We have to update the what? The blog.

My Macbook and I are in a fight. The trackpad was on strike when I first turned it on. I blame Mackie. She is the exorcist of technology. Level of functionality aside, the laptop has been of great use to us here in the mighty jungle. We have successfully sat down and over many hours (mainly because the battery died frequently and we are victims to the generator) created a video of our first month. Since the blog has become somewhat of my own cyber word vomit, the videos should shed some light on our adventure thus far for those of you visual learners. We just watched it over again however, and try as we might, we cannot get the sound to upload correctly. Sorry Charlie. If I am ever mouthing something you can’t hear, just say something mildly inappropriate, and continue on.

This week has been... Strange. And Winnie just walked in with two braids sticking out of her head on either side. Hello Pippi.

We just got back from school. In my P5 class there was a girl with demons in her. She had to be taken to the sick room.

I feel like on any other blog entry I address the condition of the generator, so why should this one be any different? The generator and our relationship is much like the relationship of a couple in Middle School. We think about each other all day long & wonder when our next interaction with it will occur. It flirts with us by turning the lights on and off for about an hour, we reciprocate by intermittent oo-ing and aw-ing, on good days you detect perhaps a slight blush from one of the three of us. We get to shower, eat in light, and flush the toilet—so we begin to really like it. But then like any typical pubescent 14-year-old boy, it changes its mind and decides to make a break for it. So our relationship is on again, off again. I’m surprised it has stuck around as long as it has with the condition of our hygiene, like I’m not sure if we came home at this point a 14-year-old boy (or any human) would be attracted to us. We have African stink.

Underneath the hum of the fluorescent lighting, we have discovered the plumbing to the shower has broken. But I would like to think Eden and I are problem solvers, for we simply follow this process everyday. We wake up, look outside, pray for rain, eat breakfast, and wait.. What for? A rainstorm. For much to our surprise, we have found that the rain gutters overflow during storms and make spontaneous showers. Showers with water pressure equal to the 10-foot freefall from the roof. It’s miraculous. So our hygiene is subject to the mood of the weather. Showers in our rainboots and close to nothing else have been probably culturally questionable, but wonderful. Mackie, being the stubborn fool she is, refuses to join us outside. She prefers taking bucket showers in the pitch black while I pour scary debatably clean water on her… I think Eden and I are becoming more in touch with our mischievous selves. We (mostly I) like to barge through the bathroom door during her shower and throw the buckets (that catch the rain coming from the gutter) full of super cold water at her as she huddles helplessly in the corner with her mouth sealed tightly shut. Muffled squeals are like music to my ears.. Muuuuah, hhhhaa, haaaaaa.

I will be honest when I say the animal kingdom is alive and well as far as I can hear outside our bedroom window at night. Each night as soon as we turn off the light and sprint into the safety of our bed net, we lie awake.. Thinking… and then I can’t help it (plus I like the sound of my loud singing reverberating off of the cement walls and through the guesthouse) but I break into..

AWEEE-EEEE-EEEE-EEEEH AWEEEE-EEEE-EEE-EEEH AWEEEE UM-BUM-BA-WAY! IN THE JUNGLE THE MIGHTY JUNGLE, THE MIGHTY JUNGLE, THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT!

The frogs offer great backup with impeccable beat, and the crickets know how to harmonize. Eden’s snoring takes us straight to the bridge, and then again with the chorus bat! I’m a born conductor. Probably all of those years watching Fantasia 2000. The frogs whistle (as do the boys riding past on their bicycles) and it nearly drives Eden nuts. She yells threats out the window (to the frogs, not the boys) and then just keeps asking, “WHAT IN THE WORLD MAKES THAT SOUND????”

On the topic of bugs and other things that shouldn’t be in my room as I sleep, we had probably one of the funniest encounters with the animals this week. We are all talking by Mackie’s (soon to be our) room in the dark and forbidden hallway, just chatting it up with toothpaste foam spewing from our mouths—somethings just cannot wait to be said—when Mackie goes into the bathroom screams and turns right back around. Uncharacteristic, right?? She yells for Winnie to come extract the frog hidden in the toilet awaiting its next urgent user. Well Winnie gets it out and into the dark hallway (where I am, reminder: I don’t like frogs) and I jump, literally jump, into Mackie’s arms. Then after we all laugh so hard that we have trouble walking, Eden calls on the bad luck once more by saying, “At least it wasn’t a spiiiahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh WINNNNNNNIE!!!” Yep. Spider. But this one was a fast moving sideways bugger. I was still a bit shook up from the frog incident so I threw Eden in front of me and wrapped my leg around her while Winnie chased the black beastie down the hall. What a weird switch…

Eden is currently sitting at the dinner table with a candle ceremoniously burning bugs to a crisp. The great part is that every time she executes an insect, she whimpers and says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I had to do this to you.” Then she looks up and says, “Do you think all bugs go straight to Heaven? Like they just open their eyes and they are in the presence of God”. Whatever Eden, I still don’t think you are doing them a favor. This brings me to my next point, we are inappropriate people bound for Hell. Each night when the generator turns on, we survey the damage in terms of the amount of bugs hovering around our heads and then Eden produces two shoes, Mackie leaves the room, and we go to town. The inappropriateness comes when all I can sing while swinging a shoe like Serena Williams is, “All Creatures of Our God and King—WHAP—Hallelujah—GRUNT—Hallelujah—WHAP”. I know I should feel badly about that, but a girl’s got to do what a girl has got to do. Plus it isn’t as remotely as bad as what I am about to include in this blog. These giant part dragonfly part airborne monsters have taken to seeking shelter in the house. We are told that these ‘white-ants’ as they are called flock during the wet season. Okay great, fine, whatever, but when I walk out the front door in the morning to go to school and the kids are collecting them so that they may EAT THEM, I want to hurl. So while Eden and I try to dodge the swarms in the air all the way to school (we probably looked like we took to many of our malaria pills—if you know what I mean—before we left the house), everyone—kids, mothers, fathers, old ladies—all have their buckets out and are picking them up off the ground and right out of the air. They keep them in air tight jars and days later they open them up and the white ants are still alive. Moving. They just pluck their wings off (because heaven forbid you are going to eat the wings off of the insect you are about to devour), blow them into the air, and then toss and chomp away. All the kids think its funny to try to make us touch and eat one. No thanks, I’ll pass.

