Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | October 12, 2009

From Bracelets to Savings Groups

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Betty, 55, sits in front of the hut she paid for with money earned as an IC bracelet maker in Awer IDP Camp

***Below is an interview transcript I just posted on IC’s website.  Enjoy!***

Invisible Children’s Bracelet Campaign used to employ people living in IDP camps in northern Uganda to make bracelets.  When the Bracelet Campaign ended in May, IC dovetailed the program’s phase out with the start of a new microfinance program called the Village Savings and Loan Association (VSLA).  Because bracelet makers were trained in saving techniques, it seemed only logical to use them as anchors for savings groups in northern Uganda under VSLA.

Ex-bracelet makers are presently helping their fellow villagers save money in 20 different savings groups.  With 20 people in each group, VSLA is a powerful program affecting 400 Ugandan households, enabling group members to take loans from communal group savings funds that they themselves generate.  I recently sat down to speak with Betty, an ex-bracelet maker and current leader of one VSLA group in Awer, Uganda.   Below is a transcript of part of our interview.

Read More…

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | October 7, 2009

Murchison Falls

Wednesday 10/7/09  Gulu, Uganda

When visitors come out for multi-day trips, I often take them to Murchison Falls National Park, Uganda’s largest national park.  It’s a beautiful expanse of rolling hills blanketed with high grasses and palm trees, populated with elephants, hartebeests, lions, buffalo, and hippos, among others.  The crown jewel of the park is a waterfall by the same name, a raging torrent of water that, night and day, pounds away at the walls of a narrow channel of stone.  The video below shows the IC roadies hanging out by the falls.

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | October 4, 2009

Malaria, Yes.

malaria meds

Above:  My last dose of malaria meds

Sunday 10/4/09  Gulu, Uganda

Last week I got malaria for the second time.  I had a sore neck at work that slowly morphed into an odd back-of-the-head headache.

When I went to the doctor, I told him my symptoms.  In addition to the achy neck, I explained, I had a few strange sores on my back and feet that refused to close up and heal.  For more than a week, five or six penny-sized sores had been annoying me.  Hearing this, the doctor paused for a moment and tried to think of an explanation for the symptom cocktail.

“It’s either syphilis or malaria,” he said finally.

I almost laughed out loud.  I didn’t know what to say.

One blood test and ten minutes later, the doctor entered the room and declared, “Syphilis, no.  Malaria, yes.”

“What about the sores?” I asked.  “The malaria doesn’t explain the sores.”

Again he thought.

“Have you touched any Ugandan children lately?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said, unsure of what he was getting at.

He went on to explain that children in east Africa often spread bacterial and fungal skin infections to one another.  Shaking hands with an infected child could be enough to spark transmission.  Unconcerned about the sores, the doctor said to wash them with soap and water, wait a week, and see what happens.

*****

I’m feeling better now.  Once again, though, I find myself reminded of how fickle health can be.  As hard as I try after each battle with sickness—be it big or small—I always seem to slip into a state of non-awareness in regards to my health, one in which I take my health for granted and rarely take a moment out of my day to be thankful for my ten toes and fingers, my functioning eyes, and my beating heart.

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | October 1, 2009

THIS is Awesome

Check this out.  It’s incredible.

This new page on Invisible Children’s updated website (www.invisiblechildren.com) shows real-time data as its collected by roving IC roadies, the folks who drive around the US for months at a time to screen IC movies .  When roadies sell IC merch on the road or add a new support school to a particular cluster of American support schools, data shows up on this webpage.  It’s set up to give a slow leak of data over 12 hours, so what  you see is happening in ‘real-time’ in the sense that it has happened in the last 12 hours.  Note:  The movement of the school clusters is arbitrary and only added to the page for visual effect.

Enjoy!

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | September 29, 2009

The Roadies Are Gone…

And that means that, after three and a half months, Invisible Children’s busy summer visitor season is officially over.  Now I can exhale.

