pics

i got more pictures loaded and labeled. there are some from my clinic visit, markets, even the giant moth and an iguana. enjoy. but if you comment, leave a name.

bye bye personal bubble

As I told bob when he got here; in Uganda you don’t have a personal bubble anymore. It popped when you got to the airport. Walk around any market here and you will find the truth of this. I decided to wander thru nakasero market and awino the claustrophobic area. That seems to be the heart of kampala and I want to experience this place. That and I wanted to find some more girl clothes. So I spent 3+ hours wandering around the markets. Got totally lost inside awino. Its hard to walk in one direction when you cant see the sky. One group of guys decided to hit on me to sell their clothes. So I walked away…into a dead end. So I walked back past them and listened to them long enough for one to propose to me. I just patted his head and walked on. There really is nothing to say to that. Once I found the sky again, I ended up in an area where sacks of food stacked to form the walkways. Also I found an alley full of odd herbs, spear heads, animal skins, fake bows, etc. opus told me later this place is the area where bugandans buy the things for performing their traditions. i had to cross a small bridge to get out of awino. Quick tip; don’t look into the water. And I found myself standing 2 blocks from where I entered. So much for the infallible sense of direction.

The shopkeepers call me all sorts of things to get my attention. Marine, sister, mommy, English, auntie, professor, my love, or just whistling. The most annoying has to be the hissing sound which effectively carries thru the chaos. In the market 2 fairly good looking guys grabbed my hands and introduced themselves. I gave them a fake name cuz they wouldn’t let go of my hand. They wanted to take me on a date and kept insisting on getting my contact (cell number). I eventually extricated my hand, I had already made sure they didn’t get into any of my pockets. I accused them of following me. No, no, we were just going that way. Ok, go on. I just folded my arms and leaned against the wall, watching them reluctantly go the way they said. Sigh.

I did find a really pretty shirt at one of the shops. The girl in the shop asked me to be her friend. I must be still kinda slow at this; it took me several minutes before I realized that “friend” meant “patron”. Sadly by the time I got home, the shirt had somehow escaped from my bag Clothes here range in price from 3000 to 15000 ($1.50 to $7.50). All of it seems to be secondhand from aid or Chinese knockoffs. Or its American mall prices at the mall. Eventually I hit a wall for my chaos intake and take a boda. They seem to be cheaper where white people aren’t usual.

I went for my first African massage. Nakedness and touching doesn’t seem to have any bad connotations here. However, I still have the belief that it means something. The masseuse and I had an interesting time drawing boundaries. Thank God it was a woman. “do you want me to massage your breasts?” uh…no. try the shoulders. Im not sure I like the dismissive view these people have towards body parts.

For those of you not familiar with this fact; there are lots of insects in Africa. I just had a minor freak out while watching the microwave heat my food. Suddenly I saw a giant cockroach walking inside the door of the microwave. Close to my food. My food. I think its dead now. Micro-waves do that. Also, the bag of sugarcane I bought had ants in it within an hour. Evil little buggers. Don’t even get me started on the mosquitoes.

Its just Bryce and I and the servants for a few days. Henry is with his wife. Leonard is in jinja. Jp flew to Europe to see his girlfriend. Bob went north with ben for a few days. Ah peace and quiet. I might actually get bored…nah.

something is happening

We have added another to the brotherhood here at the guys house; we picked bob up from the airport last night. Bryce, Kevin, tony the driver, and I all waited for bob to exit the magic doors at the airport. Welcome to Uganda. Driving back to kampala, bob mentioned how safe the driving and how wide the road looked. He had expected a 2 lane road. I just grinned and waited cuz we hadn’t left the airport area yet. Hey look, 2 lane road...and we’re passing. Bob just said oh. Sadly my blog has not completely prepared him for Uganda. The evening still overwhelmed him. no, there aren’t any heaters in Uganda. No, the police don’t have radar traps. We will introduce him soon enough to life here.

We went out for dinner at the Chinese hotel Fang Fang. It turned out to be not creepy and the food tasted like actual Chinese. So we drank bad African beer to bob’s coming. Bryce told most of the stories, some I haven’t heard. He has some crazy stories. I haven’t laughed that much since I got here. oh, and bob brought care packages. yay.

Also, a container containing ferry parts has left Mombasa. It will still take a week or so to get here, but its something. We hope the others will soon follow. I guess I have forgotten to mention that the railroads here do not work. Too many squatters and other things sitting around and on the tracks. So our containers must come by semi-truck over African roads. Im so glad that is not my job.

the privileged life

Im feeling a bit better. Still have typhoid, but getting better.

I was not born to a privileged life. Neither God nor my parents gave it to me. For that I am forever grateful for it is because of this that the only situation I will be totally lost in is among the upper crust. My work experience has trained me to use whatever available tools to get the job done. I can fix engines with the wrong tools. Try using a screwdriver to turn a socket – it actually works pretty well. So I figured I would be set going to Africa, right? I should work great in the third world countries where they haven’t heard of the right tools; land where whatever works is the way to do the job. Now herein lies the irony. Im white. In Africa, white skin means you live the life of privilege. It means cars avoid hitting you, means everyone wants to give you a ride, everyone expects you to spend money, expects to serve you. They expect me to take the best, need incredible amounts of food, expect me to sit in an office all day, need servants, all that.