Instead of eating bugs, we like to eat groundnuts (or poop nuts as we like to call them now—explanation to come) for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Its probably because of the new cook, Kevin (we aren’t really sure what her real name is, but it sounds faintly like Kevin), is just not Judith. Judith never left rocks in our beans. Enough said. Anyways the nuts, so we have to roast these raw nuts up at the orphanage with one of the matrons. That sounds harmless enough, right? Well in truth it is, until we have to start unpeeling them… Wherever we go we tend to draw a large crowd around us, and with 15 little girls looking curiously over our shoulders, and our pile of nuts to be peeled is gradually growing larger and larger, they just thrust their hands into our mountain of nuts and begin to peel. What are we supposed to do? Turn to them and say, “Can I see your food handler’s permit please?” No. Can’t do that. “Have you washed your hands in the last, um let’s say, like week?” Nope. Not that either. And meanwhile, they are just rub, rub, peel, peel, smoosh, smoosh away. So there you have it, ‘Poop Nuts’. Then the grinding machine (which creates paste—the African version of peanut butter) breaks and we are left with a whole bowl of these unsanitary nuts. Well as it turns out, the neighbors have a hand-powered grinding machine… Here I am thinking we would be lucky enough to just turn a crank or push a pedal, perhaps maybe an easy button would be great, but then this man hands me a thick ceramic vase-looking bowl, and a giant wooden pole and says, “Smash”. I’m looking around like, ‘Hm… I’m sure I’m missing something. Eden did he say smash?’ No, but even before that, he has Jane translate something to the tune of, “We smash chilies before this so there may be some remaining juice on the bottom, but they won’t care right?” Never. I love chili peanut butter. It’s a wonder that the guys at Adam’s and Smuckers didn’t think of it before. Who doesn’t like a good CPB & J? Forget the Capri Sun, every mom should pack their kids a sandwich with a punch in it.

As we talk about food, we should probably make a somber announcement that Judith, the former cook and swift bug exterminator, has fallen sick. She is in Kampala as we speak receiving treatment for HIV. Keep her in your prayers. I would like to reminisce on one of my favorite memories of Judith. We were telling her how great of a cook she is one night and I simply said, “Judith, you are the best cook ever!” And she looked at me with a straight face and said, “No. Jesus is the best cook ever.” Well said Judith, well said.

Consequently, when Judith falls sick, we also fall sick. The stomachaches that quickly ensue after each meal have become somewhat of a joke. No one can keep anything in their stomach long enough to feel satiated. But have no fear, the clinic up at the orphanage has lots of exposed bloody needles and expired drugs to suit your dying fancy. Eden and I were assigned to ‘assist in the clinic’ this weekend, which translates to ‘clean a questionably safe room full of crusty instruments and rat poop while the doctor and his assistant stare at us’. I guess a job description just isn’t what it used to be. But like good little volunteers, we do what we are told. We even go to the general and management staff meetings to perform administrative work. I hope everyone realizes how big of a joke this is. Eden, Mackie, and I are probably the youngest people there by at least 20 years, and I will say with complete confidence that I should never be allowed into another staff meeting again. First off, they greet you by making you sign 4 dotted lines, and then they pass you a piece of blank computer paper to take notes on, and give you a seat at the head of the table. I’m looking at Eden like, uh…. Now we are at the head of the table? (Now he is the groom? –you’re welcome for that Kare-bear) Then the meeting is opened with a prayer from Mackie (which immediately gets a good laugh out of me because I didn’t ever think I’d hear Mackie pray. Ever.) Once she is done, they continue on with agendas and complaints—all given by Francis mind you—and then he opens the meeting to “discussion”, which is nothing more than a room full of adults looking at each other. But all through Francis’ two-hour complaint session, Eden and I are mocking him ruthlessly for everything that comes out of his mouth. But how can you blame us when things such as, “I came here to kidnap and kill one of the staff,” and “This orphanage is running so poorly that orphans are going back to their parents”. Hold on, the first one doesn’t bother me, but that last one.. Hm… Something just seems quite off—can’t really place my finger on it…. But needless to say, both Eden’s and my ‘note taking’ papers are something we should probably scan and let you behold. We were laughing so hard that I had to put my head unto the table, or squeeze my lips tightly together, close my eyes, and turn toward the door. I’m so glad that these meetings have now been scheduled weekly.

A fight broke out in turkey club this week too. You may be confused as to what ‘Turkey Club’ is, but it is simply the gang of turkeys that wander around the compound in a pack. As luck would have it, we were walking through the compound on the way to school when we spotted the rumble taking place behind the grind mill—sly foxes, the grind mill… Immediately we try to break it up because we simply WILL NOT stand for a casualty in turkey club, they already suffer attendence percentages in Novemeber. Numbers have been dwindling. Anyways, we have to pry the beak of one turkey out of the throat of another and separate the two into their own corners of the ring. Then I gave them a good scolding as Eden translated and then to seal the deal and to signify our frustration, she threw stick right at them. Take that! Turkey club is cancelled until further notice. Then we set off for school as was rightly scheduled, and it was after about a good fourth of a mile when I finally realized that my skirt had hiked up all the way my back and underneath my backpack... This way to school kids!

