My one exception…

3 years of marriage today.

I’m not really into PDAs (Public Displays of Affection) – particularly on things like Facebook, twitter and whatever the latest social media site there is. I figure I’d prefer to just talk to my husband, face to face, since we live together. But I’m making an exception for today, as I reflect on the last slightly crazy year of our lives together.

My experience of marriage is pretty amazing, and for this I feel incredibly blessed. I often feel like the reason we have it so ‘easy’ in our marriage, the reason it’s so good, is because of our joint mission. Our joint purpose. Our togetherness that comes from being  ‘different’ from this world.  In our wedding ceremony, Michael and I featured a poem we both love that  reminds us of this…

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;    

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

                                                                                -Robert Frost.

 

So, what do I have to say after being married to my favourite person in the whole world for the past three years?

Michael, Thank  you. The reality is a million times better than I could have imagined.

Thank you for choosing me over and over and over again.

Thank you for knowing me as well as you know yourself, and loving me anyway.

Thank you for sharing my vision for this world, so much so that it feels like a miracle.

Thank you for taking the road less travelled with me, and reminding me why we chose that path.

I love you.

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” -Lao Tzu

The Power of One

It’s finally happened. The much desired, dreamed of, it-feels-like-this-day-will-never-come, inevitable luxury has arrived.

The Maranatha Health buildings are going to be connected to the newly built hydro-dam and we will have electricity for the first time. WOW.

I think I’m a little bit shocked. We have been waiting for so long that I think we had resigned to the idea it might never come. ‘Hope’ in Uganda is a dangerous thing. I think we have had over 30 conversations with the electricity company since April (when the President came out to officially commission and ‘open’ the dam) where they have fed us false fables of electricity just around the corner.   We have been promised everything under the sun – from connection within a few hours, a few days, a week, a month. Every week there is a new rumour in town, about a cousin’s, father’s, friend’s son, who lives near/works with/is related to someone from the company who is operating the hydrodam and knows the inside scoop. The latest I heard was that the dam ‘had a problem’ and ‘donors from out were coming to fix it’ in March.

But now it is happening. There are engineers driving around in trucks with wires and men walking around with legitimate looking blue overalls, and the Ferdsault office is open and has given us a lovely little certificate to say we are ready for connection.

Driving back to the site after paying our registration and connection fee yesterday, Andrew (the MH administrator) and myself were dreaming excitedly of all  the things we could now use/do/have once we are connected. For the first beautiful moment in months, we had allowed ourselves to hope:

• Guaranteed lights at night rather than Kerosene lanterns
• No more frustration at laptops running out of battery power at work or home
• A toaster, so we can pretend that Kamwenge bread isn’t stale
• An iron, so our clothes aren’t wrinkled  (I could never bring myself to use a charcoal iron)
• Hot water from our instant water heaters, rather than cold water showers
• And most exciting for me – A REFRIDGERATOR!

In Kamwenge, we will be one of the only residential houses with a fridge. I am aware that it is a massive luxury. I lay in bed at night actually thinking about that (sad, I know). But it will change my life. How?

I no longer have to buy and boil milk every single day – we can keep it in the fridge so it doesn’t go off in 24 hours. It also means one less saucepan to clean each day

I can cook food for several days and store in the fridge

I don’t have to shop at the market every second day, as tomatoes/carrots/beans etc won’t go off within a few days

I can buy foods from Fort Portal/Kampala that I can’t get in Kamwenge – cheese, fresh non-sweet bread, nice cuts of meat, sauces…. YUM

I can cut up a pineapple and not have to attempt to eat the whole thing in one go- they’re just a little too big!

I can have COLD drinks- juice, soda, whatever. It will be COLD!

We have had solar for the past few months. It is incredibly unreliable and only charges a laptop or two and some lights (on a sunny day when it isn’t too cloudy). Realising how little a solar panel generates and all the appliances it won’t run (irons, toasters, kettles, fridges) and monitoring our energy needs/consumption so preciously has given me a new appreciation for the luxury of power. Of light. Of convenience. Of temperature control. Of power consumption.

