Tag Archives: #Corona

‘COVID is bringing me a new way to minister’

May 7, 2020COVID-19, Faculty#Corona, #Covid-19, #Florida, #SAMS, #UgandaChristianUniversity, #virus, Jesus, Mukono, Poverty, UCU, UgandaPatty Huston-Holm

Paul Mukhana, left, is a member of Mary’s “family,” helping others in time of need

By Mary Chowenhill

On a typical, sunny Ugandan day and in front of what most call the Thelma building but is soon to become the Uganda Christian University (UCU) business incubator on the Mukono campus, seven students and I got the news. They were telling me about their incubators – also known as business startups – related to piggeries, organic fertilizer, crocheted baby clothing and more. As their economics and entrepreneurship lecturer, I offered advice.

Then, we got the news of the lockdown, and everything changed.

Mary Chowenhill, left, before Ugandan distancing and lockdown guidelines

I think that day was March 30. But like most people living in the COVID-19 pandemic around the world, the exact date then and even the day of the week now escape me. I knew the coronavirus was spreading, including in my state of Florida in the USA. Yet, I didn’t see it coming to Uganda or my small apartment where I have lived on the UCU campus for the past four years.

Within days, I watched thousands of university students, including mine, as well as half of the Americans living and working at UCU, pack up and leave. Having recently sold my house in Florida and suffering from asthma, I felt it healthier for me to stay out of airplanes and remain here.

UCU offices are less than half full as Ugandan employees were ordered home and into isolation.

To the best of my knowledge while writing this on April 30, 2020, the deadly virus still isn’t here on the mile-long campus and in our houses, in my garden or on my patio. In fact, as I write, only 89 cases have been identified out of 39,000 tests administered in this country. It’s hardly in Uganda at all.

But the threat and precautionary measures are. And in Uganda, there are penalties for disobedience of such government regulations on social distancing, curfews, and taking public transportation. In addition to consequences of no income for people unable to go to work, there are government fines and imprisonment for disobedience.

In preparation for the inability to leave the campus, I immediately purchased 1.5 million shillings ($395 American) of food – something that the average Ugandan is not able to do. I divided beans, rice, posha, and sugar into various portions. My friend and gardener, Paul Mukhana, delivered these to many in greater need than me – a family with new twin babies, an elderly woman walking with a cane, among others.

When this ran out – and it did – I sent Paul to the market to get more. He went to buy posha and other items for me and another customer. Under Ugandan COVID guidelines, Paul was permitted to use his boda-boda (motorcycle) to pick up food. But due to some misunderstanding and while he was inside the market, the local police confiscated his transportation. Like many others who had their vehicles taken, he was required to pay 700,000 schillings ($184) to get it back legally or 200,000 shillings ($52) under the table.

It took two weeks, including prayer and a lesson about what Jesus thinks regarding bribery, to get Paul’s boda back.

The Christian love and human kindness of Ugandans, woven with the acceptance of a country fraught with bribes, is ever present in the COVID environment.

What has changed most is that my frenetic schedule of teaching economics and entrepreneurship and children’s Sunday school has ceased. It has been replaced with solitude and church on my patio and from the computer with six children and eight adults. After our most recent “service,” we moved and sat six feet apart under a tree, discussing the meaning of loving each other as depicted in 1 John 4:7-12.

A neighbor named Ebenezer, age two and a half, wraps his arms around my knees. He doesn’t understand why he can’t cuddle on my lap.

While the campus is quiet, there are places we can’t walk because a few international students still living here violated the distancing rule.

Depression from change and isolation contributes to the lack of motivation to accomplish tasks I was never quite able to get around to but could now. Yet, COVID is bringing me to a new way to minister.

I have always had people who are not students as part of my Ugandan family. But recently with students sent home, I am seeing more and more staff coming to my door. Some want to harvest greens from my garden. Some want a prayer. Most need a listener. Many need money for children’s school fees when that education returns.

It is an opportune time to teach people to fish. Not a hand out but a hand up. It’s what I’m trained to do.

One worker cleans out bat feces – 7 sacks full – from between the ceiling and roof of three apartments, including mine. I hire a man to fix my patio. Grateful for the work, he writes “Hebrews 13” in one section and ”Praise God, Jesus Lives” on the cement in another.

