Edith-My Friend

I said my first goodbye today. My dear friend, Edith, is on her way back to boarding school. Edith is a ball of energy! She loves to laugh, to sing, and to joke around. Her father married one of my coworkers. And as a result, they moved into the back house of the compound. It took some time to adjust to having an eleven year-old around the house. However, I am so glad she came to stay! Her early Saturday morning wake-up calls, through my bedroom window at 7:30am or her constant singing of high school musical songs brought joy to our home. Her love for pre-teen movies is pretty extensive and I have more than once had to relocate my work for her to watch Hannah Montana, Alvin and the Chipmunks or High School Musical. Oh- I also taught her how to make cut out Christmas cookies- she loved it!



Edith has a tender side as well. She cares about people. She watches and learns and repeats many things. She is able to organize and mobilize the older teenagers in her community very well. I also had the privilege of watching her get baptized this past weekend. I literally cried as this sweet girl professed her faith before her church.



So when January 31, 2011 came to be- it was very difficult to see Edith pack her things in a red suitcase, tenderly place her recent artwork in her backpack, put on her bright blue uniform and get into her father’s van. As I hugged her goodbye, tears strolled down my face. I know that I will see Edith again, and hopefully it will be before she is a Broadway star! However, Edith’s departure means that soon I will be boarding her father’s van with my red suitcase on my way to the airport.

Focus on Community Schools

This past week I walked through the sugar cane fields, past the coffee trees, and through the leaves of past seasons. I moved from home to home, recruiting people to come and share their opinions of the community school in the village. At each home, I was warmly welcomed and the many greetings were paced back and forth.


Grandma of a few of the children who attend the community school.

A few days later, I found these friendly faces surrounding me as they shared their passion for their children and the education in which they receive. They told me they want their children to be doctors, lawyers, teachers, and tour guides. Never once did farming make the list of professions. They told me that they don’t send their young children to the government UPE (universal primary education) School because it was too dangerous for them to cross the main highway (which is true, many children are killed every year by cars because they failed to step out of the way) and that the teachers only cared about a select few. They told me that at the very least, they want their children to know how to read and write in Lusoga and English and to be able to calculate math problems.



This week, the faces of twenty men and women, mostly grandparents who are looking after their children’s children, shown brightly. They are proud of their children, proud that they have a school in the community that meets their needs.

Community schools are common in Sub-Saharan Africa. They meet in churches, mosques, under mango trees and in mud huts. The community recruits the teachers, figures out how to feed their children, and pay the salary. As the international community continues to advocate for UPE, communities do the same- but in a different manner. They actually make it work.

stunning...

Photo taken by my friend Annie Quick

Morning Sounds

Every morning there is a pattern the sounds that mark the beginning of the day. Since having a few volunteers staying with me in my room, I have been made aware, again, of how different the sounds are than the states.


Throughout the night, the town dog chorus howls throughout the city. This, unfortunately, includes my dogs. Occasionally there will be loud music being blared in a nearby pub as locals dance and drink into the morning.

Roughly around 5:30 am the call of prayer begins to sound across the town. The mosque, closest to my home, is usually the second or third one to begin its long call for devote Muslims to pray. I, on the other hand, roll over and continue my slumber.

A half hour later, the birds begin to sing their morning greetings. Back and forth the chirps of various birds begin. The sing-song effect is soothing and the day still seems fresh and new. However by 6:30 these terrible sounding birds join the chorus. We have affectionately named them “pterodactly” birds because of their obnoxious scream that they produce.




Unfortunately, their loud sound frightens the turkey that stays in my compound. So in his defense, he puffs up his feathers and gobbles a reply. Back and forth the teradactile birds and the turkey go, until one stops.


By this time, the rest of town has awoken and begins their long commute on foot to their place of work. My road happens to be a cut-through for some people. The chatter of morning commuters begins as they pass-by my home. Not to be outdone, the trucks roll by, the mattatus honk, and the motorcycles reve their engines as they transport willing passengers along the rode.

As 7:15 comes, Jesse, the gardener, begins his morning scrub of the front patio. He uses the rain bucket next to my window to get water. Once the bucket of water is full, he begins his morning scrub. Up and down, down and up, the scraping sound of mop on stone occurs.




The next door baby cries, a mother takes him and feeds him. His older brother says goodbye as he bounds out the gate on his way to school.

7:25 our rooster crows on the east wall of my room, right underneath the window. Thirty seconds later, he rounds the corner of the building and crows under the northern window of my bedroom. His alarm frightens turkey, and so he puffs up his feathers and gobbles a reply.



By 8:00 am the upstairs neighbor is out front, greeting her employees and talking chicken (she happens to own a large chicken farm). By this point, I am fully awake. Boiling water for coffee, grabbing breakfast and getting ready for my long commute to the living room. Here, I start my day of work.