In Uganda, the 10% or so of the population that make up the middle class might have a fridge. Often they will have a toaster and kettle. Perhaps a water heater. A TV. Beyond that, everything is still manual. Household electricity consumption is still so minimal. Only 10% of the population of Uganda even have access to the electricity grid. Those that do, often go days without power at a time, due to the lack of power generation and government failures to deliver on infrastructure.

This is unacceptable. But you know what frustrates me more? That in Australia, we take the luxury of power for granted. There has been so much complaining coming from Australian newspapers I have been reading online over the past 6 months, about the carbon tax and electricity prices going up in Australia. The general gist is that people are annoyed – ‘its not fair’ – and the government needs to find a way to lower prices. We assume we ‘need’ all of these appliances and all of this convenience so our lives can move faster. You know what though?

We actually don’t.

Take it from me. I have lived without a lot of that stuff for almost a year. Even the basics – irons, fridges, toasters, TVs, kettles, washing machines, even lights, for a lot of the time. Let alone the other stuff – dishwashers, microwaves, water heaters, air conditioners, a million gadgets, the flat screen, donut/icecream/waffle makers, clothes dryers, hair dryers, spas, the 2^nd (or 3^rd) fridge, etc. *

Instead of complaining about the cost of electricity, what about we try and lower our consumption? Because all of this electricity – it has to COME from somewhere. Electricity is costly to generate. Financially and environmentally. And if the rest of the world tried to consume as much as we did, our planet would be destroyed tomorrow. The end.

I am not trying to preach. I’m not an idealist. I have lived in Australia for most of my life. I understand that you think you need all that electricity. I have only really learnt about my consumption in the past year. I’ve learnt this as I’ve seen what I can live without, as I have been forced to check every appliance I brought over here to see if it could run off our little solar panel and now, if we can afford the cost of running it off the main grid.

Rather than idealistic, I am trying to be realistic about the state of our world. The cost you pay doesn’t even come close to the real environmental cost of coal-generated power. So If you don’t want to pay so much for electricity, than reduce the amount you use. Start looking at how much you consume. Which appliances are ‘necessary’ in your eyes, and which ones can go. Whether you can do some things manually. I’m not asking you to use Kerosene lamps or candles, or boil your milk or water each day in a saucepan, or hand wash all your clothes and sheets and towels and dishes, or go without fans, fridges and air-conditioners, like me and everyone in my community does.

But I am asking you to care about the future of this planet

and own the choices you make.

 

*You will notice I haven’t mentioned laptops here – perhaps it is the exception to my post. I can’t live without mine! We are almost inseparable and I use mine (unless we have no solar power) everyday – for work, study and keeping in contact with people….

2011: The year of learning

I just said goodbye to the hardest year of my life so far…

*sigh*

I know that doesn’t mean much, considering I’m actually only 26 and have lived a pretty cruisy life by world standards.

But this year has been really tough. For a thousand different reasons. There are lots of other more positive adjectives though too, like rewarding, fulfilling, exciting, adventurous, unexpected, validating, and of course…learning. Learning, learning and more learning.

It’s a funny thing, how you learn a lot, develop your character and get over yourself a little bit when life is challenging and you get out of your comfort zone…

Even Paul from the early church agrees with me: ‘We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling short changed. Quite the contrary – we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit.’ (The message)

I have learnt so much this year. Sometimes I wish I could go back and visit myself, that naive girl at the start of the year, and tell her that it all works out ok. That things will be difficult but that through all the hard stuff, I ended up learning what I needed to learn, to be able to live in Kamwenge…

So how am I different from last year at New Years?

