Twas an eventful day.
First, I roll out of bed completely hungover, change into workout pants and experience full vampire-effect, coiling in terror as I attempt to walk out the front door into the morning sunshine. Re-emerging seconds later, dark sunglasses stuck on face, I bike to work.
Yes, work.
It's Saturday.
Ridiculously pointless to have to go all the way to the office to essentially check my email and half the time send one or two holding messages about needing to wait to check gorilla permit availability on Monday with the Uganda Wildlife Authority (which like any sane company, is closed on Saturdays). But hey, those are the rules. Thanks big boss in London. Really appreciate you in my heart every Saturday morning.
Anyway, I get back home around 1pm. To which Moses, our day askari/gardner tells me Indy has worms. :( yyyyyuk.
I hate little alien parasites that live in things and eat them/their food.
So, today was the day little Indy got her first trip to the dog doctor. Monica went with me and held her on her lap in the car. Turns out Indy has more serious worms, and not your regular tapeworms (although she probably has those too) but these nasty coiling clear spaghetti-shaped ones called Askari worms. The vet said it was a good thing she was a Bansenji-type breed, a real African dog, because purebred dogs like German Shepherds would die from the same quantity inside of her. She looks nothing like a Basenji, but I'm glad she's a bonified African street dog, who can handle some serious worms and tough it out like a trooper, little ribs protruding above her ballooned stomach. She didn't even make a peep during the antibiotics shots. Little love, so sweet, so brave.
I just pulled Indy onto my lap and cuddled her while I type this and she's making baby pig grunting noises out of sheer contentment. This is going to be one sharp, intelligent and fantastic dog. I wonder how big she will become in the end.
We went to the vet at the USPCA, an amazing (and unique!) organization that works to save the lives of street dogs and cats, and abused or neglected animals from around the city. Now I'm watching the videos about Hope and Lucky and the staff and getting all emotional. So many things need our help in this world!
For example...
What I originally started this post about, is that on the way to and from the vet, Monica and I got to chat in the car about her life... and fuck. I'm sorry, but holy shit fuck goddamn. Like if you can paint a picture of someone who has the heart of a survivor, that is this woman. She doesn't know how old she is, since she was orphaned as a child. But since she thinks she had her first child at age 16, it would make her almost 32 or 33. Having her first child at 16 was also thanks to being raped by an older man who manipulated her to gain her trust, and then forced himself on her one day when her aunt (who "cared" for her after her parents died) wasn't home.
Her aunt basically treated her like Cinderella, so she was a houseslave, and had no way to tell anyone or find justice for how this man had treated her. She wasn't living in exactly a caring, compassionate and empowering environment. Monica told me she stayed with this man, because she didn't want to be the type of girl who has children by different fathers and a mixed up history, but she discovered within a year that he was not suitable father material. They had another child, a daughter, but the man was never around---sleeping with other women and basically being a complete asshole. She said he would leave her 2,000 UGX for the entire family (the equivalent of like .80 cents) and she was doing all the housework, feeding and clothing the kids, and completely having to support herself.
Then in 2004, her sister died of HIV. So her niece essentially became her third child. She had now been directly affected by the HIV virus by watching her sister die from it, and she wasn't about to let a philandering loser infect her and ruin her and her children's lives.
Monica left the loser husband, and openly disclosed her situation to her current boss, my neighbors Tracy and Anders (also some of the nicest people I have met here in Kampala), and that's how she came to live here full time. And she and her children love Indy, and she's already sleeping in the downstairs storage room where Dan, Monica's son, sleeps on a simple mattress on the floor.
Gnut and Pepper (Tracy and Anders' dogs) love Indy too, and bite her playfully and let her follow them all around the compound. She is one little happy dog. Minus the whole creepy worms thing.
I bought the de-worming medicine (including a stop to a pharmacy on the way home for people de-worming tablets for everyone who's been letting Indy lick his or her face) and settled home again for a lazy rest of the day. I was already planning on leaving most of my clothing here for Monica or Lucky (our maid that comes three times a week) and now I am planning on also leaving some money for Monica to buy a bicycle for her son. He asked me for mine when I go, and not only do I think it shows a lot of character that he would be brave enough to ask me, he's a really good, hard-working, and seemingly shy kid. But so is Moses, (the 20-something askari) and I want to give him my bicycle. I guess the moral of today's story is that I think it's pretty great that people can try and do things to help the "greater causes" of the world, or feel empowered working for some big-vision NGOs or whatever.... but I find the most powerful things we can often do are already in our own back yard.