I hate to admit it, but the skirt incident is not the first time my behind has been the focus of attention. Let me tell you a short story about how Alexis and I decided that to make college even more of a thrill, we would attend a ‘dirty dancing’ class at our gym. We didn’t make it 5 minutes into the class when we had to move to the back and have room to roll around and hold ourselves together as we watched a grandma work the floor like a Pussycat Doll. So I find myself once again watching this exact same thing except for the gym is a dirt patch in the middle of Africa, the grandmother is instead 12 orphan girls and they are all staring at me and Eden waiting for us to join them. What can we say? Our hips don’t lie. If you don’t believe us just keep an eye out in our video for it. To my defense I am shocked 75% of the time as we are dancing, my face tells all.

Eden has a crush on one of the boys named Emmanuel. She says he looks like 50 Cent. These are my thoughts on the matter… Okay your crush--while slightly creepy--is somewhat justified. He is a really attractive child, but when I catch you staring at him as we should be focused on defending our groundnuts from the other kids, I become worried. Speaking of celebrities, Eden is convinced that if we teach the kids a Justin Bieber song and film a music video, he will come find us in Africa. She firmly believes this. I’m not one to crush someone’s hopes and dreams, so the fact that he repeats the same phrase over and over again in every song is a definite benefit. While we were on our way into Soroti last week, Eden and I were singing to our iPod (and subsequently J. Bieb), and Godfrey (the welfare worker) turned around and in the slowest deepest voice says, “Jussssstttiiin Biebbber, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh..” We started laughing and singing louder while Mackie started to panic and shoved her iPod earphone into his ear and started playing Eminem.

I know this blog probably seems painfully long this week, and in truth, it has been a task to write. However, we have saved one of the best slash sweetest stories for the end. Since I have my laptop out on the dining room table with music playing almost all of the time, we have taken to singing and dancing on the chairs and tables as we blast music. Crowds have begun to form. We have audiences and sold out shows nightly. One night we were singing every song we could think of and then we decided that we would show the orphan girls watching what an animated movie looks like. Luckily for them, Anastasia is one of my favorite movies so I pulled up the window and we began watching it. They were fascinated. No one would move a muscle or speak until one of the girls asked as she pointed to the screen, “What is that?” Eden and I both looked at each other and said, “It’s snow”. How do you explain snow to a room full of girls without seeming like complete lunatics?

The shout out this week goes to my Mommy. She just celebrated her 21st birthday. Don’t go too crazy mom. But for real.. Mom, we got asked to help out with bakery club on Sunday and after about 5 minutes of watching, I became so anxious to show them how to do it Mama G-style. So 2 hours later, I’m elbow deep in flour and yeast teaching these kids how to knead, pinch, and braid dough. Every time I would go to throw the loaf against the table all the kids would yell, “MY GOSH!”. Kids, chill, I’m a professional. We had to let it all rise in the sun and mix it with our hands then we had to build a small fire underneath a brick oven to bake them. They only have two ill-fitting pans to cook them in so the rotation schedule made for a real obstacle. The first ones were a bit toasty, but the majority of them turned out great. Braided pull apart bread gave us a little taste of home. Mackie, Eden, and I all just sat at the kitchen table with our loaves of bread in front of us and talked about our Moms as we ate.

NOW SHOWING: AFRICA K & E STYLE.

The movie loaded. God bless America--- or Uganda. Whichever. Anyways, we haven't really had time to make sure that the link works, but we are hoping. So here is the link.....


http://gallery.me.com/kyleeanng/100000

P.s. Sorry for all the inappropriate dancing. We will not be outdone by children.

The Hidden Pictures

I just uploaded pictures, but for some reason the computer won't let me attach a link. So I'm guessing if you click on the previous album that I uploaded last week and then snoop around a bit on my picasa profile, you might be able to find them. The album is titled 'So Many Pictures.'... Best of luck.

Oh and P.S. We made a video, but its taking 3 hours to download, so we will see what we can do about that. No blog this week, expect a long one next week.. Lots has happened!

Love,

Kylee and Eden

Pick One Mom...

So, we have finally decided to let you actually visualize where we are and what we have been doing (as if my descriptive words have not been enough)... We will start writing about specific pictures and kids this week so you'll be able to put a name with a face. Like Judith... If only she would let us take a picture (or snap as they call it here) of her.... We will work on it.

Jaques, No Cleaning! I Will Try to Resist...

Mackie-- "Kylee do you spell your names with two e's?"
Eden-- "Of course she does Mackie, one E would read Kyle."

These are the sounds that surround me. Constant love-bickering.


I’ve had to undo my clasp on my skirt in order to sit long enough in comfort to write this. However, that cannot be the worst statement I make in this blog—no, not by a long shot. I think when we really hit rock bottom is when I say this:

THE GENERATOR IS STILL BROKEN.

One week. God created the entire world in one week, Kate Hudson manages to fall in love with and subsequently loose a guy in one week, and friends, Eden Rona and Kylee Gabrielsen have gone one without showering or electricity. You can’t be mad at us or find us disgusting because WE HAVE NO CHOICE. Every night we longingly stare up at the ceiling hoping to create light with sheer mind power. I have suggested we start using a windmill type electricity source; only we have someone riding a bike to generate the power (I would gladly take a turn pedaling if it meant Eden wouldn’t light anything else—including another starburst—on fire with the candle). The candles seem to be pure inspiration, although you would not want an emergency to strike while you were relying on its light. We found this out when we needed to hurry to the bathroom, but as soon as we began to move quicker than a snail the light went out in the middle of the hallway. So now we know why people being pursued by villains in castles move so slowly. It’s quite frustrating. We had a glimmer of hope the other night when-- for a brief moment-- we had a flickering of light in the house. Eden hopped up and booked it to the bathroom to use it while lit and was probably in the middle of something important when the lights went as quick as they came. I only had to count down from 3, when Eden’s screaming came right on queue. “KYLEE!!!!!! HELP, ITS DARK!!!!!!!!” As a solution to our medieval lifestyle, we have suited up as criminals and borrowed (ahem, stolen) a generator from someone in town. Minor details. It all paid off when we were able to enjoy the drizzle of the showerhead once more. We quickly discovered though that we have fallen out of practice in the art of showering. After some awkward and questionable encounters while we showered, Eden and I barreled out of the bathroom squeaky clean and into our sweaty and body-soiled sheets.

