My Friend Pamela

The following is a retelling of a conversation I had last year with a woman refugee from Congo, living in my village, who has now become my good friend:

Pamela lit another cigarette with her shaking hands as she stared at me. Her earlier promises to confide in me began to feel impossible stretched. Maybe another day, I ask. With a slight shake of her head, Pamela begins to tell me her story. Stilted only at first, her story tumbles out. Pamela is a refugee. She can no longer be with her husband or daughter in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Why? “I am Tutsi.” She is now living with a relative in our small village of Rwakaraba in the south of Uganda. “I miss my daughter but I knew my facial features would eventually get her killed. I look Tutsi.” And I have to admit, that she does look Tutsi, even to an American. Just last month, rogue soldiers broke into her home and began to beat her, all the while her eight-year old daughter hid under the bed. She attributes her past survival to her Dutch husband and his influence as a Mzungu (white person). “We both admitted—my husband and I—that sometime in the future he wouldn’t be there to save me. Or God forbid my daughter.” Two days after Pamela’s beating, her daughter was followed home from school by a group of men carrying AK 47’s. She planned her escape with her husband that same evening. 

A Note to my Readers

Thanks so much for your continued support. I wanted to let you know that I have added new pages onto my blog, including a page dedicated to my thesis, The Silent War: A Jurisprudential History of Wartime Rape, as well as a page titled, "Chelsea Recommends." I invite you to give them a gander when you have a chance. I have just posted my thesis and would love you to read it and give any feedback. I am pursuing my masters degree in 2011 with the same concentration, so any critiques or criticisms would be highly appreciated. Thanks so much and happy reading!

Understanding War

My first "Chelsea Recommends" is the website http://www.understandingwar.org/

Why? It is a refreshingly bipartisan research organization that works towards educating civilian leaders in military intelligence and the military operations in both Afghanistan and Iraq. The Afghanistan Project's current focus for instance is to "monitor and analyze the effectiveness of Afghan and Coalition operations to disrupt enemy networks and secure the population."  

It not only publishes reports and articles by visiting scholars but also provides maps, charts and summaries of current and past military operations. Still not sold? Don't worry, it also highlights approved articles by your trusty American news agencies, such as CSPAN, CNN, etc. (I can't promise any Fox articles for the obvious reasons) 

They May Be Small, But They Are Certainly Tough

Yesterday I was walking in town with two fellow volunteers when a drunkard started to follow and pester us. Apparently I have made my mark because within minutes we had a group of street kids surrounding us and yelling at the drunk man to leave us alone. As the kids probably expected, I bought them street food afterwards. I love that I can help these kids. I love that they trust almost no one and yet they get excited to see me. I love that I am now one of them, worthy of protecting.

:)

Meet My New Friend

Briant is the one in the middle.

This morning while walking in town I came across one of the street kids - Briant - begging on the street. Briant is nine years old and has one of those contagiously beautiful smiles. Together, Briant and I walked from one end of town to the other, stopping in shops and walking around the outdoor market. Not only was his English surprisingly good but our conversation really interesting. At the market, I broke down and bought him a pair of foam sandals, a pair of shorts and a Manchester United shirt. The deal was, however, that he had to start going to the morning shelter so he could bathe more frequently, wash his clothing and participate in the lessons.

Wanting to first find a place to bathe before he put on his new clothes, Briant strutted the rest of the way with the bag of clothing thrown over his shoulder. "I am going to look smart with my new clothes! Ahhh, see how people look at me. I am proud to be with a Mzungu." "So we are friends then," I asked. "Yego Chels. We are very good friends."

Shorts, Sandals and a Shirt = $4
Lunch for 2 = $.75

Its amazing how $4.75 can make such a huge difference for these children and make me so incredibly happy. :)

A Troubling Conversation

The following is a snippet of a conversation I had with a humanitarian worker the other day. Thought I would share:

Me: "Why are there no girl street kids?"

"Boys are pushed away, forgotten. And girls.... the parents can force them to work around the house, cook, clean. Girls are essentially an investment... their parents will get a bride price when they can marry them off."

Drop-In Center for the Street Children

This morning I finally made it to the drop-in center for street children. Every day at midmorning these kids take a break from their smoking, begging and stealing and slowly make their way to the center for medicine, English lessons and food. The drop in center is merely a modest home, renovated for the children and maintained by a small group of four missionaries. As the kids trickle in from the streets, they begin their daily routine of bathing, washing their clothing and checking on their personal veggies patches. At midday the pastor arrives and speaks to the children about God and his many miracles. Afterwards, the kids cover their eyes and say grace. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, the kids are treated to a hearty lunch of matoke/posho/rice/cabbage/beans. On Tuesday and Thursday, the kids are given a smaller meal of bananas and porridge. These are probably the only meals they will eat all day. On the weekends, they must fend for themselves.

Meet Pam. Pam and her husband run the show at this center. In their early sixties, Pam and her husband have devoted the remainder of their lives to doing Gods will. They have lived here in Uganda for five years and, as Pam put it, "they will have to bury me here." In fact, their missionary work has become a family tradition - their son and his wife have now moved to Kabale, as well.

