We were CouchSurfing with Iyas, a local Syrian guy, and his family when he introduced us to his extended family who lived down the street. We had never met these people in our lives and while none of them spoke great English, they welcomed us with open arms inviting us into their home, preparing food, tea, and coffee for us. They were a lovely family. Two of his cousins Amira (21) and Safa (18) were really excited to have me into their home. They greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks and invited me to sit with them in the saloon room where it was just the girls and their mother. I sat down on the floor cushion and we began chatting. They quickly pulled out their jewelry box and generously gave me a necklace and a ring of theirs. We shared stories trying to get to know one another and laughed at all of the misunderstandings we had. When it came time for me to leave, the girls asked me to spend the night with them. It was getting late and I didn’t have my bag with me so I promised them that I would stay with them tomorrow night. They were thrilled!

As I walked home, I wondered what a girls sleepover would consist of here in Syria with this conservative Muslim family? Would I need to wear a headscarf all night? Would I not be able to interact with Chris? Would I be required to eat with the women only? Would I unknowingly offend the family from my ignorance of Muslim sleepover etiquette? Where would I go to even find that detailed of information???

The next evening came quite quickly and when I arrived at their door they greeted me and ushered me in giving me tea and food. I was still a guest so I ate with Chris and the girl’s father, but normally, the men and women would eat separately. Once the girls saw I was finished, they signaled for me to come into the next room where all the women were gathered so that we could begin the festivities for the evening. They didn’t dare enter the room where the men were eating unless they were bringing us tea or coffee.

When I walked into the next room, they pointed to a corner where there were several floor cushions on a persian rug saying that this would be my bed for the night. I dropped my small overnight bag and sat down only to have Safa beg that I join her in the kitchen. Amira covered my eyes as I walked through their doorway and into the kitchen. Their mother was trailing close behind us. When Amira finally uncovered my eyes, Safa was standing in front of me holding a beautiful cake. “I made this especially for you” she said with a smile on her face that extended from one side of her headscarf to the other. By this time in the evening I was stuffed but she was so happy to serve it for me that I couldn’t resist acting excited to eat it. We brought the cake into the “sleeping room” and Safa served me a slice that could feed a small army. Their hospitality was so good in fact that Amira pulled out her beloved sweets and piled my plate with chocolate and candy bars after having unwrapped them all. Their mother then got in on the fun and poured two snack-sized bags of potato chips on my plate to ensure I wouldn’t go to sleep hungry. Ugh. Too. Much. Food.

I asked if they would be eating the cake with me but they said no, it was ALL for me. With grins on their faces, they sat there watching me take my first few bites. While I was eating, they began pulling their jewelry out showing me their favorite pieces. When they heard I had two sisters, they willing departed with two necklaces that they insisted I give to my sisters upon my return home. As the night grew later, we changed into our pajamas and the girls took off their head scarves. This was the first time that I had seen their long dark hair. It is common in their religion that all women wear headscarves covering their hair, ears and necks only to be exposed to other women and their husbands. After, we played dress up and I let them decorate me with their jewelry and headscarves. We laughed like we were 13 again!

Finally, we turned off the lights and talked from our places on the floor. There was a sudden stir in the next room and within seconds the girls both had already put on their headscarves. Their father walked through the dark room just as Amira had finished wrapping her scarf around her face. I was shocked at how strict it was, yet very impressed that they could put their scarves on so quickly. After their dad returned back through the room, the girls took their headscarves off again and we all began to giggle. It was a wonderful night! The last words the two Muslim girls spoke to me before I drifted to sleep where “Good night Amy. Hopefully you will dream about Syria because we dream of America. Welcome. We love you sister.”