God is allowing my brain to be relaxed while I see deeper how people are hurting. Yesterday, I read Job 19. I know my redeemer lives. Is this easy? No. But it’s necessary. He will see us through.

Mary Chowenhill, a teacher in South Sudan until the war caused her evacuation, is a sponsored educator and missionary with the Society of Anglican of Missionaries and Senders (SAMS) and sponsors a student through UCU Partners. She hails from Jacksonville, Florida.

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To support Uganda Christian University programs, students, activities and services, go to www.ugandapartners.org and click on the “donate” button, or contact UCU Partners Executive Director, Mark Bartels, at m.t.bartels@ugandapartners.org.

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COVID-19: Panic buying, added work from home, trusting God

May 5, 2020COVID-19, UCU Alumni#Corona, #Covid-19, #Manchester, #Museveni, #SarahLagotOdwong, #UgandaChristianUniversity, #USAID, #virus, God, Kampala, Mukono, UCU, UgandaPatty Huston-Holm

Sarah Lagot Odwong, UCU graduate and USAID employee

By Sarah Lagot Odwong

March 21^st, 2020. 11:32 p.m. Uganda had its first identified case of COVID-19.

My mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts. Only weeks earlier, my siblings and I – with our own bills to pay – had emptied our savings to complete a large part of the construction work for my mother’s house. Because her life had been wrought with difficulty, it was always our dream to give her a place of rest.

There is no good time to be dirt poor, but having a bank account blinking red when a government shutdown is inevitable is the worst of times. Sleep eluded me.

I arose early on March 22. On my way to work, I noticed the unusual flurry of activity on the Kampala roads. The traffic was horrendous. Pedestrians trudged in silence on the pavements with swift gaits and downcast faces. The boda-bodas (motorcyclists) rode dangerously, swerving and wedging through the small crevices within the disorganized flow of traffic. It was a dystopian sight. I got into work in a pensive mood. I did not have much time to settle at my desk as a staff meeting was hurriedly called.

We sat hunched on white rickety plastic chairs in the parking yard. The chairs were spaced out from each other. Some staff wore masks. Others nervously tinkered with their phones.

Our boss announced, in part:

“As you all know, the first positive case of COVID-19 was confirmed last night. The grapevine alleges that the country will be in some sort of lock down. It will probably be announced later tonight when the President makes his address. I suggest that we share work plans with line managers and get all the resources we need to work from home…You will have your salaries in your bank accounts by this afternoon…”

At least some positive news. I got a notification from my bank at 1 p.m. that my account had been credited.

I picked up my bag, scampered to the car and drove to the nearest supermarket. I passed by the bank ATM at the premises, withdrew some cash and sauntered into the store. Inside, the panic buying had already ensued. There was a mad dash by shoppers. The queues stretched for miles. Shoppers’ trolleys were loaded with toilet paper, kitchen towels, soap, wipes and other hygiene products. Others heaped vegetables, milk, bread, cartons of beer, meat and liquor.

Only one big bag of rice remained. I grabbed it. I proceeded to pick up other dry rations, hygiene products and joined the snaking lines to pay prices that had increased tremendously in a matter of hours. Little bottles of sanitizer that were affordable a week earlier now cost almost ten times more. I bought just one.

Like anticipated, President Yoweri Museveni announced a lockdown of the country for an initial 14 days. After the two weeks lapsed, 21 additional days were added.

While fortunate to still have a job, my workload increased with hours extending from early morning to late at night. Not only do I have a full-time job, I also support the crisis communications for the epidemic response.

Before the outbreak, I was living out of suitcases, on the road for days and sometimes weeks at a time, working long hours. Now at home, my workload has ramped up even more. I jealously read texts in group chats from my girlfriends who suddenly find themselves with bursts of free time. They are learning new languages on Duolingo, learning to sew and evidently having an extended holiday off work.

Not me. I spend my days hunched at a desk in the living room with my pajamas on and my hair tied in a headscarf. I am writing, attending endless Zoom and Skype meetings, and tending to incessant phone calls.

What I have found hardest is the physical distance and inability to see family – both in Uganda and elsewhere. No travel on roads or in the air. We created a family chat group on WhatsApp, which helps my coping. Seeing videos of my nieces and nephews doing hilarious things, the new baby attempting to walk and other family milestones, I am reminded that there is hope after this plague blows over. And it will.

