Painted near the marketplace in Stone Town by self-taught Samuel Susuma
Monday, July 27, 2009
Samuel Susuma
Paintings from Zanzibar, Tanzania
Painted near the marketplace in Stone Town by self-taught Samuel Susuma
Painted near the marketplace in Stone Town by self-taught Samuel Susuma
back in the US of A
Well hello there everyone.
I am now sitting in my Chicago apartment with jet lag and a pair of eyes that can't stop noticing EVERY difference between the US and East Africa.
For those of you who are curious and/or have the time, I may continue to write on this blog for a while although I am already back. Some of the most revealing and pressing questions and realizations often come AFTER the fact. So hopefully you can join me in some of those journeys as I record them here.
I have many photos and videos to still share from my last days in Uganda. The walk to Grace's home to tell her and the family goodbye was early one morning. Simultaneously I felt the gift I had been given by so many people's love in Uganda, the pain I had been exposed to in endless stories of war, and the anticipation of someday returning to my family home in Lacor, Northern Uganda.
The week before departing to the USA, I traveled from Uganda to Tanzania. I stayed in Zanzibar for about a week of relaxation, sun, and water. Zanzibar is an island off the coast of Tanzania, right across the shore from Dar es Salaam. I traveled there with Megan Mercer and it was a much needed repose.
The culture, architecture, language, food, music, landscape, and weather of the place are completely distinct from that of Uganda. It was almost as if my mind had never created categories for what exists there. Typically the "African Island" cliche brings to mind (for me at least) one of two images: the Jamaican/Caribbean post-slave trade tourist attraction image OR the Spanish-colonized Cuban/Dominican Republic Afro-Latino image. And what both of these have in common is that Africans were taken to these places and the culture was blended most often with either English or Spanish culture.
But Zanzibar?? The Africans of the island are the NATIVES. They are the people who have farmed the land and bathed in the sea and built the boats for centuries. That is until the slave trade on the Indian Ocean changed everything. So now when you walk around you see the stereotypical Rastafarian African with dreadlocks, you see Muslim Arabs, and then you see Muslim Africans.... all living side by side in some cultural explosion unlike anything I'd ever fathomed.
We ate lobster, crab, shrimp, barracuda, kingfish at the night market on the shore along with samosas, falafel, and sugarcane juice. In the morning we woke to the songs of prayer, and by day we went scuba diving, met locals, and tried to wander our way through the most narrow, crooked streets.
Of everyone I met on the island, one man, an artist, a painter, inspired me most. I wrote a short story of our encounter and will post it next along with a photo of his paintings that I purchased.
If any one has connections to museums and would like to work with him to get his art exhibited let me know. He speaks English, has the most unique style I saw on the island, and is extremely eloquent.
I am now sitting in my Chicago apartment with jet lag and a pair of eyes that can't stop noticing EVERY difference between the US and East Africa.
For those of you who are curious and/or have the time, I may continue to write on this blog for a while although I am already back. Some of the most revealing and pressing questions and realizations often come AFTER the fact. So hopefully you can join me in some of those journeys as I record them here.
I have many photos and videos to still share from my last days in Uganda. The walk to Grace's home to tell her and the family goodbye was early one morning. Simultaneously I felt the gift I had been given by so many people's love in Uganda, the pain I had been exposed to in endless stories of war, and the anticipation of someday returning to my family home in Lacor, Northern Uganda.
The week before departing to the USA, I traveled from Uganda to Tanzania. I stayed in Zanzibar for about a week of relaxation, sun, and water. Zanzibar is an island off the coast of Tanzania, right across the shore from Dar es Salaam. I traveled there with Megan Mercer and it was a much needed repose.
The culture, architecture, language, food, music, landscape, and weather of the place are completely distinct from that of Uganda. It was almost as if my mind had never created categories for what exists there. Typically the "African Island" cliche brings to mind (for me at least) one of two images: the Jamaican/Caribbean post-slave trade tourist attraction image OR the Spanish-colonized Cuban/Dominican Republic Afro-Latino image. And what both of these have in common is that Africans were taken to these places and the culture was blended most often with either English or Spanish culture.
But Zanzibar?? The Africans of the island are the NATIVES. They are the people who have farmed the land and bathed in the sea and built the boats for centuries. That is until the slave trade on the Indian Ocean changed everything. So now when you walk around you see the stereotypical Rastafarian African with dreadlocks, you see Muslim Arabs, and then you see Muslim Africans.... all living side by side in some cultural explosion unlike anything I'd ever fathomed.
