Spaghetti A La Kasambya

I've got Ronan here with me this week which is GREAT. (Aside from the fact he lugged a lot of Dolmio Sauce, Spaghetti Hoops, Pickled Onion Monster Munch and lots of Chocolate half way round the world for me, he's good company!) Having him here has given me a a different perspective on things - and it has made it very easy to see that KISS has a lot to be proud of out here at the moment!

Lovina (who is my next door neighbour and one of our older KISS members) spends a lot of time helping me out. Last night she came to cook spaghetti for Ronan and I.

"I decided to put EVERYTHING in it tonight!" She declared with a grin as she dished it up.

"Everything?!" I cautiously enquired, trying to disguise my alarm.

"Yes, all of the spices!" she replied.

Unsure whether or not it would be wise to investigate, my curiosity got the better of me and i glanced up towards the gas stove. There, in a tidy line, were the various pots of 'flavour' which i chuck into various things... Garlic powder, piri piri chicken spice, Cajun spice, Cinnamon and mixed tea herbs, black pepper and salt. There they were on the table. And here they were, in one UNIQUE blend, in my spaghetti. Hilarious. Thankfully Lovina appreciated the hilarity of the situation... Tonight's spaghetti was limited to just one flavour.

Don't Eat Me!

I was rudely awoken from a nap this afternoon (it was well deserved, honest) by a small girl screaming "No, please don't eat me! Here, have my shoes." Somewhat alarmed I lept, bleary eyed, from my bed and yanked the door open. Sure enough, the girl was stood there, handing her shoes over to her attacker. She can't have been more than around 8 years old. "RAAAAHHHH," screamed the attacker "I still want to eat you!" "No, no, please don't eat me! Here, have my dress..." She yanked her dress off and duly handed it over before running and hiding behind a tree. The audience applauded. Apparently it was a rehearsal for a play about what happens if you don't go straight home from school. The things that happen outside my room these days...

Mass was a fun experience this morning. The priests here are on a rota - an African rota - which means that you can never predict which one you're gonna get. This morning a new priest walked in. The girl next to me said "Oh, the people love this priest - he is a great preacher!" I knew that could only be a bad thing for someone who doesn't speak Luganda particularly well... good preaching was bound to mean long preaching... And sure enough, during the course of his sermon he managed to sing three excessively long hymns and a verse of Bob Dylan's "Blowin' In The Wind." It WAS lengthy - but at least it was musical.

We've had a great weekend with the kids here in Kasambya. Saturdays are our 'fun and games' days. Yesterday the young ones learnt a game which i can only liken to a kind of Ugandan crowd surfing... while the older ones learnt an array of new songs. I don't know what possessed me, but I decided to teach them "Rise and Shine." Much to my great amusement, the teenage boys who i thought would curl up and die from embarrassment, LOVED it. One of them came to me at the end of the afternoon and asked to talk to me. When this happens it usually means that they have a problem at school or they need something... I was tired and, to be very honest, not really relishing the idea of having such a conversation. But, to my great delight, he said "Kate, I have forgotten the words to the song. Can we please sing it again?" Sure enough, we were joined by six other BIG strapping teenage lads and, together, we sang another three verses and four choruses of Rise and Shine... WITH ACTIONS. I will treasure that moment for many years to come!

Have a friend coming out to visit for a week on Thursday - can't WAIT to see him - sometimes you just REALLY need someone who will understand why you find it funny that a man would try to tie a bed, a pig, three chickens and a fridge to the back of a bike.

Unapologetic Plea for Assistance!

This week a 13 year old girl came to our office in Kasambya with her two younger sisters and her grandmother. All three of the girls are orphans and they had come in the hope that we might be able to help them to pay their school fees. Two of them had been able to go to school this term, but they had failed to find the extra £1.60 to enable the third to go back to class. When I asked them how the older two had managed to find the money, the eldest explained that she goes to work on somebody's land every Saturday - earning 50p for a day's work. She does this every weekend and saves enough throughout the term for her fees and a few books and pens. Going to work on some one's land is no walk in the park - it is backbreaking work in unforgiving sunshine, often without food or drink from sun rise to sun set. She's thirteen. THIRTEEN!

The nature of KISS means that we are always going to come face to face with unimaginable hardship. But, every now and then, something hits you particularly hard, and this was one such case. She looks so young - but her strength and determination struck me like a sword to the heart. She came today for our Xaverian prayer meeting - she was jumping about and singing as though she didn't have a care in the world - which is exactly why we have such a huge emphasis on pastoral outreach - we might not be able to offer financial assistance - but we can offer a smile or two.