I do not know how this possibly keeps happening, but within these few days since the last entry, I have managed to feel like I’ve been transported back to my girls camp days. Well girls camp:
(-) the girls
(+) plus the kids
(-) the mountains
(+) the desert
(+) 100 degrees
(x) 3 months
But really though, we have decided that making those friendship bracelets (the ones you made more as a joke) is something the kids can do to generate profit. Trying to get 100 children to be patient enough to learn how to tie correct knots worked about as well as our generator has. It was also quite reminiscent of a sweatshop… It’s a hard knock life for us. There were kids tying each other together, boys just tying knots, girls dancing with the string, fiends tying the pigeon’s legs together. It was comparable to Daddy Daycare. Not to mention before we did that the poultry club (Lunatics, all of them. Voluntary clubs and they choose poultry..) needed help counting chickens in the coop. I’ll help out where and when I can, but when you throw me into a chicken pen and tell me to grab each individual chicken and throw them on the other side of the room while keeping count, I just have to really double and triple think that one over. I don’t like to eat them when they are dead, what makes you think I’d like to capture and cuddle them while they are alive? We were like the afternoon entertainment series. Three White Girls Locked in the Chicken Pen. You seen it? Its been nominated for Oscars. Kids were watching through the wire windows and laughing. Laughing… They are the first one’s up to pedal the bike.

On a lighter note, after Eden’s and my impromptu Sunday church lesson at the dining table, we moved onto our Relief Society meeting. This week’s lesson: The Art of Courting Justin Bieber-- as outlined by the Time’s magazine issue dedicated the boy heartthrob. The opening song will be “U Smile”, followed by a quick thought, “I’m reading from page 85 from an article titled, How to be Justin’s Number One. It reads, I’m pretty flirtatious, but I don’t use any lines. I just get my BIEBER on.” – Justin Bieber. It suffices me to say tears were shed, feelings were felt, and Mackie’s disgust with us was evident in the cancer causing rays of hate beaming from her eyes.

The Orphanage staff has grown one and a half persons larger. Ada, the new assistant director to Jane is great, and Ada, her granddaughter and Rachel Ostler look alike, has every characteristic similar to a leech. You have never met a child so eager to jump into your lap, or hold your hand, or latch onto your leg. And I thought my left leg felt 30 pounds heavier before she got here…

Trying to wash your face here is never entirely gratifying. You have what Eden fondly refers to as a ‘sweat-stash’ before you walk out of the bathroom. But trying to have at least an ounce of good hygiene, I attempt. But you know what? When I walk into the bathroom, turn of the faucet, cup my hands beneath it and a small fish comes diving out of the stream of water, I become a bit unnerved. Actually what is so funny and strange about the whole situation is that it didn’t even bother me. I just tossed him down the drain and continued washing, walked out of the bathroom and past the girls in the dining room and said, “Nemo just came out of the drain. Don’t want to alarm you.”

We’ve exchanged valuable blogging time, for picture and video editing time. Hopefully you will enjoy.

YAY! YOU ARE WEL-O-COME!

The Blobs of Dirt That Once Was Eden and Kylee.

If you wonder what we do at night in Africa, I will tell you. When we are not passed out, or wondering what large creature is making those strange noises outside our window—which is wide open—we have instituted movie night. Turns out Mackie is a sucker for love stories and luckily I have just what she is looking for. Runaway Bride, Wedding Planner, Notting Hill, Somewhere In Time. Got ‘em. We all cuddled in our bed last night and watched Notting Hill on my laptop while sweating profusely. Eden and I figured out that our pillows and sheets are making us even hotter than we already are so we did a little TLC and last night we still were soaking. We got to sleep in late—9 o’clock—today. It would have been pretty restful if the whole housing staff wouldn’t have come in every 15 minutes wondering if we were sick and that’s why we weren’t up yet. I have Mackie hooked on The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society book. She just came flying in here thinking that she had just figured out the book… Keep reading Mackie. Keep reading. I think from now on Friday’s will be pretty restful. It is considered a club day so we don’t teach, but the kids don’t get home from school until five. So we have a mini spa day. We lay out, brush our hair, clean our nails, pluck our eyebrows, and talk about how gross we are getting. It is all very productive.
Shout out today goes to dear old Kealia Ohai. She is not reading this, but if she did I would only have one thing to say to her—watch your back. Eden and I played soccer with the kids today and although I thought I was going to black out when I headed the ball, we kicked butt. I think it’s a bit easier to find someone to pass it in to when there are two white girls buzzing around yelling, “I’m open! I’m open!” If only we could figure out what to do once they pass it to us. Hm….
On the account of bugs this week, we have had a relatively quiet week… Just kidding. If I ever say that, it is a boldfaced lie. Let me take you back on a little trip to the past. Me, being the responsible daughter that I am, thought that I would go give my mother a ‘buzz’ outside on the tele. It’s starting into rainy season so the mud is rampant and requires rain boots; I did not bring rain boots so I go to borrow Eden’s (what’s yours is mine baby..) and struggle to put my feet in while running out the door. I get one and a half of my feet in and just settle for limping to the corner of the backyard where we get service and feel a rock-like feeling in my shoe. Oh, well. I think to myself, “Self, that’s weird, Eden hasn’t worn these before how did she already get a rock in them…” Silly Eden….

Silly Kylee.

