Today I woke up, made tea, helped distribute 30,000 condoms, spent 6 hours interviewing family planning community health workers (essentially peer counselors trained by MIHV), and spent another couple hours writing up the interviews and sending queries for MIHV.
Overall, a pretty normal day.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
In the New Vision today
It takes two to plan a family
MANY young Ugandan men know they do not like birth control, even if they do not know much about it. “Most men think family planning is harmful,” explained Kassim Balikyweunya, 17, from his spot cheering on the sidelines of the football match. “They think those hormones destroy a woman’s uterus.”
Balikyweunya was among the 250 people at Minnesota International Health Volunteers (MIHV)’s first “Family Planning Day” in Nanseko Village. He expressed a prevalent misunderstanding about the side effects of contraceptives.
The full article appeared in the New Vision today, Uganda's leading daily newspaper. You can view it online by clicking here
MANY young Ugandan men know they do not like birth control, even if they do not know much about it. “Most men think family planning is harmful,” explained Kassim Balikyweunya, 17, from his spot cheering on the sidelines of the football match. “They think those hormones destroy a woman’s uterus.”
Balikyweunya was among the 250 people at Minnesota International Health Volunteers (MIHV)’s first “Family Planning Day” in Nanseko Village. He expressed a prevalent misunderstanding about the side effects of contraceptives.
The full article appeared in the New Vision today, Uganda's leading daily newspaper. You can view it online by clicking here
Monday, September 17, 2007
Emma
“I’m surprised he’s not scared of you,” said Lilian. I have just picked up Emma (short for Emmanuel, a common name for Ugandan baby boys born on Christmas). His dark eyes gaze up at me, he pokes his tiny fingers at my pale face, then he sighs, sticks his thumb in his mouth and rests his head against my shoulder.
I think there is a joy in holding a baby, because you are holding close to you someone who knows a great secret.
As infants we know something that is lost when we no longer know what we know because it is what we feel, but because it is what everyone around us does. We do not learn language because we instinctively feel that the word “milk” means lunch or that “mzungu” means white person, outsider – we acquire language from others. But before language, there are some things that are not acquired, things that are imbedded deeply in our brains and heart and pancreas, and seem to be lost on everyone over the age of 18 months.
Where ever I go, people stare at me.
Not a surprised glance or a quick once over, a long, uncomfortable stare. Sometimes I meet their gaze, hold it, smile, all the while thinking, ‘Yes, I see, you’re looking at me, I’m white, but that’s enough now.’
Ugandans may be many things, but they are not mind readers. They just keep staring.
Every time I go to the latrine behind the Mubende office, a little girl calls “Mzuuuunnnnguuuuu, Mzuuuuunguuuuu,” drawing out the “ooooo” sounds. It’s been a week and she still feels the need to herald my presence. Yesterday, a man at the market, ten feet from me, barked, “Mzungu, Mzungu, Mzungu.” While running in Ssembabule, I looked to one side of the road, and there were a dozen people, adults who had been working, children who had been playing, all frozen, their eyes following me down the rutty road.
Emma’s mother is one of our puppeteers for Family Planning Days. As his mom rehearses, Emma and I walk around the event, stopping to watch the cattle being herded by, wandering over to a group of children laughing, past the women who stare.
Emma isn’t offended by my whiteness. For him, my hip is just a hip and my shoulder’s paleness does not merit an announcement. It’s just a shoulder, a good a place as any to rest his tired head.
I think there is a joy in holding a baby, because you are holding close to you someone who knows a great secret.
As infants we know something that is lost when we no longer know what we know because it is what we feel, but because it is what everyone around us does. We do not learn language because we instinctively feel that the word “milk” means lunch or that “mzungu” means white person, outsider – we acquire language from others. But before language, there are some things that are not acquired, things that are imbedded deeply in our brains and heart and pancreas, and seem to be lost on everyone over the age of 18 months.
Where ever I go, people stare at me.
Not a surprised glance or a quick once over, a long, uncomfortable stare. Sometimes I meet their gaze, hold it, smile, all the while thinking, ‘Yes, I see, you’re looking at me, I’m white, but that’s enough now.’