I’ve learnt about moving to another place. I’ve learnt…

How to say goodbye to some of my closest friends and still remain involved in their lives

How to live apart from my family

How to open my house for inspection and rent it out…

How to move my entire life to another part of the world

I’ve learnt about how to live in Kamwenge. I’ve learnt:

How to speak (a little bit) in another language

How to make friends in another culture so different from my own

How to cook using only food available in Kamwenge, including Uganda’s famous Matooke dish

How to use a cigiri (a traditional charcoal stove)

How to wash clothes by hand at a break neck pace

How to bargain so that I don’t get mzungu prices all the time

How to live without a fridge (something I’m still working on…)

How to light a Kerosene lamp

I’ve learnt a lot about running an organisation. I’ve learnt:

How to manoeuvre through a million bureaucratic-red-tape-scenarios

A LOT about construction, materials, and all sorts of building-related things.

How to manage staff with Michael (10 at last count…!)

How to work with the police to arrest someone who is stealing from you

How to conduct job interviews and board meetings

How to import a shipping container

How to use Quickbooks, manage finances, sort out legal issues, and put on a great event…

How to avoid paying bribes (although I certainly don’t have a 100% success rate with this one!)

I’ve learnt some extra bits and pieces that have made life easier. I’ve learnt:

How to grow cassava, matooke, zuchinni, garlic and a whole bunch of other food

How to drive a massive old hilux ute –reluctantly, even on Kampala’s chaotic streets.

How to pick milk from the dairy, boil it, and scrape the cream off the top for later

How to work 9-5 with my husband and still have a great marriage

How to (begin) writing a thesis – including all sorts of useful stuff about methodology, field research and ethics, things I use to have no idea about.

How to enjoy cold water showers!

How to LET GO of my drive for efficiency, timelines and plans and embrace ‘community’…

 

It’s been a big year. Here’s hoping next year is a little more chilled…

Patients or Profits?

Perhaps it has something to do with the lack of, and ineffectiveness of, regulatory bodies. Perhaps the training at many Universities is below par. Perhaps it is due to the everyday Ugandan’s powerlessness and incapability of demanding and knowing their rights. Or perhaps it is the simple truth that money-motivated-medicine around the world always seems to behave badly.  I’m not sure why it is the way it is – I will not presume to give an opinion on a complex issue I know almost nothing about.

What am I talking about?

Poor quality medical services – in this case the private system – in Uganda.*

The public system in many developing countries has a lot to be desired, and a thousand reasons why this is so. But the private system? The system with money and drugs and equipment and trained staff on good salaries?

I wanted to share a simple story of something that happened the other day that left me bewildered. Before I share my experience, let me first say that there are many intelligent, professional, trustworthy doctors in Uganda who practice very good medicine. Unfortunately, they are not by any stretch of the imagination the majority.

Michael and I stayed with our family in Kampala for a few days last week. One night, our brother Pete (who’s a year older than me) staggered through the door complaining of a severe headache that he’d had most of the day. It had come on suddenly. After a heap of questions, Michael was convinced it was a migraine and all the symptoms pointed to this – whatever the case, we decided to take him to the Gensi’s family doctor, a private middle-class clinic a block from our place where he could get some fluids and painkillers. We (Michael, me, and Margaret, our mum) loaded Pete into our car to take him. It was peak hour, and so we sat impatiently waiting in traffic even though the clinic was literally around the corner, as Pete moaned and threatened to vomit in the car. Eventually, Margaret had had enough. She instructed Michael to put on his hazard lights, ordered him to drive on the wrong side of the road, abruptly jumped out of the car and starting stubbornly walking into the oncoming traffic (have I mentioned before that you don’t mess with Bakiga women?) as Michael eased his way past the jam on the wrong side of the road ignoring the glares from passing vehicles. Her display of motherly love was quite astounding, but I didn’t know whether to laugh at the situation or hide from angry faces in the vehicles that Margaret had forced to the side of the road.

Arriving at the clinic, a small building with a consulting room, a lab and a few rooms with beds, we found the doctor reading his newspaper. After getting his attention, he took a very short history from Pete – like 2 questions. Pete was convinced it was a migraine and not malaria; after all he had had malaria dozens of times in his life and knew what it felt like. Clearly though the doctor felt he had gathered the info he needed and had had enough of interacting with his patient, because at that point he wrote some things on a piece of paper, ordered a blood test, and told us to wait. There was no explanation given. Pete, in the meantime, was struggling to stay on his chair due to the pain.

