June 6th

Today, we traveled to a Parish (I think equivalent to a Rural Municipality, nothing to do with the church). A group of 30 women were gathered under a tree. I felt a little shy but the women rushed over and welcomed us with hugs and handshakes. We sat on a bench and they started in on the meeting. The women supported by FAOC receive 2 goats. They pass on one kid and keep the rest. They share the bucks between them. Goats are the rural banking system, so when money is needed for school fees or other expenses, they sell some goats. Women pay into a group fund as well, which is available on loan when people need it. The group has been buying 2 mattresses a month. Once everyone has one, they will move on to something else, like pots, mosquito nets, etc. They were also having a lottery. Everyone puts in some money and names are drawn. 2 people split the pot and can use the money however they need. The next week, their names are excluded, but they still contribute the 2000Ush ($1.40 Canadian).

We were given a warm welcome. After introductions (they can’t seem to say ‘Jamie’), Warren, another volunteer asked Economic-related questions for his contribution to the project. Currently, they are paying 5% per month interest. Wow! The woman next to me kindly taught me some works in Runyakora, which is the local language. Maria leaned over and told me (or so I heard) Mbuzi is good. So, when my teacher said Agandi (some type of greeting), I replied Mbuzi. Then everyone started laughing. Mbuzi is actually goat. “How are you?” I’m goat, thanks!” My teacher has 10 goats and 7 children. When we were leaving, the preschool children ran up and gave me high five’s. They are so enthusiastic!

I went for tea when we got back and Mama Jane was in the tea house! She was very happy and proceded to slap my face several times. I think it is a sign of endearment. Gloria, an employee, asked about Dr. Kent Wier. They really miss him. I promised to send him a message to see how he is. Gloria was shocked about how long I have spent in University. We went for supper in town. Due to my boda fear, we took a taxi. On the way home, our driver stopped and waited because there was a convoy of fast-moving vehicles. Hilda said it was the President. She figured an important person had died and he was in Mbarara for the funeral. When the coast was clear, we started off. A few seconds later, another vehicle whizzed by: we were in the Presidental Convoy!