I’m finally somewhat settled in my placement up in the hills of Kiyoora, Ntungamo. It’s about 15 km from a town that has Internet, a market and even fish ‘n’ chips. After over a month of calling my organization to get a motorbike, and being treated like shit on the phone, the Canadian branch of my organization intervened and I had a nice bike delivered last week. It’s a Suzuki 2 stroke 125cc dirt bike. Driving down to town to buy food is always an adventure and I feel pretty bad-ass driving around Uganda on a dirt bike. The scenery is really beautiful. I drive along a dirt road that’s more like a dry riverbed, with banana plantations on either side, rolling hills in the distance, and smoke rising over the hills in little pockets where people are making bricks.

Everyone waves as I go by and the children and old ladies scream “muzungu”. Most people do the trade mark Ugandan wave of a hand in the air and then a hand extended to have something like money put in it. I try to ignore this annoyance as its’ so much a part of everyday life here.

The other day I stopped in a trading centre of about 100 people. Someone came up and said “buy me a soda muzungu”… which I’m so used to hearing. I told her that she should do something for me if I’m to give her money. One of her only possessions was an electric razor, so I told her to shave my head and I’d give her enough money to buy 4 sodas. I felt that it was a way of making someone work for their earnings. Here, for some reason, even though someone may own several ares of land and several cows, they still ask everyone who looks richer than them for money. They say it’s cultural. I know that a cow is a symbol of wealth, and it’s worth about $150. Someone with 30 cows will refuse to sell one to pay for their child’s school fees and ask people in the community for the money instead. I’m not sure why but it’d really like to know. Anyways, I’m glad that I paid 4 times the regular price of a haircut to have my head shaved by someone, instead of giving it away. I look pretty funny with no hair by the way.

I wrote this to be read at Elliot’s funeral on Friday, as I won’t be able to make it. It helped me to write it and maybe it’ll help you to read it.
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Elliot and I met in kindergarten when I was only 5 years old and he was 4. He’s one of the first friends I ever made, so it’s hard for me to imagine not meeting him again and not being introduced to all the people who surround him as such. Everyone liked him and that can really be seen my all the people that I imagine are listening to this right now. He loved his parents and cared so much about his brother Eric. He was flattered that he looked up to him and so he was always thinking about Eric’s needs and future – wanting to always send him in the right direction. Elliot knew how to make people laugh, make people feel heard, and make them feel welcome. He was one took the time to listen to anyone and in doing so he brightened the days of many who were not used to being heard by a someone as charismatic, admired and loved as Elliot Wheeler.

We all knew him in different ways, as he had so many layers and so many friends from all walks of life. The Elliot I knew was adventurous, daring and free. But beneath that I also knew someone who was so sensitive to the needs of others. He would often ignore his own problems to hear mine. I can’t recall the number of times in our 20 years of friendship where he was the person that I could depend on for support and sympathy.

In university I saw a drive in him bigger than in most people I’ve ever met. He planted trees in the summers, working in roughest conditions in this country, to pay for his own tuition – not by circumstance but by choice. He said that he worked harder when he was earning it himself and so he did. I think we need to carry on the spirit of this great drive. If there’s something you really want to achieve, something you really want to have, or something that makes you happy, do it, work for it, and enjoy it. That’s what Elliot did and that’s what he would want you to do.

I think Elliot can see us. If he’s with God now, and if God is everywhere, then he’s sitting beside us right now, he’s beside me in Africa, he’ll be beside us when this day is over and he’ll especially be with when we’re skiing down the the slopes of the rocky mountains. I heard that he spent his last days doing what truly loved. For him it was skiing, being in nature, being with his friends, his girlfriend and being with his family. As we’ll all someday leave this world to begin life’s next adventure, I truly hope that, like my friend Elliot, we can all leave having spent our last days doing what makes us happy.