Ugandans may be many things, but they are not mind readers. They just keep staring.
Every time I go to the latrine behind the Mubende office, a little girl calls “Mzuuuunnnnguuuuu, Mzuuuuunguuuuu,” drawing out the “ooooo” sounds. It’s been a week and she still feels the need to herald my presence. Yesterday, a man at the market, ten feet from me, barked, “Mzungu, Mzungu, Mzungu.” While running in Ssembabule, I looked to one side of the road, and there were a dozen people, adults who had been working, children who had been playing, all frozen, their eyes following me down the rutty road.
Emma’s mother is one of our puppeteers for Family Planning Days. As his mom rehearses, Emma and I walk around the event, stopping to watch the cattle being herded by, wandering over to a group of children laughing, past the women who stare.
Emma isn’t offended by my whiteness. For him, my hip is just a hip and my shoulder’s paleness does not merit an announcement. It’s just a shoulder, a good a place as any to rest his tired head.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Are we speaking the same language?
I think Mwange (MIHV’s Mubende driver) and I are both speaking English, but sometimes it’s hard to tell.
Earlier today I called him and said he did not need to pick me up, I would walk. He arrived a few minutes later.
Then this afternoon, as we arrived at the apartment complex several of the staff live at, we had another meaningful conversation:
Sarah - “How long have you lived here?”
Mwange – “Oh he’s just opening the gate.”
(I look confused.)
Mwange - “Wait what were you asking?”
Sarah – “Oh, I wanted to know how.... long .... you .... have.... lived .... here?”
Mwange – “Ooooooh. About three hours.”
Earlier today I called him and said he did not need to pick me up, I would walk. He arrived a few minutes later.
Then this afternoon, as we arrived at the apartment complex several of the staff live at, we had another meaningful conversation:
Sarah - “How long have you lived here?”
Mwange – “Oh he’s just opening the gate.”
(I look confused.)
Mwange - “Wait what were you asking?”
Sarah – “Oh, I wanted to know how.... long .... you .... have.... lived .... here?”
Mwange – “Ooooooh. About three hours.”
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Family Planning Days
Sunday, MIHV hosted the first of four “Family Planning Days”
After a rainy morning, we had a beautiful afternoon. Over 250 people attended, including many of MIHV’s target audience – teens and men. The idea for the “Days” is to bring in communities not served by other MIHV outreach programs and invite them to an event that is both fun and provides information on family planning.
The average Ugandan woman has 6.7 children, the highest fertility rate of any country in eastern and southern Africa. Although most Ugandans know about family planning (96.6% of all women and 98.1% of all men can name at least one method), usage of contraceptives is fairly low. Just 24% of women age 15-49 report using any method of family planning and when limited to modern methods, this number drops to 18% and further yet to 15% in rural areas.
The people gathered seemed to enjoy the afternoon; children danced to the drumming and songs and the crowd often erupted into laughter while they watched the drama show, which depicted a married couple struggling to handle their nine children.
I interviewed a lot of men in their late teens through early thirties. They had come to the event for many reasons – some just came to watch the football game, one was taking care of 13 children and knew he and his wife couldn’t afford another pregnancy, more often, they had heard a little bit about family planning, but had never used any form of contraception and came to learn more.
A small part of me doubted that one community event would change things. If 98% of men have heard of family planning and few are using contraception, how is one afternoon going to change their habits?
I was reminded, talking to one man, that the way we receive messages can make all the difference. Do, 25, is a farmer and father of two. He explained to me that he had never used birth control before, although he had heard messages about family planning on the radio. “I listened, but never really took any notice,” but he said, “now I see.”
After a rainy morning, we had a beautiful afternoon. Over 250 people attended, including many of MIHV’s target audience – teens and men. The idea for the “Days” is to bring in communities not served by other MIHV outreach programs and invite them to an event that is both fun and provides information on family planning.
