By the skin of my penis

               Scoreboard
Me                  4   -   0            Giant Cockroaches

Me                  2   -   0            Mice

Me                  0   -   1            Rapids of the Nile

I was lead through a small banana plantation, stepping through the lush green tropics of eastern Uganda. We approached a crowd of about 250 Ugandan men and women that formed a semicircle around a small mudhut home. We stopped, unsure where we should stand for a good view and were taken an interest in by a group of Bagisu tribe teenage boys. They asked questions like 'What Scottish tribe are you from?' and 'Do they circumcise in the UK?'. We were then spotted by a man who called us to sit at the front in seats given to visitors and we sat down beside a man from Bwindi in the far south-west who looked just as apprehensive as we were. Within the semicircle of people, eight men stood holding what looked like sharp butter knives, rubbing dirt into their hands. Two trauplin squares covered in dirt lay on the ground. Men protected the entrance to the semicircle holding long canes. Finn and I didn't have long to wait as a parade of dancing people appeared atop the nearby hill. The crowd was suddenly on their feet and I feel that the chairs were ever so slightly pointless. They march down the hill chanting and dancing to the beat of a drum. As they reached the circle of people a man jumped forward, swigging from a pot of alcohol which he then sprayed from his lips onto the ground. Two boys of about eighteen stepped forward, their faces and upper bodies were coated in a mix of ash and mud, their torsos wrapped in beads and in their hands they held outstretched two shrubs. They looked immensely tribal and I felt honored to be there. Out from the hut ran a woman carrying a long wooden paddle which she then struck each of the boys with to symbolise the last time a mother will beat her child. The boys moved forward and were stopped above the two squares of traup, their eyes were wide and staring and their hands moved to the beat. A whistle was blown and suddenly the men with knives rush forward and all is chaotic. The poor boys were stripped below the waist and the view is (thankfully) barred by the cramming of people. A second whistle is blown only ten seconds later to signify the completion of the task - the crowd goes wild, cheering, chanting and singing in tribal ecstacy. The boys have not moved an inch, nor shed a tear or even twitched slightly during the entire ordeal, bar their hands that still are swaying to the drumbeat. They were both completely absorbed in their trance and their circumcised penises were shown to the crowd which has gone wild. I feel slightly queasy even though I haven't been all that distressed by the ceremony. Quickly , Finn and I escaped back to our house, reeling from what we'd just seen. Later when texting my Dad, his words of wisdom to me are 'Make sure and hold onto your own'. Thanks Dad.
That of course was my description of the Bagisu circumcision ceremony that happens daily in my local area. I can lie awake at night and listen to the drumbeat and the chanting of the crowds as they parade past my accommodation, and I'm reminded that I'm in Africa. It's coming up to being three months now that I've been here, something that is really quite daunting yet still far off the twelve months I've signed on for. I still miss the silly little things like food (crisps and hummus, please!) or hanging out with friends or just watching TV. I'd love to be able to come home, if just for a day, but that obviously isn't an option for me and I know that there is still so much more for me to experience and learn.
Leaving home is quite a big deal for any teenager and I've had to deal with pretty much the same problems as any of my friends going to university. I'd say though, that my separation from my home life and my parents was more 'brutal' than maybe for others as I can't just come home at the weekend and their is little to relate to culture back in Scotland - but maybe it's been better that way. I've heard that having a lot of communication with home can bring about homesickness badly so for me it was easier, since it was a case of 'Bye bye now! See you next August'. And when I meet other volunteers from Europe while travelling they're genuinely shocked when I say I'm seventeen (and not because I look older, since I don't - I've still got my baby face :/) but because it's maybe quite a young age to be travelling alone(ish) in Africa. But then I'm coping fine, so does it matter? I've still got the parental presence though when they phone me up asking 'Why haven't you been more in contact!?' and 'Make sure you bring lots of sun protection, you don't want to get burnt!' I certainly wish I had them around to do my washing - never in my life have I had such a workout as wringing out soaked clothes.
This has been the last week of school and it has really slowed down as I've been doing less teaching and more invigilating of exams. It's quite a shame how pent up and nervous the kids get and in one P5 agriculture exam, Derek (who does a pretty fantastic cockerel impression)  bit through his own pen and had to be excused so he could wash out the ink from his mouth. Last weekend we all went white water rafting down the Nile - see my whiteout pictures on facebook. It was soooooo much fun. Since school term is over now and it's the start of the very long 'summer' holidays I'll be able to do more things like rafting. I've made a few plans, like climbing Mt. Elgon to it's peak at 4321m (7th highest in Africa!), but next week is extra special. Being on a tight budget, but still wanting to experience an African safari, a group of six volunteers including me are going one a 'bicycle safari' in Kenya's rift valley. Imagine me cycling as fast as my legs can go away from a charging rhino. You've only got to cycle faster than the rest of the group, so I should be fine.
If I survive, speak soon,
Benny.

