February 7, 2011 by Jeff.

Just about every four or five days I hit a mental wall. I can’t take the isolation and loneliness any more. Then something happens that picks me right back up. I meet a potential new friend in the village. I talk to someone about a new project. Sometimes it’s as simple as taking a trip into Mbarara and finding a package in the mail.

Thanks to those who have sent something. It really does make life out in the country a bit more bearable. Months ago Becca sent me a package with rockstar stickers … err, Jonas Brother stickers. I put a few select stickers on my phone and have a constant reminder of my live in Boston every time I check the time. Maps from home adorn the walls in my sit & stare room.

This weekend was a mzungu weekend. I travelled to Fort Portal and then stopped in Kasese on the way back to see some fellow volunteers. It was good to reconnect, get ideas for projects, and give advise for others. I wore my new jeans with some of my favorite t-shirts all weekend — what a release. However, my greatest joy as you might expect is in forging relationships with nationals.

If I do nothing else, I’d love to create a few life-long friendships. Those are in the making. As I wrote before, physicality between men is open and understood. More importantly, emotional intimacy is also somewhat easy to achieve over many months. I have found great trust and honesty in these relationships. The stories I hear sometimes break my heart. It’s not just travails of poverty but also of love, broken hearts, and assault.

Last week I had the opportunity to redesign the bank’s front office:

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January 26, 2011 by Jeff.

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January 26, 2011 by Jeff.

A century ago 90 percent of Uganda was covered by natural vegetation. Today the only forests that remain are relegated to a few parks, under constant threat of encroachment from farmers, ranchers, and oil explorers. Additionally, most Ugandans still use wood as their main fuel source for cooking. You might see a problem here. The government of Uganda has set up a program where a family can get a grant for up to half the material cost of a new biogas plant. Methane from cow or human feces is burned to cook food. Its the circle of life. My neighbor took advantage.

Apparently the way this works is that the methane gas pushes liquified manure into the expansion chamber and then as gas escapes to the kitchen, manure rushes back in to maintain pressure. My friend Kyle might be able to explain this better.

Here are some pictures of the project.

The former kitchen:

Excavation and site prep:

Construction of the digester and expansion chamber:

Backfilled and connected:

The new kitchen:
<> *camera stolen

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December 21, 2010 by Jeff.

Here in Uganda men hold hands quite often. It’s a common sign of friendship and surprisingly cute. Before today, I’d only engaged in this behavior sparingly and briefly. Yet this all changed when my barber took me on a tour of Mbarara this afternoon and wouldn’t let go. I caught quite a few people doing a double take, looking up at our faces and then down to our clenched hands. Apparently this social activity is viewed a bit different when your skin contrasts as distinctly as his and mine. All the same, it didn’t feel all that odd to me. Ever notice when you are holding someone’s hand that the rest of the world seems to fade? There is a bit of focus that one feels even in a handshake. Next time your hand whisks by your friend’s, grab hold. Skip if you want to.

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December 19, 2010 by Jeff.

Woke up this morning. Grabbed my empty jerry can and walked to the neighbor’s cistern to fetch rain water to brew my morning coffee. It was dry. Too much of this vital water source has been diverted to help fill the digester of the new bio gas plant adjacent to the kitchen. More on that project later. So, I asked about alternate water sources. There is piped water from the hills and the neighbors indicated that the closest tap is in the village, perhaps 1k from our homes. I walked to the village with my brave 20L jerry can only to find a dozen or so containers lined up in from of the spicket. One of the children hid and cried as the ladies replied to my greeting. I was close to tears myself 2 hours later having only filled my can with 5L of water and feeling the need to ready myself for church. [I’m being a bit dramatic here.] I wore my newly made tunic, which of course brightened my mood. Let me skip past the rest of the day. You see, at church people spoke, prayed, and sang in Runyankore. At the gospel concert that afternoon, the same + political speeches. [It might be hard to comprehend just how isolating it can be to live in such a remote area without a common language.] In between I chatted with the brothers who live next store — Ben and Kenneth, 25 and 17 — who both speak a bit of English. They seem to enjoy the sporadic conversations in which we engage. Yet now I sit on the edge of my bed, eating a bowl of delicious rice and beans with a plastic fork. I refuse to wash my dishes with the pond water I hauled up the hill this afternoon. Let it rain.

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