What precious time I have away from my computer, I am reminded to prioritize the things that really matter. Family, faith, friendships, love and personal development. We waste time chasing the wind, like the writer of Ecclesiastes opines. The “busy” job, the career growth, and monetary gain. All of it is meaningless.

What this pandemic has shown is that when it is stripped down, life makes meaning with just the simple things. Healthy thriving relationships with God, family, friends and the people who love and support you. They will always be a constant. All the other material contraptions we chase fade away. This epiphany has made me change gear.

In what I hope are the final days of this lockdown, I have a different attitude and mindset. Going forth, I aim to structure my work to fit within regular hours. I aim to find more time to check on the people I love.

I am determined to create extra time to pursue my passion projects. I wrote a book during my undergraduate studies that I need to publish this year. I have autobiography projects that I must complete. I have a consulting business to grow. I have a PhD proposal to write. There are friends and family to check on. I have series of sermons to watch.

I have seen the Lord’s handiwork amidst this chaos. He has been faithful. There is no day I have slept hungry. I have a roof over my head. My utility bills are paid. I still have a job. When I feel overwhelmed, I remember that the creator of the universe knew me before I was formed in my mother’s womb. He had the foresight that I would go through this calamity. And he promised to help me weather it.

(Sarah Lagot Odwong is a graduate of Mass Communication from Uganda Christian University and received her Master’s degree in Humanitarianism and Conflict Response from The University of Manchester, England. She currently works for USAID’s Better Outcomes for Children and Youth Activity as the Communications Director.)

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‘I can’t hug her the minute I get home’

April 30, 2020COVID-19, UCU Alumni#Constantine Odongo, #Corona, #Covid-19, #Museveni, #newvision, #UgandaChristianUniversity, #virus, Kampala, Mukono, Poverty, UCU, UgandaPatty Huston-Holm

Madonna waiting for her dad to come home from work

By Constantine Odongo
Emmanuella Madonna is three years old. Every weekday, after taking her after-school nap, the kindergarten pupil engages her friends in the neighbourhood in games, such as dodge ball and hide-and-seek.

That was before mid-March 2020 and COVID-19.

On March 18, she got an abrupt, indefinite school holiday after the Ugandan government announced a closure of schools and a ban on work, unless it was an essential service. The ban was to enforce the health guideline of social distancing and staying home to combat the spread of the novel coronavirus, which has become a pandemic. Madonna now spends more time with her mother at home and keeps wondering why I, her father, cannot stay home with them.

As an employee of Uganda’s New Vision newspaper (i.e. news jobs are considered essential), it means I’m gone much of the day and conceivably more exposed to the potentially deadly virus.

Madonna doesn’t get that. She doesn’t understand why I can’t hug her the minute I get home between 6:45 and 7 p.m.

Uganda President Yoweri Museveni on March 30, 2020, announced a two-week stay-home order and capped it with a 11.5-hour curfew from 7 p.m. to 6:30 a.m. The order and the curfew were then extended by another three weeks.

Since, most times, the normal working hours at my office are not enough for me to accomplish my tasks, I often work up to the 11th hour. My workplace, being a media house, is open 24 hours. But, nowadays, the newsroom is almost empty, save for security personnel, especially past 6 p.m. People abandon office early, in order to get home and beat the curfew time of 7 p.m.

It usually takes me up to 25 minutes to cover the 14km (8.5 miles) distance from my office located in the capital of Uganda, Kampala, to home in Kawempe, a city suburb. I spend close to half of that time at roadblocks, trying to explain to security why my media movement permit sticker is on the dashboard and not on the car screen. Some motorists had lost their outside car stickers to thieves, who would pluck them off cars and sell them in the black market in Kampala, sometimes as high as one million shillings (about $280).

As I arrive home after work and oftentimes after the routine security interrogation, I see Madonna run to arms she can’t yet embrace – until I am cleansed of possible contamination to her and others in my family. I watch a fight brewing between Madonna and her nanny, who is seven times her age, but understands her job to keep a daughter from her dad in the world of COVID fear. I always ensure I bathe as soon as I arrive home, before getting into contact with anything or anyone, so that I do not become a conduit for the coronavirus.

