Today at lunch, a colleague and I had a discussion about dating, marraige, and relationships in our two cultures (timely since it seems like so many of my friends back home are getting engaged).
I asked my coworker about how she met her husband, and what it was like getting engaged in Uganda. She explained to me that in her tribe, longstanding ritual demands that the groom's family offer cows to the bride's parents in exchange for the young woman.
Apparently, my coworkers parents asked for 60 cows. Eventually, they settled on ten.
The system of determining how many cows are to be given away as a dowery depends on the qualifications of the bride-to-be. My coworker's family demanded a high price (evidently 10 is still quite a lot) because she had a master's degree and was educated in the UK. A young woman with lesser qualifications would be worth far fewer cows.
In the end, my colleague's family did not take the cows from the groom's parents; rather, it was a ceremony based on tradition that still resonates in modern, urban Uganda. I felt uneasy coming to terms with the idea that a woman, a human being, could be worth a certain number of livestock, and that the number was on a highly fluid sliding scale based on her resume.
My coworker found this idea quite normal, and said her husband's family would have been happy to give up the cows.
Makes buying a drink for a girl in a bar seem far less daunting...
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Friday, July 9, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A Success Story
To all of the faithful readers out there, you must be sick of hearing my voice and reading my words. I don't blame you. That's why I wanted to share a story written by my good friend Elizabeth, who works at the front desk at the Infectious Disease Institute.
Elizabeth is a beautiful young woman with a bubbly personality. She helps me send faxes, retrieve office supplies, and knows pretty much everything about the office. Elizabeth sent me this story, and gave me permission to post it on my blog. I have not edited it at all. Hope you enjoy.
MY SUCCESS STORY IN IDI
My name is Kembabazi Elizabeth Mercy and I am 22years old, HIV positive. Here I am to share with you my success story.
In 2008 I joined IDI infectious diseases institute as one of the young adult living with HIV. after a long period of suffering with a lot of worries and stress with a lot of pain deep down in my heart,IDI was able to make me have a better hope for success towards a bright lovely future. When I had just joined IDI, I never believed that one day, things would be much better as they are today. I believed that to me life was all about pain, a lot of rejection and misery, not knowing that life had always wanted to give me a second chance to be happy and smile once again.
Before I got to be at IDI, life was too painful and unbearable, that it had to lead me to the unwanted suicidal commission. All the time, there was nothing else I could think of apart from committing sucide. Time came and IDI offered to be giving me free treatment (ART) from its clinic. Although I started getting free treatment from IDI, that didn’t stop me from wanting to commit sucide. insted the feeling just kept growing deep down inside of me, not until it became a fundamental problem to me. I could talk to some one, but in the actual sense, I would be only thinking about the worst thing I could ever do to finish off my self.
But after along period of time, IDI gave me the best hope of how to admire living my own life once again by offering me the best opportunity to work with it. IDI indeed has been my father, my mother and above it all, it has been my family, place of hope and success. I never believed that I could also have the best smile on earth, but IDI has truly done the best to see me both happy and smiling too. Long live IDI.
Am now looking forward to my success in IDI and all around the other nations around the world. I really enjoy working with IDI because, the more I work with it, the more experience I get and I keep learning new better things in my life, for example, customer care, official work, how to love my self and others, etc. And above it all IDI helps me focus towards abright, lovely future with a positive attitude towards life. If it wasn’t IDI, I don’t think I would be living today. To me IDI will always be my life saving hero. Thank you IDI and long leave too. Indeed you are the best.
Yours joyful,
Kembabazi Elizabeth Mercy.
Elizabeth is a beautiful young woman with a bubbly personality. She helps me send faxes, retrieve office supplies, and knows pretty much everything about the office. Elizabeth sent me this story, and gave me permission to post it on my blog. I have not edited it at all. Hope you enjoy.
MY SUCCESS STORY IN IDI
My name is Kembabazi Elizabeth Mercy and I am 22years old, HIV positive. Here I am to share with you my success story.
In 2008 I joined IDI infectious diseases institute as one of the young adult living with HIV. after a long period of suffering with a lot of worries and stress with a lot of pain deep down in my heart,IDI was able to make me have a better hope for success towards a bright lovely future. When I had just joined IDI, I never believed that one day, things would be much better as they are today. I believed that to me life was all about pain, a lot of rejection and misery, not knowing that life had always wanted to give me a second chance to be happy and smile once again.
