Leave it to the Ugandans

Saturday was my last official program as an LEU member. We had a mass teacher training in the next big city over, Jinja, sponsored by a member of parliament, Honorable Fred. There were just the four of us, Erin, Elise, Rachel and I; everyone else had already gone home. Since we were a little short on people, we decided to ask some of our students to help out, three of Rachel’s and my Giants class, one of Elise’s students and one of Erin’s. The training went awesome, with about 120 teachers attending. We divided into two groups with Rachel and I taking half in one room with Ssembuze and Robert. I did one half hour lecture, and then Ssembuze and Robert handled the rest. I didn’t even need to be there. The coolest part of the whole day came when we ran out of chalk and I had to run to the other classroom to grab some more. I left Ssembuze teaching in our room and when I got to the other classroom, Fahadie, one of our other students, was teaching there. Elise and Erin weren’t needed; Rachel and I weren’t needed. The Ugandans had it handled; the Mzungus can leave now.

Freedom

A lot has happened. The day after my last blog, Rachel and I went to observe some of our teachers’ classes, just to see how they were applying the things we were teaching. One of the classes was actually a deaf school, being taught by a stern, almost grouchy old man named Mohammed. At one point during the lesson, a lady came in and announced, “I need your two smartest students.” Mohammed looked up from where he was helping a student and said, “They are all smart,” and went back to his student. The lady laughed and said, “Yes but I need your two smartest, one boy and one girl.” Mohammed, not even looking up, said, “They are all smart.” She left.

We finished up our Giants class about a week ago, which was said and inspiring at the same time. Ssembuze’s (that’s how you spell his name I found out) oral was awesome. When I asked him what he was going to do when we left, he said he was going to enlighten others. “You know, it’s not easy to help others to come out of the cave (he’d read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave a couple days before), but I have to do it. And I can do it.”

The next day we went to one of our Bweyo classes, which ended up being canceled. Flexibility is one of the most important virtues to have in Africa; life becomes so much less frustrating. So instead of teaching, we played football (soccer) with the students there. It was Rachel with about twenty girls against me with eight guys. My team one, mainly because the girls couldn’t decide if they were going to play football, or stand around and giggle. Some of our students were watching us, and in the back of my head it occurred to me that maybe what we were doing didn’t mesh with their idea of a teacher’s dignity. But then the ball flew towards my goal, and I was occupied with more important matters. On the way back to Mukono something slightly funny and slightly creepy occurred. But it requires a little background information. In the culture here, it is totally normal for guys who are good friends to hold hands. Totally fine, they don’t even think about it. So it’s something I’ve had to get use to, and I actually had gotten good at swallowing my initial repulsion and accepting that they weren’t saying what was coming across to me. I’ve actually gotten so used to it, that I’m a little worried about my image when I get back home. But to return to my story, one of the taxi station guys comes up and shakes my hand. And then holds my hand. And then strokes my hand. Yes, strokes. Uncomfortable, and funny at the same time, cause he was oblivious to what was going on, whereas I, with my American preconceptions about what it means when you stroke someone’s hand, was longing to put my hand in my pocket. About thirty seconds later when I had to play Rachel’s boyfriend, I wasn’t sure if it was for her protection, or mine.

Last Saturday we had a graduation for our students. It was a great day. Baker from one of my Bweyo classes promised to “keep the candle burning,” which I have no doubt that he will. It was so neat to see, not only my students, but also all of the students together, fifty or sixty people that are dedicated to making Uganda better through teaching. The best part of the whole day came when I walked Ssembuze and Robert and several other students to the library we’ve set up. It was the first time for both of them to be there. As they looked through the books, Ssembuze found something that caught his interest. They’ve been studying The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and both them absolutely have loved it. I was standing just outside the door when I heard Ssembuze’s voice, “Eeh!!” I looked in and saw him running/dancing/hopping over to where Robert stood. “Robert!” he called excitedly, presenting the book he’d found, “Look, the 8^th Habits!” Yes, Ssembuze, it hasn’t ended. It doesn’t ever end.

I come home in a week. Standing high on the hill of retrospection, I ask myself what it is that I’ve done with my time here. I came here with only a vague idea of what I was getting myself into; I was going to be teaching leadership education. And I have; I’ve taught it till I was blue in the face, and then came back the next day to do it again. I’ve had some good classes, and some bad classes and some classes that have changed my life. Yesterday as I was sitting in the class that Robert and Ssembuze have been teaching together, my mind wandered and began to coalesce everything I’ve taught this summer, all the knowledge I’ve shared, all truth I’ve imparted into its basic, fundamental essence, such that if I was asked what I’d been doing all summer, what was important enough to sacrifice this fall’s lunch money, I'd be able to give an intelligent answer. I asked myself if I’d done any good. And looking into the eyes of one of the teachers as she struggled with a difficult question, but fought to answer it herself, I found the answer. I didn’t come here to teach, though what I taught was valuable. I came here to ask them two questions, or rather, to ask them to ask themselves those questions: why and how. Why are things the way they are? How can I make them better? Simple? Yes, like all things that are true. But nothing has been more awesome then to see my students slowly become liberated from dependence; to see the change in their eyes when they stopped asking me questions, and started asking themselves. I saw them become free.