In my spare time

Accomplishments
I have: broken a new watch and new flipflops the day I bought them, finished a whole plate of lunch time pocho and beans by myself, climbed a very high mountain, done a mountain of washing by hand, got through my share of 3L of Waragi and cut off all the blonde from my ginger fro.

   Being a volunteers gives you the freedom to do what you want during your free time and to travel the whole of the country if you please. One long weekend recently I met up with six other PT volunteers (plus my partner Finn) at Lake Nabugabo, Sand Beach resort for a well earned respite and some good swimming. The lake was a good 10 hours away from our project by public transport so Finn and I set off on Friday afternoon and then stopped off at Kampala bagpackers for a night of free internet, burgers and cooked breakfast! We finally arrived at the resort to become the attention of the hundred or so Ugandan day visitors from Kampala - not exactly what we'd hope for. But that evening they all left, leaving us to enoy the fantastic views across the lake and the lush grassy resort which we pretty much had all to ourselves. That weekend we spent all our time relaxing, playing cards, eating and swimming in the murky luke-warm waters. Swimming was really good fun - no crocs or dreaded bilharzia! - there were however plent of fish that enjoyed biting my ankles (and only my
ankles for some reason), a few leeches and the others apparently saw a cobra which had gone for a dip, although I'm not so sure. Eating was a bit of a joke simply because you have to prempt your own hunger by about 2 hours when ordering. Orders never came correct either and the delicious full order for breakfast turned out to not be as delish as it sounds, consisting of an tiny omelette, a chapati and two slices of bread (no butter). So for two of the nights that we stayed we got ourselves a roaring campfire and made ourselves some scrumptious camp food - rice and g'nut sauce. On the sunday night it was one of the volunteers 19th birthday plus halloween, so we all sat rond the fire playing 'Kings', singing tunes and drinking til we couldnt remember anything. The nightr ended with a strip and then everyone ran into the lake.
   After that weekend, Finn and I were joined by two PT vols - Molly and Justinem - at our project at Lwakhakha, when we decided to go for a hike and camp up in the hills of the surrounding area. We set off in the heat of midday and walked for nearly five hours (playing 'Ugandan shopping list' to keep us going) towards a nice looking ridge on the mountain that could be seen on the horizon. We walked down footpaths and through farmlands guided by the shocked locals who certainly hadnt expected to see a troupe of whities walking past their houses. We reached our goal and the view that awaited us was simply breath taking - green hills that rolled out as far as the eye could see. We asked a local man (who may or may not have owned the land and also spoke no English) whether we could camp in what seemed to be the only flat ground for miles around. So in pouring rain and under the watch of approx. 30 Ugandan kids we setup our tents. After a bit of an explore we were directed to a dead tree which we pulled apart for firewood. Then without even being asked a local man cut up the wood with an axe and an elderly woman gave us some paraffin so we could cook ourselves sweet potato chips under the stars.
   The kindness of Ugandan people to strangers came as quite a surprise to me at first. When we came back from camping my neighbour Julius greeted me with a worried face telling me that we'd left the windows open and that he'd called the landlord because he was so worried. I frequently come home from a rainy day of school to find our neighbours have taken in my drying. At the bore hole we're given special privelages as visitors from another country and our jerrycans are put right to the front of the huge queue. Quite often after buying a chapati I'll hear the irritate shout as I walk away 'Sir, Balance!' having forgotten to collect my change. Our landlord too is full of the kindness bug often surprising us with a present of some pawpaws or a homegrown pumpkin.
   It was like one of those moments of surprise when the headmaster of 'Seed Time' came to Finn and I, seeking our advice about changing the school's opinion on corporal punishment. We both jumped at the chance, really encouraged by his forward thinking and we followed him up when asked to write a report on the alternatives. We even pushed for a debate with the other teachers on the pros and cons of c.p. and when the teachers were asked their opinions they reverted to act like the naughty school girls that they punished. However these debates seem to have sparked some real progress as plans are made for a pupil reward system next year and it seems like the number of instances where teachers use violence has decreased.
   Teaching at 'Seed Time' has become more exciting on the lead up to exams next week. I felt a great deal of pride watching a P5 as she flicked through her book looking at all the work we'd covered together. I stupidly set myself a mountain of a task by deciding to write a double-paged test for each of my 15 p5s, with each of the tests taking 20min to write (you do the maths). But it was all worth it in the end, seeing their faces, handing back the successful results with sticky gold stars. We're getting on really well with our headmaster, John, who is always very grateful and positive about our teaching. He turned to me one day and told me how someone had asked him 'Why master Benny eats while he is walking' (they call me Master Benny to differentiate to Finn - a tricky task apparently). He said he told him 'His culture is very different and always busy. Marching here marching there...'
   So now we're coming up to the long christmast break where I plan to do some travelling in Kenya as well as volunteer at somewhere outside of the project. I dont want to repeat myself but again I feel like I've changed considerably and I'm quite nervous about coming home in 9 months time. People are going to look at me weird when I shake their hands like someone from the getto, or call fizzy drinks 'sodas', credit 'airtime' and change 'balance'. I just need some contact with the outside world, some form of a physical manefestation of my friends - maybe a letter? (hint hint)
   Until next time.
   Benny x