Every morning, if Madonnna wakes up before I set off for work, she tries her luck in convincing me not to go to work that day. When President Museveni banned public and private cars from the roads on March 30, I carried my computer home and set up myself to work there. However, an unstable Internet network, an unfavorable work station and distractions by children hindered my ability to work.

Madonna’s sibling, Morgan, will be making one year on May 5. Throughout the day, I arbitrated disputes between her and Morgan. April 1 was day two of my full operation from home. We were both at our workstations, Madonna’s about two metres (6 feet) away from mine. When I stepped away from the room to receive a phone call, Madonna removed a keyboard key.

Madonna’s grandmother, a lady she was named after, lives and teaches in a primary school in Tororo district, located 220 kilometers (136.5 miles), east of Kampala. One-and-a-half weeks before the lockdown, schools were closed. Initially, teachers saw joy in the holiday. But it was short lived as they experienced more than one negative aspect of the lockdown.

The weekend after schools had been closed, as one example, Madonna’s grandmother attended a funeral in Tororo, without knowing that she and some friends were going against the guidelines of the Ministry of Health – that only close family members bury the dead due to social distancing. There were water points for the mourners to wash their hands before getting to the funeral, but not many even understood why the water and soap had been provided.

Such stories justify why the Government enlisted the services of the security forces to enforce the observance of the lockdown guidelines. I remind myself of this each time I am stopped. Life as we know it has changed for Madonna and me. With God’s guidance and understanding, we will appreciate the fruits of the difference and get through it.

(Constantine Odongo is a deputy chief sub-editor for New Vision. He received an MA degree in Journalism and Media Studies from Uganda Christian University.)

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Coronavirus pandemic has reshaped me into a better person

April 28, 2020COVID-19, Faculty#Corona, #Covid-19, #JohnSemakula, #newvision, #virus, Mukono, Poverty, UCU, Uganda, Uganda Christian UniversityPatty Huston-Holm

Journalists Paddy Nsobya of Bukedde newspaper, Samuel Sanya of New Vision and John Semakula of The Standard newspaper of Uganda Christian University in an April 20 meeting to strategize for the post COVID-19 period in Mukono District, Uganda. (Courtesy photo from Samuel Sanya)

By John Semakula

When governments in Europe and the United States came up with altruistic measures to help their citizens during the Coronavirus lockdown, in Uganda, we were left to fend for ourselves.

Despite the fact that the majority of Ugandans live hand to mouth and expected help from government during the lockdown, a selected few received food items. Many communities, including mine, were forced to mobilise ourselves to help the most vulnerable like the elderly, the poor and children in child-headed families. This experience has reshaped my personality and worldview.

For a video showing food distribution in Uganda, click here

Before the lockdown, I did not care much about community. If I had food on my table, I was mindless about the needy in the community; someone always did that job anyway.

John Semakula of The Standard newspaper of Uganda Christian University

However, the lockdown has molded me into a better person. I have learned to share with others and be keen about what goes on in my community. When the government of Uganda declared a partial lockdown due to the coronavirus pandemic on March 17, I plunged into thoughts about how my family would go through it. I stay with seven relatives in Mukono town, central Uganda.

Although I am a salaried employee at Uganda Christian University, the lockdown was abrupt and yet the situation required that I should help close family members whose incomes were affected by the pandemic and the subsequent lockdown. Some of them operated casual businesses that had to close.

However, as I was still lost in thought, wondering what to do, I received a call from my father in the village offering us food from his garden. This has turned out to be our lifeline. Whenever we run out of food, I send a motorist to collect from my dad.

This kindness from my father has helped not only my siblings and me but also some of my neighbors. My siblings and I had to share the little we get from dad and the meager monetary resources I had saved up before the lockdown. My father has taught me an invaluable lesson in adulthood and I had to reciprocate his kindness.

I have also seen hundreds of other Ugandans donate food, cash and other critical items to the coronavirus national taskforce that was set up by the government to receive financial and food aid from members of the public for distribution to the most vulnerable. This was uncommon before the outbreak of the pandemic. I have discovered that Ugandans are a good people and that if we had been helping one another before, we would have been a better society.

