could remember how this all started, and I wish even more that I could convey how much this song came to affect our moods on a day-to-day basis and how much it now defines the trip, but basically, we had a major thing for this song. It became a group anthem, and it was sung at any given opportunity. When we were feeling beaten after a particularly hard day of building, the whisperings of the first few words would be sung by one person and then like a chorus we would all join in. When Megan came to her do-or-die bungee jump moment, standing on the precipice of the daunting edge, with only one sensation of complete and utter fear, and everybody sang the song because they knew it would bolster her on. When we’d finished The Source of The Nile and we were standing on top of the truck that held us and twenty kayaks, and we sang this song to a crowd of bewildered onlookers and an even more bewildered NRE camp. There is nothing quite like the buzz of standing on top of a truck singing at the top of your lungs into the cold Ugandan night air with a group of people who only a few weeks previously had been complete and utter strangers. This song was probably one of the biggest reasons we were so close, and why I still count many of the people I took this trip with as friends. Seriously, if you want to forge a quick group bond, just establish a very strong anthem. Not A Thousand Miles though. It’s taken. 

A terrifying trip

This one is a humdinger, and I only hope I can adequately describe how funny it was looking back on the memory now. Before I go into this story though, I’d like to emphasise that I am alive and well, and that this should by no means terrify you. So it all starts with a chance encounter with a local while we were spending a weekend at the Nile River Explorers (NRE) Camp. This local kept cropping up at the most random times, only ever at night though (dispel all vampire-related imagery from your minds immediately), and when we’d already had a few drinks. It was mainly myself and another girl Charlotte that he seemed most taken with (maybe he had a thing for small girls. Who can say…), and he would come up to us and always ask us to visit an orphanage that he said he worked at, which he told us was only about fifteen minutes away by boda. We were naturally rather hesitant, as you would be when a total stranger that you only ever seem to encounter while tipsy offers you a ride, but on the last day at camp we decided that it was too amazing an opportunity to pass up on, so we rang him up and organised to meet outside the camp. 

As soon as we saw him and took a seat outside on a ramshackle bench I was filled with a curious sense of trepidation. Has anybody ever been in a situation that they know won’t end well, and still went through with said situation? Well this was the feeling I had as we were sat, being watched rather curiously by a group of complete strangers who seemed completely bemused by our overwhelmingly white presence. This man who had promised to take us to the orphanage had told us to wait on the bench while he went home to change, yet I couldn’t help feeling that he had secretly gone home to fetch a weapon with which to murder us both with. (And yet you stayed and waited for him? You all wonder as you read). When he came back he asked us to wait a few minutes more while he chatted with a friend, both of whom then came up to us and told us to get on their bodas. It is not immediately obvious perhaps why this would seem strange, but it was. Very strange. I and Charlotte both looked at one another for a moment, eyes widening slightly. The reason this request was strange was because bodas can very easily fit three people (including the driver) and being asked to board two separate bodas, one of which was being driven by a man we had never met and whose presence we did not understand the need for, seemed dodgy to say the least. Yet still we (hesitantly) complied. 

As we began the journey I started to think my fears were unnecessary, especially since both drivers took the time to stop at intervals and show us schools that they told us the children of the orphanage attended, but my brief respite from the fear that I’d been gripped with didn’t last for long, as our journey became much longer than we’d been told it would be. What was supposed to be a 15 minute journey turned into a 90 minute one, and whenever I asked the guy how much longer it would take he always pleasantly replied that it was just a few minutes more, which it never was. I remember thinking, as the roads we traversed became more remote, that if this was how I was going to die, then at least it would be interesting. It’s also true, I’d like to point out, that your life really does flash before your eyes. I have a very vivid memory of sitting on the back of this boda clutching the shoulders of  my would-be killer and thinking about my life, and wondering what I’d been doing on this day (third of August. Yep, still remember the date) the year before and every year of my life. 

There was one instance, near the end of the journey, where we went through a deserted banana field, and I thought ‘well okay, this is finally it’ and then the boda driver looked back at me and smiled and, of all things, I smiled back. Yes, I’m a complete moron, because really you’d have to be to return the smile of a man you legitimately believe is about to murder you. He didn’t stop and murder me though, and on we drove till finally we did indeed reach the much sought-after orphanage. 