'I will stone you!'

Benny + Finn's chocolate matoke crisps

Ingredients
*4 or 5 very green (unripe) bananas      *Sugar

*Flour           *Coco powder                *Margarine


1. Peel matoke (plantains) then slice lengthways and cut into chips
2. Dust with a mixture of flour + sugar
3. Fry in hot margarine until golden
4. Coat in more sugar and coco powder
5. Serve cold or hot. Offer to the locals, who should nod in appreciation and then probably spit out when you're not looking.

   The first time I saw the illegal practice of the beating of a school child was on a visit to Mahonge primary school on the slopes of Mt. Elgon. I was watching a teacher teach the alphabet to a nursery class in the shade of a small tree, instructing the class one by one to come up to the front and read the alphabet aloud. If the young child misread the alphabet or a member of the large class misbehaved they were instructed to lie down and then were given a quick whip across the back of the legs with a twig by the teacher. When I first witnessed this I was a little shocked, but only by how backwards the custom of corporal punishment is compared to our culture and not by the act since the child simply rubbed their side and returned to their seat seemingly unworried by their maltreatment (However, later that day, the headmistress lifted a rock to a naughty pupil threatening 'I will stone you!' - I assume she was joking (?)). That was only a few weeks into my time in Uganda and now my experiences of corporal punishment have certainly been widened. A week back I was sitting in 'Seed Time' primary staff room, marking, when I heard a girl screaming her head off in pain in the next door class. The girl's cries went on for five more minutes getting louder and more painful to listen to until I couldn't bare it anymore and I went outside to find out what the hell was going on. The p1 teacher had one of her pupils by the arm viciously beating her all over her body with a cane as she writhed on the floor, howling in agony. The headmaster stood outside the classroom and as I approached with a shocked face he merely chuckled saying 'She has been stealing a jotter'. It gets worse. Later that day while teaching p5 English I saw through a gap in the classroom divider, pupils systematically beating one another with sticks under teacher instruction. I found out later that the pupils had taken a test and those who had failed were beaten on the floor by their own peers, until crying. It seemed simply unbelievable to me that these impressionable p3 pupils were being instructed to be violent towards each other while the teacher looked on bored. Being a new teacher and slowly gaining respect I couldn't interfere but it was hard to nothing but keep teaching over the rising noise of crying children. These teachers, who I'd felt nothing but respect for up to this point, now were seriously down in my opinions.
