'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.