After a good 40 minute phone call to the States, I walk over to Eden and Mackie on the back porch and start taking off the boots because my foot seems to be swelling as we speak. So I struggle to take them off, and take a gander into my right foot (the only foot that made it in) and saw the biggest beetle just lying there. Almost dead. Almost dead—that means it was definitely alive and in the twitching death stage of dying. I killed a beetle. A massive beetle. Apparently rock = beetle. Next we have poor Mackie. We are all sitting at the dinner table enjoying some rice and beans, like always.. When out of nowhere Mackie starts to FREAK OUT. She does not freak out easily. In fact, she hates it when we say anything about bugs. But she is straight up head banging across the table yelling in the whiniest little girl voice, “Jane! There is a bug in my ear! Jane! Get it out! Oh my gosh Jane, there is a bug in my ear! Help!”. Eden and I could hardly pick our mouths up of the of the table, let alone help the 2 year old across the table. It goes without saying, whenever Mackie complains about anything, she gets a blast from the past in the form of, “Oh my gosh! Jane, there is a bug in my ear!” Oddly enough Eden has yet to have a traumatizing bug encounter this week.. I think it’s because the bug bites—which she has scratched into scabs—have begun to bleed. I think the bugs think that she is punishing herself enough. At night the bug kingdom comes out to form of symphony of sound outside of our window. Its almost like we have a wave machine set to the sound of the forest, only it’s gotten itself stuck on the loud setting. Very loud. The other night Eden and I turned on the light in the dining room to have dinner, and found ourselves severely outnumbered by a gang of moths. Eden flips, and charges it into our room and comes out with a book for me to wail on the moths with. Lets just say that the wall needs to be washed, and Eden won’t be teaching out of her grammar book for sometime…

We realized that we haven’t discussed where we are staying. If you would like to believe we are staying in a straw hut, please continue. It makes us seem a bit edgier. But if you would like the truth, we stay in a pleasant concrete guesthouse on the far side of the compound. There are 6 bedrooms, a living room, kitchen and dining room. It’s all very basic and at night it’s all very creepy. Eden and I move in a pack from the hours of 6 p.m. until 8 a.m. We can see you dirtbag bugs even in the dark… But we have so many fun people that live and work in the house that we hardly need to leave to receive any entertainment. Judith is a handful enough. She doesn’t mind that whenever Eden gets within 20 yards of the house she begins to tear off her clothes in a fury because she is so hot. She doesn’t even mind when we make messes all over the house like 5 year olds, and she really doesn’t mind when we teach slash sing her American rap songs when she brings us our food. Yes we sing the cook Gold-digger. Whoops?

Africa cannot make its mind up about what the weather should be. It’s like an indecisive woman looking to buy a new pair of shoes. One minute it will be 100+ degrees outside and the very next the streets turn to rivers in some of the craziest rainstorms you have ever seen. It’s like come on, Steve Maddens or Jeffrey Campbells. But when it is scorching and we have free time, we have taken to laying out in the grass on our woven mats in the backyard. I bet seeing a white person is strange enough, but seeing a white person trying to tan herself is mind blowing. Speaking of mind blowing, we are starting to run out of conversation topics between the three of us… And its not so much running out, its more like we revisit certain topics, but in depth. So little by little we are becoming very….. well-cultured.

As part of our internships, we are in charge of creating and maintaining incoming generating activities—or clubs. Club days are like the days of death around the orphanage. How do you convince 120 kids ages 14 and under that spending their Friday, Saturday, and Sundays making items to sell in America is fun? Try to make an optimistic can-do song about that one Barney. I dare you. I however am more than interested in the clubs that have already been created. They have sewing, knitting, and tailoring clubs waiting for projects to do. Kylee meet the fashion club of Asayo’s Wish. Hello, oh you like to make scarves and dresses? Hm, me too. I will say one thing; I do not belong on a farm. I don’t know who in their right mind would willfully join the poultry or the agriculture club. Yuck. I have a panic attack every time they try to get me to come into the chicken coup. And the turkeys just run around wild and mean. You never think a turkey could be mean, until you’re walking down the path to the guesthouse and stop dead in your tracks as a turkey looks you square in the eyes. Then it calls all it’s turkey friends, and at that moment you know that the only way to safety is to take off in the direction you came and find a child to save you.

Speaking of children, most of the older kids have gone off to boarding school for the semester. They left before Eden and I ever got to meet them, but Mackie sings praises to them every chance she gets. Because of the national holidays celebrated this week, they have come back for a visit. In order for you to understand just how funny this story is we have to tell you a bit more about Mackie. She is 23ish?, works at a bar in North Salt Lake, dates rock stars and has never been interested in anyone younger than 27.. So when we hear her say, cougar, we can’t help but laugh hysterically. We are on our way to a local fruit farm when we hear someone yell Mackie’s name. Confused, she turns around and immediately yells,”OH MY GOSH!” Turns back to us quickly wide-eyed and murmurs, “Cougar”, and proceeds to introduce us to Ronald. Hello Ronald, the boy of Mackie’s much younger fantasies… Dear Ronald is handsome, I’ll give him that… So after a warm hello, we depart on our walk into the forests (or abum—A BOOM—in Kumam). We get our fruit and are on our way back to the orphanage when we decide its an appropriate time to give Mackie some needed grief about her child-crush. We are not 30 seconds done with our harassment, when from around a corner comes Ronald on a bike. It was like a movie, he in a white button down shirt flapping in the wind and khakis, her in a red top and cut off jeans holding a pineapple. It’s Africa’s version of the knight in shining armor—only change the knight to a boy, the blonde hair to a trimmed afro, and the black stallion to a rusting bike. Romantic eh? I half expected Mackie to drop her pineapple on the spot and hop on the back to be whisked away into the sunset. But instead she settled for tripping, asking where he was going, wistfully watching him continue on the path, and then yelling, “Safe Journey!” Safe journey?? No more Somewhere in Time for you Mackie Ballard…

The generator is broken again, so we won’t have power or running water until it gets fixed. There goes showering… Actually, Eden has taken a liking to the bucket shower. Although she makes me hold the light and suddenly I’m a towel rack.. She says it feels good, but I’ll just stick it out until I can do more than just haphazardly throw dark water at myself in the pitch black. We have also adopted a no-shave policy (sorry to those who find that disgusting). It goes without saying, we are beginning to look like the pet apes instead of the interns. Eden is convinced that although it doesn’t look like we are getting tan, it is because we are surrounded by people who really needn’t worry about tans (if you get what I’m saying). So we may or may not be getting tan, we really cannot decide.