   Other than what I've just described, my time spent teaching at 'Seed Time' primary has been really enjoyable. There are some real characters in my classes like a tiny p2 girl called Esther who is so overly confident that when I ask one of the shy pupils their names she'll quickly jump in and answer for them. I am learning as much as the children are, how to be a better teacher and when to mix strictness with banter. Isaac a p5 boy learnt the error of his ways when shouting out in my class 'Teacher, teacher, this boy is laughing at me because my mouth, it is sore', 'Well maybe it wouldn't be if you didn't speak so much!', laughter ensues. One school time activity I don't know whether I'll ever get used to is school lunches. My friends at home know how much I used to complain about the quality of Turriff Academy school canteen meals (+ portion size). Let me just say for the record that TA meals are heavenly compared to what I now eat. Lunch at 'Seed Time' consists of (surprisingly) massive portions of pocho (a solid mass of maiseflour described by a fellow volunteer as tasting like soil) served with chewy kidney beans and spinach. Yummy. Never again will I complain about my mum's cooking!
   Recently while in a matatu-taxi ride back from Mbale with Finn I witnessed a tradition of the local Bagisu tribe, that will be happening more and more regularly coming up to December - the circumcision ceremony. Our matatu drove through a crowd of approx 100 people parading down the road and dancing feverishly to the beat of a drum, while one boy dressed in animal skins and feathers, his face coated in ash, swayed in the middle of the crown in a trance. The guide reads that 'Bagisu boys of age 16 to 26 as a rite of passage to manhood parade the streets for three days before being stripped below the waist in front of a group of family and friends. They then must hold their arms out rigid in front while they are publicly circumcised. If the boy screams out during the one min op, he is branded a coward in the eyes of the community'. Sounds swell. A young mother with child squished into the front seat of the matatu with me tells me excitedly about the tradition and how they even circumcised dead men before burial. I guess it explains how whenever I go I'm asked if I'm circumcised, I just hope they don't ask me to join in.
   Last weekend my partner Finn abandoned me for the highlights of partying on down at the Sese islands. No, really he was invited to a party by his uncle and I (being the bore I am) decided I couldn't be bothered with the 14 hour trip for one night of luxury and so stayed home all by myself in the far east of Uganda for four whole nights! And on the first night while awkwardly sitting alone making my tea, a pair of local mice decided to make their home in our accommodation (oh joy!). So for four nights I was haunted by mice, scampering around my room at 3 in the morning, knocking things over and generally being a nuisance. However, one mouse is definitely down after eating one of my poison coated chapatis and then appearing Monday morning rock solid lying beside the wash basin. Only one more to go (?)
   So I've been in Uganda for exactly 8 weeks now and nothing much has changed. I may not have worn socks in a fortnight and I probably smell pretty grim but I'm comfortable where I am and I'm very much looking forward to the next few months.
   Over and out,
   Benny.

'Trying to fit in'

Books Read
Life of Pi - Yann Martell, The White Masai - Corrine Hoffman, Warlock - Wilbur Smith, A long way gone - Ishmael Miller, White Fang - Jack London

Foods eaten 
Pumpkin fritters, potato cakes, egg fried rice, weetabix, chapati, matoke, mandas, samosa, avacado + tomato salad, rolex, poached egg, salami pizza, pumpkin curry