There will always be more financial need than KISS will ever be able to meet. And we are always going to have to say no to people. But, at the same time, there is always more that can be done - and this is my unapologetic plea to you now - please help KISS to do more! We have recently launched a new website which will tell you a lot more about what KISS does - and, once you've had a look around, please do consider helping us out in whichever way you can - financially, prayerfully, practically or all of the above! www.kiddiessupportscheme.org Thank you!!!

Just too foreign...

Eeee, it's been a long time! Have just returned to Kasambya after six weeks away in Sorotti and Hoima. Time in Hoima has been good – it's great to see KISS looking so healthy there. The two main focuses of my time in Uganda are formation of our team of employees and working at strengthening our pastoral provision – and it was very encouraging to see both of those things coming on in leaps and bounds in Hoima. The time that Asaba spends with the kids after school is so precious and such a rare find in Uganda – it's a time when the kids can come and just be kids – a place where they are so valued and where they can really flourish and be themselves. We have a group of four nine year old girls there who declared that they had composed a song. Expecting something which sounded like it had been composed by a group of nine year olds, we were absolutely astonished when we heard what actually came out of their mouths! Moments like that make me so so determined to support the team here to provide more and more opportunities like that for these kids to come and discover something of who they are and what they can achieve. Just fab!

I had an interesting experience last week at Luzira, Uganda's high security prison. Luzira has an alarming reputation of horrendous conditions and extreme ill-treatment of prisoners. The prison is situated in the most unnervingly ironic setting I have ever experienced; the various buildings of the prison are set within a well kept, luscious green compound with a stunning view over Lake Victoria. If it weren't for the air of eerie silence and the feeling of suffering that hung in the air and on the faces of those lucky enough to leave the walls of the prison, I would almost be inclined to describe the place as beautiful. Unsurprisingly, it was a struggle to get into the prison. There was checkpoint after checkpoint manned by guards of varying levels of authority and consciousness. The first checkpoint was easy enough – I had to surrender my phone and my money and declare my intentions and I was allowed to enter the compound. My intention was in fact to visit the father of one of the lads who is supported by KISS – he has been inside since 2003 without trial, accused of murder. Consequently, this young man who we support is left as the head of the house – he takes sole responsibility for his 8 brothers and sisters, working tirelessly in a maize mill, earning 50p-60p per day to try to keep his siblings in school. The second checkpoint was the best one. It was manned by a plump, seemingly disinterested policewoman. She pointed at a blackboard and instructed me to read the message, which I did with due care and attention.

“No!” she rebuked. “Read it Loudly. To me.”

I forget the exact wording now, but the message scribbled on the board concerned female attire – it stated that women were not to enter the prison if they were wearing alluring clothing – there was to be no tight trousers, no mini-skirts and no skirts with extensive slits up the side.

“Don't you see?” She asked. “Your trousers are VERY tight!”

A small part of me died inside in the struggle to conceal both laughter and pride.

“No, officer,” I said as calmly as I possibly could. “These trousers are very baggy, officer.”

She beckoned me (and my combat style three quarter length shorts and all their pockets) into her office. The office was bare, but for an old chair which had been removed from a taxi tucked into the corner beneath the window. After a lengthy discussion as to the exact nature of my trousers and their relative tightness, and after a suggestion or two that I ought to give her a lot of money, she eventually gave in and let me pass. Checkpoints three and four passed without much eventfulness or offence. Checkpoint five proved to be my downfall.

“Sorry, madam, I cannot let you pass here,” stated the guard in khaki uniform with red belt and matching red beret.

“Oh? Why is that?” I enquired, close to tears through the frustration of it all.

“You are too foreign, madam.”

“Too foreign, officer? I'm not sure I get you.”

“If you are foreign, like you are, you first need to go to the Uganda Prison Headquarters on Parliament Avenue and ask them to write you a letter. Then you can come in, even if you are foreign.”

No amount of arguing was going to change this guy's mind. He was not going to let me in, foreign as I was. I gave up, holding back the tears, and waited just outside the building while the young lad went in alone to visit his father. It might be said that there is a lot to hide in there.

I'm now back in Kasambya – and I now have electricity in my room! It's such a luxury – I take so much pleasure in boiling my kettle and making cups of tea (the powdered milk does it a slight disservice, but I applaud it all the same). I've also recently bought a box of cornflakes in Kampala – again, the powdered milk does not quite do them justice, but I am cannot describe the delight that overcomes me when I sit in the morning sunshine on my doorstep with a cup of tea and bowl of cornflakes!