I’m going to be busy in the next few weeks, though, creating content for the new IC website, which has a rolling blog as its main component.  Because the rolling blog needs frequent posts to keep it interesting (and keep readers coming back), IC Uganda has been asked to submit more weekly content than we’ve submitted to the blog in the past.   This translates into more interviewing and writing for me.  This shift from dealing with summer visitors to a more writing-heavy schedule is a welcome one—I was starting to feel worn out by the endless stream of IC guests that showed up in Gulu over the past few months.

I’m headed to Zanzibar and Tanzania with a co-worker at the end of October for a two-week vacation.  Snorkeling, journaling, reading, and riding trains are in the cards.

patiko view

Above:  Roadies take in the view from atop the mountain of granite at Ft. Patiko, just outside of Gulu.  The fields, colored a shade of electric green, are lush thanks to the consistent rains we’ve been having in the past month.  This is a stitched image—click on it, then click ‘All sizes’ to see it in its original size for more detail.

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Above:  Roadies mid-flight at St. Joseph’s College Layibi in Gulu

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Above:  Roadies check out Murchison Falls, the most powerful waterfall in the world at the height of Uganda’s rainy season.  The falls are located about three hours from Gulu, in northwestern Uganda.


Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | September 23, 2009

Examiner Interview

getting ready to start the climb from the bottom of Chicamocha Canyon

me, more blue

Above:  Stefan and I take a break before starting the long climb out of Chicamocha Canyon in Colombia.  Me in front of one of the colorful balconies in Villa de Leyva, Colombia.

Nancy Vogel, mother and cyclist of Familyonbikes.org fame (she’s cycling with her two young sons and husband from Alaska to Argentina on a multi-year trip), recently interviewed me via email for an article that she’s writing for Examiner.com.  Below is a copy of the questions and answers we exchanged.  For those of you not interested in cycling, be forewarned:   The interview is mostly about bike-related stuff!

Here’s an excerpt from the interview (which, along with lots of other interviews with bike travelers, can be found here):

Nancy: Any special tips or advice to wannabe tourers?

Andrew: Jump.

Don’t get caught up on gear worries and route worries. Don’t fret about running out of cash—bike travel is incredibly cheap. Save up enough to travel on a $5–10 US per person per day budget, read some blogs, train for a few weeks, and leave. Just go! Sort things out on the road. Bring zip-ties. Bring camping equipment so you give yourself more options. Travel with an objective in mind—have a purpose for your trip. Don’t mess around with cheap wheels and tires—have a bike shop make some wheels for you with Sun Rhyno Lite rims. (I’m still waiting for my first broken spoke!) Use Schwalbe Marathon XR tires. Talk to people. Make yourself vulnerable. Get lost. Camp behind police stations, in firehouses, and in farmers’ fields. Try the street food. Journal. Embark on your trip as a hungry learner, as someone lusting for information. With this mindset, you’ll radiate a certain type of energy that will protect you throughout your travels. Don’t wait until Costa Rica to use your little chain ring on climbs—despite what you might think, it’s not worth saving an entire cog for the Andes! Even little climbs deserve low gears! With that said, push the bike when cycling is impossible—don’t be ashamed to get out of the saddle and walk. Contact other cyclists before you set out on your ride to ask questions. (My email is andrewedwardmorgan@gmail.com—ask away!) Use maps and advice from locals to figure out your route as you ride. Go to Bolivia if you want to ride through the best scenery in South America. Stay present—don’t fantasize about pizzas you’re going to have with friends in the future or pizzas you’ve had with them in the past. Stay focused on your pedal strokes, on the wind, on the sun on your face, on the llamas crossing the road. Don’t quit before you’ve cycled for two weeks—it takes this much time to break yourself into the cycling routine.

Go!

Read More…

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | September 4, 2009

Pics

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Above:  A man carries jerry cans to the water at sunset in Adjumani, Uganda

Friday 9/4/09   Gulu, Uganda

I just battled the internet and won…kinda:  I managed to upload most of the pictures I was trying to upload today.  Even little victories count for something!