Letters Written -6

Blog Entries Written - 3

   Being a 'white boy' in an entirely African community is a daunting experience. We were told to expect that we would be gosspied about a lot of the time and subject to the scrutiny of everybody who saw us or had heard of our presence in the village. Since Ugandans tend to spend every waking minute of the day sitting outside (for being inside during daylight hours prompts for questions from worried neighbours regarding your health) this means being constantly on guard - the way you dress, your understanding of their culture and the social workings of the community. I remember recently being laughed at as I walked home and almost wondering why (although the very presence of any mzungus is enough of a reason for laughter) until a man across the street shouted and made an action suggesting I pull up 'ma breeks'. The culture also is to be very much respected, you must always greet everyone you meet with a complicated, and often awkward, handhake. You must never drink or smoke in your community. People will ask you 'How is the day, how was this morning, how are your family, how is the house?' You are expected to have a religion too, being athiest is odd and agnostic simply impossible. Women do things, men do not - The female teachers will fetch chairs for the staffroom break, do not attempt to help (suprisingly easy to adapt to this). If you hurt yourself other people will apologise to you with a sympathetic 'Sorry, sorry, sorry...'
   Attempting to fit into this community, which is so different to my own, is as to be expected quite tricky. Attempting to speak the local tribe language, Lugisu, eases this separation of cultures but at the same time gives more reason for hilarity. Apparently there is nothing funnier on god's earth to a shopkeeper or stall owner that me saying to them 'Endweala deekee' (One egg) or 'Tchirano mandas' (Five bread balls). As you say Wanyala (Thank you) and walk away you can hear him attempting through fits of laughter to tell his neighbour about he mzungu who spoke Lugisu. My grasp of the language is unfortunately pretty pathetic - I can greet in the various ways, apologise, thank and count from 1 to 10. Its good when you know the names of the local street foods or that foketo is an avacado. Buying goods from a stall is one of the main reason for learning the local language since being in a rural town with little access to the outside world the local grasp of english is poorer than that of closer to Kampala. Guess that means they wont understand 'Stop bloody staring at me' then.
   I was told soon after arriving in the country that people will overcharge you because of your skin colour. However, I don't feel cheated of my money when charged 100Ush (approx 2.9p) for a freshly picked avacado or 1000Ush for a kilo and a half of irish potatoes or even 9p for a crispy chapati. I splashed out a bit on 16,000 for a kilo of weetabix when in Mbale, but thats a necessity for surviving a year in Uganda in my eyes. Living off 4,100Ush or 1 pound 20p a day in pay is suprisingly easy when not travelling, but sometimes you have to go over budget to get that must have chopping board you've been dreaming of.
   Finn and I finally fixed our project and are now working full time at a very local primary school. The benefits of being involved with local children so closely are vast. Girls in P2 skip past chanting 'Master Ben, master Ben' rather than the dreaded mzungu. The local  shopkeeper Juma tells us his son enjoyed the class and everyone (since the rumours have obviously spread) has something to say about teaching or a new project we can do. The classes vary from teaching six year olds how to write numbers to Area = L x W with P5. Kids sing a welcome song every time you enter the classroom and get fully involved when impressing their mzungu teacher, jumping from their seats, hand in the air screaming 'Teacher, me!' at every question. Joint PE lessons are something unexpected - try controlling a game of stick in the mud with 200 children.
   Two weeks ago all twenty one of the volunteers went to Kampala to meet up and discuss their projects. It was a very busy weekend - we all went swimming, Finn and I went to a karoke bar ('Man in the mirror' will never be the same again), I managed to KO my foot jumping a wall (although an X-ray in Mbale proves its not fractured), I bought a guitar, ate chocolate and even applied to Uni through UCAS (but not to a Kampala Uni as some on facebook came to believe). Being dropped off in Kampala city center by a taxi is a crazy experience. The traffic is so badly congested that everyone simply walks between vehicles and you get a crush of traffic, pedestrians and people trying to sell shoes through the car windows. Kampala is a world away from the quiet life I've been living in rural Lwakhakha. In Kampala the women have hair, you can buy cheese from the supermarkets and they use two eggs instead of on in their rolexes - so I'm not complaining. However I did get a strange, uncomfortable feeling being surrounded by home comforts (like takeaway pizza and light switches) and all the white people too.
   6 weeks has definitely been a turning point for me in terms of working at a new school and getting used to the idea of staying here by making plans for the futurue. In November we've made plans to visit other volunteers in the west and even go white water rafting down the Nile. I've even bought a PO Box so if you wish you can write to me, I'd love to receive some letters. Speak soon.
   Lot's of love from Nile computers, Mbale.

   Ben Hunter,
   PO Box 1342,
   Mbale,
   UGANDA

'Eh, Mzungu!'