We ate lobster, crab, shrimp, barracuda, kingfish at the night market on the shore along with samosas, falafel, and sugarcane juice. In the morning we woke to the songs of prayer, and by day we went scuba diving, met locals, and tried to wander our way through the most narrow, crooked streets.
Of everyone I met on the island, one man, an artist, a painter, inspired me most. I wrote a short story of our encounter and will post it next along with a photo of his paintings that I purchased.
If any one has connections to museums and would like to work with him to get his art exhibited let me know. He speaks English, has the most unique style I saw on the island, and is extremely eloquent.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A sister's pain
One of the families of Dwon Madiki has recently dug a hole into me and taken up a new space within me… a space that both aches and loves.
Peke Joel, one of the kids in Dwon Madiki, is 14 years old and in P4 (equivalent to 4th grade). His guardian is Piloya Grace, who is technically his aunt, and recently she invited us to her home with the most enormous spread of Ugandan food I’ve seen yet. While sitting on a mat near her and her mother, Piloya Grace looked at me translating her mother’s words: “She says you are now her daughter and she is your ‘mego’. Not only because you are here, but because the father of Peke Joel passed some time ago and left him alone. His father was her first born. And this one (pointing), her second born. Me, her third born. And her (pointing again), her last born. So she says now you are in the family. For when there was no one to care for Peke Joel, you wrote him letters and sent him to school and now you are here. She says that now you are her first born child.”
I immediately felt so deeply connected to this mother of mine, this family of mine I’d never met.
Yesterday, we went to Piloya Grace’s home again to visit because her 5th child, a newborn girl, is sick. The doctor has diagnosed malaria, pneumonia, and Down Syndrome. Grace told us that when the doctor gave her the diagnosis she could not stop crying in disbelief. As she told us she tried to breastfeed her baby, but she could not keep the milk down and started vomiting on the floor.
I felt I couldn’t do anything even remotely worthy for her in that moment. All I could think was to reassure her that there are parents in the United States who have many children. Then all of the sudden they have a child with Down syndrome and don’t exactly understand why. I told her that these parents struggle and work extra hard but that with that work and love and support, the child can learn and graduate from Primary school and even Secondary school. Her eyes showed surprise in response to the glimpse of hope, but her situation is still the same.
I couldn’t show her my pain, but the minute I left her home my chest was pulsing and my tears were connected to a place in me that held a hurt too infinite for it to fit inside my body.
I thought of Piloya Grace-the sister to Peke Joel’s deceased father and realized that now she is my sister, her daughter is my niece, and her pain is closer than I’d ever imagined.
Today, of all days, I had scheduled to observe a teacher her in Gulu Town. She teaches a small group of Special Needs children by using Music Therapy. She says she’s willing to meet with Piloya Grace and me tomorrow at the Dwon Madiki office in Lacor.
By this Sunday I’ll be gone from Gulu. My hope is that at least by connecting these women, Piloya Grace finds that her struggle is not one she needs to face alone.
Peke Joel, one of the kids in Dwon Madiki, is 14 years old and in P4 (equivalent to 4th grade). His guardian is Piloya Grace, who is technically his aunt, and recently she invited us to her home with the most enormous spread of Ugandan food I’ve seen yet. While sitting on a mat near her and her mother, Piloya Grace looked at me translating her mother’s words: “She says you are now her daughter and she is your ‘mego’. Not only because you are here, but because the father of Peke Joel passed some time ago and left him alone. His father was her first born. And this one (pointing), her second born. Me, her third born. And her (pointing again), her last born. So she says now you are in the family. For when there was no one to care for Peke Joel, you wrote him letters and sent him to school and now you are here. She says that now you are her first born child.”
I immediately felt so deeply connected to this mother of mine, this family of mine I’d never met.
Yesterday, we went to Piloya Grace’s home again to visit because her 5th child, a newborn girl, is sick. The doctor has diagnosed malaria, pneumonia, and Down Syndrome. Grace told us that when the doctor gave her the diagnosis she could not stop crying in disbelief. As she told us she tried to breastfeed her baby, but she could not keep the milk down and started vomiting on the floor.