As I stepped off the boda and saw the awaiting crowd of rag-bedraggled children I realised that my fears had been completely unwarranted (it turns out the other boda driver in fact founded the orphanage), and that while I’d been fearing for my life there had been a group of children with next-to-nothing who had been excited for my arrival. Besides my main reason for being in Uganda, visiting that orphanage was one of the starkest reminders of what this country was truly like and opened my eyes to how lucky I am, so I hope my anecdote of how I came to find and visit it doesn’t take away from the importance of my time there. The poverty was overwhelming, the likes of which I really can’t explain, except to note that it defied even my worst expectations. And yet again, as with the children from the school, our mere presence filled them with so much joy that it beggars belief.

And so concludes my Uganda memories, the last of which I’d only told my sister (who found the entire anecdote completely hilarious) so apologies to my parents who are probably both despairing at this revelation and my stupidity. On the plus side though, I came away with an important life lesson, very much like the one Drew Barrymore taught us in Riding in Cars with Boys (aka not to), and that is – don’t go riding on bodas with strangers, even if the destination is an orphanage (basically, always be completely aware of where it is exactly that you’re going).

Really though – my time in Uganda was the best, and I hope that I get to visit this staggeringly beautiful country and its kind-hearted people again one day. Far and away the greatest thing I’ve ever done.    

Baby in the Bar

There was one night, the time of day that falls into those precious few hours between the end of building/duties and sleep, where it was suggested that we go to the local pool club – a place the builders and our amazing live-in cook Sarah always went after work. Only a few of us went, most too keen on resting their aching limbs to want to walk the five minutes it took to get there. Ordinarily I too would have stayed behind to rest, but the thought of seeing the village and local people in their natural environment at night appealed to me, so off I went. 

The building was very small and run-down, consisting of just a single room with a small sofa and large pool table taking up the space. It was dark and dingy, and a faint smell of dust and dirt lingered in the air, yet the excitement from the builders was palpable and contagious. As soon as we got there we noticed that the locals who only a few minutes previously had been crowded in the small room had all stepped outside, staring into the room from a small covered alcove. Nothing quite clears the room of a small Ugandan clubhouse like the sight of a large group of mzungus, that’s for sure. Knowing that I’d affected their night so much made me feel incredibly guilty. I felt like the privileges I had as a white person (without even asking for them) were unfair. Why should I get to be in this room and watch this game, while they sat outside, too scared to share the same space as me? I know they were scared, or at least intimidated, because one mother had to drag her son through this small room so he could go to the long-drop that stood just beyond. The boy was screaming and dragging his legs as me and another girl watched – twin expressions of shock and guilt masking our faces as we realised that the reason the boy didn’t want to walk through was because we were there. The reality is he had probably never seen a white person in the flesh before - certainly not such a large group of them. 

I remember hearing one of the builders talk about how he was taught as a little boy in school that white people paid to have their skin bleached, and that was the reason we were so rich and had so much more than everybody else. It’s shocking and heart-breaking to see first-hand the impact such lessons can have. There was one moment though, when I saw a little girl who was standing on the edge of the room staring at me. She seemed scared, on the verge of tears, but her mother pushed her forward, whispering to her words I can only assume were encouragement. She walked over to me with so much doubt and terror in her face, yet as she reached me she simply stared. I smiled at her and spoke, gingerly making to grab her finger, which she allowed. This small skin-on-skin contact seemed to encourage her though, and she began to stroke the knee of the girl sat next to me as we both watched her. She didn’t smile, but the fear that had been on her face disappeared. She seemed so curious, and it was such a wonderful moment. I felt like I had helped that little girl overcome something big, or at least set the wheels in motion for her to overcome it. 

Seeing for myself the affect and fear white people can have was sobering and to be perfectly honest, completely awful, but watching this little girl, who was no more than 2 years old, turn her fear into something else was overwhelmingly cathartic. It was strange though, knowing the impact my presence had on that small crowd of people. The whole time we were there, which was no more than an hour, we were stared at, especially by the men. I think the sight of two white women in a bar filled primarily with men was controversial, and certainly came as a stark reminder to me how privileged I am in comparison to other women in the world.

Murchison Falls

There were a lot of great things about being in Uganda but by far one of my favourite things was seeing Murchison Falls. It is a national park and was part of the safari weekend, which cost just over $400. Yep – hell of a lot of money. As much as I enjoyed the Safari and seeing elephants only 100 yards in front of me, I think if Murchison Falls hadn’t been a part of the package then I would have been severely disappointed.  A lot of the animals on safari were either too far away to see or seeking shade from the sun, so even though we saw warthogs and antelope and, yes, lions and it was all surreal and beautiful and awesome – Murchison Falls was what made that weekend for me.