Fast internet is still far out of reach for folks here in Gulu.  I read the other day that Uganda’s attempt to get broadband cable run out to the country from the Kenyan coast has been stymied because politicians don’t feel like they’re getting the same deal that the governments of Rwanda and Burundi are getting.  (Apparently similar lengths of cable are slated to be laid in all three countries, yet Uganda alone is scheduled to pay an exorbitant price for it.)

Anyway, here are some new pictures.

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Above:  Flowers by a place called Jesus Town that is on the way to Adjumani

scholarship award ceremony----Jolie awards 100 girls with new university scholarships.  yeah!

Above:  When Jolly gives 100 new university scholarships to girls in northern Uganda, it looks like this!  (Stitched with Autostich.  Click for more detail)

pano

Above:  Beautiful sunset over the Nile in Adjumani.  Went camping for the weekend and was treated to this view from the tents! (Stitched with Autostitch.  Click for more detail)

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Above:  Flower spotted near the water’s edge in Adjumani

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | August 27, 2009

Rabbit Food

carrots from the garden.  these are the first carrots I've ever managed to grow successfully.  in Japan I couldn't get my carrots to grow larger than two inches or so

carrots from the garden

yum!

I’ve never had success growing carrots before.  In Japan, the ‘carrots’ I grew were as thin as pencils and shorter than crayons.  Here in Gulu, though, the dark, rich soil is carrot-friendly.  The harvest shown here in these pictures—almost 15 lbs. of veggies—required next-to-no maintenance throughout the growing process.

Because of its equatorial location and long rainy season, Uganda enjoys back-to-back growing seasons.  Never before have I been able to rip up a bunch of crops one day only to plant a bunch more the next.  It’s incredible!  I changed up the beds this time around and planted zucchini, butternut squash, mixed lettuce, two varieties of carrot, chili pepper, watermelon, and tomato.

Did you know that only 35% of northern Uganda’s farmland is currently being utilized?  A quarter-century long conflict and the wake of land mines it left behind it have rendered massive swaths of land inaccessible to farmers.  Ugandans, an agrarian people, have had their land ripped out from under them by the hands of war.

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | August 27, 2009

Bikes

bikes in a hallway in Layibi College

Bikes in the hallway of one of the buildings at an IC partner school, St. Joseph’s Layibi College

Posted by: andrewedwardmorgan | August 23, 2009

Lunch Lynch Talk

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Above:  Starch is on the lunch menu…always

Sunday 8/23/09  Gulu, Uganda

Strange fruit. That’s what Billie Holiday famously called them in her song.  They looked so odd, so grotesquely out of place, swaying back and forth amidst the branches.  They were different in every way from the fruit that brightens orchards at harvest time.  Charred, often dismembered, and bound at the wrists and ankles, they were symbols of that which poisons man, not that which sustains him.

Less than two centuries ago, trees of the American South bore the weight of one of our darkest acts:  lynching.  By the thousands, Americans—usually of African descent—were ripped from their homes and local prisons, only to be killed by mobs of their fellow community members.  A single black stare in the wrong white direction was enough to start rumors and spawn violence.  When judges handed down verdicts that clashed with local opinion, the masses took the law into their own hands, meting out murderous mockeries of justice in the process.  State governments have since apologized for the barbaric actions of their residents, yet still America’s darkest nights live on in the images of photo essays and books devoted to lynching.  Even being raised in the North didn’t immunize me against the shame I felt on learning the extent of my nation’s brutality.  So when a friend recently admitted that he had participated in two lynchings here in Uganda, I sat with my mouth agape, stunned.

*****

We crowded into the long lunch table at our favorite local restaurant like kids at a Ugandan school desk, hip to hip.  The waiter brought out trays of the food I’ve come to crave—beans, matooke, millet bread, posho, rice, sweet potatoes, malakwang.  Like always, I reached for a fork and knife before digging in.  My Ugandan lunch mates passed on the utensils, like always, and, cradling wads of millet bread in their cupped fingers, formed small doughy spoons.  Submerging their fingers, they dipped the tiny bowls of bread into the beans and sauces in front of them.

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Above:  Malakwang, a delicious nutty sauce made with greens

As we ate, in between mouthfuls of soda and beans, we talked.  Morning minutia, plans for the weekend, after-lunch meetings—the conversation was typical in every way.  After a stretch of silence someone asked about a laptop that had gone missing recently.  An American co-worker chimed in.