I have discussed with Pam the possibility of working at the center during midmorning, when my own kids are at school. I couldn't be more excited. Each of these kids has a story - some being orphans, some abused, some neglected and others turning to the streets for the freedom that it comes with. Most are addicted to marijuana and inhaling glue. One of these kids was released from prison just this morning, where he had been held for several weeks without any formal charges being brought against him. The story? "The police find the kids sleeping on the streets. They beat them. This one, he didn't run fast enough." These kids are fascinating - they truly know how to survive. And in these few hours in the morning, they are allowed to be kids, nothing more, nothing less.

And so until I know more, here are some pictures from my visit this morning!!

One Crazy Mzungu: Me

I stumbled upon one of the street kid hangouts this morning. A group of five to seven, somewhat dangerous looking teenagers were huddled around a small fire and eating fire cooked bananas. The two street kids who I have befriended, albeit younger, do not have the same hardened expressions as these boys. You can tell they have seen more than their fair share of violence and death. I think I want to befriend them, although it is probably going to take weeks and weeks of bribes and short "hellos" before they let this Mzungu sit with them. Hmmmmm, I like a challenge.

A Wise Muzee (Elder in Rukiga)

A Whirlwind Trip to Kampala

This past weekend I made the long (and I mean 12 hrs long) trek to Kampala (the capital of Uganda) with two fellow expats. The first: a nomadic ex-marine/hair dresser/physical therapist from New York. And the second: an Austrian/ intended psychology student/teenager who is traveling for a year before she begins university. The Austrian apparently also looks like my twin sister, at least according to the Mukigas (locals). But heck, they think all Mzungus (white) look alike.

Our plan: 

- See a movie at the theatre, preferably Eat, Pray, Love.

- Eat a cheeseburger with Heinz Ketchup and Mustard from Steak Out.

- Wander aimlessly through the air-conditioned supermarket and purchase exorbitant amounts of refrigerated items that are unavailable in Kabale.

- Find a deliciously cold iced coffee made from real Espresso (not the instant Nescafe that I choke down every morning)

- Take a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) to an "Irish" pub called Bubbles O'Malleys. 

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. 

Stopping for some Street Food

So excited for our Cheeseburgers!!

Boda Bodas (Motorcycle Taxis)

In short:

Drinking cups of yogurt while still in the grocery store is completely acceptable when you come from "the village."

Bubbles is like Disneyland for Mzungus. Imported Guinness, Mojitos with real mint, European music, an outdoor beer garden and the promise that no one will stare at you. Imagine that.

Sitting in decade-old theatre seats to watch a horrible movie and munch on burnt, unbuttered popcorn will still result in pure bliss. With no TVs in Kabale, our standards are pretty low.

If you drink imported beer as though it is water, you will inevitably dance on the velvet couches and even give out your number to Mohammed, Muhammed, Ahmed and Steve 25.

If you arrive at the bus depot at seven for a bus that is scheduled to leave at 8 am, which is then postponed to 9:30, it won't leave until noon. And in twelve hours, you will only be allowed one bathroom stop. This could explain the slightly-nauseating smell that got worse by the hour.

And while the weekend was fun and slightly ridiculous, when the bus finally rolled into Kabale, it felt like home. :)

Details Long Overdue :)

I have done a sore job at blogging lately. I have posted photos and have written the occasional anecdote, but have failed to communicate what it is I actually do and where I do it. Okay, so here we go.

I am working with an Australian-based organization by the name of Foundations. Foundations was created just last year by an amazing woman named Rosie O'Halloran to house and help children who have regrettably been ignored by their parents, their neighbors and their society. Each child has a story that will break your heart and want to protect them from any more pain, fear or hunger. It is these emotions that I believe inspired Rosie to create Foundations and it is the reason that I am working in Uganda today. Our humble home houses both orphans and street kids, giving them the ability to play like children, not worry about their next meal and even dream about their future. 

My job? Well it may be the best job in the world. My official position is the live in coordinator. I act as a liaison between the in-country staff and the Australian staff. More importantly, however, I get to spend my days playing games with the kids, whether it be football (or as us Yanks call it, soccer), dancing to Rukiga music or practicing our ever-evolving language skills (I quiz them about English and they quiz me about Rukiga. Their English puts my Rukiga to shame!)

Want to know more? Feel inspired to help? Comment below and check out our website:
http://www.foundationsau.org/

Mukaka and I (our house grandmother)

Rwanda: A Stark Reality

Paul Rusesabagina, the hero who saved thousands of Tutsis during the Rwandan genocide (and later became the inspiration behind the critically acclaimed movie, Hotel Rwanda) has now been painted as an enemy of the state. President Kagame, the victorious military leader who claimed power at the end of the genocide, has began a smear campaign against Rusesabagina, accusing him of sending funds to extremist rebel groups.

Shocking? Unfortunately, this smear campaign is just one instance among many, in a growing trend of arrests, disappearances and smear campaigns for anyone who holds sway for the underrepresented Hutu majority. Just last week, Hutu opposition leader Victoire Ingabire was arrested for working with a terrorist group, a charge that she and those who know her vehemently deny.