I felt I couldn’t do anything even remotely worthy for her in that moment. All I could think was to reassure her that there are parents in the United States who have many children. Then all of the sudden they have a child with Down syndrome and don’t exactly understand why. I told her that these parents struggle and work extra hard but that with that work and love and support, the child can learn and graduate from Primary school and even Secondary school. Her eyes showed surprise in response to the glimpse of hope, but her situation is still the same.
I couldn’t show her my pain, but the minute I left her home my chest was pulsing and my tears were connected to a place in me that held a hurt too infinite for it to fit inside my body.
I thought of Piloya Grace-the sister to Peke Joel’s deceased father and realized that now she is my sister, her daughter is my niece, and her pain is closer than I’d ever imagined.
Today, of all days, I had scheduled to observe a teacher her in Gulu Town. She teaches a small group of Special Needs children by using Music Therapy. She says she’s willing to meet with Piloya Grace and me tomorrow at the Dwon Madiki office in Lacor.
By this Sunday I’ll be gone from Gulu. My hope is that at least by connecting these women, Piloya Grace finds that her struggle is not one she needs to face alone.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
the new Board of Directors
I’m speechless. Well not enough to keep this story from you ☺
Yesterday was a day we’ve been unknowingly awaiting for over three years. The beginning of Dwon Madiki was a dream, a vision, and eventually one that took reality by storm.
But since then the partnership has demanded something very different in order to grow. In place of us, the “far-off American students”, administering and guiding Dwon Madiki, it is time for something new. Something organic. Something original. Something unique.
What is that something? A painful, hopeful letting go…
Those of us who have seen Dwon Madiki grow from a spark of an idea into a running, skipping child are finally being called to a bittersweet moment. And yesterday was the beginning of that moment.
The five of us gathered on the office lawn with Grace, her daughter Florence, Father Eric, a few guardians, the Local Council leader, our office landlord, an Invisible Children staff, and about fifteen nominated local professionals.
Why? To form the first interim Board of Directors for Dwon Madiki.
This decision has been a long time coming because in essence its implications are more than simply administrative. Its implications reach as far as our worldview. It caused us, the Americans, to stare challenging questions straight on.
Do we honestly believe that a group of local Ugandans is as capable to lead Dwon Madiki as a group of “highly educated Americans” would be?
Who would be able to lead the organization with flawless love of the community?
Who knows the tragedy and hope of Uganda with enough depth to envision its future?
And our questions answered themselves at the meeting yesterday as we all sat, observing, stepping back for the first time, our mouths shut (for the most part), and our minds and hearts twirling.
The meeting began with Father Eric, now the head of what we’re deeming the “Steering Committee” which consists of us (the donors), Grace Odonga, and Father Eric. The Steering Committee has been overseeing the formation of an Interim Board and will reserve the power to monitor and even dissolve the Board if necessary.
A prayer opened the meeting, as usually in Uganda. And we shared our organization’s history with the guests. Everyone introduced themselves. The need for our first, Ugandan, interim Board of Directors was explained. And from there we were to move into the very planned and precise process of silent ballots and short platforms from each of the nominees.
And here is where we began to let go of our “child” Dwon Madiki and give her back to her true parents, the community of Lacor, of Gulu District, of Northern Uganda.
As the plans disappeared and the guests took charge of the voting process, all five of us were left in awe, in silent laughter, in tears, in confusion, and in immense anticipation.
It was decided that paper not be used for the votes… “Transparency is best” one of the parents suggested with a chuckle. And before we knew it, Father Eric began to take his role as MC: “Nominations for president of the Board? Ok, someone to second that? More nominations? Ok, these are the three nominees. Now they’ll leave the room for us to discuss their competency.”
This wasn’t the plan… we already have nominees. We were going to vote on specific positions in the next meeting. Today was to simply vote on the 7 members. Why aren’t we using paper ballots? We haven’t even heard enough from the nominees, my worries began to roll in.
“Wait” one of us asked. “What is going on? How many people have been nominated? This is for the president of the Board? And the floor’s been closed?”
The Ugandans around the circle were certain, they knew their process, and they weren’t lost like we were. They reassured us that things were going smoothly, and we sighed inwardly, trusting their competency.
I felt as if I was walking an over eager golden retriever on a leash that was ready to snap. Snap, maybe because of the energy spouting from the lively souls at the meeting. Snap, maybe because freedom for the organization was begging to be granted. Snap, maybe because it wasn’t my turn any more to be telling her where to go.