Turkey is a country full of glamour, diversity, history and appeal yet it’s friendly neighbor Syria is completely overlooked. Syria is a country full of mystery, culture, hospitality and charm, but it’s completely misunderstood by most of the Western world (or at least by Americans). The two countries have many similarities like their food, culture, and historical ruins, but they provide completely different experiences. In comparing the two, it’s very clear that Syria offers more bang for your buck, but even better, it’s less touristy and everyone is much more hospitable. Here are a few reasons that I would recommend you consider Syria for your next trip to the region:

• Many people in Syria speak at least some English and if they do not, they are extremely helpful in finding someone who does.
• Syria, in my opinion, has one of the most friendly, inviting and EXTREMELY hospitable cultures in the world. They are great at teaching foreigners about their culture and traditions.
• Syria is very inexpensive, but still provides the same quality of food, accommodations, sites as many other countries in the region.
• Syria accepts student cards (ISIC) giving students very low entrance prices ($0.20-0.30) on touristy sites. Even as a non-student, the entrance fees are very low ($3-4 USD).
• It is illegal to beg in Syria, so the only “hassle” you’ll get on the street is people wanting you to stop, have a tea and chat with them about your trip.
• Contrary to popular belief, the Syrian people are very good at differentiating people from their government. They are highly accepting of Americans as individuals despite that they are less than impressed with our government.

Syria is an intriguing country that does not get enough recognition for its amazing culture, people, and traditions. On this trip, we’ve traveled through 10 countries, and Syria is one of my top two. While I recommend Syria so strongly, if you have more than a few weeks, I would recommend you visit one of its neighbors (Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey) as well. However if you only have enough time to visit one country in the region, I would definitely recommend Syria be the country. It is a hidden gem amongst its Middle Eastern counterparts. I can guarantee that anyone who goes will be pleasantly surprised at how welcoming, friendly, and magical the country is.

It was nearing 3:30am when we woke up in Terminal 2 at the Cairo Airport. We had used the past three hours to sleep in one of the lounges during the first half of our overnight layover, but we were told that each visit was limited to three hours because “this lounge is not a hotel.” Needless to say, our time there was up, so we headed over to Terminal 3 where we would be departing six hours later. By 4:00 am we had arrived at Terminal 3 via an airport bus that required us to pass through security before entering the next terminal. The place was dead. There was no one around except for two security guys at the x-ray machine. Chris and I dumped our bags on the conveyor belt and passed through. As always, we expected to have no issues as we had scanned them several times in the past 24 hours. The guy in charge was no dummy though. We were all alone… just the four of us. He saw us and requested to look through Chris’s bag. He began digging and halfway through the backpack, he looked up at us and quietly requested we give him and his friend some money or “baksheesh” as they say in arabic. Are you kidding me??? Chris responded nicely saying he didn’t have any money to give him. He continued digging and then took it a step further and requested to see Chris’s shoulder bag. He opened it and pulled everything out only to find Chris’s money belt. Go figure. The security guy swooped upon the money belt like a hawk, unzipping the main pouch to see about $25 US dollars. Chris quickly grabbed it, zipped it up and said “Sorry, I have no tip.” The guy persisted with his hands still over Chris’s unzipped, scattered bag. He requested money from Chris, then me, then back to Chris. I stood there in horror feeling extremely vulnerable by this corrupt official while Chris proceeded to decline his request nicely. Finally, the guy could see it would not be easy to convince us, so he zipped up Chris’s bag, and asked again. By now, Chris was already putting on his backpack. Chris gave him a firm no this time and we took off up the stairs. Phew! Luckily the guy seemed new at the whole corruption game as it could have ended much worse.

We jumped out of the beat up and rusted four-door sedan to find ourselves facing the likes of 50+ Ugandan village people staring us down. They were all seated under a huge old tree that created enough shade to ward the heat off of them as they waited on our arrival. Some were seated in half broken wooden desks while others were on ground watching us fiercely. It was obvious. They knew we were coming to visit the village primary school.

Our friend Kenneth, who we were visiting in Uganda, was born and raised in this particular village. He decided to bring us to this school, amongst other places, to show us the “true” Uganda. His village is small and word travels fast so when Kenneth told his family and friends we (white people) would be accompanying him over the weekend, it became the talk of the town. People found out we would be swinging by to see a few of the local public schools so they made a huge effort to gather upon our arrival.

