When I started this volunteering I have to say that I was quite skeptical about it on most levels. I didn't know if I could be any use to anyone, I didn't know if volunteering Westerners did more harm than good and I didn't know if the project would have any kind of effect of me. But all these questions which I had are slowly being answered and certainly gives me some boiled cabbage for thought.

With out sounding too vein I do actually think we have done some good. The beginning of last week saw the start of term proper and we were thrown in with a bunch of four year olds with little concept of school let alone English. But we did get one positive experience from these little sh*ts (which I mean in the most caring way of course). The one boy who had spent the last three weeks learning English with us was an absolute English speaking superstar and was head and shoulders above his piers who seemed to take most pleasure by running out of the classroom so Marte and I had to chase after them. There are some funny moment when you teach. For example I am pretty sure my accent some how gets stronger whenever I am away from home. For some reason my brain feels the need to remind me where I am from and after only a matter of weeks I am speaking like a bad impersonator of an east end fruit and vedge seller. It is not something that I really notice until the kids start doing repetition. The kids are so reliant on you and trusting that they try to imitate every aspect of what you do. So to see young Ugandan girl twist her mouth to the side of her face to repeat my attempt to say the the number 'nineteen' and reproduce a perfect South Bucks accent is both funny and a little worrying. That said, even hearing the kids sing head shoulders knees and toes with their friends is really pleasing and a sign that they are picking up English more and more.

I have to say that this week I was genuinely taken aback by the plight of some of these people for the first time. It's strange I haven't really been shocked by the poverty or the stink in the 'slums' or even some of the dreadful stories I have heard. But there were a strange few hours last week. When I was on my way to teach the adults here at the compound I was informed that one of the students would not be studying that day or any time in the future as he had been ordered back to the refugee camp. What do you say in that situation? My comments or 'sorry' and 'good luck' just sounded crap and I felt very young all of a sudden. The most shocking part of it though was the photo album he carried in his hand. Flicking through his photos of his girlfriend who he had to leave in Congo, scenes of him having a few beers with his friends, pictures of him eating chips with his family next to a swimming pool, photos of him pre and post his theology exams showed how much he and many of these poor people have left behind. Before he was just the bloke who stood at the front who we said 'hello' to every day, but with those few photo's I suddenly got an insight in to what a refugee leaves behind. Many of these people are not poor uneducated people who have had to struggle all their lives. Many had good jobs and education before war played a part in their lives. After spending a few weeks in a large tent in the camp he will be told to go in to the forest get materials to build a home for himself in the camp! Congo is such a wealthy place and I hope I can go there one day in the future and visit all these great people I have met.

A few hours later I asked about the family, part of whom live and work at the compound. Their story is so ridiculously tragic that I have to laugh, and the amazing thing is that the family all have such a nice manner and energy about them. They are 'Burundian' but their father fled the conflict there thirty four years ago and moved to Rwanda then to Congo in refugee camps only to be pushed from these places by further conflict. They eventually ended up here in Uganda. The truly absurd thing is that all nine children have been born in refugee camps and the oldest is well in his twenties. They truly have no nationality here in Africa. To rub a bit of African bureaucracy in to their wounds they have US visas and passports waiting for them at the US embassy, plane tickets with their names on, houses in New York and yet the Ugandan government has been blocking their exit for over two years. By what I can make out this out of nothing more than spite that they have this great opportunity. They have already returned from Entebbe airport a number of times thinking they were starting a new life in the US only to be turned away by jealous officials (or a*seholes if you prefer). The good news is that someone flew from Washington last week from the UN to help them out and hopefully they will be off in March which will mean more people to visit in the big apple. But its amazing how two sets of lives so close can suddenly be so far apart.

Other developments this week. We cooked a stonking chilli con carne which went down a storm. The teaching is all going well if a bit tiring. The fund raising and negotiations with various charities although a bit tiresome is slowly coming together with the GVN Foundation agreeing to channel the money so all your donation will be doubled.

We spent the weekend at Sipi Falls on the Kenyan border which was set in a quite beautiful mountain location. It was a bit eerie though because we were the only guests on the first night as everybody else has been scared off by the upcoming elections. The feeling we were in the sequel to 'The Shining' was further enhanced by no electricity, tin roofs, high night time winds and the tendency of the door fly open in the middle of the night when there was a high gust of wind. I of course handled this with my usual masculine authority. I also ate 3/4's of a whole chicken which was certainly up there with any feeling of satisfaction that I have gleaned on this trip.

But the trip back deserves its own paragraph. The boarding of the bus was more chaotic than normal and combined with immense heat and therefore sweating, resulted in both Marte and I having a simultaneous strop with each other which threatened to leave us stranded in Mbale. On getting on the bus I endured the most ridiculous four hour bus journey of my life. On my right I had a small child using my arm as a pillow and her big bummed mum nearly pushing me in to the isle. Underneath me I had a Turkey which would let off a sqark when kicked by an errant foot. No wonder so many of the poor buggers are getting the flu. Left of me should have been the isle but instead it was the home to the passengers luggage and of course another child laden mother. Her child also decided to use my apparently comfy body as a pillow. I was also sat at an angle of 35 degrees the whole time also as my legs were too long to fit in behind the seat in front. The journey was capped off by the front row view of a child a few rows ahead vomiting up here matoke in rather impressively sized lumps, whilst her mother berated the poor girl for daring to vomit. It summed up everything that can be so stupid, illogical and ridiculous about this place. And when most of the passengers got off with an hour before the end the feeling of despair disappeared as the chapatti sellers gathered round the bus. Mmmmmmm chapattis.

That was a bloody long entry and quite frankly if you have read all of it give yourself a pat on the back especially because I can't be bothered to read it myself and get rid of the spelling errors and typo's. Any how, I hope you are all well and that life is all treating you well.

Come on the chairboys.

Pete