My stomach might need the privilege of special food, but I don’t need anything else of a privileged life. Im in charge of the food for us white people in this house. That means I have to tell the servants what to do and what we want. I have no clue how to give orders to servants on how to serve. Heck, I had a hard enough time with housekeepers at college.

This is a racism of a different kind; putting priority on a color of skin instead of demeaning another color. I want to yell that im a real person too. Im not better than these people. Im not insanely rich. I don’t need the best, I don’t want to dress nicely all the time, I don’t need to be chauffeured around. I don’t want to be protected from hardships in life. And I don’t think like the American TV. I have my own ideas, worldview, faith; and its all very different than what is shown on TV. I have more than just a brain inside this white skin; I have a heart and mind.

So guess what? Im going to smash expectations. Im going to serve with what I have; a mind, a heart, a faith, and my abilities with tools. I refuse to serve with money. I refuse to be aloof. I refuse to fit the white stereotype.

baptism

Alrighty readers, how many of you are there? I have 17 followers but I have the distinct feeling many many others read my stories.(no you don’t all have to register as followers, not even all my immediate family have done that:P ) Not that I mind it, I just allowed a link to this blog to be attached to another blog about the ferry. Just wondering how big of a captive audience do I have?

Well, Kevin and his daughters arrived last week. We all hung out on Saturday. Which I had thought was Sunday until JP corrected my mental calendar. I have heard of forgetting days, but adding days is not usually my specialty. We went to the large market that I accidentally went to last time. Then Bryce led us thru awino, also known as claustrophobia incarnate. Imagine a long low building of the sort they build for fair expeditions, the kind with a metal roof. Now imagine little cubbyholes which are 2-4sq meters with raised wooden floors where the shopkeeper sits. Im not sure what the walls are made of because they are so covered with clothes. Layers of jeans, shirts, bras, even prom dresses. Those are the shops. In between these are the walkways which sometimes consist of wood planks, but usually just dirt and whatever else is on the ground. Considering how close packed it was, I found it surprisingly clean. But very claustrophobic. Did I mention no electricity for light? So Bryce, Kevin, hallie, jael, I, and JP all walked thru a small part of awino, saying hi and ignoring the more persistent calls for us to come look at their wares. On the other side I felt that I could breathe again. That’s when Bryce told us the awino market covers 1-2sq kilometers. That’s a lot of cubbyholes.

Oh, and 2 guys tried to rob jael. Great intro to Uganda for a 12yo girl. The guys walked past her, pushing her to try and get the cellphones out of her pockets. The second time jp realized what was happening and grabbed one of them and sternly said “no!” they ran off, very scared of this mzungu. I am amazed of how little it takes to scare off these thieves. But I can sorta understand it after hearing what happens to thieves. The mobs on the streets judge and execute punishment. It rarely gets to a judge. Same thing for killing a cow with a car.

They burn the garbage in piles all over the city. I woke up to that odor because someone upwind of us was burning. Burning garbage smells so much worse than plain garbage.

I went to Sunday school on Sunday at KPC central. The kids were adorable so I took several pictures. Then I went inside the main sanctuary for baptisms. That’s when I realized it would mostly be infant baptisms. And the priest actually said that this baptism saved the child. Gah. And everyone packing the pews were dressed to the hilt, many of them in traditional dress. The main traditional dress around here is a fairly formless fitting sheath with sleeves which have drastic points at the top and a wide belt around the middle. From what I can tell, the idea is to pick the most blaring fabric to make the dress out of and another that will make the belt stand out. I saw one woman in a neon pink dress surrounded by a neon green belt. Somethings just shouldn’t exist. Anyways, I felt very out of place in my nice jeans and shirt, but im perfectly fine not blending in with those dresses. I later found out this is the richest church in kampala. I don’t deal well with pomp and circumstance. During the baptism service several photographers and filmcrews wandered around the sanctuary recording the occasion. Its hard to concentrate on worshipping with a stage light and camera pointed at you.

Since I had gone with one of my new prayer group friends, I got to attend one of the baptism parties afterwards. One family had waited till they had enough money for the expected party before baptizing their 4 girls. I tried to bring up the theology behind baptism with my friend, asking of she actually believed baptism saved/made those children born again. She did. I tried to ask about the kids who refused to go thru confirmation. We went around and around on that question. Finally I got out of her that no children in this church ever refused. Those poor kids. Forced Christianity is failed Christianity.

One thing stuck with me to explain their baptismal beliefs. Ugandans have kingdoms that they are born into, and there are several kingdoms in this country. Your kingdom defines you. Cross kingdom children are rare and considered halfbreeds just like a halfbreed from the American frontier back in the day. The priest compared the kingdom of God to these kingdoms; something you are born into and stay in your whole life, passed down thru blood. It is a very physical understanding of the kingdom of God. This is a very interesting view, even if it is wrong. What about adults who want to enter the kingdom of God? I guess they just have to go to the Baptist church.

prayer group #2

One of my new friends took me to her “international prayer group”. But I was the only international there. i don’t like Christianese in my country. To see it exported to other places is just sad. I consider the understanding that we must act or speak a certain way to be Christian another part of christianese. I say this because of how they reacted to what they learned about me. After the inevitable questions about my name and my country, they ask what my work is. I tell them carpentry and painting as I have learned they understand these occupations. That’s when the women talking to me take another look at my body. They laugh and say since that is a man’s job I must be a very special female, even more so cuz im a mzungu. Ach. These people think that all mzungus work in offices. Im working on dispelling this illusion.

