Farm time!

           Well, y’all… here it is. The moment you have all been waiting for. I am finally writing about the farm! I can hear the tone in all of your voices as I receive messages asking for the update. Some are impatient, some are excited, and some are just downright eager! I am touched by the interest you have all generated in our little project in Uganda. And for your reward, I am going to tell you all about it!

            That itself, is an arduous task. There is no way I will be able to tell you what I feel in my heart or describe to you the love I have for what we have done. How do you describe such a life changing experience? How do you put words to what only that experience can justify? However, I will do my best. Let’s begin with the drive out to the village.

I felt like a kid again as we endured sweltering heat in the back of Peter’s little car, careening down the broken roadways of Uganda. You know what I mean – being so excited to go, then wondering if you will ever arrive. Getting out of Kampala alone is a trick; you must puzzle piece yourself through the stifling traffic. Sometimes this involves squeezing through a tiny slot and hoping the two cars converging on either side of you will stop.

            Once you are out of the city, traffic clears considerably and your main worry (outside of road conditions, that is) is passing by slower vehicles and trying not to knock down boda-bodas (motorcycles) that pop out of no where like deterrents in a video game. Occasionally, our road to Masaka was a broken down, dirt and gravel mess. I swear I had a layer of dust on every part of my body, since I was in the back seat and Ugandans refuse to drive with the windows up.

            Again, like on the way to the safari, the further we traveled outside of the city, the more I loved it. This road was a different one from our earlier travels, and brought new scenery. More agriculture than open land, although valleys smiled wide at us as well. My favorites are the fields of banana trees. Those huge leaves blow so carefree and happy in the wind, and the maze they create just begs me to come and explore!

            Also, the buildings became sparse as we traveled. Instead of row after row of shacks and fruit stands, huts and homes, and business blocks, it was more like a field of corn or banana trees with a few buildings peeking through the crops. Maybe they are the homes of those who own the land? Maybe a place for workers to rest? Maybe a shed for storing supplies? I had no idea, but I wondered plenty at all the possibilities.

            I also loved the sections of land that popped up sporadically that resembled more the jungle. The trees in these sections were taller, towering, almost teetering in height. And draped across their thick branches were blankets of vines and something I thought might be ivy… but I am sure I am wrong. I would daydream about the adventures I long to have in the jungle. Before too long, however, excitement brought me back to the fact that I was heading to the farm!

            After about 3 hours, we rolled into Masaka district, where the farm is located. There is a larger town of about 500,000 called Masaka town, but Peter’s farm is further off into real farmland. The smells fade from exhaust and pollution (I often wonder how long it will take my body to dispel the massive amounts of toxins I must have breathed in) to the sweetness of crops and earth. The air practically drips with the freshness of growth, and I love it!

            We turned onto a road from a little village town, and Peter told us his farm is about 5 kilometers down. Out here, this far, there is no trace of electricity. No lines, no poles, and no sign of it any time soon. The headlights of the car reflect off of small houses with a flicker of a candle or the glow of a lantern. I wonder what it would be like to be in darkness when the sun goes down, at the mercy of the star. Here, you learn to rise and fall with the sun, I guess.

Once at the farm, Peter starts in right away with the tour. And thankfully, the piggery – our piggery – is the first stop. I could hardly contain myself as we walked to the cleverly constructed pens. The floors are lined with beautiful stones, kept relatively clean by these tidy animals. The walls and doors look almost like driftwood, but are woven so tightly and expertly that I doubt anything could crash through them.

The pigs are HUGE! One big massive male, dozens of slightly less massive females, and a few new litters of tiny little squealers playing around or vying for food. They all have a fuzzy layer of hair and big flapping ears, with tiny eyes that train on us as we approach. The grunts increase, the curiosity fades, and they go back to scrounging for food.

All I could do was stare in awe. These are the pigs we paid for. This is the piggery we bought with hard work and dedication, with countless hours of planning, preparation, and love. This is the project that will, over time, change the lives of thousands of people. We gave each other a hug and just chuckled in disbelief. We have done it, I remember thinking. We have really done it.

The piggery isn’t even the most amazing thing about the farm. I could write a hundred pages on the projects Peter has to fuel his people. Orange trees to pay for orphans to go to school, a mill for the community to grind their corn, a well that hundreds of people come to each day for clean water free of charge! There are beehives to cultivate honey, banana trees because they are always in demand, goats, chickens, cows, beans, potatoes, plans for a seed bank, and sugar cane. Everything designed to give to the community to build them a better life.

Farmers will borrow from him on structured plans, and after attending training classes to learn how to farm efficiently. This is true for all of his projects; you are only allowed to participate after completing training. There are even sewing machines for people to train on, then they are given the machine on the stipulation that they teach another 10 women to sew and get certified.

The list goes on and on and on and on. It is dizzying to think of the thousands of people influenced by Peter and his farm each day. His entire dream, passion, and goal, is to change the world around him. And it’s not just his world… it’s everyone’s world. Make life better, but do it the right way, without cutting corners and without holding back. It’s so inspiring that I couldn’t begin to describe it to you. He even took some donated money to build a community center for the village to gather in, and learn from him in.

The well was especially inspiring, as Peter requires nothing in return for its use. I saw the children lining up and filing away with the heavy burdens on their heads. Can you even imagine living life like that? Having to haul jerry cans across the village on your head, just to retrieve clean water? How desperately close we all are to oblivion, and how sad I felt at the things I miss because of convenience. We wandered through the rows of corn, past stalks of sugar cane, plucking papayas as Peter instructs, and I couldn’t help but choke up.

We sat beneath the shade of a few trees and chatted as we ate sugar cane and oranges. We kept talking about Peter’s dreams of expansion, which are too many and too great to describe. We got on the subject of coffee, so the girls and I ended up buying Peter nearly 1,700 coffee trees, then spending the afternoon and next day planting them.

Each tree will produce about 1,000 seedlings in a few years. Each seedling will be given to a farmer who has completed Peter’s training program (someday I will go into detail about that for you… his co-operative structure is AHmaaaaazing!) to take home and cultivate. Since coffee is always in demand, that farmer, with patience, will have an income to support his entire family.

1,000 people from one tree. That cost me about 20 cents. Mind blowing. That means that someday, those trees have potential to reach millions. To make even a slight difference in the lives of millions of people is a privilege I can never comprehend fully. Even if only half of them, one quarter of them, a fraction, stick to their training and change their lives, we have changed the world. Be it ever so slightly.

            The day we left the farm, we passed out the pigs to the first wave of farmers to receive. I would say close to 100 people showed up for this humbling experience. Again, I cannot begin to describe it to you. Part of me doesn’t want to, and the other part doesn’t know how. I watched all of those people so eagerly breaking into groups and following Peter’s structure, so willing to change their lives.

            We would be passing out about 40 piglets to group members to take home and begin the journey. Groups are formed of about 8 farmers, and one will receive a male to service the rest of the group’s sows. They are to form a co-op, rely on each other, and help each other. Within a year, a business will be started that will launch them into the middle class. We’re talkin’ – being able to pay for food, school, supplies, medicines, and savings. We’re talkin’ about a new life.

            When it came down to it, I handed that first farmer his piglet and I cried. I cried this time because every one of their eyes conveyed what their words could not translate to us; thank you. It was a thank you for caring, for being aware, for working to accomplish the goal, and most importantly, for changing their lives. An honor, for which I will never, ever, not one day in my life, be able to deserve.

            I will never be the same.