Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Where I work!

"Training hundreds, to train thousands, who care for millions."

I really like that.



Who I work with!

William, Ziadah (pictured below), Margaret, Virgin Mary (pictured in the background), and Janepher





The steep road leading down to the Learning Hub office...



past the bananas, cassava, and sugar cane...



almost there!



The Learning Hub!





The view from my desk on the 2nd floor (to the right is where we take lunch)



The office... fancy!





and no office would be complete without signs in the bathroom!



(Yes, and yes, to whatever you're thinking.)



AND no modern office would be complete without emails like this!

________________________________________
From: Milly Xxxxxxxx
Sent: Wednesday, June 01, 2011 2:59 PM
To: Martha Xxxxxxxxx; Training Department
Cc: IDCAP Team; KCC; KKP Staff
Subject: RE: Telephone Extension at Reception

Congs Martha.

________________________________________
From: Martha Xxxxxxxxx
Sent: Wednesday, June 01, 2011 8:12 AM
To: Training Department
Cc: IDCAP Team; KCC; KKP Staff
Subject: Telephone Extension at Reception

Dear All,

I am writing to inform you that a phone has been installed at the reception.
My extension number is 434.

Kind regards,
Martha Xxxxxxxxx

Monday, May 30, 2011

I just...

I just barfed 20 mins after taking my doxycycline without food. Lesson learned, "take with food" is actually not a suggestion.

WTF...

... is what I mistakenly read whenever I see WFP (World Food Programme) emails in my inbox. Yikes! They should really rethink that.

Vintage Mzee





That's quite the Dictator 'stache, M7!

Evoking Duende Somewhere between Blue and Green





To live in the borderlands means you
are neither hispana india negra española
ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed
caught in the crossfire between camps while carrying all five races on your back
not knowing which side to turn to, run from;

To live in the Borderlands means knowing
that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years,
is no longer speaking to you,
that mexicanas call you rajetas,
that denying the Anglo inside you
is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;

Cuando vives en la frontera
people walk through you, wind steals your voice,
you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat
forerunner of a new race,
half and half–both woman and man, neither–
a new gender;

To live in the Borderlands means to
put chile in the borscht
eat whole wheat tortillas,
speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent;
be stopped by la migra at the border check points;

Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to
resist the gold elixer beckoning from the bottle,
the pull of the gun barrel,
the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;

In the Borderlands
you are the battleground
where enemies are kin to each other;
you are at home, a stranger,
the border disputes have been settled
the volley of shots have shattered the truce
you are wounded, lost in action
dead, fighting back;

To live in the Borderlands means
the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off
your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart
pound you pinch you roll you out
smelling like white bread but dead;

To survive in the Borderlands
you must live sin fronteras
be a crossroads.

From Gloria Anzuldua’s Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza (San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, I987)

Somewhere between Blue and Green from Evoking Duende: Travel and poetry from an American writer in Andalucía

Friday, May 27, 2011

how to rip Ugandan VCDs: part 2

So after downloading a bunch of free trial versions of software that converts .dat files into .mp3 files, I gave them all a spin and found a free trial version of ImToo that converts up to 5 mins of video into audio, so I was finally able to rip the overgrown pile of VCDs sitting on my desk borrowed from various Ugandan friends. Yay!

I ALSO found a way to download streaming videos as .mp4 files using KeepVid, which is a program that uses some JavaScript that essentially creates a link on the fly for downloading videos from websites like YouTube, TED, Facebook, etc.

I love how the phrase "on the fly" references the exact same concept across my two totally unrelated careers: my VERY short-lived career in the service industry (possibly short-lived due to it being spent working at the Macaroni Grill), and my current career working in software development.

I was definitely into piracy before I came to Uganda, but since I've been here, I think I've become pretty good at it.

how to rip Ugandan VCDs: part 1

After being here for 6 months...

After being here for 6 months, I finally had the opportunity to get pick-pocketed at the Old Taxi Park! I was walking with my friend Marika, and I just felt the slightest sensation of someone unzipping by bag, and instead of turning around to find my zipper just a little bit unzipped with no one in particular to claim the credit (a frequent scenario amidst the chaos at the Old Taxi Park, especially at night), I found not only my zipper completely unzipped, but I also found a guy in a maroon button-down shirt reaching his hand down into my bag and removing my wallet.

The Old Taxi Park

(this is actually the very first picture I took in Uganda)





I don't actually remember having any thought process in my mind about what might happen in the next few seconds, but I immediately spun around, my eyes flickering up just enough to catch his face and his eyes before completely focusing my eyes on my wallet. In the same moment, without even thinking, I lunged at the guy, digging into his forearm, preparing to hold on as tight as possible, and absolutely not let go, even if it meant getting dragged with him a few steps down the street, and I totally (dropped the f-bomb, sorry mom, and) yelled "give me my fucking wallet!" The guy, caught by surprise, immediately dropped my wallet and ran away, which was a wise choice. Stealing is really serious here, and similar to in India when there's a car accident, everyone gets involved, and there are constantly stories about people getting chased down by a spontaneous mob formed by everyone within range of the crime, and getting beaten, sometimes to the point of death.

I only had ~40,000/= in my wallet, which is less than $20, oh, and a photo ID debit card (not much use to a male Ugandan), a photo ID NJ driver's license (also not much use to a male Ugandan, but high in NJ sentimental value), along with a few business cards. A lot of my Ugandan friends actually only make between 5,000/= and 10,000/= per day. So yes, let's go there, that's 5,000 = $2 per day, 25,000/= per week, 100,000/= per month, and 1,200,000 = $500 per year. And just for fun, let's compare, by throwing in the fact that the frisbee team recently registered for the World Championship Beach Ultimate 2011 tournament in Italy, which incidentally only happens once every 4 years, and will cost ~$2,000 per player. So while the danger of getting caught stealing in downtown Kampala is very real, it's completely understandable that an opportunity to pick almost 1 week's worth of salary off a muzungu in less 30 seconds stands to be legitimately tempting, if you don't get caught. ;)

And after being here for 6 months, I ALSO finally had the opportunity to schmoooooze at an Accordia conference at the Kampala Serena, Accordia being one of the partners, along with Pfizer Inc, the Academic Alliance, and Makerere University, that founded the Infectious Diseases Institute (IDI), where I work, and of course, the Serena being the most shamelessly ostentatious hotel in Kampala.

The Keynote Lecture



(in the ugliest conference room with the worst lighting)



The Cocktail Reception after the Keynote Lecture



(with the best Australian wine, beef kebabs, and smoked salmon)



And although it was all very exciting, I also discovered, more importantly, that I am the WORST offender of obliviously wearing my name tag for HOURS after a conference. Whoops! I had been kind of suspicious of this about myself for some time (but how to confirm such a thing?), and as I walked from the hotel to Centenary Park to meet up with a friend, I didn't realize until I was almost there that I had been wandering around in public once again with my full name plastered across my body, this time it was the lower right side of my stomach. I ran my hand across my hip and felt along the edges with my fingers before quickly ripping it off, shaking my head in disbelief, but at the same time amused with myself over my obscure inside joke... with myself.