I have also had to help several of my neighbors who need small cash handouts to feed and support their families in other ways during the lockdown.

On Tuesday April 14, a father of six including a pair of twins came to me at 8 p.m. to ask for a loan of $6. He said, “…if you do not help me out today, my family will go without food for the next three days…” I was forced to surrender part of my week’s small budget to him.

Within less than a week, on April 19, another neighbor, who had a patient at a nearby hospital, also asked me for a favor of sh40, 000 ($12) to transfer him for specialised treatment to another facility. I gave it to him out of sympathy. Before the Coronavirus pandemic, he worked in Kame Valley Market in Mukono town and like other traders, the lockdown has rendered him helpless.

Although markets are allowed to operate, only those trading in food items are allowed to work, the rest of traders like my neighbor, have to close. That is how my life has changed during the lockdown. But I thank God who has been merciful to my family because we are still alive when thousands of others around the world have succumbed to the pandemic.

Meanwhile, since the University where I work shut down on March 17, I have been operating from home, preparing for the reopening and the next semester. I am also going through students’ research proposals and internship reports. In addition, I am taking this time to come up with and bounce off different COVID-19 related research ideas with colleagues; hopefully we will have a research paper at the end of the year.

I see light at the end of the tunnel.

But the Coronavirus pandemic and the lockdown have taught me a lot of lessons in life that will remain fresh on my memory until death. I have never seen people the world-over suffer and die at this rate. I also have learned that in Africa we survive by the mercy of God. I will continue to exalt Him as the most supreme.

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John Semakula is the supervisor of The Standard newspaper under the Faculty of Journalism, Media and Communication at Uganda Christian University (UCU). He is a UCU graduate of Bachelor of Arts in Mass Communication and Masters of Arts in Journalism and Media Studies.

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COVID-19: Ugandan father makes good out of the season

April 21, 2020COVID-19, Faculty#Corona, #Covid-19, #Luo, #virus, Education, Mukono, UCU, Uganda, Uganda Christian UniversityPatty Huston-Holm

Frank Obonyo holds Keren, his daughter, who he features in the article. Other family members are the writer’s wife, Cathryn, and children, Adonai and Ezekiel.

By Frank Obonyo

Keren: Daddy, why does Coronavirus have many names?

Me: Which ones?

Keren: Corona, COVID-19, Coronavirus…

Keren, age 3, is my youngest of three children. We – my wife, Cathryn, and our children Adonai, age 9, Ezekiel, 6, and Keren – live in Kirowoza, Mukono, Uganda. As I write this on Easter in April 2020, the deadly virus has not reached our village. But word about it has, including to a three-year-old.

Children ask questions. Lots of awesome questions. If deeply thought about, their intricate inquiries make a lot of sense. They wonder why things are the way they are.

Our three-year-old is excessively talkative and inquisitive. I recall one such time when she asked: “Does Jesus have a house in my stomach?” We previously told her that Jesus lives in us. Instead of figuratively about the spirit of Christ, our youngest took this literally.

It was during an evening walk with Keren that the COVID questions came. When I later went to bed and recollected what happened in the day, Keren’s question made actual sense. To think about it, COVID-19 is like a maze.

Multiple names are part of the maze as we weave through additional questions related to isolation, lifestyle changes, overall confusion and then how what is taking place now relates to other experiences that we have had.

Africans are connected to nature. It feeds us and shelters us but we also link it to natural occurrences. Locusts –those swarming, tropical grasshoppers – eat up vegetation including crops, leaving people in terrible famine. A child born during a locust invasion is called “Obonyo,”which is part of my name and my identity. The naming of this child, or me, is symbolic. It reminds the community about the dreadful disaster.

The Northern Uganda Luo speaking group refers to the insect invasion as “bonyo.” The Luo are one of East Africa’s largest ethnic groups.

In this season, Coronavirus seems to have touched the climate as well. Our weather is either dry or wet, and April is a rainy month. However, the sun is now baking green leaves bone-dry, sprinkling our heads with grayish dust and we have no option but to survive this life indoors, behind closed shutters. It is the government’s “distancing” and “sheltering” orders (expanded for another three weeks from the two-week curfew that ended April 14).

