The rooster wakes me up at 5am and I head outside to see the chickens. There are 400 chickens in a brick building with a tin roof. There are chickens that walk freely through the grounds, but these chickens are too stupid to survive outside of a pen. The temperature is cool before the sun rises. Crickets chirp, chickens cluck, the occasional car drives by interrupting the animal's symphony.
Later in the day Attilla and Yassin return from a walk with a jack fruit given to them by some nearby locals. Whole the jack fruit is enormous, the size of a human head. Inside it is yellow, with a string-like part that is peeled back to reveal the edible section. Inside each piece is a large seed. The fruit tastes like a combonation of pineapple, banana, and something else.
Outside of my window Attilla runs by and a cow follows, giving chase. Later, in an attempt to save Kirsten, Attilla is chased by turkeys who found him a more appealing target.
An evening walk to Kyetume for chepatte (the tortilla used in rolex), the past through fields of endizi, jack fruit and coffee. The sun casts a yellow glow as it sets over a sloping field into a small valley of fruit.
At home Jessica and Jehan (two Australian volunteers) have made a curry. The power is still out and we eat dinner by candlelight while listening to Ugandan radio. Some of us take turns making shadow puppets with flashlights for Prozzy, a young girl who lives in the house.
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