Now, everyone had a testimony this week. It took a lil while for me to realize “testimonies” to these people is simply a story from the week that they saw worked out by God. And they don’t “go to” church. They “pray from a” church. But these people remind me so much of others I have known back in the US. I keep expecting people totally different and they constantly surprise me with being familiar.

Their guest speaker turned out to be couple. The man had a very deep voice and the woman had a diamond face. Their, well his, topic was on encouraging the singles to not give up. That’s when they asked me if I was married. No, don’t even have a boyfriend. Im free. Well then you must be searching. Nope, not searching. That seemed to signal that I needed convincing of the advantages of marriage. Ahem. I tuned out about the time they suggested I could find a Ugandan and stay here for the rest of my life. Don’t get me wrong, I like Uganda. I just don’t feel the urge to glue myself to this area of land or culture.

Afterwards everyone wanted to talk to me and shake my hand. The first woman to get to me had made a beeline. She wanted to sell me necklaces of paper beads. She insisted on making an appointment for me to come over even after I repeatedly told her I wasn’t going to buy anything like that for months. I don’t think I will be “praying” with that particular group again. C’est la viv.

I also went out to the markets today. I didn’t want to buy anything, just explore. So many people see $$ when they see white skin. Everyone shouting at me to come over and examine their merchandise. There were different areas for each kind of thing. The shoes area, the produce area, the butcher area, coal, hardware, clothes, even fish which I could smell long after I passed. Gross. I got a boda to downtown. He wanted 5000. I called that a mzungu price. He laughed and changed it to 3000. Much better.

I found a book store that carried books I recognized. I ate in a restaurant for $2. Then I accidentally walked into the market district of town. I didn’t know it extended that far north. Bryce told me not to go there yet cuz im not used to Uganda enough to navigate the packed buildings and streets surrounding them. There were groups of hindus sitting and talking right next to groups of muslims doing the same. I noticed some people I passed sizing me up, probably to rob me. Finally I gave into the rising feeling of fear and got a boda out of there.

safe back at the house. Don’t eat jackfruit; they taste bad and smell worse.

deeper mind

i figured i might as well let you all know what has actually been on my "deeper mind" as the people the other night said. i havent told anyone else this yet.

being and acting like a girl might not be a bad thing.

there, i said it. i think it took living, working, and hanging out with mostly guys for the past year to realize this. i doubt the guys at work knew the full extent of what they were doing.

homegroup

Day whatever of having typhoid. I hate being sick. Mostly because I don’t have the energy to go do everything I normally like to do. So after several days I felt stuck not getting out and exploring. I sat on the couch watching law & order thinking about how I needed a change. In walked several Ugandans. I almost did a double take. They meet in our tv room every Wednesday for prayer. This week they invited me to join them. Someone has an established sense of irony for my life.

As usual with Ugandans, halfway thru the meeting there were 2x as many as at the beginning. They of course asked if I was going to a church yet. I told them about going to KPC on easter and how it seemed like a mainstream church so I didn’t like it very much. That and I think I went on the wrong Sunday cuz they preached on the rapture which I don’t believe in. I should have asked where they all went to church. Turns out they go to KPC. They decided I went on the right Sunday since I heard about the rapture. And….impasse. Thankfully we agreed to disagree or debate such things.

In sharing time they asked me to share also. Then they asked me what was on my deeper mind. I have a very disjointed deeper mind. Random stuff. As usual, I didn’t tell everything. I don’t know theses people. Surprisingly, the roles in the group seem very similar to those in an American church group. There is the weird guy who talks a lot, the one who tries to redirect everyone’s attention to the actual topic after being sidetracked by the talkative guy. The comforting woman. The woman who directs attention off of her when its her turn to share. You know, the usual.

One of the things I mentioned was my loneliness. Aha, two of the women live in my neighborhood. Yay, more new friends.