Before I got to be at IDI, life was too painful and unbearable, that it had to lead me to the unwanted suicidal commission. All the time, there was nothing else I could think of apart from committing sucide. Time came and IDI offered to be giving me free treatment (ART) from its clinic. Although I started getting free treatment from IDI, that didn’t stop me from wanting to commit sucide. insted the feeling just kept growing deep down inside of me, not until it became a fundamental problem to me. I could talk to some one, but in the actual sense, I would be only thinking about the worst thing I could ever do to finish off my self.
But after along period of time, IDI gave me the best hope of how to admire living my own life once again by offering me the best opportunity to work with it. IDI indeed has been my father, my mother and above it all, it has been my family, place of hope and success. I never believed that I could also have the best smile on earth, but IDI has truly done the best to see me both happy and smiling too. Long live IDI.
Am now looking forward to my success in IDI and all around the other nations around the world. I really enjoy working with IDI because, the more I work with it, the more experience I get and I keep learning new better things in my life, for example, customer care, official work, how to love my self and others, etc. And above it all IDI helps me focus towards abright, lovely future with a positive attitude towards life. If it wasn’t IDI, I don’t think I would be living today. To me IDI will always be my life saving hero. Thank you IDI and long leave too. Indeed you are the best.
Yours joyful,
Kembabazi Elizabeth Mercy.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Accountability
I want to tell you about two of my colleagues, Benson and Charles. Benson, a stocky individual with a bushy, disheveled mustache, is the Director of the Friends Council and head of the Resource Center. Charles, tall and elegant with defined cheekbones and a huge smile, is the deputy director of the Greater Involvement for People Living with AIDS (GIPA) program and the head of the music, drama, and dance initiative at IDI.
Their jobs are to expand the options for patients at the clinic. By making educational, entrepreneurial, and spiritual resources available, Benson and Charles encourage patients to understand that a positive diagnosis doesn't mean life is not worth living.
I met them both on my first day in Kampala, and over the last few weeks, both have been instrumental in making me feel welcome, and have helped me immensely at work. Benson and Charles have explained how the clinic functions, introducing me to doctors, nurses, and patients. They have taken me to performances and let me sit in on meetings. Needless to say, I have a far greater understanding of this clinic, and the people that make it run, because of Benson and Charles.
Today, after working side-by-side for three weeks, I found out both are HIV Positive. While interviewing them on the successes of the GIPA program, Benson told me he learned of his positive status in 2001. Charles found out all the way back in 1993.
After the interview, I reflected on the lives and fates of these two men. Both are strong, handsome, and eloquent. Both are highly respected at the clinic, and command attention when they speak. And both have been infected with a deadly disease for years.
Before I got to Uganda, I considered HIV/AIDS to be a death sentence. No doubt, this is true for some, as a positive diagnosis can lead to desperation, depression, and ultimately, the end. But Benson and Charles are proof that it doesn't have to be. They have transformed their lives, taking a horrible negative and turning it into a positive, becoming role models in their community. They have become accountable not only for their own well-being, but for the well-being of thousands of others living with HIV.
Both men use their stories to inspire others. When they talk to patients, Benson and Charles can relate to their plight. Patients, in turn, know that they have found a friend and confidante who understands what they are going through. Rather than shy away from the stigma of HIV/AIDS, Benson and Charles embrace it and use it to educate others.
In the last few months alone, almost 2,000 people have used the Resource Center, a collection of computers, games, and health resources that exists primarily due to the hard work and dedication of Benson and Charles. The skills and lessons learned at the Resource Center tangibly helps patients in physical, emotional and intellectual ways.
I was impressed with these Benson and Charles before I chatted with them today. I found them to be smart, dedicated, impressive leaders.
Staring down a debilitating disease only makes them exponentially more impressive.
Their jobs are to expand the options for patients at the clinic. By making educational, entrepreneurial, and spiritual resources available, Benson and Charles encourage patients to understand that a positive diagnosis doesn't mean life is not worth living.