It was awkward to say the least as people’s eyes traced our every move and we were escorted to the empty wooden chairs before the crowd. It was then that I could tell that this experience wouldn’t be as I had imagined: a walk through the classrooms, a chat with the teachers, and maybe a short game of soccer with the students. No, this was a formal meeting. Luckily, we had Kenneth and his friend Charles who sat on both sides of us to translate what was happening. Several formal thank yous and introductions were made by the head of the Parent Teacher Association and other decision making boards. Then the teachers, parents and community members thanked us repeatedly for coming and then divulged the truth of the mater. The head speaker, agenda in hand, spilled all of the problems facing the school. There were not enough teacher housing, not enough classrooms for the children, no bore hole for clean water, no roofs on some of the classrooms, no money for lunches, and no exercise books for children to use during lectures. They explained a list of sad truths to us as we sat there trying to remember them all. Then, the speaker stopped speaking in his tribal tounge and grew quiet. Charles turned to me and said, ‘they’d like you guys to introduce yourselves and tell them how you can help them with all the problems they have.’

I’m pretty sure I sat there looking like a deer in the headlights for a brief moment before Kenneth got up and began introducing us in the local language. What would we be able to say or do to these people who have been waiting here all day to share with us their problems in hopes that we can fix them?? Ideas raced through my head. Who do we know? What connections do I have? How much money could I contribute? How honest should I be with them? Chris and I exchanged ideas briefly as Kenneth was wrapping up our introduction. Thankfully, Chris got up, thanked everyone and addressed the issues that they had grilled us on. He made it clear that we are two people who were not prepared to fix all of the schools problems, but that we can gladly share their story with others so that one day, their school may get the attention that it needs. We didn’t really have much else to say and I think Charles could see that so he quickly requested we get a tour of the facility from the Head Master. Whew! I couldn’t tell whether the people were completely disappointed or satisfied with our visit. We were the first white people to visit their school EVER and although we are recent grads, they see white people and assume the money and power follows.

Along the tour we learned about the hardships of being both a student and a teacher in rural Ugandan villages. The teachers don’t have places to sleep on school grounds so many of them walk up to 7km twice each day to teach. The students have no water to drink so they use their lunchtime to run to the nearest borehole (6km away round trip) to get water which usually makes them late for their afternoon class. None of them can afford to eat during lunchtime so their attention span is minimal for most of the afternoon. The classroom sizes range from 100 to 250 students per teacher, which allows for no one on one interaction. For the few rooms they have, students cram into a small area where the early arrivers sit in desks, while the majority of the class finds a place on the cold, hard ground. Three of the seven grades in the school don’t have classrooms at all so they are forced to teach class outside under the trees, pending it doesn’t rain (in which case school for them is out early). Additionally, 0% of children have their own textbooks. The teacher has the only one, which is transcribed onto the chalkboard for the children to take notes from and use those to read and study. Sadly though, most children walk to and from school every day for up to 3 hours each way. Therefore, when school gets out at 5pm, by the time they get home and eat dinner, there is no light for them to study. It is absolutely depressing to begin to understand what these children go through just to get a basic education, when meanwhile we have children in the US who throw fits of angst about going to their schools.

Several students and community members followed us around as Chris and I asked the Head Master questions about the school. Gaining eye contact with a few of the students made my heart melt. I desperately wanted to give them the books they needed, a light to study with, food for their tiny stomachs, a roof over their head and drinking water for the hot school days. I desperately wanted to hug them and tell them that everything would be okay. But it wouldn’t. Less than 40% of the children in this primary school would pass the National Exam to attend secondary school and less than 1% of those children would pass the exam to be admitted into University. The worst part was, we couldn’t do a thing about it while we were there. Adults and children both looked to us like we would be their answer but we weren’t. We were nothing more than a glimpse of hope that more white people would hopefully attend their school and give it the attention it deserved.

If you’re interested in helping out schools in the villages of the Kaberamaido district of Uganda, please contact our close friend Kenneth Ongalo-Obote at: kenobote71@yahoo.com.

Whoever says traveling as we are for 8 months is like a long vacation is severly mistaken. While it has been the best learning experience I’ve ever had and we have had a wonderful time along the way, it is by no means a relaxing vacation. Up until this point, Chris and I have lived off only $29USD per person per day including food, transport, acomodations, and activities etc. We’ve been eaten alive by mosquitos, crammed 40 people into a 14 person bus, slept in places that wouldn’t even be considered adequate housing the States, been haggled and harassed because we’re white, and eaten food that could make your gag reflexes react in an instant.

