When it rains in Gulu, it pours—literally. Everything shuts down. When it begins to rain, you are basically stuck until it stops. I have seen many teachers cancel class due to the rain—not because they don't want to get wet but it is impossible to walk to class because the streets turn to red rivers and the rain pounds so heavily on the roof, you cannot hear the person next to you.
Monday, I was teaching a Senior 2 KOBS (Knowledge of Behavior and Self) class with Ario Gilbert at Saint Joseph's College Layibi when the rain came. My boda boda driver, Francis, had warned me earlier that the rain would come around 6. Boda drivers may as well be weathermen. The lesson, which was about friendship, went well with more than usual participation from the students. It is uncommon for students to discuss concepts and ideas in a Northern Ugandan classroom, so KOBS does a nice job of allowing students to open up to each other. Midway through the lesson, as I was explaining the meaning of sense of humor to the students, it had begun to rain. Luckily, we were able to finish the lesson. Although the lesson came to an end at 4:30, we continued well past after 5. I had wondered at first why we were going over the allotted time, but then realized that we were stuck—Ario Gilbert, approximately 70 students and I. No one said anything about the rain but continued teaching/learning as if it were not yet time. By 5:15 or so, the 40 minute lesson could no longer be stretched out. The students pleaded with Ario Gilbert for me to tell them something. I wasn't exactly sure what they wanted to hear, so I suggested that since they had just learned how to ask questions to new people they meet in order to make friends, they could ask me questions. They asked so many questions ranging from, “What changes have you experienced in Uganda?” to “Do you like Akon?” The students desperately wanted me to sing—which I can't—so I asked them to sing to me, “I'm not afraid/ To take a stand/ Everybody...” I love how education here seems so different than teaching in the US, but is always quick to remind me how similar it is. With 70 Acholi boys huddled around me, all talking at once, I suddenly felt like I was back at home in my own classroom.
So the rains continued, but around 5:45 we were finally able to leave the classroom. The classrooms are in buildings but the buildings are separated from each other. In order to make it to the gate, we would have to cross something just smaller than the Nile. So again, we waited—this time outside under an awning. My phone rang. As I searched for it in my backpack, I assumed it was one of the other Teacher Exchange participants wondering where I was. To my surprise, Francis, my boda driver, was checking to make sure that I was okay and to tell me he could come for me after the rains subsided. Every day I am amazed by how caring and hospitable the Acholi people are. I was able to spend the next 45 minutes simply talking with Ario Gilbert. We were finally able to make it to the gate where I waited another 30 minutes for Francis to arrive at Layibi. When we left, the roads were still very bad—flooded and muddy. All I could think was, “Please keep my on this boda in an upright position.”
At around 7:30 (three hours late), I walked into our house to hugs and greetings from my worrisome friends. It is so nice to know that we are like family here. But when it rains, be prepared to hang out for a while and it will be just fine.
P.S. Apparently, the lightning strikes in Gulu have made international news. Although the lightning is especially crazy here, I am fine. I refrain from showering outside when we are out of water :-) The lightning strikes have been very close to our home; however, my mother raised me to be extra cautious so I always make sure I am indoors. Also, the Acholi people insist that I should not use my cell phone during a storm. Thanks for thinking about me and the many people who have been affected by the storms.
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