I met them both on my first day in Kampala, and over the last few weeks, both have been instrumental in making me feel welcome, and have helped me immensely at work. Benson and Charles have explained how the clinic functions, introducing me to doctors, nurses, and patients. They have taken me to performances and let me sit in on meetings. Needless to say, I have a far greater understanding of this clinic, and the people that make it run, because of Benson and Charles.
Today, after working side-by-side for three weeks, I found out both are HIV Positive. While interviewing them on the successes of the GIPA program, Benson told me he learned of his positive status in 2001. Charles found out all the way back in 1993.
After the interview, I reflected on the lives and fates of these two men. Both are strong, handsome, and eloquent. Both are highly respected at the clinic, and command attention when they speak. And both have been infected with a deadly disease for years.
Before I got to Uganda, I considered HIV/AIDS to be a death sentence. No doubt, this is true for some, as a positive diagnosis can lead to desperation, depression, and ultimately, the end. But Benson and Charles are proof that it doesn't have to be. They have transformed their lives, taking a horrible negative and turning it into a positive, becoming role models in their community. They have become accountable not only for their own well-being, but for the well-being of thousands of others living with HIV.
Both men use their stories to inspire others. When they talk to patients, Benson and Charles can relate to their plight. Patients, in turn, know that they have found a friend and confidante who understands what they are going through. Rather than shy away from the stigma of HIV/AIDS, Benson and Charles embrace it and use it to educate others.
In the last few months alone, almost 2,000 people have used the Resource Center, a collection of computers, games, and health resources that exists primarily due to the hard work and dedication of Benson and Charles. The skills and lessons learned at the Resource Center tangibly helps patients in physical, emotional and intellectual ways.
I was impressed with these Benson and Charles before I chatted with them today. I found them to be smart, dedicated, impressive leaders.
Staring down a debilitating disease only makes them exponentially more impressive.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Games We Love
Happy Monday morning to everyone, and I hope you all had a great 4th of July! While I was sad to not be in DC, I went to a great bbq, complete with African dancers and a surprisingly good fireworks display.
I wanted to post quickly about two experiences that I had this weekend concerning sports, and the effect they have in any culture.
On Saturday, some friends and I attended the Uganda-Kenya rugby match in Kampala. On a warm, sunny day, about 5,000 people crowded around the pitch and cheered on their team. Obviously, most spectators were pulling for the home team, but Kenya traveled with quite an entourage, and there was a strong Kenyan contingent.
I was struck by the festival-like atmosphere of the occasion. Ugandans and Kenyans a like danced, sang, and cheered for their teams, but always with one arm draped around the rival's shoulder. Would Yankees and Red Sox fans cheer hard for their team, while embracing a rival fan? Not likely. And I've been to enough Duke-Maryland college basketball games to know that few friends rooting for opposing sides are made.
In the end, Kenya won the match, but not before a furious comeback from Uganda late in the game. The Kenyan players and fans - about 250 people in total - then circled the field, stopping every few meters to sing their national song, do a little dance, and get down on the ground and show the soles of their feet to the Ugandan fans. I took it as a sign of disrespect. The Ugandans around me laughed and said it was funny.
Most surprising of all, that night, I saw members of both teams in the bar I went to, drinking congenially and enjoying each other's company. Members of two rival nations, after just having played a violent and brutal rugby match, went to the same bar. On purpose. It was both surprising and inspiring to see the players, so intense on the field, act so civilly towards one another off it. Sometimes, in America, we let our rooting interests take on too much importance. Not so for the Ugandan and Kenyan rugby teams. Their perspective was pitch-perfect.
The night before, I had a wholly different experience. I went to a bar to watch the Ghana-Uruguay World Cup match. Filled with Ugandans, the atmosphere was tense throughout the game. When Ghana scored their goal right before the half, the bar exploded in a jubilation unlike I had ever seen. Ugandans and mzungus hugged and kissed. Vuvuzelas made the walls shake. It was glorious.
Of course, everyone knows what happened. Ghana's star played missed a game-winning free kick, and then Uruguay went on to win in a penalty kick shootout. I could almost feel the bar, the country, and the continent, deflate. All of Africa united around Ghana's team. For a continent short on accomplishments, a win would have been monumental. Instead, they lost in the worst, most heart-breaking, way possible.