This week in Uganda they celebrate Women’s Day. Let me break it down for you in a recipe-like manner in case you would like to recreate it. All you must do is get you and 500 of you closest friends and march right on down to the Alta football field. Once you are there, hand out guns (real or fake, we really couldn’t decide) to all of them and have them stand in a line. Then add the marching band you keep in the back of the pantry in the center of the field. Invite people to watch, and don’t warn them that it’s going to be in the dead of July. Then after a group of your Grandmother and a few of her pals perform a melodrama in another language, start the band and begin to march the army around the football field in a continuous box. Bake at 150 degrees for 8 hours and serve.

Enjoy!

Oh Did You Want the Generator to Produce Electricity?

My computer may very well die at any given moment, but oh well. I haven’t been very diligent in writing these last few days because of how crazy its been, but I’ll give you the most concise rundown that I possibly can. We didn’t actually end up leaving Kampala until Saturday. Lets not talk about it. But what we should talk about is the drive from Kampala to Kaberamaido. Did you know it was 10 hours? Did you know that there are no paved roads? Did you know that the van is not air-conditioned? Well folks, I didn’t. If it is possible (and it is possible), I witnessed potholes the size of what should have been a road. Do you know what happens when you hit a pothole going 80 miles per hour? It’s a simple 5-step process.

Step 1: Swerve left.
Step 2: Swerve right.
Step 3: Honk at any human or car within 10 miles. (Just because you honk does not make going 80 towards a girl on a bike okay, just saying…)
Step 4: Try to recall what they taught you on the school bus in elementary school (Arms crossed or uncrossed? Should I jump out of the exit door now? What did they say about my feet? Why are there no seatbelts on buses or this Scooby-doo van?).
Step 5: Go faster.