jungle disease

So this Sunday at st lukes was nomination day for council, wardens, and whatever else. Being an outsider, i did not know this. But then again, neither did anyone else. The vicar finished the service by announcing that next week everyone would vote, that this week they would have nominations, and introduced the woman who to facilitate it all. Now remember that I can only understand half of the words they say because of the thick accent. As he began the announcement, a very large woman in one of those dresses that look like a nightgown or a bag marched up the middle isle and waited for the microphone. Then in a commanding voice she began. “now of course you all have the guidelines sheet and the nomination sheet...(she listened to the people in the front row), wait, the people in front need nomination sheets.” The helpers bearing armloads of paper charged that way. Suddenly half the people in the room raised their hands to get the paper. In church, that means everyone needs the paper. Why raise your hand when your neighbor called the helper over anyways? I wanted to laugh, but a big grin stayed plastered on my face. So everyone slowly got the nomination sheet; a page with titles with lines underneath each for names. Now more blank faces. Who to nominate? So the woman up front saw the dilemma and asked anyone who wanted to serve (“be nominated” in english) to come up and introduce themselves. So a few did that. Everyone wrote down their names. Then finally the helpers with the guidelines sheet made their way around distributing. Yay instructions! Others kept walking up and whispering important info which the woman hadn’t divulged yet. Like this was for a 2 year term, half the council needed to be replaced cuz of term limits, all the vital info the people didn’t even know they needed. As the blank faces did not dissipate, the woman decided just to remind everyone 5x to get the nominations to the church by Wednesday and to come next week and vote. This situation could have been anywhere in America. Some parts of western church culture just shoudnt travel to other continents. I go to churches here and I find the unnecessary parts of Christianity. So sad.

I don’t talk much in a group of people I don’t know very well. Even with people I know very well im quiet. But some misunderstand why. The other day someone asked if I ever complained cuz he wondered about my silence. Nope. “you much have great fruits of the spirit; you are so gentle.” Jp and Bryce gave me sidelong glances. So I broke the silence in a very ironic voice “well, that’s one I haven’t heard before.” We all laughed. Not sure he understood the joke.

We put up a tarp covering so we can work in the rain. Henry and I talked upstairs till we heard the guys yelling my name. They wanted help, but by the time I got there they decided to use someone else. Then they wanted my help… hehe, I told them bummer. The design consisted of several poles for the uprights to go into holes in the ground and more poles nailed crosswise. So eventually each manned a pole to lift. I asked henry if he was ready to watch them fail. 1, 2, 3, and… each lifted at a different rate so that everything twisted at a different angle and came apart. Eventually they got most of the poles up. More nails and twine later they had a respectable shelter. I did help a bit eventually.

So I have typhoid. Yes, I had my immunization. Obviously something didn’t work. I didn’t feel that sick, but since a malaria test is routine at the second day of being sick, I went to the doctors instead of working. I went, followed by bryce’s envious gaze. He wants malaria for reasons incomprehensible to the rest of us. I went to the lab first; a room fitted into the front of a cargo container. I got to watch the lab tech prepare my blood for the tests. Very cool to watch. The hygiene of the place didn’t look fully kosher, but after making sure the syringe came out of a sealed package I could relax and watch. She gave me a paper with indecipherable writing on it to take into the actual clinic. There they told me I have typhoid. They gave me a shot and an IV which they said would only take 30 minutes. Again I made sure everything touching my veins came straight out of the sealed packages. 2 hours later they handed me a baggie of pills and another of pain pills. Why? I have no idea. Im not in any pain…yet. I had ice cream later. Was I supposed to panic? For having a dangerous jungle disease, I feel fine.

I was going to post this earlier, but the internet was out, then the power went out. The power came back on earlier, but the internet just came back on. so here ya go.

rain etc

So its raining again today. Since it’s one of the rainy seasons, it rains practically every day or every other day, most of the time accompanied by thunder and lightning. I love the storms. I love waking up to a tremendous thunderstorm in the middle of the night. I just lie there and watch the lightning flash and hear the thunder interrupt the rain or feel it shake the house. That is one time I feel most alive or at home. I prefer being out in the storm, but ill take hearing it from my bed. Most things in kampala just stop when it starts raining. Very few people risk the rains to walk around or take a boda. One reason is that the rains rarely last more than an hour or so. Also, the water washes the trash all over the roads before washing it into the ditches. Once the rains stop, the sun doesn’t take long to dry up the water. Then the city starts up again. When it rains, work for us stops just like the rest of the city. So we have a lot of downtime.

Yesterday the guys and I went for a boat ride to scout out some sites for reconstructing the ferry. No, we haven’t started on the actual boat yet. The containers are still at the border so far as I know. So we look for sites. This time taking a boat across the bay was much faster than driving around it by car or boda. Riding in a banana boat powered by a 5hp engine casts a different atmosphere to a boat trip than a fast power boat, a difference I found quite enjoyable. I saw swamps of papyrus, trees full of weaver birds and kingfishers, and several white egrets, both great and lesser. In one of the palm trees I saw a huge bird that looked like a gray eagle. It was actually a African harrier hawk, still really cool looking.

We had to travel thru the most crowded market I have seen yet to get to the boat dock. But once on the boat we traveled to the other side which looked and felt like jungle. Only banana trees showed where people lived in settlements. Standing at the edge of the jungle looking out to the water, I felt this is the reason people love Africa. This is why I could fall in love in Africa.

p.s. as we closed up the house tonight, something flew in. I thought it was a large hummingbird. Bryce thought it was a moth. It flew around the ceiling flashing yellow and brown. When we finally caught it, which took quite a while, Bryce was correct. i couldn’t catch it with my hand cuz it felt so weird to hold a small wriggling body with flapping wings. Bryce teased me about acting like a girl. The moth looked about 3 inches long with a fat body. We took pictures then I tried to hold it to take it to the door. It wouldn’t hold still, not till I walked outside. Then it didn’t seem to want to leave my hand. Why is that?

unexpected friends

So far I haven’t made any Ugandan friends on my own. Yesterday I went out walking to explore the area closer to my house. Out near some farming area, I began matching paces with a woman in her 30s who spoke very understandable English. She owned several pigs and was just walking back to her home after caring for them. Faith is Kenyan and invited me to her house. Cool, I thought, never been into someone’s house around here. She led me thru some confusing streets back to the main road, at one point crossing a crude log bridge over a ditch. She found it amusing that I made it across with little difficulty just like her. I met her goats outside her gate and her chickens inside her gate. All the while she chatted about her daughter and what she studied at the university in Nairobi.