Don’t get me wrong, there is a sweet satisfaction in saving money and it’s even better when we recognize that we’re getting the local experience by submerging ourselves in the foreign cultures. I have learned more this trip than I have in traveling to Europe and Asia combined because we are doing almost everything at a local level. And to my surprise, the cheaper the accomodations we stay at, the more interesting and outgoing people we meet. If we hadn’t lived the cheap life, we would never have learned the language. We would have never have cooked the food. We would never have seen the hardships. We would never have learned the rituals and cultural traditions. Our trip would be a long, posh, series of uneventful experiences and people.

Traveling on the cheap has come with it’s own obstacles, but I can’t recommend it enough. It allows us to only begin to see the world from a lifestyle that more than 90% of the population lives… in poverty.

Chris and I returned late last night from Northern Kenya and may I just begin by saying THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT AND DONATIONS!!! We had an experience of a lifetime on our whirlwind adventure up North to feed those starving from the drought. We decided to buy maize meal and cooking fat from a wholesale store in Nairobi allowing us to purchase more food per dollar. We loaded what we could into an off-road, canvas topped Land Cruiser that Joseph Lekuton had arranged for us. We ended up filling the truck so full that we had to save half of the donation money to purchase more food up North after distributing what we had. Your contributions of $2,455 allowed us to purchase:

• 1.8 tons of maize meal
• 590 pounds of cooking fat

We then delivered:

• 2.1 tons of food to individuals
• 15,816 meals to villages

Every single cent went to feeding empty bellies of young children, windowed and elderly women, pregnant mothers, and the men attempting to provide for them. The first village we stopped at was surreal. We pulled up to a few small huts made from tree branches and empty rice sacks. They were small and egg-shaped, not even large enough for one to fully stand up in. The land was red and barren from the endless days of no rain and the burning African sun had absorbed any moisture that was left. There were a few cow carcasses lying around and a well that was completely dry. We drove slowly into the village trying not to disturb people with our cloud of dust. There were small children who ran to the car waving and chasing us. Most of them had no shoes, tattered clothing and appeared to have not bathed in weeks. They were people who had never been exposed to the simple luxuries we all take for granted. When we jumped out of the truck a group of young girls ran up to the silver door handle staring at their foggy reflections. They were amazed that they could see themselves! The rest of the children followed us around as we met the village elder and began arranging how we should best distribute the food to ensure every family received something. I was so shocked that despite that everyone was almost dying of starvation, they still had the decency to gather around and chat with us before taking their food. There was a true sense of appreciation, hope, and happiness that came from them. They orderly took a place in line and waited their turn to take their food, thank us, and shake our hands. There was no pushing, no yelling, and no greediness. Shocking me even further, instead of taking their food back to their huts and eating it, they proceeded to make us tea with the little camel milk they had left. They showed complete selflessness and gratitude even in their time of despair. You all fed the bellies of some unbelievable individuals!!!

We proceeded to several other villages, some large and some small. Several of the villages were infested with dead cattle, the putrid stench of bad meat and blown intestines, and flies that found homes on the children’s faces, hair and teeth. Most of the children owned only one outfit which was holey and covered in dirt, but there were a few boys who ran up to the truck completely naked. They had no clothes to put on. These boys were skeletal looking, with childlike legs of nothing more than skin over their bones. Their knees protruded from their tiny upper legs. Their ribs showed through as they ran and their collar bones popped out casting deep shadows on their chest as they waved. Yet, the fact that they were starving hadn’t taken away their childlike curiosity and spirit. They were filled with smiles and giggles. And the young children who’s mothers were out fetching water several kilometers away, would patiently wait in line to collect the goods for their family. When they would take the cooking fat and the maize meal into their own hands they acted as though they had just won $1,000,000. The satisfaction it gave me to see them so happy was the best gift I could have ever received. The weak mothers and elders thanked us repeatedly and the children waived and chased our vehicle as we drove to the next village.

Chris and I left the last village having learned extremely valuable lessons about life, love, gratitude, and appreciation. We felt so small surrounded by an issue that was larger than all of us. We recognized that we could not feed everyone, but even if we were able to make the slightest impact on someone, it was a good start. From the bottom of my heart, we cannot thank you all enough for your donations. You gave these people hope and probably saved a few lives as well.

A message from the Hon. Joseph Lekuuton: