Well last week was a pretty standard week in the office in Kampala. Worked on some things that needed to get done before coming to Soroti this week to run some workshops with fistula survivors, community volunteers, and retired district leaders/law enforcement officers. On Friday, I met up with a friend from OSU who was in Uganda visiting his girlfriend, now fiance. He's been in Uganda about a month but arrived shortly before I headed to Soroti the first time so we never got the chance to meet up. We decided to meet on Friday and so I went with Eric and Irene to the Ndere Cultural Center. We watched a dance troupe do traditional dances from different tribes and regions of Uganda. It was entertaining and SO NICE to have a social outing. They kept asking what I do at night, where I've gone, what I've done, etc...and they were pretty shocked when I said I really haven't been doing anything social because I live with my preceptor and her family and traveling alone as a young white woman isn't really the safest. Anyways, I got to hear about the whole ordeal of Eric going to meet Irene's family in the village and the traditional way of requesting a hand in marriage. It was a big deal...and this wasn't even the formal "introduction." I also got to hear about his bout with malaria and how just a week ago he almost died as the care he was getting at the first hospital was so incredibly horrible that they had to leave with IV drip in hand and jump on a boda and get to another hospital. When he arrived his blood pressure was so low and he was so sick that it was a bit frightening to hear about. Then the rest of the evening and next day I was all of a sudden concerned with malaria whereas before I figured sure it stinks to get it but you won't die...well  not true, which I guess I knew but somehow I think I'm invincible. Anyways, back to the evening. So we come out of the show and I know exactly where we are because we pass there on almost a daily basis. And so we flag down some bodas and I tell Irene we want to go that way...but since I wasn't sure of the names of different places and I had told her Kira (which was right but unfortunately there are many different places "Kira" could be), she was certain that we had to go back the other way. So we arrive back in Ntinda (a section of Kampala I've come to know fairly well as it's where the office is) and I say ok, we need to go this way. And Eric and Irene both insist that we hop on a matutu going to Kira Rd. And they also say they are certain that once we arrive, I will know where I'm at. I say well ok I guess so and we hop in. I should've stuck with what I knew. Anyways, we get out a little while later and Eric says, well the good news is we're in your neighborhood. Can you get us home from here? And I said, well unfortunately yes I know exactly where we are and it is no where near where we want to be. So we start walking back. Catch a matatu back to where we came from (and went this "short cut" way through back "streets" and were a bit confused until another passenger assured us we were indeed going to Ntinda). So then I tell them the way we need to go and we start walking and Eric says, do you always walk to work? And I said oh um no it's still far from here...aren't we catching more bodas? They were a bit hesitant because bodas are more expensive than public transportation (matatus) but it's harder to navigate on a matatu when you're crammed into the seats and can't tell where you are or where you're going or when you should get off. So I assured them I would pay for the bodas. Because at this point it was after 10 pm and Irene had called Alice and told her I was confused because it was dark. So now I was worried that Alice was worried when there was no reason to be other than the fact I was out riding bodas all around town at 10 pm. Anyways, we finally flag some down and the drivers all laugh at us as Irene is insisting on lower rates. I however knew just how far they would have to be traveling and knew that they weren't being entirely unreasonable. Somewhat, yes, but not entirely. Anyways, long story short (or not so short at this point), we finally made it home. I think Irene and Eric were a little shocked about how far it was, I paid the drivers, gave Eric extra money to get home, and collapsed into bed. Except not tired probably due to the adrenaline of the past 2 hours attempting to get back home.

Saturday was a nice relaxing day at home. Didn't leave all day but just hung out with the kids as Alice and Livingstone were out, did some report writing so that when my internship report is due to OSU the day I get back in the country I will hopefully have already completed it,  and read a lot. I brought a deck of cards with me so now the favorite activity is as soon as I get home and they've given me 5 minutes to breathe, the kids come knocking asking if I want to play a game. We've been playing a lot of go fish. I can't get over when Emma says, "Auntie Lauren, do you have ace?"...because ace is not pronounced ace here...the way the vowels are pronounced entirely change the meaning of what he's asking me. And yes, I do laugh every time.

Sunday, Alice and Livingstone went to the village and I was to wait for the driver and take the kids to church. At breakfast, Alvine ate 7 sausages. When I say sausages, I mean 8 inch long hot dogs. I was a little disgusted. And disturbed. Because she is encouraged in her appetite and unhealthy consumption of certain things. Oh well what can you do. Well church was at 10. Driver came around 10:30. So we went to church an hour late. Flexibility. That's what it's called I guess. Or I guess that's what I have to learn to be while here. In the afternoon we went to their aunt's house for a small gathering as she was confirmed/baptized earlier that day and then Alice, Livingstone, and I went to a show at Theater La Bonita. It was...interesting. It was entertaining from what I could gather but at the same time, it went from 7-11 and was mainly in Luganda. The little English that was thrown in and just context clues were enough to help me get most of it. But, it was an interesting experience to see what shows/movies are like here. It's a combination thing...some of it takes place on the screen, some takes place on the stage. It was kind of neat the way it was meshed together. So we come out of the show exhausted and knowing we still need to pack because we're scheduled to leave in the morning for Soroti. And the car (that has just returned from the shop) doesn't start. We figure it's because there is no gas. So we pay a guy to push the car so it's facing the other direction down hill and we coast all the way down this big hill and into a gas station. We don't make it to the pump so Livingstone is filling up a gardening can with gas and bringing it over to the car. Well, two cans later and the car still isn't starting. So Livingstone jumps on a boda and goes and gets the car he keeps at his office. We try jumping it. Still no luck. So finally, we all push the car off to the side and go home in the other. We arrive home a little after midnight, pack, and fall into bed.