I met her brother peter who I later found out isn’t an actual brother but a close friend who came over to help her husband with work. Inside the main room of her house, they had 2 couches pointed at the small tv, a sparkly fridge, 2 low tables, a stove that didn’t work, a bed, and a 3ft propane canister with a little stove on top. It looked crowded before adding the people. Faith offered me something to drink and I remembered in time that only boiled water is safe to drink so I asked for tea. Then she said, not asked, that she would make something for me. When she placed the large amount of scrambled eggs in front of me, I asked if it was all for me. Yes, she has lots of eggs, she said proudly pointing to her chickens. Ah, ok. I haven’t had eggs that weren’t boiled since I came here, so I didn’t complain but ate all of it. You are not in any hurry, yes? You stay and talk with us. I assured her I wasn’t in any hurry. It slowly dawned on me that her questions about what I ate had the purpose of building the menu for dinner. I had met her at 2pm. By assuring her I wasn’t in a hurry I had unwittingly said I didn’t have to be anywhere for the rest of the day. It was the conversation about meat which tipped me off about my altered schedule.
“You eat meat, yes?”
“yes, but not here in Uganda. There is bacteria in the meat here that your stomachs are used to, but mine isn’t. so I will get sick if I eat it.”
“oh, it must be the spices, we will make it very mild.”
“uh…, no, not the spices. Bacteria. Tiny things in the meat.”
“ah, we make it with no spices.”
“I still cannot eat it. I must make sure I am safe, that I don’t get sick.”
“ok, you play it safe. Do you eat peas?”
Apparently higher science has not reached the universities. Unfortunately, I had already answered that I drank and sometimes smoked. So when Faith explained the grocery list for the evening meal to peter, I tried in vain to take the beer and cigarettes off the list. I did manage to change the beer from undrinkable Guinness stout to a more drinkable Bells. Don’t get me wrong, I love Guinness, but Guinness stout here tastes nothing like a Guinness. Blegh.

While peter left, Faith pried me for information on how great America was and if I would invite her to America. Thankfully I made no promises because again I slowly realized she had a different goal in the questions than I had. I meant a visit to the states to show her hospitality like she was showing me. She was thinking of me becoming her sponsor for immigrating. So I made sure the rest of the evening when we talked about America I added how difficult America was, and how different, and how not perfect. I tried to tell her how expensive it was. Not sure I got anywhere. We settled on if she was there, I would invite her to spend time with me, and help her look for a job. The golden dream of “America the land of plenty” still exists in Africa.

But we also talked a lot about Uganda and Kenya and the differences. They said the Ugandans are lazy while Kenyans work, and that high up jobs in Uganda usually have Kenyans in them. That’s when we started talking about her husband and I found out that she doesn’t want to bring her husband along with her and her daughter. Red flag.

Peter came back and unloaded 3 beers, 2 cigs, some other food and at the bottom of the bag sat the beef, totally naked. Gross. Thank God I didn’t have to eat it. I did have to not insult my hosts by refusing to eat what they gave me. Dinner was a heap of rice accompanied by a large bowl of peas and carrots. How am I supposed to eat all that? And drink the beer? And smoke the cigs? All without throwing up? Groan. Halfway thru the food I was full. I started mentioning that I didn’t know if I could eat anymore cuz I was so full. but she kept encouraging me to eat, saying she wanted to make sure I was satisfied. Aha. I figured out how to say what I needed. Tell her im satisfied already and assure her of that. So finally I was done with eating. And then she put another beer in front of me. So when i smoked, I poured out some of the beer.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I have a fairly small bladder. After a while I asked where the restroom was. Blank faces. Ok, where is the toilet? Out back, but she forgot to get more tissue, did I have any? Another inward groan. So their toilet is a hole in the middle of the cement floor in the outhouse. This was a totally new experience for me which was presently one-upped by the second time when something dark darted towards my foot. No, I didn’t screech. I shined the light around the edges and found not one, but several cockroaches. At least I think they were cockroaches. Fascination warred with disgust. Disgust won. Im never leaving the house again without TP and hand-sanitizer.