Simulation

Day 64. 30 days left and counting. Can’t believe how fast this is going, one of my classes ends next week (Giants, which is sad) and the other two end the week after that. It’s crunch time.
This week has been good; Rachel and I had the best class we’ve ever had on Tuesday. It was at Giants (no surprise there). We’d just gone over Habit 6 from the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, which is synergy, so we wanted to create a situation where they could experience some. This called for my favorite thing in the whole wide world (or one of them): a simulation. We walked into class Tuesday looking somber. We engaged in a little small talk before we started, but we remained reserved. Some of the members were late, but instead of starting I said, “Let’s wait. There’s something important I need to talk with you about, and I want everyone to be here.” When they’d arrived, I started. “I don’t know how to really say this,” I began, “But the administration wants to shut us down. They don’t feel like these classes are beneficial to you as teachers; basically they think you’re wasting you’re time here. They’ve given us one chance. If we can write a mission statement (they’d all had practice writing personal mission statements from Habit 2) for this class that explains the purpose of this class and why it’s beneficial to you I think they’ll let us keep going. But the catch is that Rachel and I can’t help, they want to know what you think, not what we think.” I let that sink in for a minute. They all looked stunned, like I’d slapped them across the face. Robert shook his head and said, “It’s simple; we can do it.” But he looked like he’d just been hit by a truck. Sambuze looked like he was about to cry. Godfrey was the first to recover, he busted out is notebook and started asking specifically what was needed in the mission statement and writing notes, getting organized. That sparked Sambuze out of his daze and he said, “Ok, we need to appoint a secretary.” I was so proud of them. But I wasn’t done. “Everyone take a deep breath. This is a simulation.” Up to that point the tension in the room was palpable. When I said that though, they all smiled and started laughing with relief. But I got back on them, “Take what you felt when you thought this was real, and use it, cause this is real. You have an hour. We’ll be outside. Godfrey, you’re chairman.” They had an hour (an hour and ten minutes actually, they asked for an extension and I decided to give it to them [hint-hint, Mr. Jensen, stop ending simulations early!]), and they did it. There was something of each of them in it, and they’d come together on all of it; not a single word did any of them feel unsure about. They were-and are-all behind it. I wanted so bad to be in there, to experience it with them, but I know my presence would be a distraction; this was something they had do on their own. The debrief was awesome, I wish I had enough time to describe it all to you. Just briefly, they talked about how at first, everyone wanted their own ideas, their own words, basically their own document. But they knew they needed one, so they pulled together, looking at their differences of opinions as opportunities rather than problems, and slowly, steadily, they forged together. They listened; they understood; they thought; they grew. I was so proud of them. The highlight came from Godfrey. “When you put me in charge, I didn’t think I could do it. But I can. I can.”

You want a title? Fine, here's a title.

It’s been a little bit since I wrote last, I’ll do my best to catch you all up. You remember the Kianna kid? Well, I keep running into him everywhere. Walking along the main road here I hear “Ben! Magala Ben! How are you?” I turn around, and it’s Kianna. Seen him several times, he seems to be everywhere. And apparently he’s been talking about me, cause everywhere I go, small children know my name. Everywhere, and I don’t even know them. What’s really funny is now I have adults coming up to me who know my name, and I have no clue who they are. I’m the most popular Mzungu on the block, and it’s pretty sweet. The kids are great. The other day during my daily trip down to the well, I taught a bunch of kids how to play tag. Little difficult when none of them spoke English, but they were smart kids and they caught on quick. Another group of kids walks Rachel and I to our Giants class; it started with two, and then today about 8-10 trekked along with us. But along with the innocent side of African life, there’s the not so innocent. Walking along with the kids and us there was a creepy old guy intent on being Rachel’s boyfriend. After hearing him declare that he “wanted and really liked” Rachel, I engaged him in a conversation about the weather, which was basically a nice way of telling him to get lost, which he got. That would have been a gloomy note to end the day on, but fortunately we still had Giants. After class our students told us how much the class had meant to them, how it had changed them. Robert told how he had used what he’d learned to repair a relationship with his boss; Godfrey has started paying so much attention to his kids that his wife has asked, “Why have the children stopped coming to me with questions and they now go to you?” Debra swears that she is in serious danger of “loving her students too much.” It’s such a blessing for Rachel and I to hear that what we’re doing is making a difference. People like this can change this country for better; to paraphrase Sambuze, they just need persistence. And Sambuze’s the most persistent guy I know.
The ultimate goal of LEU (Leadership Education Uganda, the organization I’m here with) was to get the teachers we’ve taught to start teaching the classes we’ve taught them to others. That began this week as Robert and Sambuze started a new TJEd class at Premier academy, a class that Sambuze set up. I’ve been attending just to observe and help in any way I can, and I’ve never been more inspired. Their class went superbly, far better than the same class had gone when I’d been the one teaching. Pretty soon, they won’t even need me any more, which is the point. Ha ha (victorious laugh) I love it. It’s awesome.