I would say it was scary, but that would be an understatement. I felt like a salsa-bound tomato in the blender on the pulse setting. Mmmmm, tomatoes --not the time. The only thing I can think to even compare it to is being thrown into the back of Paco’s bus with all of your luggage on very hard leopard print seats and hauling ace down the speed bump road--minus the pavement-- with no regrets. Geez, give me a helmet at least. It was so hot and sticky that your poor little legs would get stuck to the seats (because to preserve the life of the leopard print, cheap plastic covers are a must) so when you were ejected into the air, it wasn’t so much the hitting your head on the ceiling of the van that hurt, it was more a mixture of your sticky legs ripping off of the plastic underneath you and the occasional punch from the flailing limbs beside you. But I will say, when I was not completely scared for my life or wishing I had chosen to jump out of the plane with a parachute (an option which would have been definitely faster and most likely safer), the scenery was beautiful. We went through the jungles of Africa, we saw the Nile, we got pulled over 4 times with cops wondering why there were 3 white girls in the van. It was all very exciting. Okay funny side note about the cops. We get pulled over (it’s a cardigan, but thanks for asking), and the cops searched the car inside and out—literally—to find something wrong with it, when they figure out that the car is a foreign made (Ford) car, they decide to give us a ticket. Sound a bit like home? Anyways, they are giving us a ticket, but kindly give us an option… You either pay the ticket, or give us some water… Oooh this is a tough one. Tic-Tac sir??
There is a small tarantula on the wall. This is upsetting Eden enough to bring her to tears. JUDITH!!!!!!! Judith is the house cook. She and Winnie, the housekeeper (yes Mom and Denae , I have been tempted to say Winnnnneeeeeee—like The Other Sister—strange eh?), make up what we consider the ghost busters of bug control. They just killed the bee we nicknamed “Bee-Fly” too. I bet they make fun of us in their room at night, because nearly every time we see a creature we are in our underwear (you would be too if it was 85 degrees at night with no breeze). We really didn’t see or hear much of Judith the first day, but then we made an everlasting bond of friendship when every time we would say something loud (which is often) she would come peering around the corner and say, “Did you call for me girls?” She says this in a very thick accent. Very thick. Unbeknownst to us, she would be of great help. Not only does she cook delicious food—see paragraph 9, but turns out she is handy with the broom. Not to sweep, but to swat. She reminds me of Helga from Raising Helen, but instead of the bat she flies into the room waving the broom around yelling, “Where is it??” She of course is referring to the spiders that are flocking to our room like the women of Capistrano. Judith has a promising career with Orkin. On the subject of bugs, we should probably tell you that we have three bug nets around our bed right now… It doesn’t exactly leave a lot of room for circulation so we swelter in our beds at night. Like I don’t mean to be overly graphic, but I mean it’s my blog so I’ll do what I please, but our sheets and our hair are soaked through by the morning. Yuck.
And now for an early shout out, this next paragraph is dedicated to all of you that told me and Eden we couldn’t survive without electricity. Or any of you that said I wouldn’t go to Africa (yes, I know who you are…). There is a voodoo doll with your name on it in some far off African village. Anyways, we haven’t had electricity since we’ve been here. What happened to the generator you may ask? Well the first night it worked fine. However night two, the boy who is to fetch the gasoline from the village down the road hopped on his bike to do his rightful duty only to have his it break down on the way home. His bike broke, we ate in darkness. Third night comes (Tuesday) and we eagerly sit at the kitchen table waiting for the generator to start (and our rice to be served), and Jane walks in and says the pull cable snapped. Cable snapped, we ate in darkness. You don’t have to be good at math to realize that Eden and I haven’t showered for 4 days now. Double yuck. Not to mention we are living in complete and utter darkness. We can’t wash our hands, our faces, our feet, our bums… But the good news is that it turned on yesterday so we finally got to shower. And let us be clear, there is only a short amount of time and water useable to take a shower, so Eden and I have gone to hardly knowing each other to well, the word team shower comes to mind-- only African style. The faucet drizzles, so you just lap water on you and hope that you get damp before you scrub like you were Cinderella scrubbing the floors and begging to go to the ball. So Eden and I walk into the bathroom with all of our toiletries and Eden closes the door behind us and drops everything in her hands and doesn’t even get half of my name out before I’m screaming profanities as loud as my lungs will allow. Eden can’t handle bugs, but I cannot handle lizards. So I fly back out of the bathroom and not 5 seconds later Judith comes truckin’ it around the corner with straw broom head in hand and swats the bugger out of the bathroom. Nice save Judith. So we go into the bathroom and begin showering and in the middle of what would have had to be the most wonderful head lather I’ve ever experienced (I’m sure Eden would agree) I look over to the wall and see the biggest grossest blackest spider just chillin’ on the wall. All I have to say is, “Eden…” and she is out of the shower screaming. Once more Judith comes plowing through the door (I could have sworn she was waiting by it, or the woman must have held every Presidential Fitness Award they ever offered), and sees that we are butt naked in the shower and as fast as she came in she ran out with her hands over her eyes. I thought we were done for, but Eden just screams, “JUDITH! I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO COME IN HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!” So, now I guess Judith is forever more invited to team showers? No secrets here.
We started teaching school on Monday. Started teaching is a loose interpretation. We had to first watch a class, learn to scheme, and meet the kids and teachers. So technically our first day of teaching was yesterday (Wednesday). Eden teaches P4 A&B English and I teach P5 & P6 mathematics. The only problem is Eden’s kids don’t speak English. Have you ever tried to teach someone English? Try to teach your dog what an opposite is, I dare you. I went into Eden’s class while she was grading her papers & she looked about ready to move into the school’s nasty public bathrooms (which is as close to suicide as any human could get without actually dying, although death would be imminent..). She looked at me and said, “You want to try to teach them what an opposite is?” Ten minutes later after I had jumped up and down to demonstrate tall and short, smiled and frowned like a drugged up clown, and sucked in and pushed out my belly to explain fat and skinny, the kids were still just staring. Literally staring. Here I am gallivanting like a fool across the room and they still can’t even say the word opposite. O-P-P-O-S-I-T-E. This is why I stick to math, although I had a tough time adding today. It was strange. School is probably one of the most interesting phenomenon. First you walk about two miles up a dirt path (the very same one that nearly killed us in the shagg-n-wagon on the way here and which somehow seems uphill both ways). Then off to the left you see a building that is literally crumbling before your eyes. No windows, no doors, no grass. You walk into a classroom and there are 20 tables that somehow fit over 100 students into every class. Kids are on top of each other. The blackboard is gouged and rough and the chalk breaks when you look at it. The kids use a piece of paper to wipe it clean. Every student—boy or girl—is required to have their head shaved and their nails clean before coming to school or they get whipped in the front yard. Whipped. Children are getting whipped for having dirty nails when Eden and I haven’t showered in 4 days. Their clothes are in rags just hanging on their bodies and only about 30 kids out of 600 have shoes to wear. Teachers rarely come to class and when they do they are about 20 minutes late, so when 3 white girls come down the pathway saying they want to volunteer as teachers, we suddenly get bowed down to. Literally, the children bow down to you before they talk to you. For example, the three of us happen to be waiting for a meeting to start when the kids were let out for recess and they didn’t even go run and play. They just stared. So Eden and I tried to entertain 600 children as best as we could, but little by little the circle that surrounded us got smaller and smaller until we were in a very large African children mosh pit. If any of them had a clue what a mosh pit was, we would have been as good as gone. Eden somehow escapes and leaves me to teach the hokey-pokey (epic failure). So when I can finally part the sea of children and get to Eden and Mackie underneath a tree, I wander over with my posse in tow who again surrounds all of us. So there we are just chatting and Mackie whips out these scones wrapped up in a palm leaf and tells me to eat one and that it is quote, unquote, “Good”. So I take a small bite (lesson learned), and just as I’m chewing it, Eden blurts out, “Mackie’s had half an ant in it”. I immediately want to hurl, but I cant move out of fear and due to the fact that around 400 kids stand as obstacles in my way to the trash can. So I helplessly look around and finally just settle on loosing my cookies—or in this case, scone—on the ground in the middle of this sea of children who are staring. In an attempt to alleviate my fears about having just masticated an insect, we rip open my remaining scone and find what Eden claims as poop, but from what Mackie deducts, is a bug. I instantly lean over and gag myself more to ensure that not one part of that scone remains in me, while Mackie tries to give the bug-infested confection to one of the kids! Oh sick. Even writing it makes me feel queasy. I mimic Goldie Hawn when she helplessly says, “I just, ate a bug”. Poor Goldie.
Other than the horrific scone incident, the food here has been surprisingly good. Probably due to the fact that everything is cooked in a vat of oil. My body is definitely having a problem adjusting. I just keep telling myself that as long as I don’t know how it is made I don’t need to freak out. Ya right, tell me that when my pants won’t fit… Judith is just great though, she cooks us anything we can think of eating, and it is delicious. She even made Eden try fish, which I think she would have liked if she could have a) seen what she was eating and b) didn’t have to pull out the bones, or fearfully look for the eyeball on her plate. I have found a new love, and that love is called jackfruit. I will now and forever be in love with it. The only thing I can compare it to is the most delicious starburst you have ever tasted, but in fruit form. It is delicious. I think due to the fact that I’m not in control of what I eat, my panic attacks about food are coming more frequently now. During one of these episodes today, we were all sitting at the kitchen table talking and I couldn’t think of anything to contribute to the conversation except for one solid statement. I just threw my head back, thrust my arms open and said, “I’m funny because I’m fat!” Now, normally this statement wouldn’t have been that funny, but good ol’ Jane just says, “ You are not so fat Kylee”. Eden started laughing so hard she feel straight off her chair on the other side of the table. Thanks Jane. It seems as though the dinner table and dinnertime in general bring out the worst in Eden and I. Our inappropriate orphan jokes seem to be a visitor at every meal. Mine are not so much jokes, but I don’t think I’m supposed to sing Annie at every meal. It’s a hard-knock life for us. No one cares for you a smidge when you’re in an orphanage. Like these things are probably left unsaid… But what really took the gold was when Eden and I were trying to figure out if Judith was done using our lamp in the kitchen (during one of the many pitch black nights). We poked our heads in through the doorway and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of my favorite orphans helping in the corner and waved, and later on when I was talking about Annette (the orphan) Eden goes, “Annette? When did you see her?” And I said, “She was in the kitchen helping Judith with the dishes against the back, didn’t you see her?” All Eden says is, “Haha no.. But you could see how I would be confused…”. Oh Eden, there is a special place in Hell for people like us.
I think I saved talking about the actual orphans for last because this could easily be the longest section of the blog yet. Anyways, when we got here on Saturday night it was around 9:30 and we pulled into the compound and the kids were all waiting outside for us. So we jumped out of the car & I felt like a celebrity being attacked by the paparazzi. It was unreal. People were screaming and crying and just wanting us to touch their hand or say hello. I’m like fine, touch my hand if you must… And they all greet you by saying “You are welcome!” And I’m thinking well isn’t that a bit forward, I just met you and you’re already assuming I’m thankful.. And then others greet you by saying, “Sank you” (Thank you African style). Sank you? I wasn’t aware we were playing battleship… I’m instantly tempted to grab two children and say, “Sank you meet you’re welcome”. What a lovely pair. We got up on Sunday to go play with the kids and we got up to where they stay and they were all waiting for us to show us their performance. They danced and sang the cutest songs about how happy they were to have volunteers and friends come help them. Ah!!! We filmed the whole thing! It was the cutest thing ever. Then once they were done, they all just crowded around us and stared. Waiting for us to entertain them. I’m like looking from the kids to Eden and back to the kids, “How bout some J. Bieber?” This could be the one and only time I will ever say this, but for the time being I am grateful for girls camp songs that I cannot ever forget. We sat surrounded in a circle and started by teaching them the Macarena. The Macarena? They want to have Americans teach them something American and we bust out the Macarena. That’s not even American. Whoops? But then we taught them head, shoulders, knees and toes in English and then they taught us it in Kumam. We thought that would more than suffice, but whenever we stop moving or talking they would just shuffle in closer and stare. So for my sanity and my newfound problem with claustrophobia, we would start riddling off another insane children’s song. The Hokey Pokey, Little Sally Walker, and in complete desperation, The Boot Scootin’ Boogie. Let us all take a moment to visualize this.

