More Scenes from Gulu
Road construction began on market street this past week. While little shops close early in the evening, smoke collects over the road and kids return from school along lines carved into the dirt by a giant tractor. 
After making strong progress at the beginning of the week, we ran into a bit of a snag by the end of it. To meet our possible film subjects, we need another letter from a desk higher up in the human rights commission, which we are now in the process of acquiring. So while we wait for yet another document of approval, we decided to spend our down time meeting other members of our new community. First, there is Leonard (or Ozuku, a nickname he received because of his well-groomed beard reminiscent of a Nigerian rebel of that name), the elderly tailor who has survived every war in Uganda since its birth. He has been teaching Acholi to John and me, and requested that we film him telling stories of his medical struggles, including a hip injury he received secondary to a landmine explosion 10 year ago. This weekend we are going to his village where he is also introducing us to a few surviving members of the King's African Rifles who fought in WWII. Next, there is Florence, a woman in her 30s who runs a crafts store next to Leonard's business. She is also happy to help us learn the local language, and sold John an adungu (a string instrument shaped like a miniature boat). Wile trying to find someone to help John tune his new instrument, we met Charles on the street, a boda driver by profession, who plays the adungu in the local catholic church. After treating him to a soda for his help, we now hope to recruit his musical talent for the film (a possible lead for you Savant).
Behind our hotel, the city clumps into small clusters of administrative buildings, NGO offices, and local businesses. On the left hand side in the far back of this photo is the Gulu regional hospital. Sadly it looks as if the building has suffered from the war as the much as any place or person. Echoing the hospital's broken windows and fractured walls, 12 health centers in the district closed this month because of a lack of medicines.
Across the street from our hotel is a school yard. Throughout the morning, its floods with children dressed in bright blue and yellow uniforms. Like any other piece of valuable property in the developing world, the grounds are walled off by brick and cement coated with shards of glittering glass.
Because we had no map of all the affordable hotels in Gulu when we first arrived, John and I had to be strategic in finding our accommodation. We would visit a guest house, request to see one of its top floor rooms with a balcony, then negotiate a price for the room. While conducting our negotiations, we would look out over the town for another nearby hotel that had the architecture for our price range, as well as a decent looking balcony. That's how we found the Acholi Ber, and I have to say we got pretty lucky with this one.
While I was busy one afternoon jumping through hoops for our letters of approval, John and Akra went for a little reconnaissance drive in the surrounding area. Though these puddles looked fairly innocent, they almost swallowed our Corolla. A crowd of local spectators gathered outside their grass roof huts as the soundman and the car's captain navigated the waters at a 45 degree angle. In celebration of their successful traverse, John got out of the car and juggled a soccer ball with some of the local boys. With high fives and the sound of laughter from the audience, they drove on.
Akra, busy at what he does best... From the rear view mirror dangles a large picture of the Kabaka (Bugandan King) and his wife. At the bottom of their photo is laminated a brightly colored map of the world cut out from some report that looks like it could be from the WHO, UN or some global NGO. Of the many colors representing the different states of states, in the middle of a sea of yellow that is sub-Saharan Africa, Uganda shines red, a color listed critical on the legend. I've spent hours in the front seat speculating what could be so lacking in this country compared to all its neighbors. Akra isn't sure where his dad acquired the map, and while driving in the villages, he often wedges the large photo-map ornament behind a sun visor so it doesn't obscure his view of all potholes.
The Germans, Marcus and Thomas, legends from the casualty ward. They spent the weekend with us in Gulu. We visited Lacor together on Saturday, and they shared stories on camera of their work in Mulago. They experienced a lot in their three months at the national referral hospital, and witnessed the extremes of its limited resources. They were the essential medical care that P. received, and lots of others.
Road construction began on market street this past week. While little shops close early in the evening, smoke collects over the road and kids return from school along lines carved into the dirt by a giant tractor. 
After making strong progress at the beginning of the week, we ran into a bit of a snag by the end of it. To meet our possible film subjects, we need another letter from a desk higher up in the human rights commission, which we are now in the process of acquiring. So while we wait for yet another document of approval, we decided to spend our down time meeting other members of our new community. First, there is Leonard (or Ozuku, a nickname he received because of his well-groomed beard reminiscent of a Nigerian rebel of that name), the elderly tailor who has survived every war in Uganda since its birth. He has been teaching Acholi to John and me, and requested that we film him telling stories of his medical struggles, including a hip injury he received secondary to a landmine explosion 10 year ago. This weekend we are going to his village where he is also introducing us to a few surviving members of the King's African Rifles who fought in WWII. Next, there is Florence, a woman in her 30s who runs a crafts store next to Leonard's business. She is also happy to help us learn the local language, and sold John an adungu (a string instrument shaped like a miniature boat). Wile trying to find someone to help John tune his new instrument, we met Charles on the street, a boda driver by profession, who plays the adungu in the local catholic church. After treating him to a soda for his help, we now hope to recruit his musical talent for the film (a possible lead for you Savant). 
Behind our hotel, the city clumps into small clusters of administrative buildings, NGO offices, and local businesses. On the left hand side in the far back of this photo is the Gulu regional hospital. Sadly it looks as if the building has suffered from the war as the much as any place or person. Echoing the hospital's broken windows and fractured walls, 12 health centers in the district closed this month because of a lack of medicines.
Across the street from our hotel is a school yard. Throughout the morning, its floods with children dressed in bright blue and yellow uniforms. Like any other piece of valuable property in the developing world, the grounds are walled off by brick and cement coated with shards of glittering glass.
Because we had no map of all the affordable hotels in Gulu when we first arrived, John and I had to be strategic in finding our accommodation. We would visit a guest house, request to see one of its top floor rooms with a balcony, then negotiate a price for the room. While conducting our negotiations, we would look out over the town for another nearby hotel that had the architecture for our price range, as well as a decent looking balcony. That's how we found the Acholi Ber, and I have to say we got pretty lucky with this one.
While I was busy one afternoon jumping through hoops for our letters of approval, John and Akra went for a little reconnaissance drive in the surrounding area. Though these puddles looked fairly innocent, they almost swallowed our Corolla. A crowd of local spectators gathered outside their grass roof huts as the soundman and the car's captain navigated the waters at a 45 degree angle. In celebration of their successful traverse, John got out of the car and juggled a soccer ball with some of the local boys. With high fives and the sound of laughter from the audience, they drove on.
Akra, busy at what he does best... From the rear view mirror dangles a large picture of the Kabaka (Bugandan King) and his wife. At the bottom of their photo is laminated a brightly colored map of the world cut out from some report that looks like it could be from the WHO, UN or some global NGO. Of the many colors representing the different states of states, in the middle of a sea of yellow that is sub-Saharan Africa, Uganda shines red, a color listed critical on the legend. I've spent hours in the front seat speculating what could be so lacking in this country compared to all its neighbors. Akra isn't sure where his dad acquired the map, and while driving in the villages, he often wedges the large photo-map ornament behind a sun visor so it doesn't obscure his view of all potholes. 
The Germans, Marcus and Thomas, legends from the casualty ward. They spent the weekend with us in Gulu. We visited Lacor together on Saturday, and they shared stories on camera of their work in Mulago. They experienced a lot in their three months at the national referral hospital, and witnessed the extremes of its limited resources. They were the essential medical care that P. received, and lots of others.
No comments:
Post a Comment