After a few requests from Michael, they led him to a room with a bed in it, and shortly after a nurse came in. They apparently had the results of the blood tests back, although no staff mentioned this. She came loaded with several injections and ordered Pete to remain still as she jabbed him several times. He had no idea what the diagnosis was. No conversation with the doctor. No idea what treatment he was getting. No permission was sought to administer the drugs.

Pete was still dehydrated so Michael requested they get a drip into him. Reluctantly, they agreed. The headache had lasted a long time, so Michael also checked for signs of bleeding on the brain. Something they had also not bothered to do.

In the meantime, we were all curious to know what was happening, and what the diagnosis was. (These patients and their demands, how annoying…) Margaret went to find the doctor, who informed her that Pete had a bacterial infection. No further explanation.

Eventually, we found out what they treated him with. The list is as follows:

• 1 shot of malaria treatment
• 1 shot of anti-nausea
• 2 shots of extremely heavy duty antibiotics
• 1 shot of an anti-inflammatory (this one was actually for the migraine and very helpful)
• 1 drip of glucose (used in patients with malaria), not helpful for rehydration

By this stage Michael was a little confused. He was convinced that all Pete had was a migraine, and he needed fluids and rest. So he asked the nurse to show him the lab results.

It turned out that Pete tested negative for malaria and negative for any bacterial infection. His white blood cell count was within the normal range.

After several hours, when he had slept and was feeling better, they discharged him and he came home. However, not without being told he would need to come back for the next three days, to have more anti-malarial and antibiotic injections. Up to this point, they had not mentioned money, but Pete was dreading the cost. From past experience, Pete estimated it would be around 300,000UGX  (A$150) or possibly more. That is big money in Uganda.

Now, I’m not a doctor. I have not been through medical school. But being married to a GP – wait – even visiting a GP on many occasions in Australia would have made me more equipped to deal with this situation than the doctor who saw Pete. Here’s ‘Kim’s General Practice Medicine 1-0-1’.

Lesson 1: Talk to your patient, gather a comprehensive history, think of all possible causes (not just malaria because it’s an easy diagnosis).

Lesson 2: Once you have a diagnosis, communicate this to your patient.

Lesson 3: Make sure your diagnosis is based on facts/lab tests/at least some semblance of science and NOT based on the fact that you can charge more money for medication if its malaria or infection (or both?!), which it clearly was not. If in doubt, run the tests again.

Lesson 4: If you are going to administer drugs, explain the diagnosis and medications to the patient and SEEK his permission to administer them. Again, communication is key! In Australia we call administering drugs without permission ‘assault.’

Lesson 5: Do not treat your patient for diseases he doesn’t have, so that you continue the spiral of malarial and antibiotic resistance that are out of control in places like Uganda where drugs are not regulated well.

Lesson 6: Don’t be a money-hungry incompetent idiot.

Thus endeth my rant for today.

*By the way, I don’t deliberately mean to exclude some of the terrible displays of medicine practiced in Australia – by a wide range of doctors.  Statistics show that the average private surgeon in Australia will operate many more times than necessary if there is a bit of money to be made and some fun to be had – often to the detriment of the patient.

 

Hamburger

With the birds singing and the breeze softly blowing through the trees and the sun setting in the Kamwenge sky, I had a flash of soulful peace rest upon me.

A moment of blissful beauty, where the world seemed to swell with intoxicating hope for a better day. At that moment, the words of Arundhati Roy filled my thoughts: “Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing”

‘What aroused this grand moment of hope?’ I hear you asking…

It is the little things sometimes, that lead me to my happy place.

On this occasion Michael and myself were talking to one of our employees. A man of good Kamwenge stock – a village Ugandan, through and through, until a few years ago when he had the opportunity to go ‘out’ as Ugandans call any place other than Uganda (the Australian equivalent of ‘overseas’). He travelled to Kenya (which borders Uganda) to the big, bustling city of Nairobi. We asked him about his impressions of the place. After the usual – much bigger/busier/more developed than Kampala – we got onto the topic of food.