The average Ugandan woman has 6.7 children, the highest fertility rate of any country in eastern and southern Africa. Although most Ugandans know about family planning (96.6% of all women and 98.1% of all men can name at least one method), usage of contraceptives is fairly low. Just 24% of women age 15-49 report using any method of family planning and when limited to modern methods, this number drops to 18% and further yet to 15% in rural areas.
The people gathered seemed to enjoy the afternoon; children danced to the drumming and songs and the crowd often erupted into laughter while they watched the drama show, which depicted a married couple struggling to handle their nine children.
I interviewed a lot of men in their late teens through early thirties. They had come to the event for many reasons – some just came to watch the football game, one was taking care of 13 children and knew he and his wife couldn’t afford another pregnancy, more often, they had heard a little bit about family planning, but had never used any form of contraception and came to learn more.
A small part of me doubted that one community event would change things. If 98% of men have heard of family planning and few are using contraception, how is one afternoon going to change their habits?
I was reminded, talking to one man, that the way we receive messages can make all the difference. Do, 25, is a farmer and father of two. He explained to me that he had never used birth control before, although he had heard messages about family planning on the radio. “I listened, but never really took any notice,” but he said, “now I see.”
Sunday, September 9, 2007
A box with no hinges, key or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid
Yesterday, I wanted to take a photo of the Minnesota International Health Volunteers sign that sits at the beginning of the turn off to our Ssembabule office. As I walked down the muddy turn off, a woman was walking along the path with her goats. She did not speak any English, but seeing my camera, she began gesturing for me to cross the road with her and pointed to my camera and then to her three little boys standing in her yard across the street.
We cross the road and she eagerly lines the boys up. I motion for the boys to come towards me, into the sun light, and she hurries them along. I photograph her and her children and then thank them and leave.
Later, as I’m waiting at the office for the Family Planning Implementation Team meeting to start, I think about those little boys. I go to my room and take a handful of Starburst out of my duffel and I make my way back down the turn off and give the woman the little yellow, pink and orange candies. She smiles broadly and gives the sweets to her children.
Today, I am in my room working and Mabol, MIHV's cook, comes to my room. Mabol speaks a bit of English and I hear her say from the hallway, “Sarah”…”Madam for you.” There is a woman standing a few feet from the door, but I do not recognize her. I have met so many people in the last two days that I am confused. Is this a woman I met in the market? Was she at the meeting yesterday? I smile and nod to her and Mabol then explains, “She says you took her photograph.” Now I remember. The woman comes to the doorway and kneels down on the steps. She holds up three eggs to give me.
I ask if I can pay her for them. Mabol interprets and the woman shakes her head no. Really, I say, I would like to. I think about the children’s bare feet and dirty clothes.
“Gift” Mabol says. I nod.
We cross the road and she eagerly lines the boys up. I motion for the boys to come towards me, into the sun light, and she hurries them along. I photograph her and her children and then thank them and leave.
Later, as I’m waiting at the office for the Family Planning Implementation Team meeting to start, I think about those little boys. I go to my room and take a handful of Starburst out of my duffel and I make my way back down the turn off and give the woman the little yellow, pink and orange candies. She smiles broadly and gives the sweets to her children.
Today, I am in my room working and Mabol, MIHV's cook, comes to my room. Mabol speaks a bit of English and I hear her say from the hallway, “Sarah”…”Madam for you.” There is a woman standing a few feet from the door, but I do not recognize her. I have met so many people in the last two days that I am confused. Is this a woman I met in the market? Was she at the meeting yesterday? I smile and nod to her and Mabol then explains, “She says you took her photograph.” Now I remember. The woman comes to the doorway and kneels down on the steps. She holds up three eggs to give me.
I ask if I can pay her for them. Mabol interprets and the woman shakes her head no. Really, I say, I would like to. I think about the children’s bare feet and dirty clothes.
“Gift” Mabol says. I nod.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
The Hospital Bed
I’m sitting in on the Family Planning Implementation Team’s quarterly meeting for Ssembabule District.