I took two books with me to Uganda, and thought it would be a great opportunity to reintroduce myself to a hobby that I once loved. I started with The Beach, which turned out to be an apt choice for that weekend. In the novel when Richard makes it to the cliff that he must jump off to get to the eponymous destination, he describes a great waterfall of magnificent beauty and what jumping off it feels like. As we neared Murchison Falls, I imagined for a moment that this was the waterfall that Richard had jumped off and that I too was about to go to the travellers mecca – the most cut off place in the world, a true traveller’s paradise. I realise that sounds kind of ridiculous now, but when I saw it for the first time and watched the white waves crash at its base I felt like I’d stepped into some sort of parallel universe where sights such as the ones Richard saw in that brilliant book were within my grasp.

Turns out this was only the beginning, because as we stepped off the boat and began the walk that would take us to the falls everything only got more beautiful with each step closer. The path we walked along was steep and paved in stones I could only compare to something out of a Greek tale. We were surrounded by thick forest on both sides for most of the walk, but it wasn’t imposing and I never felt claustrophobic despite the narrow path we walked. The trees were thick and twisted; vines coming off at random angles that reminded me of Disney’s Tarzan and filled me with a ridiculous and exhilarating level of child-like enthusiasm. I felt my legs burn, and my breathing becoming laboured as we got to higher heights, and yet I couldn’t seem to wipe the ridiculous smile plastered on my face. Everything I looked at seemed too perfect to be real, too much like something you’d read in a novel or see in a movie. I mean I saw what looked like a perfect replica of the mountain from The Lion King for god’s sake!

There was a few points where we stopped off to just breathe and collect ourselves, because even though the walk itself was short, the air was so hot and thick with humidity that it became necessary to guzzle water every other minute and wipe the sweat that collected on our foreheads from the encompassing heat. We stopped at a slabbed rock point right on the water’s edge which required some careful consideration of where to place ones foot, and me and my group watched enthusiastically the waterfall in its powerful glory. We were all awed, and we didn’t even realise that we hadn’t come to the best part yet because another 10 minutes down the path we would come to the point where from a higher vantage we could see two waterfalls and a deep rock pool underneath it which on the surface was all white foam and impossibly fast water. A whirlpool that our guide assured us we would never come from alive were one of us to fall. The raw power of this fact made me feel small and wonderful all at the same time. Seeing this hidden waterfall and knowing that it was only my determination that had brought me here made me feel strong and filled me with a warm sense of pride.

As we made it to the top, we came to the Lion King Mountain, and I cannot even begin to describe the view from this point. It felt like I was seeing for miles all around, the forest and long stretch of Nile merging to create the perfect moment. I was with everyone but I felt alone and I wanted to be the last of us there. I wanted everyone to walk away and I wanted to just enjoy the moment and the view for myself. I felt like it was something I needed. To leave a small part of myself there, because it was the perfect place and I didn’t ever think I would find that level of contentment again. The sun was setting and the Nile went on and on and, combined with the sound of the waterfall which lay just behind me, I felt as if I was standing in a place that was completely untouched from reality. It was a novelty for me, to be so happy by myself and to feel like I didn’t need anything in that moment except for the moment not to end. I realise that this sounds completely ridiculous, but I have honestly never felt such pure joy and I think everyone I was with could tell. It’s the kind of feeling I would compare to a child seeing something for the first time. As we began to walk back I watched as the air around me got colder and wetter, and the sound of thunder in the distance heightened the sense of my time at the falls coming to a close. And then I saw one flash of lightening in the distance, and I let out a squeal of delight as my friends watched me in confused amusement. Seeing that flash of lightening and watching the rain fall, as we stood at the highest point in the cold and wind added such a wonderful sense of surrealism to the whole journey. And not just the journey to the top, but my whole journey in Uganda and the choices I’d made that had brought me here.

On our journey down we stopped off at the mouth of the waterfall, where the water begins its descent. It was here that we saw the water at its most dangerous, and it was the closest we got. The sound was overwhelming, and I could feel the water on my skin as the splashback made a fine watery mist in the air. What really struck me though, more than the feeling of the water on my skin, was the smell. We all know it – the pure, fresh scent of water in the air. There was something about this particular smell though, that seemed more perfect. Like the smell of the beach except cleaner and a thousand times better. Maybe it was only better to me because I knew it would be the last time I’d get to have it. I appreciated every sense more.

