the case of the missing camera

Usually, I knew the general whereabouts of the weightiest portion of my daily wardrobe--- my Nikon.  It became like another appendage, either affixed to my hand or hanging from my neck, literally every where we went in Uganda.  But, as was bound to happen at least once a day, Davis would undoubtedly come racing up to me, ask for my camera, and nearly taking my head with him as he yanked the camera strap up and over my hair, would just as quickly be running off in the opposite direction, eagerly snapping photos of some new worthy subject.

However, on this day, as we were walking back to the church after a day of water harvester installations, I looked down expecting my camera to be hanging from my neck (I became so accustomed to its weight I hardly realized I was carrying it most of the time) and discovered... It's not hanging around my neck!  Check the backpack.  Zilch.  Check with the others in my group.  Nada.  Even so, it took just a few seconds for me to determine that I probably hadn't left it somewhere... that, in fact, the most likely story was that someone, ahem DAVIS, had cheerfully taken charge of the photo shooting for the rest of the day.  At least, that's what I hoped was the case.  Davis however, was no where to be found in the group of us walking the mile or so back to the church.  Realizing there was nothing I could do about the missing weighty piece of my wardrobe, I continued on my merry way, now realizing my noticeably lighter step.  By the time we arrived back at the church, Davis was already there.  Sans camera.  Hmmm...  I casually asked him if he knew where it was...  He answered, "Oh Gideon has it.  He is having a blast with it too!"  

So here are Gideon's photos (beginning with his self-portrait), telling the story of his and Davis' trip back to the church, posted here for all the world to see.  I must warn you now though, proceed at your own risk.  There is a monster at the end of this story.

Davis, his partner-in-crime. 

Where does that road lead?  And what will they find on their journey?  The mystery deepens...

It appears others have ventured to follow their lead... walking, walking, walking until....

Davis discovered a piece of metal and immediately set about bending it, using nothing but his brute strength.  Impressive, no?  

After which, he welded the pieces of bent metal together to form a fountain.  The neighborhood children showed up for the unveiling of the metal sculpture. 

A quick song and dance routine put the finishing touches on the joyous celebration.

Standing ovations were had.

But on the trail again, Davis was stopped by a traveling circus troupe.  Was it they who first warned him of the ferocious, terrifying, no-good, giant monster at the end of this story?  We may never know...

Here they were stopped by the munchkin police, who demanded to see their identification and travel itinerary.  Perhaps it was they who warned the boys of the ferocious, terrifying, no-good, giant monster at the end of this story.

To which Davis must have scoffed, "I laugh in the face of danger, ha-ha-ha-haaa."

Therefore, with bravery as their guide and confidence as their only shield, they continued on to face the monster.  That ferocious, terrifying, no-good, giant monster at the end of this story... 

...at the end of this story.  

Oh dear.  I believe we have made it to the end of this story.  Let's go back to the top of the page.  I won't tell anyone if you do.  It will be our little secret.  I won't judge.  

No?  You want to continue?  Curiosity is a powerful animal, it seems.  But is it more powerful than the monster?  Probably not.  So I'd advise turning back now.  Go back!  Go back!

Still no?  Okay.  I see you have given me no other option.  You have forced my hand.  But don't say I didn't warn you.  Or give you ample opportunity to go back.

What is the ferocious, terrifying, no-good, giant monster at the end of this story?  And what frightening fate awaits us and our fearless friends?   

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oh me.

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oh my.

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take a deep breath. 

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and

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BEHOLD

The terrifying ferocious no-good giant monster at the end of this story:

That's all folks.  I'm done for.  I don't know about you and your monster-resistance skills, but for me, one look and I'm completely destroyed.  

Goodbye forever.

And what of Davis?  Well, just look at him.  The giant has him in his clutches.  

 

All I have to say now is, it's a wonder he made it out of there in one piece.  Truly a miracle. 

Sorry for the frightful images, just tryin' to keep it real for you.  Those monsters are out there.  And I thought you should be properly warned and know what we're up against in this here world.  I hope you won't suffer from too many nightmares after this.  

solemnly yours,

ab

water harvesters

Water.  It's, like, a serious thing.  

And, you know, we gotta have it.  In fact, we, like, need it, in order to survive.  Unlike commas, which are not needed to survive, and should be used, at most, sparingly, unless of course, the person using them is, say, me--- a girl who adores the ability of the comma to add flavor, feeling, and drama, not mention length, to a sentence.  Overuse of the comma is just not something that overly concerns me.  In fact, quite the opposite is true.  But the overuse of water, or rather, the undervalued use of water, now that could be, and no doubt should be, cause for concern.  Especially when I realize that others in the world have to spend a hefty portion of their day just to try to secure enough water to sustain them for that very day... not to mention finding enough water needed for future days. 

(I know the image quality is not the best in the above photo.  I cropped this image to show only this little guy... The s-shape of his body due to straining to carry that jug of water is just so poignant, I had to include this photo.  This was somehow the only shot I have that captured it, although it was a common sight everywhere we went.)