What is more exceptional is that the desert locusts swarmed Uganda just a few months ago. The two tragedies seemed to have agreed to attack us one after another. These somewhat haphazard observations may give a fair idea of what our country is like.

Life, I must admit, is ugly for us as it must seem to others around the world in this COVID-19 pandemic environment. We are accustomed to routine. Wake up, get to work, come back home, sleep.

This has changed. It is now bedroom to living room, kitchen to compound; that is the cycle. We miss out on social life, working together and even as a community, mourning the death of someone. In Uganda, life is about meeting friends, extended family, workmates. Men, for example, reserve Saturday and Sunday to watch English premier league games, children have school assignments, and mothers go shopping. We go out to church together.

We now hear and live two words: Stay home.

I admire Keren and her two brothers for how they adapt. They remind me of Jesus’ teachings about humility. He said that we should humble ourselves like little children if we are to enter the Kingdom of God. If we are to live happily, we ought to live like children. And not worry.

My children do not worry about the bills, the next meal. If they have parents around them, food and accommodation, they have it all. They go forward, no matter what. There is very little fear. Children do not worry about the virus or a lockdown. They are focused on being themselves; they have an insatiable curiosity. It is not about missing the old life. It is about onward and upward. Children adapt quickly, and perhaps that is why they live happier lives. My children wake up, play, eat, and are happy to see us around.

The truth is, for adults accustomed to routines outside of parenting, spending more time with children can get complicated and chaotic. Lots of laundry, playing the role of a judge, answering why COVID-19 has many names…

I am using this season break from work and post-graduate studies to help my children improve in their reading skills and understand who they are in God. I read with them the adventures of Mr. Hare. This folklore revolves around the cunning Mr. Hare, who, though in small stature, employs his wisdom and tricks to outmaneuver bigger opponents and always takes the prize home. The stories are packed with humor and life lessons. We also study the Bible; April is the month of the book of Ephesians.

I am making good out of the season, as there will be others.

Frank Obonyo is a Communications Officer at Uganda Christian University(UCU), an MA graduate in literature from UCU and an MA Digital Journalism fellow at the Aga Khan University, Nairobi, Kenya.

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BEFORE COVID-19: African American teen experiences Uganda

April 9, 2020COVID-19#AfricanAmerican, #Charleston, #Corona, #Covid-19, #Fullbright, #HeriageInternationalSchool, #LadaviaJust, #Pandemic, #southcarolina, #teenager, #UgandaChristianUniversity, Kampala, UgandaPatty Huston-Holm

Teenager Jada Nicole Just engages in Uganda schooling remotely from her South Carolina, USA, home

(This is the second of two stories UCU Partners is featuring about American teens living in Uganda.)

By Douglas Olum and Patty Huston-Holm

At 1 a.m. on a Tuesday, 14-year-old Jada Nicole Just climbs out of her Charleston, S.C., bed to begin school – on-line and facilitated from Uganda, Africa, where it’s seven hours later. From her laptop, she takes her first class focused on the Bible and beamed out from Heritage International School, Kampala, where the time is 8 a.m. Except for COVID-19, Jada would be there with new friends from around the world.

“We literally had days to pack up and get back to the States,” her mom, Ladavia, said of the coronavirus exit she did with Jada and two younger daughters in March 2020.

South Carolina 14-year-old Jada in Uganda

The night before the flight out from Entebbe was bittersweet as Jada had a goodbye sleepover with Heritage school friends from Finland, Kenya and Uganda. She was excited to return home to her life in South Carolina and to her friends, her dad and her dog there, but had grown to love much about Uganda. Experiences with African food, wildlife and even getting around chaotic streets are opportunities that few American teenagers receive or are even bold enough to try.

In the summer of 2019, Jada, then age 13, left South Carolina for her first trip to Africa. Her mom received a Fulbright opportunity to teach and lead pharmacy-related projects through Uganda Christian University’s School of Medicine. With anxious uncertainty, the girls went along. They made Uganda home and were comfortably settled in their school when they learned they needed to leave. With almost six months left, Ladavia’s Fulbright was suspended by a U.S. Embassy directive, forcing their exit from Uganda.

Jada is still processing her time in Uganda. She recalls her first long trip – nearly 7,500 miles over two days – to East Africa. She had never before been overseas.