I got onto a motorcycle taxi (boda boda) and went 15km down a tiny dirt road that is more like a dry riverbed than a road due to erosion and heavy rain. It took me down to the Sky Blue hotel where I had the luxuries of fish and chips and CNN on the tv. I stayed the night for 15,000 shillings and got up in the morning for Kampala. I was supposed to go to Lake Bunyoni, the only lake in Uganda that I know of that you can swim in, because it’s so high in the mountains that there are no bilhartsia snails. The phone networks were down so everyone meeting there couldn’t contact eachother and so I decided on an Easter weekend at the Backpakers hostel in Kampala. I know the staff there and they have the best hamburgers that’s I’ve had in Uganda. I ate goat on a stick (muchomo) and drank Stoney (ginger beer) while I finally read the Heart of Darkness – about a search mission on the rivers of the Congo. A 4 year old boy sat beside me and fell asleep on me for several hours. His mother didn’t seem to mind but I felt the need to reassure her that I’m not a bad person.

I got off in the rain, it had been raining for several days, and got into the hostel where I had a hot shower and western food. Eating plantains (matoke) and beans everyday gets pretty boring. That night some of the guests, 3 ex-military guys from Europe who are doing very private security work in the Congo, cut open some glowsticks (glowing chemical tubes used for emergency lighting) and drank the solution inside. They then smeared the glowing liquid on their hands, arms and faces so that they looked like something from the ghostbusters. They ran out into the streets and scared a little batwa (pigmy) man into the trees. I can’t imagine how scared a superstitious group of people like Ugandans are when dealing with glowing white people who run around screaming. I walked off and went to bed feeling pretty good that the stuff doesn’t kill you. I remember one time in Korea putting that stuff into my mouth and spitting it everywhere and I always worried that it was slowly killing me or something like that.

The first time I danced with a black girl was in Malaysia in 2004 at a University dorm party in cyberjaya. She told me I looked like a monkey and walked off. I laughed and had another beer…who knew that she’d take club dancing so seriously. Anyways, that didn’t stop me trying.

Last weekend it was my Ugandan friend’s birthday party at a night club called Vision Empire. Everyone danced, but not with eachother. The just danced and looked in the mirror at themselves. My friend, the birthday boy had a circle around him with everyone cheering. I also got some attention for having good moves but the only thing is that my friend, the Ugandan birthday boy, has one leg.

This is the saddest picture that I’ve ever accidentally taken. Snapping away and taking hundreds at a school for orphaned children, I accidentally caught the children who aren’t orphans, and therefore get no help paying for their education. They spent the whole school day looking through the fence at kids playing and learning in their nice blue uniforms. It’s hard to even look at even though I’m around this every single day.

Leaving Isingiro a lot of people came to say goodbye. I didn’t want to leave. I was put there because I arrived in country and my job was closed for the holidays. I wanted to stay but the organization that I work for didn’t really care. I left with people crying and hoping for me to return.
People coming to say goodbye as I packed my things.

I got my last hair cut as the fanciest salon in town (cost 60 cents)
The dusty road. The view from my place. Goodbye wild west.

The Kampala taxi park where I’ve once lost my wallet and once lost my phone. It’s not the easiest place to find where you’re supposed to go but after a while it all makes sense.

Here is the Kinyara Sugar Factory in Masindi, where the excess organic waste is burned to power a generator that powers the entire plant.

A picture of kids with a sign at school. In Uganda the government set forth a program called PIASCY, standing for President Initiative Aids Strategy Communication for Youth. All school that I’ve visited, and I’ve visited at least 10 different ones in Uganda, have signs posted all over that give kids advice about how not to get aids and how to stay safe. I’ve seen some that are very sweet like this one, or ones that say things like “don’t take things for granted” or “Brother, sister, life is no game. Lose it once and there it goes”. There’s the common “Avoid dark corners” and then there are some that have unfortunately awkward language. I’ve seen “Sex is not food” , “Never go into Discos”, “Run away from strangers as far as your legs can take you”, and “Small and large breasts are all good”.