‘Eh, they have something very nice there called ‘hamburger’. It is soooo nice. Have you heard of it?’ He asked with innocent interest.

We explained that this food called ‘hamburger’ is also in Australia, much to his surprise.

In fact, we told him, there is a restaurant there that is very cheap and provides hamburger very quickly. You can find this restaurant all over the world! In thousands of locations, in many  many countries. All selling ‘hamburger’.

All over the world? This was big news to our employee.

We explained further about this infamous restaurant chain called McDonalds – and how people all over the world know it by a giant yellow M – the golden arches.

He had never heard of McDonalds. No idea it even existed. The Kamwenge community (and Uganda at large) is utterly untouched by this money-making, environmentally destructive, exploitative, obesity-generating monopoly that has taken over the rest of the world.

Thus bringing me to my moment of serenity.

And for any McDonald’s management out there reading my blog – leave my new country alone!

the word I spit out…

Corruption.

It is a word that I spit out, hard and quick, desperate to see it leave my mouth and my body and my soul.

Desperate for it to be purged and destroyed.

The Oxford dictionary defines it as this:

Corruption: dishonest or fraudulent conduct by those in power, typically involving bribery. The action or effect of making someone or something morally depraved

I define it as this: An evil that eats away at truth, humility and integrity. On a national level, it rages like a disease that seeks out and destroys the cells that are the lifeblood of a developing country emerging from poverty: representational, accountable democracy

And Uganda is full of it. Full to the brim.

One of the newspapers here recently published an article about a corruption index undertaken each year by ‘Transparency International’, ranking Uganda as the 2^nd most corrupt country in the East African Community, second only to Burundi. That means that Rwanda, Kenya, and Tanzania are all less corrupt than us.

I never quite understood why so many people raged against this disease; trying to find cures or vaccines or at least treatment for the symptoms. Missionaries I met in Africa in the past spat the word out, as I do now.

I used to laugh it off. What’s a $5 bribe to a policemen here? Or a quick under the table $20 to a government official there? It just speeds the processes up a bit. Adds a bit ‘extra’ to the shameful government salaries in this country.* An unofficial tax you might say.

But it is much more than that.

Corruption filters down from the top. It demonstrates a lack of accountability to the people to which government is mandated to represent. It violates the contract between leaders and their people, which states that leaders of a democratic state are there to protect and ensure rights.  It takes away any semblance of a system, so all you are left with is millions of informal interactions characterised by power and exploitation. The more power someone has over you and the action you are trying to achieve, the more money they can ask for.

For example

Earlier this year, I needed one signature from a Ministry of Health official, to recommend us to the NGO Board. Without that signature we could not be a registered NGO in this country. Without any sign of guilt but with a face of greedy entitlement, he asks for a 5 million shilling bribe. That is about A$2000. For one signature.**

Recently we have had a shipping container full of medical equipment brought into Uganda. We also had a few boxes of personal effects. Both are supposed to be completely tax free, under Ugandan law. Medical equipment for an NGO – tax free. Anyone who is changing residence to another country, is allowed to bring to that new country their personal items, tax free. Simple. An internationally recognised system. And yet we were forced to pay 1 million (A$300) – on my wedding gifts, on books I had collected since I was 10, on our mattress, on towels I had used hundreds of times before.

Our lawyer earlier in the year helped us get our NGO certificate. He was told the fees had changed for NGO registration, from 15,000 (A$5) to 3,000,000 ($1000). That is a big jump. We all protested, suspecting corruption. But they produced documents, official papers, even a government bank account to transfer the money into. So we paid half the money to start the process. Then we found out it was a fake syndicate, a group posing as the NGO board who had a contact within the bank, who was later syphoning the money from the account back to them and taking a cut. We never got our money back.

We are trying to help a young woman in town at the moment, as she begins her Diploma in Laboratory at one of the biggest Universities in Uganda. She has her sponsorship from someone already. She has been admitted. And yet as a Kamwenge local, a stranger to the power plays of big city life, she has requested us to help her negotiate the system. At every step she has met officials demanding bribes. Bribes to get her papers back. Bribes for official admission. Bribes to get a copy of the fee structure to take back to her sponsor. All she wants to do is study the course she has been admitted into.