There was a stop in Brussels, which was her first time in Europe. Next, there was a landing in the dark at the Entebbe airport, followed by a car trip with a flat tire and two hours to fix it in darkness before arriving at a small Ntinda apartment in northeastern Kampala with no water pressure for showers. While exhausted, sleep did not come easily as there was a first encounter with nighttime Uganda mosquitoes. The sometimes-malaria-carrying insects were surprisingly smaller but nevertheless more frightening than the ones in South Carolina.

Daylight revealed disorganized traffic jams with motorcycles over dusty roads, cars and taxis with seemingly no driver guidelines, women carrying bananas in baskets on their heads, cows and goats without enclosures, skinny wandering dogs and dirty pelicans eating from piles of trash. While observing these stark contrasts to the landscape and more-orderly life in Charleston, Jada and her family discovered there also were American-like places such as Café Javas with cheeseburgers and salads and Acacia Mall with its ice cream, book stores and a movie theatre.

Trips to the zoo allowed an up-close look at ostriches and zebras. Game parks enabled the family to see lions, primates, giraffes and hippos in their natural habitat. There was a chase by Uganda’s national bird, the Crested Crane, and a frightening but unforgettable, nighttime trip across the Nile while hippos moved dangerously close by their tiny boat. Monkeys of different species roamed the trees seemingly everywhere.

“Sometimes, we picked jack fruit from a tree in our compound,” Jada recalled. “We didn’t need to ask permission. It was just there, very sweet and good.” Other regular foods were beans, rice, samosas and an egg-like treat called rolex.

Despite the time difference, the teenager kept in touch with Charleston friends via social media when there was a connection and electricity. Uganda power outages sometimes necessitated earlier bedtimes and subsequent earlier wake times to finish homework before school each day.

The weather in Kampala was surprisingly similar to that in South Carolina except that despite Uganda’s location on the equator, the air was cooler. The friendliness of the Uganda culture was another pleasant surprise.

“People here don’t take offense when you stare at them; they smile back a lot,” she said. “And for the first time as an African American, I was living in a culture where everybody looked like me. They just didn’t speak like me.”

Uganda has many tribal languages with the most common around the capital city being Luganda.

After getting over the nervousness that comes with starting high school in another country, Jada feels very prepared as she approaches her sophomore year in the United States. She’s become particularly fond of French, a language that is taught at Heritage beginning in kindergarten. But her favorite subject there was Physics. She has also grown in appreciation of her home in the United States.

“Although we can’t travel much now because of virus restrictions, I value that we have roads with no pot holes, and I’m not so picky about what I eat here,” she said.

Will she go back to Uganda?

“Not soon,” Jada said. “But, yes, I want to go back some day.”

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COVID-19: What $40 a night in quarantine teaches you

April 2, 2020COVID-19, UCU Alumni#AgaKhanUniversity, #AlexTaremwa, #Corona, #Covid-19, #isolation, #Kenya, #Pandemic, #UgandaChristianUniversity, UgandaPatty Huston-Holm

Alex Taremwa doing an on-line class via Zoom.

(During this unprecedented time of the COVID-19 pandemic, UCU Partners will be publishing stories about how UCU-connected Ugandans and Americans are coping. This is the first of several accounts.)

By Alex Taremwa

In my shared apartment, Guma Jeremiah storms in from work. I call him the “diplomat extraordinaire” because he works for the Ugandan Foreign Service based in Nairobi. Panting is not Guma’s usual demeanour, and I can sense the haste and unease in this voice – evidently, he is scared.

“Have you watched the news yet?” he asks.

I send my hand for the remote and switch to NTV Kenya. The authorities are confirming what we feared the most – Kenya’s first Corona Virus Disease (COVID)-19 case – a 27-year-old female who had travelled in on March 5 from Chicago in the United States with a connect flight that went through London in the United Kingdom. Both the USA and the UK were flagged high risk by my country, Uganda.

What followed was silence, then a unanimous decision that shopping essential supplies was paramount. The supermarket in our affluent neighbourhood of Kileleshwa, Kasuku Centre, is often less congested but this particular afternoon, it was as if people went out at the same time to shop. The place was filled to the brim – forcing some prices to shoot up.