Noelina, who works in Ssembabule’s hospital, mentions that one of the surgical beds at the hospital is broken. The bed cannot be adjusted up and down, she explains, so tubal litigation and vasectomy operations cannot be performed. Men and women are turned away every day.
Around the table are MIHV staff, a representative of the Director of District Health Services and a Community Development officer who works for the Ministry of Gender, Labor and Social Development.
The hospital has a second, working, surgical bed in a different room, but they are unwilling to use it for these operations. Noelina explains the other room is reserved for emergencies.
The district claims they do not have the money for the bed and has asked MIHV to pay for the repairs. MIHV says they will not pay, knowing that in doing so they will not only pay for the bed, but open the door to funding requests every time something is broken.
The repairs would cost 80,000 shillings ($48).
Paige, MIHV’s Country Director, parts her lips. She seems weary, frustrated, but her voice stays calm. “This is now our third quarterly meeting where we’ve talked about the surgical bed needing to be fixed.”
$48 would give men and women in this district access to permanent forms of birth control.
$48 would mean fewer Ugandan children would grow up in families that cannot afford to care for them.
At the end of the meeting they have found no solution. They will meet again in December.
Noelina, who works in Ssembabule’s hospital, mentions that one of the surgical beds at the hospital is broken. The bed cannot be adjusted up and down, she explains, so tubal litigation and vasectomy operations cannot be performed. Men and women are turned away every day.
Around the table are MIHV staff, a representative of the Director of District Health Services and a Community Development officer who works for the Ministry of Gender, Labor and Social Development.
The hospital has a second, working, surgical bed in a different room, but they are unwilling to use it for these operations. Noelina explains the other room is reserved for emergencies.
The district claims they do not have the money for the bed and has asked MIHV to pay for the repairs. MIHV says they will not pay, knowing that in doing so they will not only pay for the bed, but open the door to funding requests every time something is broken.
The repairs would cost 80,000 shillings ($48).
Paige, MIHV’s Country Director, parts her lips. She seems weary, frustrated, but her voice stays calm. “This is now our third quarterly meeting where we’ve talked about the surgical bed needing to be fixed.”
$48 would give men and women in this district access to permanent forms of birth control.
$48 would mean fewer Ugandan children would grow up in families that cannot afford to care for them.
At the end of the meeting they have found no solution. They will meet again in December.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
To the Field
This morning I'm leaving for Ssembabule (red), one of MIHV's two Ugandan field sites. The drive from Kampala (blue) to Ssembabule will take about four hours.
Being in Kampala has been wonderful, I've gotten to meet Paige, MIHV's Uganda Country Director, who is incredible. I've wandered through the tombs of the ancient Buganda kings, met with editors at the local Ugandan papers, visited the Nommo National Art Gallery and feel somewhat adjusted to life here.
That said, I can't wait to get into the field. The work MIHV does really happens in the field. Throughout the month of September every Sunday MIHV will be hosting a Family Planning Day, a day designed to be fun for the community while also increasing awareness about reproductive health and MIHV's programs. These Sundays will target males and youth and aim to increase their involvement in family planning. The events will include a drama show, quizzes, a puppet show, a soccer match, and a film show.
Being in the field will give me the opportunity to meet MIHV's Ugandan staff (Paige is the only American working for MIHV's Ugandan programs) and Community Health Workers as well as the beneficiaries of MIHV's programs. I hope that being there, sitting and listening and sharing time and place, will allow me to start to tell their stories.
In the next few weeks I'll be at both the Ssembabule site and Mubende (yellow) site. Ssembabule doesn't have electricity or running water, let alone internet, so I may not be able to post until I get to Mubende.
I'll write soon. Take care.
Being in Kampala has been wonderful, I've gotten to meet Paige, MIHV's Uganda Country Director, who is incredible. I've wandered through the tombs of the ancient Buganda kings, met with editors at the local Ugandan papers, visited the Nommo National Art Gallery and feel somewhat adjusted to life here.That said, I can't wait to get into the field. The work MIHV does really happens in the field. Throughout the month of September every Sunday MIHV will be hosting a Family Planning Day, a day designed to be fun for the community while also increasing awareness about reproductive health and MIHV's programs. These Sundays will target males and youth and aim to increase their involvement in family planning. The events will include a drama show, quizzes, a puppet show, a soccer match, and a film show.
