I was told that there are 3 stages to culture shock: 1) excitement about everything 2) anger about everything and 3) acceptance. I have been feeling really good, because I felt like things were pretty easy to accept and I got to skip over stage two. Until I had a moment when it happened today...
The rest of the day was better. In fact, it was pretty incredible. We went to a small village and first got started with an introduction to the day's schedule, then some of the kids in the village sang to us and beat their drums. It was just like you would imagine an African song being like. The songs somehow evolved into a dance, where all the HELP volunteers were up dancing with the villagers. They would hug us and chant and get so excited. After that, the adults had trainings on health and sanitation, while the volunteers entertained the kids. Sarah and I got a tour of their school, which was a small brick building stuck together with mud. There were 3 tiny classrooms inside, divided by some sort of bamboo or sticks tied together. most schools have about 6 grades like we do, but this school divided the 80 kids into just 3 classes, ranging from about age 3 to maybe 12? The teachers were volunteers from the community (I think), and I asked them what their greatest challenge was. They said getting materials to teach from. They showed us what they had, and sure enough, it was a very little, very random, and probably had very little to do with the Ugandan curriculum. Surely they don't have computer access, so they must have to get creative with their lesson plans. One of the teachers showed me a book for the youngest class. It had Disney princesses on the front, and was a letter tracing book, like something you'd find at Walmart. I wondered how she'd gotten it.
Today we teamed up with another non-profit based out of Uganda called CFIA (Christian Faith in Action). They were doing an outreach in a small outlying village (about 2 hours away) and asked us to come help. so we got a taxi (which is really a big van) and all piled in. Let me tell you about Ugandan taxis. Including the driver, they hold 14 people. We fit in a least 18, which is how the Ugandans always take them. So it was pretty squishy. I sat in the back. The road was absolutely filled with potholes, and being in the back didn't help. I ate a small breakfast this morning, but it must not have been enough because my malaria pill was making me sick to my stomach. And the drive lasted much longer than expected because we had to go so slow over the potholes. All those things combined, I was pretty uncomfortable, and everything started to annoy me. (Caryn, is this how you feel all the time? ;)) I was bothered by the girl waving to everyone out the window. I was bothered by my directors who made me come. I was bothered by the girl taking pictures next to me. I don't typically get annoyed that easily, but it only got worse. Those bumps were making me so sick, and we were so hot and sweaty and squished. We stopped somewhere for a moment, and we were all talking about the conditions we were in. We were half laughing because it was ridiculous. And then it happened. I started crying. I'm not sure if I was sad or angry or just frustrated, but there were so many emotions they just couldn't stay inside anymore! People were (not unkindly) laughing that I was crying, and so I cried harder. I thought if I didn't get out of that bus soon, I was going to blow. Luckily...I did (get out of the bus, that is).
The rest of the day was better. In fact, it was pretty incredible. We went to a small village and first got started with an introduction to the day's schedule, then some of the kids in the village sang to us and beat their drums. It was just like you would imagine an African song being like. The songs somehow evolved into a dance, where all the HELP volunteers were up dancing with the villagers. They would hug us and chant and get so excited. After that, the adults had trainings on health and sanitation, while the volunteers entertained the kids. Sarah and I got a tour of their school, which was a small brick building stuck together with mud. There were 3 tiny classrooms inside, divided by some sort of bamboo or sticks tied together. most schools have about 6 grades like we do, but this school divided the 80 kids into just 3 classes, ranging from about age 3 to maybe 12? The teachers were volunteers from the community (I think), and I asked them what their greatest challenge was. They said getting materials to teach from. They showed us what they had, and sure enough, it was a very little, very random, and probably had very little to do with the Ugandan curriculum. Surely they don't have computer access, so they must have to get creative with their lesson plans. One of the teachers showed me a book for the youngest class. It had Disney princesses on the front, and was a letter tracing book, like something you'd find at Walmart. I wondered how she'd gotten it.
I was assigned to entertain the youngest group of kids, ranging from about 3 to 6. My partner and I taught them songs like Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, Do as I'm Doing (thank you, Primary), and If you're Happy and You Know It. Then we played Duck Duck Goose (as best as I could show them, they didn't know English well) and then we were given face paint we could put on them. They had small snacks for the kids, and drinks from cups that they all shared. Then we lined them all up to get de-worming pills. Finally everyone came together again, and some final words were given about the importance of sending your kids to school, sending them with food, and preparing clean food.
After that we climbed back into the taxi, to go to a further part of the village. The leader of the village wanted to feed us. so after asking some survey questions to collect data on development and work in the area, etc, we went into a real African mud hut. We sat on tiny wood chairs in this one-room hut and they fed us a feast. They served rice, fish, posho (like the consistency of mashed potatoes but without much taste), some sort of beef, and pineapple. There were no utensils, so we ate with our hands. It was a true experience. How humbling it was to be surrounded by these people who truly had nearly nothing. The youngest kids went without clothing, and the older kids ran in rags. Apparently at the age of 13, boys are kicked out and have to build their own hut. Out of boredom they marry young, and most have little schooling. I spoke with one mother who had 8 kids, and had afforded to send only 2 of them to school. One of my survey questions was, "What is poverty?" When I asked, they responded, "When the weather is not good, and we cannot eat." In other words, to them, poverty was not living without electricity, clothes, education, and basic necessities to sustain life, but rather, poverty occurred when the people could no longer find food to eat.
On the way back, my blessed country directors made sure I sat in the front so I wouldn't get sick again, and I dozed most of the way home. It was a long and tiring day, but surely one that will burn in my memory for much, much longer.
A mud hut from the village
A kitchen inside of the mud hut
Jordan, me, Abby, and Andy eating with our hands in the hut
my swollen feet from mosquito bites
Ashley, you are so right! There really are those steps to culture shock, the good thing is however if you are experiencing them you know you are surrounding yourself with the local culture enough let it happen. (I hope that makes sense.) Anyway, the best part is the third part, where you accept the way things are and adapt! You will get there, and I know how hard it is to ride in those vans (they are called chapas in Mozambique) I would bring a little loaf of bread with me during my morning commute (hahaha...that seems so funny to call it that, but I guess it was) to eat in case I did start feeling sick and it helped. I am thinking of you and keeping you in my prayers, you are amazing and I hope you keep up all the great work you are doing! Go A-Lamb!
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