   One word means the same thing in all the 100s of East Afrian languages.
   'Mzungu' [Meh-zun-goo]
   It means 'white man' or 'stranger'. When you walk down the dusty red road in Lwakhakha the excitement of seeing a white boy is too much to control for many Ugandan children. There will be one little black girl standing a few feet from you, a ravenous joy in her eyes, her arm outstretched, finger pointed directly at you and then she will scream with all the power in her lungs that dreaded word. 'Mzungu!' Then the children will come running - from out their houses, the shops and every nook and cranny in the street - a great herd charging like wildebeast right at you. There is nowhere to run. Each and every one of them will want to shake your hand, touch your legs, hug your knees and each without fail will ask 'Mzungu, how are you?'
   And from that moment on you're an instant small-town celebrity. And it's not just the children who are interested in you, the adults love a bit of mzungu too - they'll hiss and snap their fingers to gain your undivided attention. Everyone will stare at you as you go to buy some eggs or an avacado from the local stall. Then the cry will go out from across the street, from a man sitting lazily on his motorbike: 'Eh, Mzungu!' - as if that alone is great conversation and merits a response. You feel like shouting 'Congratulations dim-wit, you've worked out the difference between black and white'. But instead you smile politely and shrug your shoulders saying 'Yes, yes, I'm white. What fun!'
   It's now been over a month since I landed in Uganda's Entebbe airport, full of excitement and anticipation, and I think it's safe to say that I've settled in fine. Yes there are still a few things that surprise me like when the driver manages to squeeze one more person into his taxi or when the primary school children sing to you english nursery rhymes, but for the most part everything is now normal. Finn and I made ourselves feel more at home last week by giving the accomodation a tidy over and rearranging what little furniture we have. We bought ourselves tubs for storing food so that we could have a good selection of ingredients for cooking on our puny paraffin stove. And cook we did - pumpkin curry, pumpkin fritters, egg fried rice, Spanish omelette, potato cakes, chips and tomato salsa and my personal favourite - irish potato and caramelised onion mash with poached eggs. It's been a very veggy diet, but pretty darned successful for not even having a kitchen.
   Finn and I have been keeping ourselves busy in the rest of our spare time. Finn is a massive football fan so we've been going to the local generator-powered foortball 'cinema' to watch Arsenal games. And when I say cinema I mean it in the loosest sense of the word - imagine 100 middle-aged Ugandan men and two skinny white boys crushed into a space no bigger than the average living room, transfixed by a tiny TV in the corner.

   Other highlights of the past few weeks have included: hiking through the rainforest watching red-tailed monkeys before reaching the spectacular 'Griffin falls', paying to use a Mbale hotel swimming pool so as to use the first real toilet I've had in a month, learning to count to 10 in Lugisu, sampling the street foods in Lugazi, buying pots and pans in Mbale market, having a shower in a thunderstorm (see picture) and climbing the rocks in Lwakhakha to see the view stretch all the way out into Kenya.
   And of course there has been the teaching project, what I came here to do. We've been having some problems with which school we're supposed to be teaching at but I'm sure things will work out in the end. The education standards seem to fluctuate massively - the headmistress of the primary school gave me the shock of my life when she told me she was 19 and had 3 college courses under her belt, yet two boys in my p6 class are only a year younger than me.
   On Tuesday Finn and I finall walked the extra few metres from our accomodation, over the Lwakhakha river and into Kenya. It was exciting to make the crossing but the Kenyan side of town is almost identical to the Ugandan. One of the main differences was the bundles of clothes than lined the street. All the second-hand clothes that are donated through charities (or that clothes bin the Tesco carpark) end up being sold in Africa. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw an 8-year old girl measuring a pair of tight denim shorts against herself. On the way back I spotted a massive tree covered in what looked densley packed black figs. As I drew closer I noticed that the tree was host to 100s of bats that hung from every inch of the branches.
   I've been getting on well with my partner Finn and in the evening we just relax, chat and play rummy. We share much, like an undying love for the simplicity of a chapati. Quote Finn on smoking - 'I'm not addicted. I ask myself do I need a cigarette and if the answer is no then I give myself one as a reward.'
   Simply being in African is exciting enough without all the rubbish I've just written about. The satisfaction gained from walking twenty minutes to the water pump and back to collect water before washing is great. I still miss the luxury of my home in Turriff, but even that is slowly being taken over by the joy of living to the slow beat of Ugandan life.
   Til next time,
   Ben

2 weeks in...