The more in need you are of the signature/service/requirement/registration – the more you pay.

So the big men in big offices are the ones who take the most money. And so doing anything becomes a very difficult, long process, with little respect for official systems and dozens of ethical dilemmas along the way. You want to report it? You pay extra ‘fees’ to corruption boards and committees so they will actually bother to look into it. Except the big men can afford to pay them off, with the money YOU gave them.

Trying to get

          A business registered                                                                                                                           Any kind of registration/recommendation

          Anything imported

         A passport/visa/permit

         Land titles processed

        Your wife treated as she dies of obstructed labour

        A thief arrested

        A university transcript/results for your course

        The council road graded to your site

        Your child taught at school

        Out of a speeding fine when you KNOW you were travelling within the speed         limit

                          involves corruption

And of course, this ‘tax’ is higher, the more you look like you can pay.

No matter how long you have been here, how well you know the law, how well you know the real costs, how many times you explain you are not benefiting and this is a project for the community, or how many times you explain you are on a Ugandan salary*.

If only I didn’t have money-coloured skin.

*One of my friends who works as a full time worker at the local Kamwenge government Post Office earns 50,000 a month, which is about $18. That is NOT a living wage. She however, manages to remain honest and integral.

** For the record, we didn’t pay the 5 million! Not one cent of it.

*** Ugandans come up against issues of corruption as much (if not sometimes more) than I do. I don’t want to give the impression that we are the only one’s who have to deal with it! There are thousands of stories I could tell of my friends here trying to get all sorts of things done where they have been forced to pay bribes.

Note: I don’t normally write such scathing critiques of Uganda. Please note this is not an issue that has ANYTHING to do with Ugandan culture. It emerges from the culture of leadership.

The views expressed within are ENTIRELY my personal views and are not the views of the NGO that I work for.  I am aware this piece is a very candid account of my experience, but I believe strongly in the democratic process and the need to keep leadership accountable.

Broken bones and faulty machines

Michael, my husband, injured his hand about a month ago, and it was still hurting quite a bit, 4 weeks on. He was concerned that it wasn’t healing, and we wanted to get an x-ray to check that it wasn’t fractured and didn’t need a cast (something we were both dreading!! ).

Of course, there is nowhere to get an x-ray in Kamwenge.

So we begrudgingly piled into the car to set out on our fortnightly trip to Fort Portal, the nearest big town to Kamwenge. Fort Portal is a big town  (maybe 80,000 people? I really have no idea!) about 70 km’s away, and it normally takes about 1 to 1 and a half hours on a windy dirt road, surrounded by beautiful scenery – hills cultivated with maize, millet and matooke banana trees, a section of tropical rainforest with baboons along the way, and then rolling expanses of neatly ordered tea plantations, sprinkled with old houses left over from the colonial era. A beautiful drive.

But now that the wet season has well and truly come, the road is terrible. We crawled along for most of the journey, trying to avoid the gazillion pot holes and deep rivets in the road, all the time shaking our heads at the poor state of the roads. It took us over 2 very bumpy hours to reach Fort Portal for our day trip.

After getting all our other jobs done – recharging the internet modem, going to the bank, printing, getting stuff for MH ticked off the list – we looked around for a place to get an x-ray. First we tried a private clinic in town recommended by someone on the main street. We were told they are a clinic used by one of the main insurance companies in Uganda, and would definitely have an x-ray.

What I found was a small dingy room full of bored patients, with no staff in site. A woman who was waiting pointed towards the next room, where I found what looked like some makeshift outpatient rooms. It was only when I poked my head around the corner into a small store that I found a nurse. When I asked what I needed she was quick to tell me they had no equipment for x-ray here, but told me to try Kabarole Hospital – the Anglican church hospital round the corner.