As one friend said to me, "If the world was a good place, if there was justice, Ghana would have won." Maybe so. It was hard not to feel terrible for my Ugandan friends sitting glumly next to me after the match. Football is just a game, but it's much more than that here. Even if a single match couldn't cure any of Africa's problems, a win would have meant that for just a few hours, a continent could rejoice.
In much of Africa, such opportunities are few and far between.
Sports bring people together. In the case of the rugby match, opposing players and fans bonded over a great game on a beautiful day, a bond that lasted well into the night. An entire continent bonded over Ghana's success. And while the end result was disappointing, I was heartened to see Ugandans - and all Africans - cheering on their African counterparts. Ghana and Uganda don't have much in common; they only share their "African-ness". But Ugandans adopted Ghana's team as if it was their own. If this type of unity and togetherness can extend to arenas off the football pitch, this continent stands a much better chance of moving forward.
I wanted to post quickly about two experiences that I had this weekend concerning sports, and the effect they have in any culture.
On Saturday, some friends and I attended the Uganda-Kenya rugby match in Kampala. On a warm, sunny day, about 5,000 people crowded around the pitch and cheered on their team. Obviously, most spectators were pulling for the home team, but Kenya traveled with quite an entourage, and there was a strong Kenyan contingent.
I was struck by the festival-like atmosphere of the occasion. Ugandans and Kenyans a like danced, sang, and cheered for their teams, but always with one arm draped around the rival's shoulder. Would Yankees and Red Sox fans cheer hard for their team, while embracing a rival fan? Not likely. And I've been to enough Duke-Maryland college basketball games to know that few friends rooting for opposing sides are made.
In the end, Kenya won the match, but not before a furious comeback from Uganda late in the game. The Kenyan players and fans - about 250 people in total - then circled the field, stopping every few meters to sing their national song, do a little dance, and get down on the ground and show the soles of their feet to the Ugandan fans. I took it as a sign of disrespect. The Ugandans around me laughed and said it was funny.
Most surprising of all, that night, I saw members of both teams in the bar I went to, drinking congenially and enjoying each other's company. Members of two rival nations, after just having played a violent and brutal rugby match, went to the same bar. On purpose. It was both surprising and inspiring to see the players, so intense on the field, act so civilly towards one another off it. Sometimes, in America, we let our rooting interests take on too much importance. Not so for the Ugandan and Kenyan rugby teams. Their perspective was pitch-perfect.
The night before, I had a wholly different experience. I went to a bar to watch the Ghana-Uruguay World Cup match. Filled with Ugandans, the atmosphere was tense throughout the game. When Ghana scored their goal right before the half, the bar exploded in a jubilation unlike I had ever seen. Ugandans and mzungus hugged and kissed. Vuvuzelas made the walls shake. It was glorious.
Of course, everyone knows what happened. Ghana's star played missed a game-winning free kick, and then Uruguay went on to win in a penalty kick shootout. I could almost feel the bar, the country, and the continent, deflate. All of Africa united around Ghana's team. For a continent short on accomplishments, a win would have been monumental. Instead, they lost in the worst, most heart-breaking, way possible.
As one friend said to me, "If the world was a good place, if there was justice, Ghana would have won." Maybe so. It was hard not to feel terrible for my Ugandan friends sitting glumly next to me after the match. Football is just a game, but it's much more than that here. Even if a single match couldn't cure any of Africa's problems, a win would have meant that for just a few hours, a continent could rejoice.
In much of Africa, such opportunities are few and far between.
Sports bring people together. In the case of the rugby match, opposing players and fans bonded over a great game on a beautiful day, a bond that lasted well into the night. An entire continent bonded over Ghana's success. And while the end result was disappointing, I was heartened to see Ugandans - and all Africans - cheering on their African counterparts. Ghana and Uganda don't have much in common; they only share their "African-ness". But Ugandans adopted Ghana's team as if it was their own. If this type of unity and togetherness can extend to arenas off the football pitch, this continent stands a much better chance of moving forward.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Fourth of July
Just a very quick post wishing everyone back home a happy 4th of July weekend.
It's been well-documented that America's Independence Day is my favorite day of the year. I love the fireworks, I love Ben Safran flipping burgers across the patio, I love the warm keg beer, but mostly I love hosting all my friends, in my backyard by the pool, having a great day.