Well, the leash did snap. And I’ll be forever a better person because of it. Ugandans have no fear in them. Those who are competent share their competencies without pride and without false humility. And they are quick to recognize those competencies in each other without hesitation. They admit openly when they cannot rise to the occasion or fulfill the role, backing down respectfully from the nomination. They are fervent for a balance of gender, calling for at least three women on a Board of seven people.
“One reason African is behind is the lack of women in leadership,” the newly elected secretary added in an attempt to convince our female landlord to accept the nomination. And she accepted gracefully.
Hellen Ogik, one of the women nominees, was asked to fulfill multiple roles and she consistently backed down referring to herself as simply a well-wisher. After the her third nomination as treasurer and her third attempt at declining, the newly elected president, Patrick, stood. “Hellen, I humbly ask you to reconsider. If you are truly a well-wisher, you will not be simply wishing the organization well. You will rise to use your experience in finance as a civil servant and you will be a well-wisher by doing rather than by simply wishing. As a woman with knowledge of finance, you will be wishing the organization its best by giving of your time and experience.” And Hellen rose, accepting the nomination.
When it came time to elect the last of 7 Board members, three men were nominated. One of them, Miller, is a local businessman with experience on Boards in his community. His spirit is endlessly cheerful and his humor and smile bubble over. He left the circle with the other two, and immediately Hellen spoke on behalf of him “He is a man of business, trustworthy and dependable, with a family and children of his own. When you call him, he is ever there.” Then the LC1 (local council), sat forward “Miller, ah, he is very capable, and not to mention, he is my buddy.”
The men returned to the meeting, the winner was announced by Father Eric, “Miller, you have won the vote for the last member of the Board.” With his eyes glistening, Miller shouted, “And just now, I was praying even!”
By the time all new members had been elected, lightning was fighting through me up out my eyes in hidden tears and laughter and disbelief. I couldn’t have chosen the more perfect people.
President: Patrick (A young, inspirational man who currently works at a non-profit. He is extremely scripted in Boards and how they work, and he has written a comprehensive book about Uganda and its recent struggles.)
Vice-President: Father Eric (A clergyman and teacher at Lacor Seminary, where only 10 years ago over 40 seminaries were taken by the LRA.)
Secretary: Chagga (A younger man who currently works at a CBO for youth in Lacor.)
Treasurer: Hellen (A retired civil servant who owns a business in town. Her son was abducted by the LRA from Lacor Seminary and is one of few who escaped and returned home.)
Member: Florence (Our kind-hearted landlord and nurse at Lacor Hospital. She is a woman who struggled with her husband harvesting sugar cane to become a nurse and build our beautiful office by hand.)
Member: Lucy (An older, quiet woman from the rural village and a nurse whose husband was shot by the LRA.)
Member: Miller (The jolly local businessman with years of experience on local Boards.)
Needless to say these people are ready and fully apt to carry Dwon Madiki farther than was ever expected. Their vision is for these 20 children to return from school someday, as doctors, as teachers, as businessmen, as lawyers, contributing back to their own community. Their vision is intimately intertwined with their own destinies. Their vision is one and the same with the future of their homes and the progress of their people. Their vision does not belong to “us” anymore as the Americans. Their vision is theirs. And now we are free to contribute, to give, to share in that vision as best we can, forever recognizing that Ugandans are -yes are- actually more capable of guiding Dwon Madiki than we could ever be.
Yesterday was a day we’ve been unknowingly awaiting for over three years. The beginning of Dwon Madiki was a dream, a vision, and eventually one that took reality by storm.
But since then the partnership has demanded something very different in order to grow. In place of us, the “far-off American students”, administering and guiding Dwon Madiki, it is time for something new. Something organic. Something original. Something unique.
What is that something? A painful, hopeful letting go…
Those of us who have seen Dwon Madiki grow from a spark of an idea into a running, skipping child are finally being called to a bittersweet moment. And yesterday was the beginning of that moment.
The five of us gathered on the office lawn with Grace, her daughter Florence, Father Eric, a few guardians, the Local Council leader, our office landlord, an Invisible Children staff, and about fifteen nominated local professionals.
Why? To form the first interim Board of Directors for Dwon Madiki.
