Different Perspectives by Kate Simeon

Where I live in Kalisizo, there is a medical research facility. Both my host parents work there and were very enthusiastic to introduce me to a number of Columbia University public health grad students. Aside from be almost relieved to have more Americans or even westerners in my area, their presents offers a unique insight into an abroad experience I am not having: a comfortable one.

As the adjustment process into a new country can be (read always is) rather difficult, I found their situation so be rather ideal. They know each other from home and go to work everyday with concrete work to do, with people who speak English and can communicate their needs and expectations to them, and then return to a guest house each night to relax, eat at a normal American time and watch movies on their laptops all while still being in Uganda.

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Taxi Ride by Dan O'reilly

It was if being in a clown car with 10 other Ugandans was not enough of a challenge. Sandwiched between and the driver, my right leg pinched between the gear shift and the driver’s hand, my right upper appendage crossed holding for dear life to the plastic handle. A horn blowing into the African air beckoning for more passengers--if there was still room in the taxi to breathe, there was room for another customer. Cars swerving in and out of traffic, avoiding gas tankers, vehicles traveling too slow for the crazed taxi, pot holes, boda boda drivers, human beings...

As I walked down the path from COWESER, Uncle, Mister, etc. Dick taught me the word goodbye, Weeraba. I practiced several times aloud, followed by whispered and then again several times in my head. Weeraba, weeraba... weeraba. I challenged myself not to forget this word, although the only word I had no problem memorizing was tugende, “we go.” As you may suspect, it has not gotten me too far.

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The Daily Ugandan Grind, by Fennie Wang

It’s pitch black but I know it’s 5am. I can hear the crackling of the megaphone. In a moment, a boy of twelve starts the call to prayer. His song at times breaks into shouts, his voice cracking, sending the megaphone awry. He finishes and it’s quiet for about 30 minutes before someone else starts the call to prayer again. This time it’s longer. The man calls and then pauses. A chorus of young children answers his call.

I live next to a mosque and Muslim school in a house on Villa Road, in a semi-rural area outside a small shantytown called Nyendo, just a few kilometers from a bigger small town called Masaka, in the south of Uganda.

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Jinga_2.jpgThe Grand Opening, by Kai Chen

small_HuntP 1.jpgKindness of Strangers and a Draw, by Sarah Angello

small_HuntP 1.jpgTwo Weeks Isn't Enough, by Paula Hunt

small_KernanM 4.JPGThe Beggar Children of Main Street, by Matt Kernan

small_AllenJ 1- caption.JPGClean Water and Appropriate Technology, by John Allen

small_SachsR 1 - caption.JPGA Way Forward, by Rebecca Regan-Sachs

small_HarneyS 1.JPG“This City, it is Shining,” by Shannon Harney

small_NdlovuV 1 with caption.JPGGrandmother Entrepreneurs, by Vu Ndlovu

small_PerreaultW1 with caption.JPGAssembling a Project Monitoring System for the Promic Micro-Credit Program