The kids are the ones largely responsbile for retrieving water from the wells.  Wells that may be miles from their homes.  There was a constant stream of children going to and from the bore-hole well near the Buloba church.  And despite their continued labor, the need for water is not one easily quenched.  Monotony and sweat is the name of this game.  Therefore, most families try to find some way to capture additional water on their own premises.  Water jugs, old water bottles, pots, remains of plastic buckets, scraps of metal, anything that might possibly maybe hopefully catch and contain some of the precious liquid are lined up under the roof eaves.  These old and decrepit contenders, while they may be thirsty, do not offer much promise for a victorious capture.

    

Would you want to have anything to do with run-off water that might be detained in the above containers?  How about using it to wash some clothes?  How 'bout using it to cook a meal?  Wash your hands?  Give your child a bath?  Clean a wound?  

Yeah.  Me neither.  Rest assured the people do, in fact, boil all the water that they use... maybe rest is the wrong adjective to use there, since resting is certainly not the action required to secure clean water for daily use.  Be assured that it takes a lot of work for just a little bit of the clean stuff.  

A large part of our trip was dedicated to the installation of "rain-catch systems" or "water-harvesters" as I heard them called and now prefer to call them.  Very little explanation is needed to understand the simplicity of these things.  But what a huge impact these water harvesters have for a family! 

A fascia board is installed on the ends of the rafters (the white board) and then two metal gutters are attached so that the water running off the roof can be captured and funneled into a water barrel (the blue barrel, formerly housing anything from mango pulp to petroleum jelly, re-purposed as a water barrel).  And voila!  Simple, sweet, and so effective.

Pastor Isaac (on the left) and Peter installing the gutters.

Other scenes from water-harvester installations looked like this:

 

Installing a fascia board:

Sometimes the inside of the barrel had to be painted:

Cornerstone provides the funds, and the Buloba church is then able to secure the materials needed for the  water harvesters.  The church people are there to do the majority of the installation work, allowing us the opportunity to visit, hang out, spend time hearing the people's stories---learning about and being interested in their lives.  One time a Muslim man rode by on his bike while an installation was in progress, and Connie called out a greeting, followed by "Look at what God has done for this family!"  To which he replied, "God did not do that, the people did."  Connie followed that up with a friendly explanation of the fact that, without God, we the people would not have been there at all to meet, help, and love the people of the community.  She said, "Yes, the people. Because of God.  Because He loves, we love."

This lady had a water-harvester installed at her home:

Her next door neighbor, whom she looks after, came over to meet us:

This young lady received a water harvester on her home (that she shares with her sister) as well.  I don't really know what I can and can't share about her story.  But... through the generosity of a member of the Buloba church, her and her sister are able to live safely in this house, away from members of their family and former community who strongly disagree with their decision to become followers of Christ.  

Her name was Joy. 

She gave me a leaf from her both spearmint plant and her lemongrass plant to flavor a cup of tea!

The crew: (L-R) Dan, Justine, Josh, Pastor Isaac, Davis, Me, RJ, Joy, Amy, Casey, Henry, Jonathan 

And sitting in front: Gideon, Peter, and David  (Jennifer was acting as photographer)

So there you have it folks.  Water Harvesters.  Simple concept.  Significant results.  It was a fun thing to be apart of... we met some wonderful people along the way, and not only at the homes where the water harvesters were being installed.  We mostly walked from house to house and therefore got to see much of the Ugandan countryside around Buloba.  At each home we were welcomed and thanked with open arms--- though I wanted to be thanking them!  Their openness and generosity toward complete strangers blew me away.  The blessings were certainly twofold.  The pure joy, enthusiasm, and zeal for a life of faith was marvelous to behold.  And I would be remiss to not mention the ingenuity and resourcefulness of the guys from Buloba church in making sure no piece of material was wasted in installing the water harvesters.  If a nail bent, well then, they unbent it.  If a board split, you better believe they pieced it back together and mended it.  Not a piece was taken for granted or wasted.  And, what's more, when something went awry, they were the model of patience and calm determination to get the job done right.  

There are many more stories related to water-harvest installations that I hope to share with you eventually!  

Until that happy day, perpetually reminiscing about that wonderful place, yours truly,
ab

g-nuts, cassava, and jackfruit

I'm betting no one else in blog-history has ever had a post title of "g-nuts, cassava, and jackfruit". If you know of someone who has, please let me know about them. I want to meet this person. For they will certainly know of the glorious bounty of Uganda's beautiful countryside. And we could bond over our appreciation and admiration of that wonderful land.

G-nuts is short for ground-nuts. And ground-nuts is awfully similar to our peanuts.  So similar, in fact, that it is the very same thing!  Connie, the head-mistress of the Buloba school came along on our water-harvester installation travels and showed up at the second house we went to---with peanuts (g-nuts) in her hand!  She had picked some (or rather, pulled some) for us, thinking that we Americans did not know about such tastiness.  But we (mainly just me) leapt up enthusiastically to partake in one of my favorite treats---raw peanuts!  I dug in, only to reprimanded by Connie for using my fingers to dig out the nuts.  "No, no. You do it wrong," she said.  "The way you do it you get germs."  Ahhhh.  I see, Connie!  No, I don't want those nasty germs or *gasp* a dreaded parasite!