All in all, I have made some very interesting friends. We got to teach each other about our different cultures and try to dispel the other’s misconceptions. I never thought I could teach on that range of topics to someone who constantly amazed me with what they didn’t know. Native American Indians are not india Indians. That one took a while. So did explaining that people with light-colored eyes could see just as well as those with “black” eyes. After dark they called their boda friend to drive me the half kilometer to the house. But I enjoyed having common people to talk differences with, even if they aren’t actual Ugandans. They also allowed me to take the last beer home since it took me so long to finish the other two. I gave it to Bryce when I got back. I have never gotten such a look of surprised gratitude when I offered it to him. You would think im an angel or something.

pics

ok so i put up quite a few pictures and i tried to label them. just click on the slideshow at the top right and it should take you to the albums. enjoy.

second sunday

So today I went to a Ugandan catholic church. I woke up to singing, and I actually recognized the melodies. So I followed the call to the round church of saint luke’s down the street. I walked up the steps and stopped. There were literally no white people at all and it looked like standing room only. The woman nearest me saw my crucifix and took my hand, joining me into the circle. Nothing like the universal symbol for Christian; a cross, or a bible. No one else would proudly wear an image of the most shameful kind of death inflicted, except a Christian. So utterly foolish according to this world, but it helped me. So I sat thru a very friendly catholic service, an all black service. I realized just how unusual the appearance of my skin at this church was when my turn came to introduce myself. I stood up, said I was Julia from America and I could literally see the ripples of people turning at the sound of my accent. So I was the center of attention once again.

Oo, and I got to hold a cute baby during the service. It looked only a few weeks old at most, but it smiled at me. Its mother couldn’t speak much English so we had to communicate using smiles and hand motions. I asked how old the baby was and she gave me a blanket. I guess old sounds like cold…

And the rest of the day was just swimming at a public pool. I have decided I prefer swimming in natural pools. Cant put my finger on it, but something about public pools strikes me as wrong. Too bad I cant swim in the natural water here. Sigh. Stupid schitzomiosis.

Sugar cane is good, but very uncivilized to eat. Rip off a bit with your teeth, chew the juice out, then spit out the remaining fiber; very civilized. I like it.

girl tourist

So I actually wore sunscreen this time. I decided to go on a long walk exploring the hill next to me. I got to the top taking great pictures of the city views. As I climbed onto one driveway hoping to get a clearer view, the security guard came out. I figured he was going to demand to see my camera and make me stop taking pictures or even take away my camera. (they are kinda paranoid here about terrorists blowing up things). But he wanted to show me where to get the best view. He even wanted me to take his picture. He took mine for me of course. He told me the road didn’t go all the way thru, well actually he said I wouldn’t be able to make it. Something about twists and turns. Since I was in a fairly remote area of the city, I took his advice and turned back and tried another road going around the other side of the hill. The road became a trail eventually, then an overgrown trail. I was busy taking pictures of the different birds and the tri-colored lizard I saw. It was really bright blue, orange, and yellow. I didn’t realize what was happening till I found myself where I met the security guard; full circle. And he said I couldn’t make it. Good grief. But that still wasn’t where I was trying to go which was down the hill towards the main road.

I guess its kinda to be expected tho. I was playing at acting like a girl and a tourist today. Yup, I looked like a regular tourist; tanktop to even out my tan, camera, ipod, bag of books and essentials. Its strange how much I can get away with acting like a girl. And its amazing how many people give me notice. Everyone wanted to talk, but they don’t think of me as able to do much of anything. Not sure if it is less respectful to treat someone not in reference to their abilities but in reference to their gender. They don’t respect me for being competent, but they treat me with respect cuz im a girl. That’s just weird. On the other hand, its kinda humbling being a tourist; you don’t actually know anything about life in the city you are in. It means you make mistakes constantly. Walk into the wrong store, step in front of a car, don’t know where you are going, sit around looking at a map, mixing up the money. Ok, how about very humbling. Im used to not doing any of that cuz I know how to get around America.

I found an amazing picture. There is a local artist close to ntinde who paints scenes of Uganda with swirling paint. One struck something in me. It’s a picture of lake Victoria painted with the cooler colors. After a while, I could even see birds and mountains hidden by the colors. Its $500 dollars tho. I am planning to try to bring the price down and buy it before I return home. That is one painting I could stare at for hours and not get bored. Beauty.

um, whatever you want to call this

If you see water on the ground and it hasn’t rained in the last few hours, its probably some sort of urine. My boda drove thru some on one of the main streets. Thankfully he could slow down cuz he saw the pipe positioned to spew over the road. As Bryce remarked, you couldn’t pay me enough money to walk down in the ditches along the roads.

Im learning a lot about rugby and cricket and football(soccer). Henry, the south African, just gave me a history lesson of south African sports before and after appartide. They have quite a bit of pride in their teams’ abilities. And a serious rivalry with the aussies and new Zealanders. Im watching rugby now. It is a man’s game; no pads and few regulations about tackles. Until the ref blows his whistle, they keep passing, and running, and tackling. Even after a tackle to the ground, they keep crawling or pass it to the next guy to run and get tackled. Or they run with someone hanging off them trying to take them down. It has less talking and more actual play time than American football. And no tight pants. William Webb Ellis started the game of rugby from soccer in the English town of rugby. I kinda like watching this game. Henry promises to make me into a rugby fan before I leave.