Please visit the brand spaking new KISS website http://www.kiddiessupportscheme.org/

Hello From Hoima

I'm in Hoima at the minute – I stay in a guest house rather than rent my own room here which is a bit of a mixed blessing. The food is good, there is a real life flushing toilet and, when there is not a power cut, there is power! On the flip side, the guest house shares a compound with a tailoring school (the students of which spend ALL of their time singing – badly) and, unlike Kasambya, I'm not allowed to paint smiley things in vulgar colours all over my bedroom walls. The students of the tailoring school had a retreat last week. This meant that they needed not only to sing, but to sing through a microphone and very distorted speaker – and that they had to begin doing so at 6am. I've still not quite composed myself after the trauma of 300 verses of “Good morning Jesus” in the early hours of Saturday morning.

There's a great bunch of kids here who turn up for activities after school every single day (they're only supposed to come Wednesday to Friday but they decided to start coming on Monday and Tuesday as well and there was not a lot any one could do about it!!) I enjoyed/suffered a rather fast paced, violent, lawless game of netball with a group of the primary school girls last week – I still have the excessively swollen finger to prove it (and a slightly wounded soul after they told me that I had no power)! As well as the netballing girls, there is a group of footballing boys (with rebellious footballing girl who always ends up in goal) plus a group of budding musicians – some of whom are being taught guitar and keyboard and the rest of whom compose songs and dances to the demo buttons on the keyboards. It's such a genius set up. They also come on Saturdays for a prayer meeting (plus football, netball, music and demo-button-related-fun) and on Sundays for a Xaverian Square Formation (the Xaverians are like a Catholic scouting movement) - last weekend they were learning to march – a very amusing experienced for all concerned!

I went to the post office yesterday in the hope that the parcels that I knew had been sent around three weeks ago might have arrived. I asked the lady whether there was anything there for me. She picked around inside her ear for a bit before looking under a pile of papers on her desk and then returning to the apparently infinitely more satisfying job of searching for ear wax. “No,” she replied in a silent, disinterested voice. “Do you think you could check box 34 for me?” I patiently asked. Five minutes later she returned from box 34, scuffing her feet painfully slowly along the tiled floor, still attending to her ear drums. “It's not there” she moaned in a half hearted attempt at sympathy. “But do you have a special place for parcels” I asked, hoping to remind her of the large parcel cupboard directly behind her. “No,” she declared, “if we have your parcel we will send you a sheet to inform you.” Hoping that I would now go away, she sat back down and continued her aural excavation. “Erm.... do you think you might be able to have a look in the parcel cupboard for me?” I persisted. Moving more slowly than anyone has ever moved in the history of the universe ,she got back up, finger still in ear, and moved towards the wardrobe/parcel cupboard. In the universe's attempt to propel life and energy into the situation, two parcels cascaded out of the wardrobe onto the post office attendant. Unphased, she picked the parcels up, examined them, brought them over to the counter and began to prepare herself for the immensely important task of filling out the duplicating receipt book. Once my name had been carefully spelled out in blue biro and the receipt duly stamped, three times, with the Post Office Uganda rubber ink stamp of approval, I was eventually set free. Thanking her earnestly for her assistance and wishing her a wonderful, joy-filled day, I left, goodies from home in hand. God bless Uganda!

The kindgom of far far away...

Well, Kampala cooled down at last and we eventually set off to Sorotti. It's a seven hour bus journey up to Sorotti town and then a further hour and a half on the back of a boda-boda to get to Acumet. I hadn't originally bargained to do that final hour and a half on the back of a bike and so hadn't thought to bring a sun hat with me. I did my best to fashion one out of my bath towel... No one thought this a strange thing to be wearing; someone even commented that I looked 'smart' - but my efforts were to little avail - i still ended up with a head full of dust and a rather rosy face.

Acumet is an incredible place. The area has been witness to years of civil war and tribal conflict and as a result people have left their homes and their land for safety in numbers in an IDP camp. Thanks to an albeit fragile peace process, there have been no confirmed rebel attacks in Uganda since 2006, but this particular area of the north east is still subject to regular tribal clashes. The Karamajong tribe, who are also currently participating in a disarmament process, make regular raids on camps and villages, taking food, property and cattle. I simply cannot imagine how it must be to live your life under constant threat. To know that anything you build up and work for could be lost at any minute. I've reflected on it a lot lately - of course the same is true for all of us - but the imminence of the threat in this particular area must bring a whole new perspective. The fact that NOTHING is certain and that everything is so transitory stares you bare in the face. From a faith perspective St. Teresa's prayer captures the challenge beautifully -

"Let nothing disturb you,

Let nothing frighten you

Everything passes:

God never changes.

Patience obtains all."

What a monumental challenge! A painfully difficult prayer to have the faith to say in a troubled world. Difficult though it is, i constantly feel the sentiment of it laid bare out here.