At the counter was a Chinese man whose tray was mostly occupied by bathroom tissue paper – enough to cover him for two months or more. I can’t tell if it was the four-metre (up to 13 feet) social distancing recommendation by the World Health Organisation (WHO) or his nationality that is associated with the genesis of the novel Coronavirus, but other panic shoppers gave him more than the deserved distance accompanied with a rare stare. I shopped for beef, bread, soap and groceries. Philip, my other housemate, sent for some alcohol.

“If I have to die, I don’t want to meet God sober,” he joked. He is terrified by face-to-face interactions.

Kenya’s announcement on March 13, 2020, was a wakeup call for Uganda. The virus that supposedly didn’t affected “blacks” or “Africans” as previously assumed had touched base in the region. When I first posted the update on my social media, the first responses I received were asking if the victim was White or Black. Around the East African region, Rwanda, the DR Congo and South Sudan announced cases. Uganda, in the middle, was now sandwiched with cases in all directions.

The next move for President Yoweri Museveni was simple, at least according to the opinion of most Ugandans I interacted with: Close the borders and stop all flights. They didn’t care that out of those borders were other Ugandans like myself – students, expats, parents – who wanted to return to their families. It looked imminent that the President, being the populist that he is, would heed to this pressure. He didn’t.

Instead, the president announced mandatory quarantine for all returning citizens – especially those from “Category One” countries that had more than 1,000 cases confirmed. This was my window to come home. Folks on the “Ugandans in Nairobi” WhatsApp group that I created agreed that if we waited, we would be locked out.

And so, I packed ready for quarantine – normally a 14-day absence from the physical scene but present on social media. Living in Uganda though, where we pay tax for being on social media, it is possible to be absent on both scenes.

The journey home
At Jomo Kenyatta International Airport (JKIA), I met a one Alex Kawalya. He had spent the night at the airport because he had run out of money to hop onto the next flight. He had just sold his phone to one of the airport staff to get a seat aboard Kenya Airways to Uganda where he wished for a miracle if he was to afford the $100 price per night in Entebbe Central Inn Hotel where government was quarantining returning citizens for 14 days.

Stories of returning Ugandans being herded like sheep by the army to the hotel were sickening. Women and children slept in lobbies and the government would have nothing of the “I am a student on scholarship in Kenya and I can’t afford $100 a night” talk. Like Kawalya, I boarded KQ 412 at 11 a,m., not knowing what fate awaited me at Entebbe International Airport – but I boarded anyway.

It was the only one of the few flights heading to Kampala and from the look of things, one of the last ones as Jambo Jet, Fly Sax, and even Uganda Airlines were no longer plying the EBB-NAI route – a real catch 22 situation. You’re not wanted at home, but you cannot stay where you are.

Uganda confirmed her first case on Saturday, March 21, after I had been in the country for a few hours. The victim, looking feverish, was a Ugandan coming from Dubai and had flown in at 2 a.m. aboard Ethiopian Airlines. Having just flown in and in the process had interacted with another Dubai returnee, the pressure mounted. Even when I wasn’t put in institutional quarantine, I felt sickish. I volunteered Kawalya’s name to the Ministry of Health for testing and he did well.

Life in Quarantine
On March 26 and from my self-quarantine hole at Kisubi Forest Cottages in Entebbe, where I am writing this, Uganda has 14 COVID-19 cases. President Museveni closed the airport and borders soon after and has since closed public transport, churches, markets (except for food stuffs). And as of today (March 26), all the 104 tested samples of suspected cases had turned up negative. From this hole, I keep my family updated about my health at all times. Occasionally, I go out, watch the stars and feed the mosquitoes – they are really hungry.

I have to cough up $40 a night to keep my family and country safe but with the stories of people bribing their way out of quarantine, others not staying home as required and thousands who have to be forced to wash their hands with soap – I am not sure if my sacrifice will make any difference.

One of the new cases is a father who travelled from Kisumi, Kenya, by bus and ended up infecting his 8-month-old baby. My conscience tells me that feeding mosquitoes is much safer that infecting innocent people. When I finally get out of this place on April 3, these mosquitoes will surely miss me.

Alex Taremwa is a graduate of Uganda Christian University, a journalist and Masters Fellow at the Graduate School of Media and Communications, Aga Khan University.

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