“You know, whoever stole it will never come forward.  I’m sure they’re too afraid to show their faces.  People kill thieves here, right?” he asked, turning to the Ugandans at the table.

Everyone nodded, barely stopping a second to think about the question before stabbing again at their meals.

“I once watched as a group of Ugandans beat a guy who stole a computer just so local villagers wouldn’t kill him,” my co-worker continued.  “They had to beat the crap out of him just to stall time, just so the villagers wouldn’t jump in and kill the guy.”

Two Ugandans sitting across from me, two men I know well, nodded in agreement.  One spoke up.

“Yeah, here we don’t allow people to steal.  If people learn that someone has stolen something, they don’t hesitate to hurt or kill that person.  I think we punish thieves more than murderers,” he said.

“What?  Really?  That’s crazy!” I exclaimed.

“That’s what we do,” the man answered.  “We throw stones at thieves or use lashings to kill them.”  The way he said it—confidently but with a slight grin, as if to say We give these people what we know they deserve—made me wonder if he’d ever personally seen a lynching.  Before I could ponder this any longer, he casually added, “You know I helped with two before.”

I was shocked.

“Two what?” I asked.  “Two murders?”

He nodded.  “I was younger.  I remember one was for a thief who was breaking into people’s huts and using a gun to steal things from people.  We circled around him and used stones to punish him.”

“How many people gathered around?” I asked, not sure what else to ask about.

“Oh, many, many—a thousand or more.  Once people knew the thief had been caught, they ran to where he was.  There were a few police, but they couldn’t control the crowd.  They had to stand away,” he said, grinning.

This man before me, someone I had shared laughs and meals with before, had helped to do something that I considered to be man’s most atrocious act.

The man next to him, after waiting to speak for a few minutes, blurted out, “I participated in one in university.  We didn’t kill the thief, but we almost did.  We lashed him for stealing car headlights.  When the police tried to enter the dormitory, we had students on the top floor pour boiling water down on them to keep them from entering the building.”

Boiling water?  They boiled water in advance? I thought.

*****

If you ever get into a car accident in Uganda, I learned during that same conversation, you should never stop.  Damaging someone’s car is enough to have you killed by a lynch mob.  Drivers in the past who have destroyed someone’s car or killed a passenger in an accident have been ripped from their cars and beaten or stoned to death.  The best thing to do after an accident?  Speed to the nearest police station and file a police report—anything else could put you in danger.

A Ugandan at the table told me about an area taxi driver who was carrying a mother and her young daughter in his car.  After the cab plowed into another car, killing a small child inside it, an angry mob pulled the daughter from the taxi and beat her to death, claiming that they were simply ‘settling the score’.

*****

Trying to make sense of this later, I talked with a friend about the role material goods play in the developing world.  Here, a car is far more than a car.  Here, a television broadcasts more than Nigerian soap operas; it broadcasts one’s completion of secondary school or one’s entrepreneurial  prowess.  Objects are symbols of years of work, years of cultivating a certain type of work ethic and a social standing.  Destroying an impoverished person’s hard-earned peace of property erases record of his effort, of his sweat.  Granted, the same stuff-as-symbol principle applies to things we save up for and buy in the developed world, but here, where so few people have more than bare necessities, certain material goods assume near-mythical qualities.

Obviously, in a place in which material luxury goods are so rare and cherished, necessities, too, are also hard-earned and valued.  If you’re too poor to buy a TV or a radio, you are also so poor that you value your food, clothing, and shelter.  In such an environment, the man who steals radios is seen as one who is also capable of stealing something like food.  No tolerance is afforded a village thief because of this.  Allowing such a person to live amongst you would be inviting potential future catastrophe into your home.

Do I think thieves should be stoned to death?  No.  Do I see, though, how my cultural upbringing is shading my opinion on this issue?  Yes.

Which makes me wonder:  Is there any single value that all cultures share?  Can any one group of people claim to know what’s right for another?

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