As we left I was talking with a few of the other girls about how punch-drunk-happy I felt, and how I’d never forget this place or feeling and one of the other girls said rather aptly how Murchison Falls was her new favourite place. I agreed, it is mine as well. I would love to recapture that feeling. I hope I get to go there again, and I hope I get to see more things like it, because that’s what life is about. Living it and seeing sights like that and realising what it is to truly appreciate something and live in the moment. Before we’d started walking my camera had lost battery and I’d been so annoyed. Now I see it as a blessing, because for once I just enjoyed what I saw and stopped living through a lens - thinking about what other people would think, rather than I what I think.

East African Playgrounds - The Charity.

Volunteering for a charity had never been something I’d taken great time to consider as I ventured from childhood to adulthood. I’d always been too preoccupied by the immediate problems of my own life – such as what to watch on television, what to wear to university on a day-to-day basis that would look chic yet effortless, and how to convince my friends to come and get drunk with me on a Wednesday afternoon. This is slightly embarrassing to admit, but true nonetheless. As my time at university was coming to a close though, things like what I was going to do afterwards started to become more important. I knew that I wouldn’t be satisfied going straight into a boring 9-5 job, and I knew that I wanted to experience something that would put me a thousand miles out of my comfort zone. Which is when the idea occurred to me, as I was scrolling through the jobs and opportunities page of York St John and saw an advertisement for a meeting happening later that night to attend an East African Playgrounds event, that volunteering might be exactly what I needed.

It’s funny looking back on that moment now. Half an hour before the meeting was scheduled to take place, it had started to rain, and the thought of walking through it (despite the fact that I only lived a few minutes from campus) had almost made me cancel my plans and crawl into bed. It was only my determination not to be a lazy slob for the third day running that forced me out of the house and toward the meeting that would convince me that East African Playgrounds was definitely a charity worth my time.

When I arrived I was ushered into a room with about twenty other eager-looking students, all patiently awaiting the arrival of the volunteer coordinator Laura Dove. I remember thinking when she arrived in the room with her neon-bright EAP t-shirt and baggy looking harems that if that’s how people dressed in Africa on a day-to-day basis then I could definitely get on board. Her clothes were so bright and wonderful, and counteracted so forcefully with the otherwise miserable and completely predictable British gloom that I felt immediately comforted. It sounds kind of strange, I realise, that somebody’s outfit could have such an impact on my feelings, but I’m a peculiar individual who places far too much emphasis on aesthetics. It’s both a blessing and a curse.  

As the meeting got underway, and I began to learn more about what exactly this charity did, my positive feelings regarding my choice not to stay in bed were confirmed.

Sometimes it’s difficult to know whether you’re devoting your time and money to the right cause. At the end of the day, it’s a personal choice and a reflection of the causes you care about. To some, building a playground might not seem like a worthy cause. The people that think this might justify those feelings with the argument that food and money are more important than “playing”. To those people, I will allow that you are entitled to your beliefs. I will not share those beliefs though. It became obvious to me as Laura explained the importance of play in that first meeting that this charity wasn’t just about rainbows and happiness. What East African Playgrounds is about is offering children and communities a chance to live and feel entitled to a life that we first world citizens take for granted. It offers children a safe environment in which to develop essential social skills which impact their academic careers and shape the people they will become.

The charity might not give food or build wells or provide the amenities which some deem most urgent, but they do something which in my opinion is far more important – they impact a child’s future. Play is so important to children, and it took listening to Laura and hearing her own experiences to fully understand this. It made me look back on my own childhood with a different perspective. I’m an introvert, yes. I love being social, being with other people and exploring new places and experiencing new things, but I’m a naturally quiet person. And I realised that it was my formative experiences that allowed me the freedom to be this way without fear of judgement.

That is the beautiful thing about this charity – it allows children to discover themselves, which is something they deserve to do, beyond the hard environments in which they live. I couldn’t recommend working with this charity more, because, on a rather more selfish note, it had a massive impact on me as well. I remember on our last day living in the school, during the open day where the children finally got to play on their hard-earned playground, many people making speeches about how grateful they were to us, the headmaster included, but it was one of the founders of the charity – Carla Powell – who really reminded me of what a powerful thing we had done. Her speech talked about the hope we had given to the children of that community, and how that hope was a long-term effect, because the playground we spent a mere 30 days constructing would last and be cherished by generations of children. By working with East African Playgrounds, I and the other volunteers made a difference to children who hadn’t even been born yet. This fact hadn’t actually occurred to me until Carla pointed it out, but realising it turned me into a bit of a soppy mess.