Our host in Acumet was an eccentric Ugandan priest. His name is Fr. Wazi-Wazi Gonzaga and he has a massive fluffy moustache. That says pretty much everything you need to know. One evening after dinner he whacked a jug of something out onto the table.

"It's medicine!" he declared,

"Oh! Medicine for what, exactly?" I cautiously enquired.

"It is to help digestion. It is made from fermented passion fruits. In fact, it is recommended to us in the bible by St. Paul in his letter to Timothy" he replied.

I'm yet to find the biblical reference to fermented passion fruits, but I duly took a glass in a good faith! It tasted a bit like port... not sure what it did for my digestion, but it didn't kill and i remain grateful for that.

The people in Acumet have lived incredible, often painful, lives. One of the lads we support told me about his experience of one particular rebel attack on the camp a few years ago. He had been away when the rebels attacked. He came back to his home to find food still cooking on the fire, but no one to be seen for miles. He began to cry, thinking that his mum and brothers and sisters had been killed or abducted. He spent days searching for them, deep in the bush. Eventually he came across someone who directed him to his brother and sister. Despite the danger of travelling anywhere he took his brother on the back of his bike, his sister on the front and cycled the whole way up to Sorotti. If it took me an hour and a half on a motorbike, you can imagine how long it took him with two children on a pedal bike. They stopped and hid along the way, waiting for rebels to pass them before continuing their journey. When he delivered his brother and sister to relative safety in the town, he got back on his bike a cycled right back into the camp to search for his mother, still not knowing whether or not she was alive. After another day, he found her too, hungry and crying deep in the bush. Again, he put his mum on the back of the bike and did the same journey to safety in town. Not content that he had done all he could, he again went back to the camp to look for food for the family. When he arrived, he came across a priest who was driving to the next village. The priest offered to take the lad with him but, for reasons he didn't understand at the time, he didn't want to go. He ran and hid in the toilet, hoping that the priest would leave without him. Sure enough, the priest got bored of waiting and left without him. Hours later, news reached the lad that the vehicle had come under attack and the priest was shot dead. The lad collected together as much food as he could and, for the final time, cycled to safety in Sorotti.

I've known this lad for a while, but had never known this story. And there are countless, countless others with similar tales, often all the more tragic. I'm endlessly blown away by how selfless and determined people can be...and feel unbelievably blessed just to know such incredible individuals.

Unfortunately I had to leave Fr Wazi Wazi behind me and make my way back to Kampala. I'm on my way to Hoima to spend a few weeks there, but am temporarily subject to a doctors order to rest up and swallow lots of pills. The pills are gross and make me burp, but I trust that they'll do the trick. Else I might have to call Fr Wazi Wazi to bring me some more 'medicine'...

The King and I

As part of our begininng of term madness Julius and I are in Kampala en route to Sorotti district. We've paid all the school fees for those studying in higher education in Kampala (quite a frightening sum of money!) and we're just waiting to get up to Acumet in the north east of Uganda to pay some more school fees there. We were supposed to travel today, but some serious riots broke out in Kampala yesterday afternoon and we're a bit marooned!

There has been ongoing tension between the Baganda people (the largest ethnic group in Uganda) and the central government. The King and people of Buganda believe that Kampala should be part of their territory and that they should be the ones collecting revenue from the land in Kampala. The areas surrounding Kampala are all part of the Buganda kingdom, but the government claims Kampala for itself.

The King had made plans to visit an area of his kingdom where there is a bit of unrest - and the government have prevented him from doing so 'for fear that there may be violence'. SOOOO... Baganda people are currently protesting in Kampala and surrounding towns and the army and police have been deployed by the government to beat them down. The whole thing kicked off yesterday afternoon and is likely to continue until Saturday when the King is supposed to travel - but it's possible that it'll go on for longer. The police and army are out in FORCE - tanks and all.

We're staying in a hostel right outside of town and there's no sign of anything up this end - the protests are focused in the town centre and then out towards the area where the king wants to go (which, luckily for me, is in the oposite direction to where I am!) I'm porning information from the American Peace Corps security officer who is here caring for his flocks and we're in touch with people in town who are giving us updates - so we're just gonna have to stay put here until it all dies down! Frustrating to say the least, but am grateful to be in a safe place - a safe place that serves burger and chips.

Using the time to catch up on some rest and find out what has been happening in the rest of the world for the last couple of months. Have also been down to the shops and bought some useful gadgets to help me through the troubles - a particular favourite is a bright orange plastic key ring/comb/bottle opener emblazoned with an elongated picture of David Beckham.

Right, i'd best go and entertain Julius - he's feeling particularly miffed and has so far refused to get out of bed!

(Interestingly, the BBC seem to think that it is all over already!)http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8250357.stm