The Fourth

And so another week has come and gone. Crazy wierd! Time's flying so fast, I can hardly believe it. If it keeps up like this I'll be home before I know it.
We get our water from the rain here; it collects on the roof and runs into a big huge storage tank. So when it's rainy, we have water; when it's dry, like it has been recently, we have to walk down the hill to get water at the well. It's become kind of a daily occurance, either in the morning or evening we all trek down with our jerry cans (5 or 6 gallon jugs, kind of like giant gas jugs) and fill up. During the course of this I've had several interesting encounters. Walked down one time with a small boy (maybe 8 or 9) named Timothy who spoke probably the best english I've heard here. He found it amusing that he spoke my language while I did not speak his. So I asked him to teach me. "I cannot teach you," he said, "for even if I taught you 100 words a day, you would forget them all!" I finally prevailed upon him to teach me one word, entay, which means cow. After I had mastered this word, he told me, "You know mzungu, I think I could teach you my language if you came and lived with me, but unfortunately you cannot." I don't know many 9 year old Americans who can use words like unfortunately, so hearing him pull it out and use it correctly threw me. Smart little guy, unfortunately, I haven't seen him since.
Another time I met a high school age guy who began by asking me about American politics. But it wasn't long before he got to what he really wanted to know. "Tell me, do you know Arnold Shwartznigger (spelling? I have no idea) or Van Damme?" Boys will be boys, whether in Africa or America.
Couple days ago I raced a kid named Kianna down to the well. Next day he showed up again, him and about twenty of his friends. As I waited my turn for the well, we started talking. Before it was over, we'd swapped songs (my country music for their Luganda songs), dances (I taught them some swing, but had to use a guy to demonstrate, the girls were too shy), they taught me some football (soccer) using a discarded margarine tub and I taught them some wrestling, using Kianna. All in all I learned alot, and even got invited back to their school to practise more football.
But I haven't just been making friends with the kids. Sambuze, one of the guys from our Giants class, is fast becoming my African brother. He even adopted me into his clan and gave me a name: Magala Ben of the Lugave clan. It's awesome. He's one of our best students, so excited and passionate and so dedicated to helping his students learn. Which includes me, he's been coming over every Sunday and teaching me Luganda, using notes he writes up and a Luganda Bible I found in one of the stores. It's great. By the time I come back I might actually know something.
All in all, it's not so much different from home. Poorer in some ways, richer in others, greener and definitely more humid, but the people are just people. There's some good, some bad. Selfishness, and then outstanding examples of self-sacrifice. Are there problems, course there are! Problems are a necessary ingredient of the human condition. And there's some people who look away and try to pretend problems don't exist, and some who roll up their sleeves and tackle them. Granted we could use some more of the latter here, just like we could in the States. But I look in the eyes of my students when they say things like "Yeah, we can change. And it starts with us." and I can't help but have hope. As long as there's people like that, there's always hope for a better future. We can change. But only when we decide to. It starts with us. Happy Fourth of July!

An invisible hand?