So yes, East African Playgrounds makes a massive difference and if you’re reading this because you want to volunteer then I couldn’t recommend anything more. You can volunteer for whatever cause you choose, because there are many worthy ones, but to me the affects that EAP have are immediately tangible, and are one of the best.  

Visit the EAP website to find out more about its ethos and general awesomeness... http://eastafricanplaygrounds.org/

Those First Few Days

Reflecting upon my experiences, adventures and the wonderful thing I did during my time in Uganda has deepened my appreciation for the fact that since leaving university in May, everything I do and every choice I make has the potential to change my life. Of course, during the year I had to fundraise for the project I would be spending my summer on, I knew that it was something I would love and that would change me. I knew that experiencing the sights and sounds and tastes of a country that I had only ever got to see on TV during awful episodes of Comic Relief would probably make me a worldlier person. I also knew that the project would look great on my CV. I’d heard it enough times throughout the year as I’d told people what I was doing. Of course people encouraged me, seemed awed by it all, but the emphasis had always been on how it would improve me – my employability, my cultural awareness.

Somewhere in the countless conversations the point had been missed altogether, not just by the individual I was talking with, but by me – because my time wasn’t what was important. It was the people I met, the children I played with, the school that I lived in – those were the important ones. Those were the lives that were changed, and it took me arriving in Africa and seeing the school that I would live at for the next four weeks to realise that. I remember the day vividly. It was hot, and I and the other 18 volunteers had been crammed into a tiny matatu on our way to the school – all waiting for the moment that would make our surreal journey a reality. Because up until that point it had all been a haze of airports and transfers and travel-anxiety-induced insomnia. Not to mention a bizarre run-in with a local mulalu (L’Ugandan for ‘crazy’) who begged for pictures with our group in the local bar and stole my glasses while posing like a wannabe gangsta with me serving as her bemused/terrified entourage (god I wish that photo had been taken on my camera!).

When we arrived we were greeted by hundreds of curious children, all of whom stared openly at us the way a child would stare at an antique china doll they’d been warned not to touch. We were strange to them, but they were thrilled and curious and as we walked onto the field that sat at the back of the school and began to play with them and introduce to them the songs I only vaguely remembered as a child, the reality of the lives these children lived became glaringly obvious. Yet they were so happy, so humble, and so ready to make each and every one of us feel as welcome and adored as we were -  one little girl made it her mission to carry my water bottle for me while I played, despite my insistence that she shouldn’t. We played basketball that first night for hours, each of the children passing the ball to me with smiles on their faces as they watched me drop it for the hundredth time, and trying to help me make a jump shot. Bless them; they had no idea how hopeless the cause was.

The next day, which was the first official day of building, I remember stepping onto the green field that would become our beautiful playground and feeling completely daunted. Within ten minutes I was sweating profusely, and within twenty I had already refilled my bottle twice. I didn’t know whether I was physically capable of digging and operating equipment that most people within their right minds wouldn’t let me within ten yards of, especially in heat that would have even the most devoted tanner dousing themselves in sun protection. As it turns out, digging really isn’t my forte.

But even as I sluggishly attacked the hard soil with my spade and watched as all but crumbs came back in my attempts, I knew what I was doing was something I would remember and crave to re-experience, because all of those kids (when they weren’t in class), watched with an eagerness and excitement that you rarely see on the faces of our British children. All because of 20 breathless British wannabe-builders creating for them just one playground for a school of roughly 1000. I realised how privileged we really are, and how privileged I still was in comparison to a huge chunk of the community I lived in, the people of whom lived in rags and sheltered in ramshackle huts made from the recycled wood and metal that would be deemed useless at home.

My first few days in Uganda seem so long ago to me now, yet my memories remain strong because the most overwhelming sense of surrealism clouded them. I constantly had to remind myself that I wasn’t watching a TV set anymore, that I was an active participant, that I was finally in this country I had devoted an entire year fundraising to go to and that despite the heat and the blisters and the bizarre malaria-induced dreams, I got to step outside the little world that had been my selfish-alcohol induced student life and do something with my time that felt like something worth doing.