And since Connie clued me in to the proper way to eat them, I will share my knowledge with you, so you will never find yourself being reprimanded by a head-mistress for eating ground nuts the wrong way.  Since I would never wish that upon you, I will divulge this (formerly unbeknownst to me) correct method.  It's the right thing to do.

You see, the proper way to eat a Ugandan g-nut is to use your teeth to remove the nuts from the shell.  I wish I could say it was a cinch, but apparently my teeth are not very talented.  And I was getting way behind on eating the g-nuts.  Everyone else seemed to have teeth with skills and the g-nut pile was rapidly decreasing while I painstakingly worked on my one.  So naturally, being the virtuous and reputable person that I am, whenever Connie wasn't looking I rapidly ate the nuts the way I was used to/ best at... with my hands!  Shh, don't tell!  I did have the presence of mind, in all my dishonest frenzied eating, to think that after I got a parasite from eating the g-nuts in this manner, the truth would be known: I am a greedy g-nut devourer!  Shameful, isn't it?  But, man, they were so yummy.  I was willing to risk a parasite for the sweetest peanuts I had ever tasted.

I may live to regret writing these things. So, uh...

How 'bout we just get to the pictures?

This is where we were.

Meet Connie! Who arrived bearing gifts!

G-nuts!  a.k.a ground-nuts.  a.k.a peanuts.

Now, meet some of the kiddos who were at the second house we visited that day!

Meet one of the ten thousand chickens (give or take a few) that reside in Uganda.

Meet some pigs.

Then Connie started telling us about this root. It's called a cassava root. And apparently it's yummy and nutritious. In order to unearth it, she walked through the bush beside the house and then started manhandling a skinny, yet rather tall, tree.  Surprised, we watched as she pushed and pulled the tree over and then used this knife to cut off the edible part of the root.

Then she asked us if we had eaten jackfruit! We informed her that we had not. So Connie set right to fixing that!  She called Gideon over (meet: Gideon) and he shimmied up the tree in a few short seconds, intent on his mission of finding the perfect jackfruit for us Americans to taste. Connie definitely took it upon herself to ensure that we were able to experience as many Ugandan edibles as possible.

Can you believe this tree?  Can you believe this fruit?  Can you believe this fruit is actually hanging on this tree?  I felt like I was in a danger zone every time I walked near them.  I just knew I was going to be Chicken-Little, except I had a feeling the outcome would leave me perhaps a little more permanently dazed and confused.

With lots of guidance coming from his fellow Ugandans who were still on solid ground, Gideon searched for the perfect jackfruit, knocking on the sides of the fruit and listening for just the right sound to reveal that it was properly ripe.  Then Gideon twisted the jackfruit (like you do to the stem of an apple) and the chosen one fell with a huge crash to the ground... And remained unscathed, unbroken, and unbruised!  Jackfruit is a lot more tough than our watermelons!  At one point, Gideon was even using the jackfruit to stand on while he climbed up the tree.

Great job, thank you Gideon!

Time to eat!

First banana leaves were laid on the ground to protect the fruit from the ever-prevalent red dirt.

After cutting it into wedges, our jackfruit chef wiped the each wedge with those leaves (see them stacked up beside her?) that were first dipped in a bowl of water, in order to remove some of the stickiness of the fruit. 

 

 Some curious visitors wandered over to see what all the commotion was about.

And this guy graciously offered his front yard for the jackfruit tasting (and rain-catch installing).

So here it is, this formidable-looking fruit called jackfruit. Basically, you pull off a small piece, throw out the seed, and then eat the layers that remain.

See the layers? You eat those.
It was chewy. With a pina-colada flavor.  Uhhh, it was pretty delish.

I could have eaten a lot of those little pieces.  We all could have.  It was like candy.  But David informed us that it would be in our best interest to not eat a lot of pieces. Why?  Well, the way he explained it, it seems that once this fruit gets in your belly it puffs up and expands and makes you start really regretting the day you first heard tell of this enormous yellow fruit.   David said that since he had been eating jackfruit his whole life, he could eat a whole jackfruit.  A whole one!!??   

This little guy also had the stomach of steel apparently needed to partake in fruits that blow up like a balloon once consumed.

Despite our wimpy stomachs, the Ugandans still loved us.

the end.

Just kidding.

It is not the end.  I have so much more to share.  But I promise to be a little quicker about getting these posts done. You know that little thing called Life?  Work?  Oh, you do? Yeah, it usually derails my best-laid plans for blogging... and pretty much everything else I aspire to accomplish during off-hours.  Oh, you know about this too?  Well rest assured, dear understanding and empathetic audience, that I shall not let it defeat my posting goals.  

til next time, 

ab