(Especially if it's an African back yard. The rest of you may have to take a short walk. )
First, I roll out of bed completely hungover, change into workout pants and experience full vampire-effect, coiling in terror as I attempt to walk out the front door into the morning sunshine. Re-emerging seconds later, dark sunglasses stuck on face, I bike to work.
Yes, work.
It's Saturday.
Ridiculously pointless to have to go all the way to the office to essentially check my email and half the time send one or two holding messages about needing to wait to check gorilla permit availability on Monday with the Uganda Wildlife Authority (which like any sane company, is closed on Saturdays). But hey, those are the rules. Thanks big boss in London. Really appreciate you in my heart every Saturday morning.
Anyway, I get back home around 1pm. To which Moses, our day askari/gardner tells me Indy has worms. :( yyyyyuk.
I hate little alien parasites that live in things and eat them/their food.
So, today was the day little Indy got her first trip to the dog doctor. Monica went with me and held her on her lap in the car. Turns out Indy has more serious worms, and not your regular tapeworms (although she probably has those too) but these nasty coiling clear spaghetti-shaped ones called Askari worms. The vet said it was a good thing she was a Bansenji-type breed, a real African dog, because purebred dogs like German Shepherds would die from the same quantity inside of her. She looks nothing like a Basenji, but I'm glad she's a bonified African street dog, who can handle some serious worms and tough it out like a trooper, little ribs protruding above her ballooned stomach. She didn't even make a peep during the antibiotics shots. Little love, so sweet, so brave.
I just pulled Indy onto my lap and cuddled her while I type this and she's making baby pig grunting noises out of sheer contentment. This is going to be one sharp, intelligent and fantastic dog. I wonder how big she will become in the end.
We went to the vet at the USPCA, an amazing (and unique!) organization that works to save the lives of street dogs and cats, and abused or neglected animals from around the city. Now I'm watching the videos about Hope and Lucky and the staff and getting all emotional. So many things need our help in this world!
 |
| Rescued dogs at the shelter... just bein' dogs. |
For example...
What I originally started this post about, is that on the way to and from the vet, Monica and I got to chat in the car about her life... and fuck. I'm sorry, but holy shit fuck goddamn. Like if you can paint a picture of someone who has the heart of a survivor, that is this woman. She doesn't know how old she is, since she was orphaned as a child. But since she thinks she had her first child at age 16, it would make her almost 32 or 33. Having her first child at 16 was also thanks to being raped by an older man who manipulated her to gain her trust, and then forced himself on her one day when her aunt (who "cared" for her after her parents died) wasn't home.
Her aunt basically treated her like Cinderella, so she was a houseslave, and had no way to tell anyone or find justice for how this man had treated her. She wasn't living in exactly a caring, compassionate and empowering environment. Monica told me she stayed with this man, because she didn't want to be the type of girl who has children by different fathers and a mixed up history, but she discovered within a year that he was not suitable father material. They had another child, a daughter, but the man was never around---sleeping with other women and basically being a complete asshole. She said he would leave her 2,000 UGX for the entire family (the equivalent of like .80 cents) and she was doing all the housework, feeding and clothing the kids, and completely having to support herself.
Then in 2004, her sister died of HIV. So her niece essentially became her third child. She had now been directly affected by the HIV virus by watching her sister die from it, and she wasn't about to let a philandering loser infect her and ruin her and her children's lives.
Monica left the loser husband, and openly disclosed her situation to her current boss, my neighbors Tracy and Anders (also some of the nicest people I have met here in Kampala), and that's how she came to live here full time. And she and her children love Indy, and she's already sleeping in the downstairs storage room where Dan, Monica's son, sleeps on a simple mattress on the floor.
Gnut and Pepper (Tracy and Anders' dogs) love Indy too, and bite her playfully and let her follow them all around the compound. She is one little happy dog. Minus the whole creepy worms thing.
I bought the de-worming medicine (including a stop to a pharmacy on the way home for people de-worming tablets for everyone who's been letting Indy lick his or her face) and settled home again for a lazy rest of the day. I was already planning on leaving most of my clothing here for Monica or Lucky (our maid that comes three times a week) and now I am planning on also leaving some money for Monica to buy a bicycle for her son. He asked me for mine when I go, and not only do I think it shows a lot of character that he would be brave enough to ask me, he's a really good, hard-working, and seemingly shy kid. But so is Moses, (the 20-something askari) and I want to give him my bicycle. I guess the moral of today's story is that I think it's pretty great that people can try and do things to help the "greater causes" of the world, or feel empowered working for some big-vision NGOs or whatever.... but I find the most powerful things we can often do are already in our own back yard.
(Especially if it's an African back yard. The rest of you may have to take a short walk. )
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