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.