This decision has been a long time coming because in essence its implications are more than simply administrative. Its implications reach as far as our worldview. It caused us, the Americans, to stare challenging questions straight on.
Do we honestly believe that a group of local Ugandans is as capable to lead Dwon Madiki as a group of “highly educated Americans” would be?
Who would be able to lead the organization with flawless love of the community?
Who knows the tragedy and hope of Uganda with enough depth to envision its future?
And our questions answered themselves at the meeting yesterday as we all sat, observing, stepping back for the first time, our mouths shut (for the most part), and our minds and hearts twirling.
The meeting began with Father Eric, now the head of what we’re deeming the “Steering Committee” which consists of us (the donors), Grace Odonga, and Father Eric. The Steering Committee has been overseeing the formation of an Interim Board and will reserve the power to monitor and even dissolve the Board if necessary.
A prayer opened the meeting, as usually in Uganda. And we shared our organization’s history with the guests. Everyone introduced themselves. The need for our first, Ugandan, interim Board of Directors was explained. And from there we were to move into the very planned and precise process of silent ballots and short platforms from each of the nominees.
And here is where we began to let go of our “child” Dwon Madiki and give her back to her true parents, the community of Lacor, of Gulu District, of Northern Uganda.
As the plans disappeared and the guests took charge of the voting process, all five of us were left in awe, in silent laughter, in tears, in confusion, and in immense anticipation.
It was decided that paper not be used for the votes… “Transparency is best” one of the parents suggested with a chuckle. And before we knew it, Father Eric began to take his role as MC: “Nominations for president of the Board? Ok, someone to second that? More nominations? Ok, these are the three nominees. Now they’ll leave the room for us to discuss their competency.”
This wasn’t the plan… we already have nominees. We were going to vote on specific positions in the next meeting. Today was to simply vote on the 7 members. Why aren’t we using paper ballots? We haven’t even heard enough from the nominees, my worries began to roll in.
“Wait” one of us asked. “What is going on? How many people have been nominated? This is for the president of the Board? And the floor’s been closed?”
The Ugandans around the circle were certain, they knew their process, and they weren’t lost like we were. They reassured us that things were going smoothly, and we sighed inwardly, trusting their competency.
I felt as if I was walking an over eager golden retriever on a leash that was ready to snap. Snap, maybe because of the energy spouting from the lively souls at the meeting. Snap, maybe because freedom for the organization was begging to be granted. Snap, maybe because it wasn’t my turn any more to be telling her where to go.
Well, the leash did snap. And I’ll be forever a better person because of it. Ugandans have no fear in them. Those who are competent share their competencies without pride and without false humility. And they are quick to recognize those competencies in each other without hesitation. They admit openly when they cannot rise to the occasion or fulfill the role, backing down respectfully from the nomination. They are fervent for a balance of gender, calling for at least three women on a Board of seven people.
“One reason African is behind is the lack of women in leadership,” the newly elected secretary added in an attempt to convince our female landlord to accept the nomination. And she accepted gracefully.
Hellen Ogik, one of the women nominees, was asked to fulfill multiple roles and she consistently backed down referring to herself as simply a well-wisher. After the her third nomination as treasurer and her third attempt at declining, the newly elected president, Patrick, stood. “Hellen, I humbly ask you to reconsider. If you are truly a well-wisher, you will not be simply wishing the organization well. You will rise to use your experience in finance as a civil servant and you will be a well-wisher by doing rather than by simply wishing. As a woman with knowledge of finance, you will be wishing the organization its best by giving of your time and experience.” And Hellen rose, accepting the nomination.
When it came time to elect the last of 7 Board members, three men were nominated. One of them, Miller, is a local businessman with experience on Boards in his community. His spirit is endlessly cheerful and his humor and smile bubble over. He left the circle with the other two, and immediately Hellen spoke on behalf of him “He is a man of business, trustworthy and dependable, with a family and children of his own. When you call him, he is ever there.” Then the LC1 (local council), sat forward “Miller, ah, he is very capable, and not to mention, he is my buddy.”
The men returned to the meeting, the winner was announced by Father Eric, “Miller, you have won the vote for the last member of the Board.” With his eyes glistening, Miller shouted, “And just now, I was praying even!”
By the time all new members had been elected, lightning was fighting through me up out my eyes in hidden tears and laughter and disbelief. I couldn’t have chosen the more perfect people.