Arriving at Kabarole, we struggled to find anyone to help us, just crumbling buildings and a freshly painted one labelled ‘private ward’. We approached the dispensary and after getting over his surprise that a white person would be there, the man shook his head as he told us the X-ray machine had been broken for some time. Instead, we should try another private clinic in town.

The next clinic wasn’t much different. Here, they were known for x-rays (it was even written on the sign outside) but unfortunately, the films were over and they didn’t know when they would next come. With a resigned sigh that conveyed almost no confidence, the women told us to try Buhinga.

Buhinga is the main regional referral hospital for this part of western Uganda. It is a government hospital. We have heard many stories of patients coming there to find doctors who will not see them without bribes, a lack of equipment and medications, and overcrowded rooms of very sick patients. Currently, this is where most people in Kamwenge get referred onto.

We were very lucky though. Or perhaps, more accurately, we were white. We found a nurse along the maze of undercover pathways that linked the hospital buildings, and she was friendly and happy to help us. She led us to the x-ray department, where we wove through dozens of patients sitting (or lying down), waiting for their x-ray or ultrasound. The doctor was pleasant and happy to do the x-ray for us immediately (and free), and although Michael’s hand was slightly fractured it was small and almost healed, so there was no need for a cast.

But as we were waiting for the film to develop, there was a little girl in line, needing to have her face x-rayed as she had a severe head injury. It was not possible. They were only stocking the half size x-ray films, which meant there was no way to get a full x-ray of her head. Her father, who looked poor and out of his depth in the situation, listened intensely as they told him he would have to take her somewhere else for an x-ray. I already knew from my experience that day that there were no other places in Fort Portal to get an x-ray and he would not be able to afford the transport to somewhere far.

Michael and I lived in Mannum a few years ago. In the small town of maybe 5000, they had a good x-ray machine. Compare this to Kamwenge, who in the town itself has about 20,000, but services a district of 350,000 people, with no x-ray machine.

It sounds clichéd but again it made me realise how lucky Australian’s are to have the health care system we have. As for me? I am not used to driving 2 hours on a muddy, potholed road just for a simple x-ray. I am not used to driving around to 4 different clinics in one big town just to find a working x-ray machine.

One day I hope and pray that this will be as strange to Ugandans as it is to me.

Soccer and sorcery: only in Africa

Just wanted to share something that I found quite amusing…

Just to give you some context, Ugandans are soccer – mad (like most of the world its called football here but my allegiance to aussie rules prevents me from calling it that)

There was a big soccer game on TV on Saturday night, between the Ugandan national team (the Cranes) and the Kenyan team, to see if either could qualify for the Africa cup of nations. Neither team have played in the Africa cup for decades. And to be honest, that’s not a massive surprise – they don’t have the strongest soccer teams around…

We don’t have a TV, so Michael and I watched the game at a local pub, like most people in Kamwenge.Everyone took the game very seriously. It was quite painful to watch. Kenya played terribly, and although Uganda played much better, it was still a very non-eventful match. Not one goal was scored for the whole game, and it ended in a draw. But not before Uganda had about a million corners and even more shots at goal (while the Kenyans had almost none).

Once the game finished, we walked into town to grab some food, and I bumped into a good friend of mine. Of course, the topic immediately turned to the game that had just finished, with much clicking of tongues and shaking of heads from myself, her and the people around us. Then she said something I would never expect to hear in Australia:

‘Ah! These Kenyans! They were playing some very funny tricks!  Did you see the witch doctor with the pipe at the start of the match? He cursed us!’

With those around her nodding in agreement, and spurred on by my amused questions, my friend proceeded to explain to me how it was obvious – ‘proof’ was the word she used – that the Kenyans had cursed the Ugandan players. What was the proof?

They had so many chances to score, but always missed.

The theory was that the spell cast on them was similar to the curse used to render a woman infertile. Michael, with some other friends later, heard a similar theory about the almost naked medicine man who was chanting at the start of the match.

I don’t have much to say on this. I find it fascinating, slightly amusing and entirely different to what I know. But it certainly gives a glimpse into Bantu culture; the seeming absence of any authoritative line between physical and spiritual, the merging fragments of self.