Its amazing what control money has over our attitudes and outlook. Money is one day late getting to us and of course most of us are out of money. We all give into the pot to keep the household going as we wait for the payday. That’s just how we live. So we all sat at our favorite coffee shop javas as we heard that the money would be late. And morale fell. Come-on people, its only money. Its not even gone, its just late. We still have food and water and a place to sleep inside mosquito nets. Why does money affect us so much? I have a few theories. 1. It’s a cultural sign of status to be able to buy whatever you want. 2. The lenders are ruthless about deadlines and then there is your credit score. Didn’t the song “secret agent man” criticize the practice of giving someone a number and taking away their name? in our society, we are defined by our credit score to a large extent. What we are able to get or buy is based on your credit score. Im sorry, I am not a number. I envy the Ugandans some days. They love on almost nothing and they are happy. I refuse to be defined by my wallet. So now the last theory 3; Honor. It used to be dishonorable to have debtors or to not be able to pay them. Back then money was just one part of the honor system. I think that connotation of honor to paying on time and being solvent with money. i doubt one of these theories fully explains why money controls our morale, but a mixture might.

After dinner I decided to buy us all a big box of wine since I did still have money. So jp, Bryce and I sat around watching tv, drinking cheap wine, laughing, and bonding. Oh, and I got to introduce them to leverage since most tv here is reruns. These are the good times. Band together and laugh or go sit alone sulking. Your choice.

oh, and there were parots at the shop yesterday. small gray with bright tails. so pretty and so smelly.

first work

This is the first, well, second day of actual work. Usually I just take a boda to a chosen part of town, walk around till I get tired, then grab a boda back to ntinde. But now we are working, not on the ferry, but odd jobs. Today we got to work at a mechanic shop. I feel perfectly at home in such a place. Surrounded by grease, car parts, and wrenches; that is where everything makes sense. Besides, the cars here are just different models of Japanese cars along with some land rovers. But cars are one area that is the same no matter where you go. Except here they never change oil, or nearly never.

So when the boss said we were going to go work at a mechanic shop I was ready in 10 minutes, sunscreen and all. A driver took us to the place across town cuz the truck henry normally drives needed a new clutch. (im not surprised. Everyone here drives very hard and they hold the car at stop with the clutch instead of the brakes. Oi.) Our job today was to fix up a metal trailer and get it ready for painting. Easy enough. Jp ground the metal. Leonard and opus sanded. I tackled the mechanical aspects of it. Oil can do amazing things with rusted parts. For a mechanic shop with about 7 workers, it didn’t have many tools. One set of wrenches, 3 hammers, etc, and no retractable knives. I thought they were standard for any sort of work. Instead they sharpen half a hacksaw blade. It works… sorta. And one of the hammers was a large bolt welded to the end of a rebar. So we filled up the flat tire, tugged the trailer into the shade and went to work. When we finally got thru the rusted locks, we found the inside filled with household stuff from the previous owner, all looking new. Every time customers came in they talked to us thinking we were in charge cuz we are white. So we would send them to the other white guy who actually owned the place.

Around lunch we were ready for a break so we sent opus, the only actual Ugandan among us, up the road to get food since he didn’t seem to have any problem walking around in the full sun. The rest of us sat in the shade cracking jokes. After an hour opus came back, saying he couldn’t find the chips we asked for. He was thinking the South African chips which we call French fries. He had brought back chips which he called crisps. Oh, and cookies are crackers. Not sure what biscuits are. But he also had little baggies of sealed yoghurt and fresh apples. Yay. Btw, how come everything comes in black plastic bags? Are we ashamed of our purchases of food?

After lunch all the steam for work left. Leonard needed to go home but he cant ride the bodas cuz of his balance issues, nor did he know which taxis to take. So we sent opus home with him. After another hour, jp’s headache worsened and his ipod ran out of battery. I could just see how much more we needed to get done and didn’t want to face it. That, and the shade was vanishing. We Americans are pathetic. So we closed up the trailer, I washed all the dirt and grease off my face (without a mirror of course, but I got to check in jp’s sunglasses;-) and left on a boda boda. We arrived 5 minutes before the others. I love bodas.

TIA 2

there are 1’ x3’ openings above the indoor doorways to allow air to flow freely. However this also allows noise to flow freely. I went to use the ‘toilet’ in one of the malls here and found one woman doing her laundry in the shower while talking amicably to the woman using the sink for the same purpose. There are thunderstorms at least every other evening. Many of the clothes stores have an old hand-pedaled sewing machine out front where the owner sews while looking for customers. Food is everywhere; I have seen very few hungry people yet. Ugandans eat whole tilapia; as in the dead fish looks at you while you eat the fins and scrape the white meat off the bones. Some sort of long-horned cattle, random goats, and chickens wander the streets. People are not allowed to live in the jungle cuz they would cultivate it. Rolex is not a watch – it’s egg and tomato wrapped in a chipotle. These people think older (before 1990) buildings are “lousy”. Ugandans don’t traditionally make bread, so they don’t know how to make it well. I suspect all of the bread we find here is imported. Red and blue flashing lights do not mean police, it means one of the taxis has upgraded for more “bling”. Most Ugandans have terrible taste in colors and fashion. The more bling the better. There are police and security guards everywhere, all carrying riffles. But they are friendly if you smile at them and say hello. There are kids from teso province begging in downtown kampala. They will follow you for a block before giving up. I had one woman threaten to beat the kid following me around today. Mud and grass huts border nice house compounds. One of the radio stations is a van which drives around with big speakers in the roof and a generator strapped to the back.