President: Patrick (A young, inspirational man who currently works at a non-profit. He is extremely scripted in Boards and how they work, and he has written a comprehensive book about Uganda and its recent struggles.)
Vice-President: Father Eric (A clergyman and teacher at Lacor Seminary, where only 10 years ago over 40 seminaries were taken by the LRA.)
Secretary: Chagga (A younger man who currently works at a CBO for youth in Lacor.)
Treasurer: Hellen (A retired civil servant who owns a business in town. Her son was abducted by the LRA from Lacor Seminary and is one of few who escaped and returned home.)
Member: Florence (Our kind-hearted landlord and nurse at Lacor Hospital. She is a woman who struggled with her husband harvesting sugar cane to become a nurse and build our beautiful office by hand.)
Member: Lucy (An older, quiet woman from the rural village and a nurse whose husband was shot by the LRA.)
Member: Miller (The jolly local businessman with years of experience on local Boards.)
Needless to say these people are ready and fully apt to carry Dwon Madiki farther than was ever expected. Their vision is for these 20 children to return from school someday, as doctors, as teachers, as businessmen, as lawyers, contributing back to their own community. Their vision is intimately intertwined with their own destinies. Their vision is one and the same with the future of their homes and the progress of their people. Their vision does not belong to “us” anymore as the Americans. Their vision is theirs. And now we are free to contribute, to give, to share in that vision as best we can, forever recognizing that Ugandans are -yes are- actually more capable of guiding Dwon Madiki than we could ever be.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Other Uganda Blogs
As you know I'm here with friends from Chicago.
Sometimes they have pictures and/or stories that I don't have time to include!
Megan
http://megceleste.blogspot.com/
Elena
http://elenalovesuganda.wordpress.com/
Sometimes they have pictures and/or stories that I don't have time to include!
Megan
http://megceleste.blogspot.com/
Elena
http://elenalovesuganda.wordpress.com/
a view of life in Uganda and the USA
Lately we’ve been visiting the guardians of the kids in Dwan Madiki in order to better understand each individual situation and household. We’ve designed a survey that takes more than 2 hours and is so specific that it literally narrows down "How many people live in your household?" “How many jerry cans do you own?” "How many mosquito nets do you own?" "How many times a week do you eat meat/vegetables/fruit?”
The idea is that once we’ve done this with each family, a detailed, accurate picture will be painted of each child’s home life, and therefore, we and the Board of Directors will be able to form programs that benefit not just the kids but their entire families!
We’ve all been flooded with realizations because of these surveys. Some of them reflect the immense difference between life here and life in the
Katie: I live in a home with 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, a sunroom, and a kitchen. I share it with two friends.
Katie: I’m 23, I went to university, and I can read and write.
Katie: I have about 5 outfits (sets of clothing) on this trip and a closet full at home in
Katie: I have no husband and no children.
Katie: My clean water source is 6 steps from my bedroom to my sink.
Katie: When I go to the supermarket, the month doesn’t matter. I can get fruit and veggies any time!
Katie: When I get low on toothpaste, I run to Walgreens or CVS.
Katie: I have a plant in my living room that I sometimes forget to water!
Katie: My portion of rent in my
Katie: My means of transportation in
Katie: When my guests come, I invite them in and we talk.
But the thing is, this 6,000 UGS is 10% of my monthly income. So if I lived in the United States with a yearly income of $60,000, then my gift would be worth 10% of my monthly income which would be $500. In essence I was living in the
Katie: I tell my guests when I need to go, because my life is so busy and I can’t get behind on my plans! I tell them to come by anytime, which implies give me a call, we’ll make plans, and maybe someday we’ll spend time together again.
Gosh…. I didn’t even realize how crazy it is to compare lives like this. I felt a lot of this when we were doing the assessment with her the other day, but to see these juxtaposed leaves me speechless. It's just a reminder of how intertwined life is, and therefore how seemingly impossible it can be to break these systems. Every aspect of poverty is both a result and a cause of every other aspect....
Water from the bore hole is far, so there is less time to work in the garden, so there are less crops to eat, so there are less crops to sell in the market, so there is less money to buy mosquito nets, so there is more chance of contracting malaria, so there is more need for a doctor, but no money to pay him/her, so there is more sickness and weakness, so there is less energy to go fetch water at the bore hole.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
bodas and celebrations
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