Doug's Post: Friday, July 6th

“This…is…Africa,” I heard Robert mutter softly. We were trying to maneuver a beat up Toyota down an 8 foot wide red dirt “road” riddled with foot deep gulleys. Lining the path were shanties made of block, cardboard and a little metal. Six little kids, half naked, stood in a muddy patch of a yard next to one of the shacks, smiling, laughing, and waving at us.

Robert is a Ugandan working with one of the foundations helping orphans. We had just left the OTD orphanage house in a slum on the east side of Kampala. It was of better construction than the shacks, having concrete walls and floors and a metal roof that only leaked a little. I counted 3 light bulbs. The toilet flushed, but the shower and faucets were shut off because the pipes leaked too much. Water for bathing and cooking was drawn from a faucet rigged up under the water tank out back. The mammies cook meals for the twenty some kids on a charcoal burner made out of an old car wheel and re-bar. This is Africa.

The need here is so severe, so pervasive. Crushing. Grinding. Crippling poverty. I’m a smartguy- “I can fix anything” type. But here I don’t even know where to begin. There is so little infrastructure, no tools, no money, no materials. I get a lump in my throat and a knot in stomach. Maybe if I can approach it one pipe, one person, one kid at a time…This is Africa.

The Ugandans we’ve met are the most friendly, generous people I’ve ever encountered. There are few street signs in Kampala, so we get lost about 4 times a day. When you ask someone for directions they not only stop what they’re doing and give you directions, but they insist on taking you there. They deliver you to the destination, shake your hand, say “You are most welcome” and walk away, wanting nothing in return. One guy walked us 8 blocks out of his way and, as we walked, sang songs for us that he had written. Upon arriving, I thanked him and pressed a few coins in his hand. He looked at me like I was crazy and laughed. Fearing I had insulted him, I apologized & suggested he buy a little breakfast & coffee for himself. He said he was not insulted, but did not want anything. And then said “you are most welcome”. This is Uganda.

There are over 1000 species of birds in Uganda, a country about the size of Oregon. I bought a bird book two days ago, and have been trying to I.D. birds. I sit on the balcony outside our room in the little guesthouse we’re staying at in Central Kampala and watch the birds land in the stand of Acacias below our hotel. Elizabeth’s started calling me Birdman. So far, I’ve seen Dark Chanting Goshawks, Glossy Ibises, Maribou storks, Great Grey herons, Pied crows, numerous Bee-eaters, and Silvery beaked Turacos. The Turaco is a weird looking long black bird, with bright red underside and what appears to be a second upside down beak on top of its main beak. Its song sounds like a monkey’s. All of this in the middle of a chaotic, gritty city of 1.2 million people. This is Africa.

Coincidentally, 1.2 million is the estimated number of orphans under 15 years of age in this country of 27 million. This is Africa.