Monday we get up early and head to the office to get a proposal done and sent before we leave for Soroti at 10. Well by 2 we figured we weren't making it to Soroti as the car was still in the shop from the night before. So instead we just worked all day but somehow it went quickly so I didn't mind. Tuesday morning I woke up to what sounded like plastic bags rustling in my room. I couldn't figure it out at first but finally recognized the sound from other nights...insects flying about. So I carefully get out of bed and turn on the light to find a good number of things flying around. I was wondering what I had done wrong to end up with so many bugs in my room that night. And then I leave my room and realize it's not just my room that has the problem, but the whole house. And then I look outside. And am in absolute shock as to the swarms of white ants that are everywhere. In addition to the white ants, I am greeted by Aidah, who is collecting the white ants to fry up (apparently they're quite "sweet"). Later Emma comes out and helps collect while in his pajamas. As we leave the compound, we see a good 8 children standing at the gate with their little mugs waiting to come in and collect from our house too. It was pretty funny. All these kids collecting and here I was dodging them all morning and keeping my eyes wide open for any that come at me. I think I need to post a few pictures just to get the point across as to how many there were...(I know, of all things in Uganda to post pictures of).

Anyways, we were going to use the public bus to get to Soroti but finally just borrowed a car. And so we piled into the car for the trip. And that's where we are now. In Soroti. That first night Lydia (Alice's niece) and I walked around town and I got stared at. However, we soon discovered I fit in better than she did because she was wearing pants (which women in Soroti don't do) and I was in a skirt. Therefore I was culturally appropriate and therefore I fit in better despite my white skin. Ok maybe not really but it made me feel a little better. It's not like Kampala where it's not AS shocking to see a white person. In Soroti, it's just pretty shocking.

Wednesday we held our first workshop with the home-based maternal health care volunteers. It was an enjoyable day. So nice to be doing something other than office work! And especially nice to meet the men and women who are the front line of TERREWODE, the ones who really make the programs a success. Without them, the organization couldn't do what they do. I don't understand how besides the 5 staff in the office, the rest of the organization is volunteers. I have come to see over the last few days how problematic that is...it's great, but it's also a big issue (which I guess I knew seeing as outside incentive for volunteers to keep going is kind of missing).  I actually wanted to ask the volunteers at this particular workshop what kept them motivated. I should have. But I think just by listening to their perspectives on things and the issues they were bringing up made it clear enough. They are just passionate about the work. Passionate about maternal and child health. Passionate about restoring the dignity to these women. That's all I can come up with. You have to be passionate to continue volunteering for something like this. The HBMHC volunteers are the ones who go house to house looking for fistula patients. They are the ones who are mainly in charge of patient identification and pre-counseling. They also are the ones who are out there promoting basic maternal and child health on a daily basis. Anyways, I led one of the sessions of the workshop--just introducing and briefly going through the right to health and obstetric fistula training manual that I have been working on. When I first got up and started, I said maybe two sentences and then paused and everyone started laughing and someone yelled something out. And so then I'm up front unable to talk because I'm laughing because they're all laughing at me and Stella (TERREWODE staff) comes over and makes me a pointer out of paper so I can use it while I speak...I said, wait, this is what they wanted? I thought for sure they were laughing because they had absolutely no idea what I had just said and they either needed someone to translate my english in to the local language or my english into their accent of english. Instead Stella says, "they say you're speaking like a machine. That's why they laugh." So, now I know, I speak like a machine. I tried to slow down a little after that. I can't master their way of speaking or presenting things. It's so different than ours. I just can't pause every other sentence and say, "are we together?" or "isn't it?" ...nor do I think I will ever be able to say, "and the women's rights are what?"....long pause that I still don't understand if you're actually supposed to answer or just let the suspense build. .."violated". That night Lydia and I went into town for dinner and we were talking earlier about feeling out of place and sticking out and not liking being stared at everywhere I go etc and we're sitting in this little restaurant and in walks 8 mzungus who sit down in the same room as us. So now Lydia is the only Ugandan, she turns to me and whispers, "now I feel like the foreigner." it was funny even though I assured her we were both the foreigners because the other white people weren't from the US.

Thursday was our second workshop with the Dignity Watch Society Forum members. The DWSF is made up of retired professionals--mainly men--in the communities where TERREWODE works. The workshop was vastly different from the first day as the roles and responsibilities of these volunteers are different. The are more there to ensure protection of human rights for women and children. They are to keep their eyes and ears open for human rights violations in the community and do something about it when they occur. It was an interesting day. Not as lively as the first day but a lot of good discussion. The members brought up many case studies from situations they had faced in their communities and were unsure of how to proceed. The day was just full of discussions...brainstorming and dialoguing over what to do in certain situations.

Today (Friday) was the third workshop and it was with the chairpersons of the women's groups. TERREWODE's structure is confusing. Brief explanation: TERREWODE works with the women's groups in the sub-counties of Teso. These women's groups (also have male members) nominate 1 male and 1 female each to represent them as HBMHC volunteers. Then, TERREWODE in conjunction with the women's group have selected 10 influential retired professionals within each subcounty to act as DWSF members. So these are the main groups of volunteers that TERREWODE utilizes, though there are others as well. Anyways, today we had 20 women who are the leaders of their women's groups in their communities. And boy was it ever lively. They were feisty individuals. It was fun. I can see how it would be stressful or overwhelming for TERREWODE as these women know what they want and what they need from TERREWODE in order to do it...they are sincere, wonderful women...but TERREWODE is trying to get them to take more ownership of the programs and to come together as their group and solve some of their own challenges rather than always looking to TERREWODE to just hand them the answers on a silver platter. Resources are a big issue and as frustrating as it is for the women, I'm sure it's even more frustrating to the staff of TERREWODE sitting there listening to them complain about needing this and that. Part of me agrees with them, they are volunteers doing quite a lot of work and it would be nice and wonderful if TERREWODE could meet some of the needs. Because TERREWODE is extremely fortunate to have them. At the same time, I know TERREWODE is working hard to get funds for the programs as well as to try and get the funds for the requests that the women are making.

After the workshop we went to the hospital to visit 2 fistula patients. One was a patient that I had met before when I went several weeks ago. The day I had gone, she was being prepped for surgery in the afternoon. Today, she was doing well and will probably be discharged soon. She was sitting up and seemed strong despite her old age and tiny stature. It was a bit difficult to see her sitting on her plastic mat without any bed sheets. She is a woman who has held on to hope, despite having lived with fistula for 40 years and despite the fact that none of her children could find the time to come assist her in the hospital or even visit. The other woman that was there had had surgery earlier today and you could tell she was a bit uncomfortable and in pain. It was good to see the TERREWODE mamas (founders) and staff interacting with the patients. The TERREWODE staff based in Soroti spend lots of time in the fistula ward of the hospital, acting as caretakers for the women who come without anyone to help them. Some of these women are all alone...and TERREWODE staff are dedicated to the point of sleeping in the wards with the women to attend to their needs. Because in hospitals here, doctors and nurses don't take care of you, you are required to bring someone to do that. In addition, you are to bring your own sheets, your own food, your own cookstove, your own firewood, your own everything. You can imagine how insurmountable this task is for a woman who has been abandoned by her family and isolated from her community, sometimes for decades, because of an injury she attained during childbirth due to cultural practices and a failed health system. Half of the fistula ward was filled with new mothers as the maternity ward was overflowing. We next went to the maternity ward where the beds were packed with women who had just had c-sections. The Soroti hospital is the regional referral hospital so any woman needing a c-section in the region comes there (if they're lucky enough)...and oh my goodness what a heart-wrenching scene. So many women in pain from having just come from surgery. Literally JUST. And I'd imagine pain killers aren't quite abundant. Stella was saying they finish you up and roll you out of the theater into the ward. Stella was explaining to me that the place wasn't too crowded today. Usually, you only get a bed if you had a c-section. If you had a regular delivery, you get the floor. But today, there weren't women on the floor. However, as we left the ward from a side door, there were women with their newborn infants laying on the sidewalks outside...these were those women Stella had been talking about. Those who had delivered normally and who therefore didn't get one of the few beds. I was just in a bit of shock to see the women laying outside on the ground with their tiny new family members as there were no more beds to be had in the ward. What a different world. Alice and Stella kept encouraging me to take pictures and were confused as to why I was so hesitant and uncomfortable doing so. I said if you walked into a hospital in America and just started taking people's pictures, there would be some big problems. They did ask permission for me, but still, it felt a little invasive.

Anyways, another long post. Sorry! Tomorrow we have our last workshop. With fistula survivors. Sunday we're supposed to visit health centers and maybe some women in their villages who are still waiting for treatment. Beyond that, who knows what the schedule is. It constantly changes. Flexibility. Go with the flow. It has been pretty nice just letting go knowing that you just have to do what you're told when you're told to do it and beyond that, you can't be concerned. So even when it's 9:20 and the workshop was supposed to start at 8 am and you're still waiting for your ride to pick you up from the guest house, you just shrug and say there's nothing you can do about it. Anyways, my apologies to anyone who I'm scheduled to meet when I get back...you might want to tell me to meet you an hour or so before you really want to meet. Because I'm getting used to 6 pm meaning 8:30 pm. Ok just kidding, that's one thing the culture hasn't really gotten me on. I'm still chronically ahead of schedule for everything.