>>>One Mississippi
>>>Two Mississippi

Alright moment over. If at first it doesn’t appear that funny let me tell you something that will. I dig through the bag my mom packed for me to find something to entertain them and what to I find? A football. Lets talk about my football knowledge.

……
……

Good talk. So, I find myself in my running shoes staring at this football and back at the kids. Okay you take this football--no don’t kick it. And you, you crouch down like this and hike it through your legs. Eden come here, I need a defensive lineman. Okay so Michael you try to tackle Eden—yes she is a girl, but don’t think of her as one right now. And I’ll be the receiver, so Agrid (or Hagrid as we like to call him) you are the quarterback and you catch the ball—look left, look right—find me, and then throw it to me. Got it? Okay so down…Set…Hike… And just like that, the game of football was born. An hour later after the teams had expanded and I was now being pursued by fast black children and Eden, we are covered in dirt and manure (Hagrid banked left which led me into the manure swamp, tricky tricky Hagrid). Needless to say we give the Packers a run for their money.
I think Gabby belongs in Africa—for the obvious reasons, but also because none of the children wear clothes here. Like I’m desensitized to all the nakedness (both adult and child) that I’ve seen here. Eden gets so frustrated because every time I see someone naked I always laugh as she whips around the try and see it. Every time I see a naked human, 4 mosquitoes bite Eden. She now has around 40 bites, clearly winning the race to malaria. They aren’t just bites on her though, they are more like welts all over her body. Like how does one get a mosquito bite on your butt? Beats me. I think we are becoming the entertainment of the guesthouse though, every night as we sit in the darkness wondering if tonight will be the night that the generator works, we sing a collection of our favorite songs--at the tops of our lungs. T. Swift, Spice Girls, Bieb, Mariah. You name it, we sing it. If we don’t know the words, we make them up. We got up after the night of our first concert and Mackie goes, “Do you guys have a karaoke machine in your room that you’re using?” Eden and I just sit and laugh.
We are getting fat. It’s the plain and simple truth. But what’s a girl to do when the only thing you can eat is fried? By some twist of fate I brought my yoga mat and Mackie has her mat here as well so everyday after school we suit up and bend away. Eden fortunately has never done yoga so needless to say I have to stand behind her so she can’t see me laugh. On Tuesday we were in child’s pose. Child’s pose, easy enough right. Well Eden, being the over achiever that she is, looks up in between her hands to correct her arms and misjudges just how far away from the ground her head actually is, and smacks it against the cement ground. And hard. Like the shot heard around the world loud sounding. Then without skipping a beat pops into downward dog and acts like nothing happened. Mackie and I couldn’t stop laughing that we had to start the whole session over again like 20 minutes later after we had a while to cope. Mackie probably thinks that we are two idiots that somehow landed ourselves in Africa as a joke. We sing, we dance, we steal things. Okay, I stole that from Jason Mraz. But who can take two girls seriously when we open our suitcase and the first things that come out of our bags are two giant posters of Justin Bieber… Sorry?
We again almost died on our way to Soroti. Mackie says that while we are here we are allowed to be a ‘cupcake’ about a few things. Call me crazy, but the only thing I’m a cupcake about so far is paved roads. And showers. And bugs. And bug nets. And food. And air conditioning.

Okay, so I’ve only been here for a week. Sue me.