As I type up my thoughts this evening, I’m listening to the final perfection of the evolution of music. I didn’t plan for that, in fact, I didn’t bring any music over with me. On purpose anyway. The way it ended up with me is kind of an amazing story, howbeit a simple one. It all started last August when I was preparing to move down to Cedar City to attend George Wythe College. I needed a laptop, preferably a cheap one. Thankfully, some one invented Ebay, and I was able to find something that fit my needs and my pocketbook. I purchased it about a week before I moved; as such, I had it mailed directly to my Cedar City address. It arrived, and I learned why it was so cheap; it had everything, except a cd drive. Until that moment, I didn’t even know that they made laptops like mine. It did however have a USB port and I had a flash drive. I transferred my music to my flash and thence to my laptop. It worked perfectly. I then forgot completely about the music on my flash drive until it was plugged into our laptop here and began playing music. And Africa, which was already awesome, became better as the air was filled with the sweet strains of country music. The failure of a certain Ebay member to mention that the laptop they were selling was missing a vital part of its anatomy put events in motion that enabled me to have country music in Africa. Coincidence? Maybe. Except I don’t believe in coincidence.
On Saturday I taught a class to roughly forty African high-schoolers. It was kind of spur of the moment; we were supposed to be doing the second day of a two day program with about forty other African high-schoolers. They were, however, taking an exam, so the school administration gave us new kids. We ended up playing hangman, finally coming to the word leader. What, and more importantly, who is a leader, I asked them. They started with the obvious, government leaders. By the time they left, they had the beginnings of a slightly different perspective: they were leaders; leaders of their own lives today and of society tomorrow. The future movers and shakers of Africa were sitting in that dirty, rundown schoolroom with me. All it takes is their choice.
Tuesday I met individually with one of my students, something we do regularly, just to know if we can do anything to help mentor them more effectively. He expressed two things to me. “Ben,” he said, “I feel the need to take what I have learned here and teach it in my home. We have many schools and churches there, and they don’t know about leadership education, and they need to. I don’t know how I’m going do it, where I’m going to get the money to go over there. But I know I need to, and I will do it. Somehow.” Not content with simply knowing himself, he needed to share what he had learned, how he had changed. I know the feeling; it burns inside of me. But he had another dream, “I used to write, articles, papers, actually I started a novel. I would like to finish. Can we work on my writing? I would like that actually.” This is where I find out whether or not I learned anything at college. For the sake of my students I sure hope I did.
How did I end up here? It’s a question I ask myself often. A white boy from Wyoming teaching leadership classes to Ugandan high-schoolers and mentoring a teacher in his writing. Random. Even more than the circumstances that led to my having music during my stay here. Over a year and a half ago a teacher at Northwest wrote on a paper of mine, “Ben, you should join forensics. Talk to me.” Before that, I would never have been able to stand in front of anyone and teach anything. Six months later another man said something that altered the course of my life again, “Ben, money should never be the reason you don’t do something you believe is right.” And before I knew it I found myself accepted to George Wythe College and preparing to move to Cedar City (which, incidentally precipitated my buying a laptop, which is why I’m listening to country music right now). Coincidence? Don’t believe in them. Adam Smith said that there was an invisible hand guiding economics. Maybe that invisible hand is really guiding our lives.
So Africa is good. Life is good. God is good. Chipates are dang good. You all should come over and try some. Till then, take care all.

Attack of the warthogs!!

Sorry about that last rushed post, but the wild African savannah was calling my name and I just couldn't remain in civilization any longer. The safari was great; we spent three days and two nights in Murchison Falls National Park. Crocodiles, hippos, elephants, giraffes, about a million different types of deer like creatures, warthogs (more on them later); we even saw a leopard almost attack a herd of antelope, but he got stage fright at the last minutes. The warthogs were all over our base camp, literally. There was this old guy who basically spent the first day curled up to my tent sleeping. They pretty much left us alone, except for this one momma. After the morning safari on the second day, I'm trying to get back into my tent, and she's sitting there guarding it. I try to go around her to get in, and she charges me, sort of. More like threatened me. So I went to take a shower instead, cause these warthogs weren't no lovey, cuddlely Pumbas. Took lots of pictures (like 1000) so I'll post some on here as soon as I have a way of doing that, which means as soon as I get back to the states, which means two months. Sorry.Speaking of showers though, that was honestly one of the best parts of the trip: running water. Our place in Mukono doesn't have a shower, we take sponge baths in a little tub. And then about two weeks ago our water ran out, so we've been hauling it from a well that's down below our house. Which I actually don't mind at all, it's just another great part of this whole experience, but having showers available for those three days was heaven. The food wasn't, however. I've been enjoying the African food a bunch, and there they served-or tried to serve-American food. They should have stuck with the local foods. Seriously, the food here is amazing. Least I like it. Staples are rice, beans, matooke (which is boiled plantain bannanas, which is kinda like mashed potatoes), and chipates (African tortillas, way good). Once in a while we'll eat chicken or beef; Irish potatoes are pretty common too. It's good eatin'.Anyway, like I said I'm teaching three classes now; two at Muslim primary schools (basically elementary) and one at a secondary (high) school just down the road from our place. The two Muslim classes we're working out of Thomas Jefferson Education, and the secondary (the schools name is Giants) is going through 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. But I'm not just teaching; I'm learning too. One guy from the Muslim school is teaching some of us Islam Tuesdays and Thursdays; it's so interesting. Another guy named Samuel Sambuze from my Giants class is going to start mentoring me in Lugandan, the local language. I found a Bible about a week ago and I've been struggling through it on my own, but he offered to spend an hour or so on Sundays reading it with me. I'm way excited for that. Life's good. Take care all.