I'm sad to say that tradition takes a hiatus this year. While there is a big, American 4th of July party here, I'm certain it won't be the same.
Perhaps the only person who is happy that I'm in Uganda for the 4th is my mother. Mom, you're off the hook... no big parties at the house this year. Oh, and that crazy German neighbor that hates me. If you've been to one of the parties, you know who I'm talking about.
To everyone back in the states, have a safe and happy 4th. Sorry I won't be there to celebrate with you!
It's been well-documented that America's Independence Day is my favorite day of the year. I love the fireworks, I love Ben Safran flipping burgers across the patio, I love the warm keg beer, but mostly I love hosting all my friends, in my backyard by the pool, having a great day.
I'm sad to say that tradition takes a hiatus this year. While there is a big, American 4th of July party here, I'm certain it won't be the same.
Perhaps the only person who is happy that I'm in Uganda for the 4th is my mother. Mom, you're off the hook... no big parties at the house this year. Oh, and that crazy German neighbor that hates me. If you've been to one of the parties, you know who I'm talking about.
To everyone back in the states, have a safe and happy 4th. Sorry I won't be there to celebrate with you!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Song and Dance
The HIV/AIDS virus is much more than just a physically debilitating disease.
I do not mean to understate the tole it takes on the human body. You can see the damage as you walk through the IDI clinic; patients are weak and vulnerable, their bodies brittle and their immune systems frail.
But HIV/AIDS also weakens the mind and the heart. A positive diagnosis can lead to depression. It can end one's motivation to work, to learn, to provide for a family, and most of all, to just keep going. When all you can think about is getting sick, you get sicker.
Or, it can have the opposite effect. It can motivate you to overcome your diagnosis, rise above it, and teach others to do the same.
That's the approach taken by the IDI singing and theater group, whose performance I watched today. These ten individuals (there are 25 total, comprising two groups), use song, dance, and drama to motivate themselves and others to live healthy lives and take care of themselves and their loved ones.
The troupe started with a song about disclosure, encouraging the 50 or so audience members to be honest with their lovers and loved ones about their positive diagnosis. Then, another song about the benefits of modern medicine, pushing them to continue visiting the clinic and refilling their prescriptions. Afterwards, one by one, the members of the group introduced themselves, and a few told the story of when they found out they were HIV positive and how IDI has helped them stay healthy. Finally, one last song about practicing safe sex and abstaining from alcohol and other dangerous substances.
The audience clapped and cheered, and the members of the troupe smiled and bowed proudly. The sense of pride and accomplishment on their faces was palpable; they rehearse twice a week, and it shows. Songs were pitch perfect, dance steps were highly choreographed and in unison. Their performance was significant not only for the lessons imparted to the audience, but because of the feeling of purpose and self-worth it gave the members of the troupe.
Every singer has been diagnosed with HIV/AIDS, a disease with no known cure. They could have easily chosen to curl up and wait for the disease to break down their bodies.
Instead, they sing.
I do not mean to understate the tole it takes on the human body. You can see the damage as you walk through the IDI clinic; patients are weak and vulnerable, their bodies brittle and their immune systems frail.
But HIV/AIDS also weakens the mind and the heart. A positive diagnosis can lead to depression. It can end one's motivation to work, to learn, to provide for a family, and most of all, to just keep going. When all you can think about is getting sick, you get sicker.
Or, it can have the opposite effect. It can motivate you to overcome your diagnosis, rise above it, and teach others to do the same.
That's the approach taken by the IDI singing and theater group, whose performance I watched today. These ten individuals (there are 25 total, comprising two groups), use song, dance, and drama to motivate themselves and others to live healthy lives and take care of themselves and their loved ones.
The troupe started with a song about disclosure, encouraging the 50 or so audience members to be honest with their lovers and loved ones about their positive diagnosis. Then, another song about the benefits of modern medicine, pushing them to continue visiting the clinic and refilling their prescriptions. Afterwards, one by one, the members of the group introduced themselves, and a few told the story of when they found out they were HIV positive and how IDI has helped them stay healthy. Finally, one last song about practicing safe sex and abstaining from alcohol and other dangerous substances.