An entertaining example of a very complex concept that I love about Africa.

Holism.

The tipping point…

One of the most rewarding, momentous steps so far for Maranatha Health Uganda took place about a month ago in Kamwenge.  The new MH Uganda Board of Directors met in Kamwenge for the first board meeting.

After 6 months of hard work, sweat and tears, putting together the MH Uganda board was easy.

At the first meeting, we began by each introducing ourselves and any role we have played with MH in the past. Before we have even officially begun MH activities, it dawned on me that this group of individuals – now a collective – have shaped this vision into what it now is. It was the people sitting around our dining room table at the board meeting that Michael and I have for so long now fleshed out this vision with, on our trips back and forth to Uganda. Ugandans, who time and time again we have listened to, leaned on, been mentored by, sought wise counsel from and prayed with about how this small intangible idea would come to pass, practically, in Kamwenge.

As we  discussed the vision, mission and strategies of MH, we were amazed by the way this board has been so clearly moulded and orchestrated by the One who is behind this vision.  Hearing our Ugandan colleagues speak so eloquently and wisely about the purpose and ethos of MH was truly remarkable. I felt as if they were taking the words straight from my mouth- only they weren’t my words. They were theirs. And they will safeguard the vision of this organisation better than any other group of people we could have dreamed of.

The Ugandan MH board from L to R: Michael and me, Rev Gensi, Rev Kwizera, George, Auria & Winnie

The reason I share this is because since coming here, it feels like not a lot has come easily.

It made me reflect on Michael and I starting Maranatha Health in Australia (which has a similarly amazing board!) over the past 4 years and how similar that process was to now starting in Uganda.  It seems that starting anything new is excruciatingly difficult but incredibly fulfilling and very fun. Often it feels like driving a car at night in the middle of a tropical storm, on a potholed dirt road, when the demister isn’t working (yes, an analogy from our life here!).

Exciting but bloody scary.

You drive along, having a rough idea of how far you have to go, and energised by the thought of your destination. But most of the way your vision is completely blurred. The constant loud splattering of rain makes it hard to listen to yourself think. You don’t see the potholes you know you will inevitably hit. The thunder is loud and threatening and makes you wonder if you should just pull over and give up for a while, but secretly you love the excitement and it makes you more determined to keep driving. And every now and again a strike of lighting lights up the sky and you can see the way ahead. But in that moment, you see the next set of potholes and more bends in the road. You’re grateful for the light, but don’t know if it’s better just to be in the dark…

That’s basically how it’s felt for me, anyway. So much unknown.

But then in every new venture, it seems there is a tipping point. When it no longer is just you in the car, but a big group of people. People who all know the destination, and are happy to take turns driving.

And it makes all of the challenges worth it!

In Australia this took a few years.  I’m still a little amazed and humbled by the fact that MH Australia is this fully functioning, professional organisation now, working separately from Michael and myself. That amazingly skilled, passionate individuals are owning Maranatha Health, investing in her, breathing new life into the original vision and growing her far beyond what we could have planned or hoped for.  Reaching that stage is rewarding and exciting and a reminder that God was behind all of it…

..and I can’t wait to keep sharing with you this exhilarating, addictive process that we are now stepping into for Maranatha Health Uganda.

Photography clichés

One of the most amazing things about living in Kamwenge are the beautiful sunsets we get on many evenings. (I assume the sunrises are just as appealing but I wouldn’t normally choose to be up at that hour – my commitment to a good photo is fairly pathetic….)

I thought I would share some of them with you. I only wish the photographs could capture their magnificence. I do think that might have something to do with the amateur-ness of the photographer!

Beautiful huh?

Then again the  night after. This time you could see the Rwenzori mountains so clearly…

Or something simple, like this one…

Then… one of the most magnificent sunsets I had ever seen. We both stood outside, mesmorised for half an hour by the colours and clouds.

The colours were so bright and stretched all the way across the sky….

…and it was raining too.

 What a beautiful part of the world this is!