Being in the field will give me the opportunity to meet MIHV's Ugandan staff (Paige is the only American working for MIHV's Ugandan programs) and Community Health Workers as well as the beneficiaries of MIHV's programs. I hope that being there, sitting and listening and sharing time and place, will allow me to start to tell their stories.
In the next few weeks I'll be at both the Ssembabule site and Mubende (yellow) site. Ssembabule doesn't have electricity or running water, let alone internet, so I may not be able to post until I get to Mubende.
I'll write soon. Take care.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Morning at the Market
As I enter the market, women beckon me to their booths saying, “Madam, here” and “Sister, come.” Stalls overflow with pineapples, garlic cloves, rice, beans, peas, apples, zucchini, onions, dried vanilla, melons, peanuts and corn. I pause to negotiate the price of a bunch of bananas and then hurry past the stalls where meat hangs from the ceiling and hooves lay stacked on the counter.
I am the only muzungu meandering through the crowded aisles and people ask me my name, where I am from and why I am here (many ask if I am from Colorado or Texas, others assume I’m a journalist writing about CHOGM). Some, seeing my camera, cry, “Photo me! Photo me!” while others, mostly the older women, hide their faces.
Monday, September 3, 2007
No matter where you go...
Robert, the gardener at the Kampala office, is a Jehovah's Witness... they don't wear the suits here.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Waste Not
A Kampala journalist named Michael Wakabi told me that Kampala has become ''a used culture.'' The cars are used -- they arrive from Japan with broken power windows and air-conditioners, so Ugandan drivers bake in the sun. Used furniture from Europe lines the streets in Kampala. The Ugandan Army occupies part of neighboring Congo with used tanks and aircraft from Ukraine.
(Packer, George. “How Susie Bayer’s T-Shirt Ended Up on Yusuf Mama’s Back” The New York Times. 3 March 2002.)
Check out the full article... it looks at the used clothing trade in Uganda: http://select.nytimes.com/search/restricted/article?res=F10D14FA3E5F0C728FDDAA0894DA404482
Check out the full article... it looks at the used clothing trade in Uganda: http://select.nytimes.com/search/restricted/article?res=F10D14FA3E5F0C728FDDAA0894DA404482
* * * * *
My Coke bottle’s label is worn away in some places. I’m out to dinner with Paige and Phil at the local pizza shop and my glance at the bottle has turned into a stare. The red is faded, but just slightly.
“Is this bottle used?”
“Yep,” Paige says, looking up from her salad, “Best recycling program in the world and nobody knows it’s happening. You actually have to pay more for the soda if you want to take the bottle with you.”
“There’s no broken glass in Kampala,” adds Phil. “Not when it’s worth something.”
* * * * *
Later, we stop by a going away party for one of the expats Paige and Phil know.
In one of those awkward, no-one-knows-anyone-in-this-group moments, a girl from Boston looks down at one of the Ugandans' sandals.
“Hey, nice Jesus sandals!”
Looking down, he laughs, “I made these”
"You made them?”
“Yes,” he shows us the sole of his shoe, “From old tires.”
From where he stands the sandals look black, albeit a bit plastic-y, but the bottom of the shoe reveals tire treads. The Americans launch into how ingenious the tire-shoes are. He shows us how he cut the tire and with four nails affixed the straps. The Ugandans laugh at our fascination.
“These shoes – lugabire – are all over. They sell them for 2,000 shillings ($1.18) in Kampala.”
“I love them!” the Boston girl exclaims, “What market did you say?”
The Ugandans laugh again.
“It won’t be 2,000 shillings for you – 50,000 ($30) maybe”
Americans buy clothes in disposable quantities -- $165 billion worth last year. Then […] we run out of storage space, or we put on weight, or we get tired of the way we look in them, and so we pack the clothes in garbage bags and lug them off to thrift shops.
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