Mzungu suicide:

Buying a bag of candy, refusing the yellow supermarket bag that could have disguised it, and then walking past all the orphans on the street with the candy swinging from your hand.

I didn't give them any. In both Kampala and Ndejje kids ask for 'sweeties' constantly, and many volunteers bring candy for that purpose, but I never give anything out. It doesn't help them in any way, and risks teaching them that begging is a viable way to make a living.

There's lots of examples of foreign aid inadvertently doing more harm than good. Donations of goods to solve short term problems such as famine often undercut the local merchants and put them out of business, leaving the community more dependent on aid long term. The Ndejje jelly bean industry has been in dire straits for years now.

I left Canada expecting to be return with a new perspective on what being poor was. I expected the problems of Toronto to pale in comparison with the troubles faced here, and I thought I'd look at the homeless and poor people in Toronto and think how lucky they were, how much worse it could be.

The problems in Toronto do pale in comparison. But what's interesting to me is that my sympathy for the poor and sick in Canada has increased immensely since I started working here. Maybe it's from seeing how little control many people have over their lives. Or maybe it's because this is the first time I've been exposed to poverty for an extended time and I'm only now beginning to appreciate what it's like.

Enough philosophy.

I have decided that next weekend, despite a life-long fear, I will do a 44 metre bungee jump into crocodile infested waters. I say into, not over, because the top half of my body will dip into the water during the jump. Fly fishing for crocodiles.

Secretly, I have long considered myself an above average wuss. I hate fairground rides, don't like horror movies and would pick scrabble over a ouija board any day. Bungee jumping has long been on my never-to-do list. But I figure if I write in this journal that I'm going to do it, my fear of a crap story and well publicized wuss-ness will outweigh my fear of bungee-croc-death.

Oh by the way I was kidding earlier about the Ndejje jelly bean industry.

Last night I was back at the refugee camp. Louise and I kept the children entertained while their parents were taught English by Axel and Graham. We had absolutely no supplies, and the kids hardly speak any English, so we played a memory game where we went around in a circle making stupid gestures and noises in a specific order. Each person mimicked all the previous noises and gestures and then added their own to the sequence. It turns out stupidity is not language dependent.

Then Jen saved the day by showing up with crayons and some pictures to colour. The kids had to colour different sections different colours based on what words were in the boxes. It was a great way for them to learn some English words.

Which leads me to a request from anyone reading this journal: if you know of any good activities or games to play with kids who don't understand English too well, please let me know! If it involves worksheets that can be emailed, I can print and photocopy them here. If it just needs to be described, posting it in the comments here would be perfect. The activity needs to be very simple because it's hard explaining any rules to them.

I was also teaching Gracie, one of the orphans found in the garbage dump, how to use a camera. We had my polaroid sticker camera and he was absolutely ecstatic watching the pictures develop in front of him, and then getting to stick them on things. He doesn't understand how to aim the camera though, Axel and I kept showing him how to look through the lens and he kept touching the viewfinder to his nose and then going cross-eyed. Even when he learned to close one eye and held the view finder to his open eye, he was looking straight up, not into the camera. But as soon as he hears the click he starts laughing and jumping and dancing around while he waits for the picture to develop. It doesn't matter what he took a photo of, just the clicking and sticking is enough for him.

By the end of the day I'd destroyed my shoes, was covered in mud, and smelled like urine. Most of the refugee kids only have one set of clothes, and many are so young they aren't so good at using the pit toilets yet.

It was probably the most satisfying cold shower I've ever had.