The audience clapped and cheered, and the members of the troupe smiled and bowed proudly. The sense of pride and accomplishment on their faces was palpable; they rehearse twice a week, and it shows. Songs were pitch perfect, dance steps were highly choreographed and in unison. Their performance was significant not only for the lessons imparted to the audience, but because of the feeling of purpose and self-worth it gave the members of the troupe.
Every singer has been diagnosed with HIV/AIDS, a disease with no known cure. They could have easily chosen to curl up and wait for the disease to break down their bodies.
Instead, they sing.
Conquering My Fears
Everyone has their fears.
Some people hate spiders, others don't do well with heights, still others get nervous on airplanes. Mine biggest fear is motorcycles.
Let me explain: as a 15-year old budding basketball player, my idol was a point guard named Jason Williams. In 2001, he led my beloved Duke Blue Devils to the national championship (a game I attended). He was strong and elegant, and could do anything on the basketball court. I loved him.
After one year in the NBA, Jason Williams got on a motorcycle one day and crashed, sustaining serious injuries. He never played professional basketball again. Hearing that, I swore to never get on a two-wheeled, motorized device, for the rest of my life.
Fast-forward eight years. EVERYONE in Kampala takes boda-bodas. They are quick and cheap, and with traffic jams galore, bodas are by far the most efficient means of transportation. Everyone does it, except for me.
Until now.
This morning, I forgot my cell phone at my apartment. With lots of work to do, and friends coming into town, I needed to run home and get it quickly. I walked home - about 15 minutes - and retrived it, but was running out of time. Outside of my apartment complex, a boda driver waited patiently.
We locked eyes, and he motioned me over. "Mulago Hospital?" I asked him. He nodded.
I got on the back, clenching his shirt a bit too tightly. "Pole pole," I said. Slowly, slowly.
We lurched forward, over a bump. I thought I was going to be bucked off and tightened my grip on my poor driver. He snorted, and looked back at me over his shoulder.
Once on the main rode, we cruised towards the hospital. It was... fun! Not nearly as scary as I expected. I loosened my grip, and began to smile. I was riding a boda-boda, in Kampala! Surely, I became a bit more Ugandan on that ride.
Upon arriving at the hospital, I jumped off the motorcycle like an old pro and gave the driver a big high-five. He asked for 500 shillings, I paid him 1,000. It was glorious.
Don't worry mother, I won't make riding boda-bodas a habit. But I conquered my fear, and it feels wonderful. Does this mean I have to change the name of my blog?
Some people hate spiders, others don't do well with heights, still others get nervous on airplanes. Mine biggest fear is motorcycles.
Let me explain: as a 15-year old budding basketball player, my idol was a point guard named Jason Williams. In 2001, he led my beloved Duke Blue Devils to the national championship (a game I attended). He was strong and elegant, and could do anything on the basketball court. I loved him.
After one year in the NBA, Jason Williams got on a motorcycle one day and crashed, sustaining serious injuries. He never played professional basketball again. Hearing that, I swore to never get on a two-wheeled, motorized device, for the rest of my life.
Fast-forward eight years. EVERYONE in Kampala takes boda-bodas. They are quick and cheap, and with traffic jams galore, bodas are by far the most efficient means of transportation. Everyone does it, except for me.
Until now.
This morning, I forgot my cell phone at my apartment. With lots of work to do, and friends coming into town, I needed to run home and get it quickly. I walked home - about 15 minutes - and retrived it, but was running out of time. Outside of my apartment complex, a boda driver waited patiently.
We locked eyes, and he motioned me over. "Mulago Hospital?" I asked him. He nodded.
I got on the back, clenching his shirt a bit too tightly. "Pole pole," I said. Slowly, slowly.
We lurched forward, over a bump. I thought I was going to be bucked off and tightened my grip on my poor driver. He snorted, and looked back at me over his shoulder.
Once on the main rode, we cruised towards the hospital. It was... fun! Not nearly as scary as I expected. I loosened my grip, and began to smile. I was riding a boda-boda, in Kampala! Surely, I became a bit more Ugandan on that ride.
Upon arriving at the hospital, I jumped off the motorcycle like an old pro and gave the driver a big high-five. He asked for 500 shillings, I paid him 1,000. It was glorious.
Don't worry mother, I won't make riding boda-bodas a habit. But I conquered my fear, and it feels wonderful. Does this mean I have to change the name of my blog?
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