Rwanda is starting to become infamous among human rights advocates for its restricted freedom of speech and political opposition. One opposition leader, in particular, was found tortured and beheaded outside the southern town of Butare in the weeks leading up to Rwanda's August elections. The Green Party leader had earlier voiced his worries about his safety, having been threatened by members of the ruling party only a month before his death. Human Rights Watch demanded a foreign autopsy and investigation into the murder, but to no avail. 

The situation in Rwanda is nothing but worrying.  As Kagame's former head of foreign intelligence, Patrick Karegeya warns, "There is always a limit to which you can repress people. Push them against a wall and they will explode." Karegeya has since been forced into exile.

to be continued...

The Kids... They Make Everything Worth It

From our Neighborhood

Went to the market yesterday...

School Exams

The kids just finished their midterm school exams. One of the questions on the exam asked, "who is the head of the household?" Predictably, the correct answer was "father." What if the kids had put "mother"? Automatic fail? I'm glad my academic performance as a child didn't rely on my subservience to the male species.

A Few Pictures from London

Yet Another Sad Story

An article was published in the New York Times today highlighting the blatant incompetencies of the UN mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo. On July 30th in the small village of Luvungi, Congolese rebels gang raped an estimated 200 women while the UN forces were stationed merely minutes away. As a result of poor organization and even worse communication channels, the UN soldiers were not even aware of the attack until long after it had occurred. Is this indicative of a larger problem? Unfortunately, yes. This larger issue will resurface often throughout my blog. Billions of dollars have been invested in the UN mission in DRC and yet it still finds itself unable to complete its most fundamental task: protecting the civilians.

Is it Safe?

     The first question that I hear from people when I tell them that I am moving to Uganda is, "Is Uganda safe?" My response usually includes some sort of pithy remark, after which I intentionally sidetrack the conversation. Now that my countdown for departure has begun, it seems important to me to finally address this heavy-weighted question... So, is Uganda safe? The long and short of it: yes and no. Frustratingly unhelpful? Probably. But its the truth. At first glance, Uganda is the poster-child of Africa. In fact, Uganda probably has more NGOs (nongovernmental organizations) than private businesses. And yet Uganda is nowhere near perfect. It is corrupt, greedy and it two-times its western benefactors (kind of like Pakistan, but that is another story).

    Lets start with the bad news. Uganda is situated  squarely in the middle of what is becoming known as the African War. It borders not only Rwanda, but Sudan and Democratic Republic of Congo as well. Sudan, for instance, is home to the very propagandized genocide in Darfur. Rwanda was home to the 1994 genocide that killed an estimated 950,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus. Moreover, the UN has just openly condemned the Rwandan army (the people who had been "the good guys" during the 1994 genocide) for its current involvement in the genocide that is underway in Democratic Republic of Congo. And on top of that, there are wild rumors that Uganda will enter its own civil war depending on the outcome of the February elections. Rebel groups are already gathering and preparing for an invasion if it is deemed necessary.

    Now that I have probably given most of you a heart attack, let me reassure you as best I can. I will be living in a village that is far, far removed from any of the violence that plagues most of East Africa. When I walk down the dirt road, children will flock to my side, ask for candy and stiltedly ask me, "how are you?" at which I will give the standard Ugandan reply, "I am fine!" The locals I meet will find no greater honor than to have me over for dinner and show me pictures of their entire family, living and deceased. My evenings will be spent either helping "my children" finish their schoolwork or drinking a cup of coffee with other expats at the nearby Edirisa backpackers.

    In sum, my day to day life will be nothing but peaceful. And yet my going to Kabale will regrettably put me in a state of light to moderate danger. This threat of danger will not stop me from moving there. I hope you can understand this. Shakespeare once wrote, "nothing can come of nothing." I am not trying to be a saint nor a martyr. I just want to do something because almost no one will, and no one deserves to be forgotten or ignored.

The Glory of Battle?

This poem, written by Wilfred Owen during World War I, is a poignant commentary on the false conceptions of the glory and honor of warfare. Owen wrote this poem as a counter-argument to Jessie Pope's propaganda piece, "Who's for the game?" that encouraged young men to join the battle with "such such high zest." The phrase, "Dulce et Decorum est" was first used by the ancient Roman poet, Horace, whose poem translated to:

"How sweet and fitting it is to die for one's country:
Death pursues the man who flees,
Spares not the hamstrings or cowardly backs
Of battle shy youths"

Now having explained its background, give you Wilfred Owen's, Dulce et Decorum est:


"Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. —
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.


In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, —
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."

Entering the Blogging World

Hello!! Or as they say in Uganda, Agandi!! Welcome to Chelsea Rice's blog! It is here that you will find the latest and greatest from my most recent trip to East Africa. I will also be posting the occasional piece relevant to my academic interests, ie. international conflict and human rights. Don't worry though, I will try to overcome the sort of exaggerated self-importance that is inherent to any blogger. As Shakespeare so aptly wrote, "Since brevity is the soul of wit / And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief." Yet failure is imminent. And so I will just apologize in advance for any overly lengthy posturing to be found on this site. As always, your comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Feel free to contact me anytime at markey.rice@gmail.com.