easter

So I have been looking for which church to go to for Easter, the day I consider the best holiday. I mean, the resurrection is the culmination of all Christ did on this earth. Everyone celebrates His birth, which I agree was a spectacular event, but that’s just the beginning. He went on the live the rest of His life perfectly, then use that life to break death’s hold on us when He died an innocent man and rose again. If you don’t believe in predestination and the absolute sovereignty of God, this story becomes even greater. Christ took the biggest risk in history by becoming a vulnerable man, vulnerable even to death. Think about it for a while; the God of the universe died. Dead. Imagine you don’t know the end to the story; frickin scary, isn’t it? In stories, the main character never dies. Sure, there is often a time when everyone thinks he might be lost or dead, but then he gets up and everyone can erase the fear as silly cuz nothing actually happened. Not so with God’s story. He actually died. The fear is real. Then He rises from the grave and death, having beaten satan at his own game. No one will ever know for certain how uncertain that outcome was in the moment of it. Next time someone laughs at my God for dying, or for being weak, I will tell them how He beat the devil in his own mansion then came back from death. My God is a BAMF for taking the risk of dying, and for His victory. I challenge any other god to do the same.

Actually, my easter wasn’t all that great. Kinda an anticlimactic experience really. I had been expecting this amazing experience cuz that’s what happens to Christians who go to other countries for the holidays, right? Heh. Well, Bryce and I finally found out where a church was that we wanted to go to. So we got up, got dressed, me in a skirt, and rode a boda boda to Kampala Pentecostal Church. When the service started, the tent was more than half empty. By the time the preaching started, it was completely full. the variety of the dresses the women wore struck me. They wore tradition dress of the different tribes, and various in and out of style western wear. I don’t have to worry about not fitting in; there is nothing to fit in with. I received a pink flyer offering all the “girlfriends” of the church weekly Saturday meetings for learning how to act well towards husbands, children, other people in the church, and also how to cook food from all over the country. The cooking part sounds feasible. Not sure if it could put up with the rest of it tho. The music reminded me of church camp songs. Then a white preacher who was visiting got up and delivered a lecture on the rapture and why everyone should be ready for it. Ahem, I don’t believe in the rapture. So once again I can see why a lot of people have been turned off of the church. All the way home I was thinking about something to write on here that would make it sound good, but I couldn’t. Finally I turned on my computer and the paragraph above flowed out. Easter is not about the experiences we have, it’s about Him. Don’t forget it. He is risen!

trek to the source of the nile

We began in jinja. Who wants to go to town for a little bit? Oo, oo, me. So jp, Bryce, and I all jumped in the car with very little (wallets and cameras) and no sun screen. Solomon, our host in this city, dropped us off at a little deli, suggested we go the hotel overlooking the source of the nile, gave us general directions, and said he would pick us up after his meeting. This sounds good. Oh, and the hotel should have a shaded pool and golf. Sweet. We drink some pop, I grab a water and we wander around town looking for swim suits to go swimming in. no luck.

So we strike off in the direction of the hotel. I catch up to our stalwart leader Bryce and ask if he knows how to get where we are going. Of course I do, silly question. Now, anyone who has been on such an expedition knows that is not a stupid question at all. So I keep prodding till I get the exact directions – go to the end of the road and turn left. …oh, not very exact. So we walk, go left, keep walking. Past the herd of cows. Past the kids yelling ‘muzungu’. Usually they just say it under their breath, so if they are yelling it, you are off the beaten path. At the sight of the road ending, jp asks directions. Go back the way we came and turn left at that road, then keep going up and over the hill. …okay. About this time the guys take off their shirts and I roll up my sleeves and pant legs. Did I mention no sunscreen? The random passing boda bodas always ask if we want a ride. Nope. Everyone we pass stares at us. Keep walking, take a picture of a tree, keep walking, take a picture of the cute kid, keep walking.

Several miles down the road we find a golf course. We enter the building of the jinja club gratefully. We mention golf and instantly 9 caddies? and 3 bags of golfclubs appear. We just sat at the bar and drink beer and water till we cool. After a few minutes the caddies get bored and go back outside. Finally we start golfing at about noon. Remember the no sun screen? I admitted to the others that I don’t know how to play golf. It wasn’t a bad game actually. I didn’t hit into the trees or the sand or anything like that. I had to go to Africa to learn how to play golf. Lets just say the ground was rough; I never played and I knew it should be smoother than that. Granted, this is Africa, meaning the standards for manicuring the course are not the same as American standards. Not to mention the random termite holes. at hole 2 or 3, the caddie points out the source of the nile down in the valley. Sweet, finally found it. At 5 out of 9 holes, I start to actually see my burn so I stay in after our drink break. We spend another 3 hours there waiting for someone to pick us up since solomon’s meeting is going all day instead of the 1 hour we all figured on. We return to his house and start caring for our bright red burns. TIA, just TIA. (This Is Africa).