   2 weeks in and how do I describe Uganda?
   There are many ways. I choose to describe it simply as 'plain different'
   At first Uganda was tough and it takes some effort on my part to stop myself from running home and crying to mummy. The weather is ridiculously hot, the food is bland (if you don't like rice and kidney beans you're done for), the traffic is a death trap, the toilet is a hole in the ground outside, the accomodation is tiny and I slept on the floor for the first four nights. But then, isn't that what I expected? The whole idea behind volunteering in Africa is that you have to 'rough it'. You wash with a bucket of water and you cook on a charcoal stove. The simplicity is BLISS.
   Our flight from London was an exciting one (we shared the flight to Dubai with Connie Huq, Dermot O'leary and Cheryl's X-factor finalists). We landed in Entebbe on Saturday the 4th and all 21 of the Project Trust volunteers camped in the country rep's garden for a night. The next morning our host Joseph took the two girls Molly and Justine, as well as Finn and I (Finn being my volunteering partner) to a project in Lugazi, an hours drive from the capital Kampala. Unfortunately he'd forgotten the keys to the accomodation so we slept on his neighbour's living room flor. That week really was an eye opener to what Uganda really is. We had our first Boda Boda ride (motorbiking used as transport), we ate rolexes (not the watch - a chipati and omelette rolled into a wrap), we got roasted in the Ugandan sun, played cards in the mozzie infested evening and most importantly taught some unique and wonderful yet desperately poor primary school children.
   Some of the highlights of that week included: the irony of watching 'The Last King of Scotland' in a Ugandan living room, watching an orphan girl climb a tree and fetch a juicy paupau fruit, sitting outside watching the lightning strikes, giving out lines to a cheeky Primary 1, school boy Charles winning 1 million shillings (approx 320 quid) on a bottle cap, and making our very own chilli veg soup on a portable stove.
   After much delay, Finn + I finally shipped off to our project at Lwakhakha - a small border town for Uganda/Kenya in the far east. The trip was 'interesting' to say the least, totalling 6 hours drive. I will try and describe Ugandan travel: long distance journeys are done in 'Taxis' which are similar in size to a large people carrier. Taxis will NEVER refuse travel for someone who is wiling to pay. At one point on our trip the 14 man taxi held 24 people and on the roof held two sofas, two chickens, a sack of grain and two bicycles.
   Lwakhakha (pronounced 'Wa-ka-ka') is a beautiful town surrounded by the stunning rolling hills of green that come as part of Elgon mountain range. The climate is bizarre: one minute scorching sun and the next freezing torrential rain storms.
   We've taught at several schools in the area - both primary and secondary and its been an experience. The lessons have ranged from 'when to use the word 'since'' to Higher standard mathematics. An innocent school boy at one point asked Finn if he'd been circumcised. I taught a science lesson on simple and compound fractures when only an hour later I ironically had my foot squashed in a taxi door.
   The education system in Uganda is quite different and most likely substandard to UK. In the P7 class I taught the ages ranged from 11 to 16 (a year younger than myself), because if you fail a year you simply stay where you are rather than progressing. School starts at 8 an finishes at 5, a long school day compared to home, but if you take into account that things work differently in Africa and because of lack of nearby water the kitchen (a mud hut kitchen that is) takes two hours to finally produce lunch.
   At our project we've taught at 3 different schools - nursery, primary and secondary - all in varying distances from the accomodation; an hours walk to 30 minutes on a Boda Boda. Our accomodation is pretty good, a bedroom each, the toilet is outside and there is cubicle to pour a bucket of water down yourself when you start to smell. I feel empowered by my own personal feats having hand washed my own clothes in rain water and attempted to make french toast on a paraffin stove (actually became uncooked eggy gloop).
   So thats what my first 2 weeks have been like. This time a fortnight ago I was watching Clash of the Titans on a luxury Emirates flight and now the Ugandan dirt is so far engrained into my skin it will never come out. Its been a tough time but its been so worth it for the cultural experience, the fun to be had and for what I'm learning. Describe Uganda - Amazing.
   From an internet Cafe in Mbale,
   Over and out.

   Benny Hunter