the guy's house

Let me introduce you to where I live for now. I call it the guy’s house because its just me, and several bachelors. Think of a college guys house where everyone has their own necessities but they haven’t decided whose job it is to furnish the house with the things you find in the needed junk drawer. like needle and thread. or wall hanging thingys. Now add two guy servants. But not the sort you imagine from british films. More like common guys who know how to do household things in this country by necessity of growing up in this country. I have no clue how to do laundry here, or where the garbage goes. It took me a while to figure out what the broom looked like – a bunch of grassy-twig things and has no handle. Basically think all that you in America take for granted – that’s what the servants take care of. That, and they cook Ugandan food. Breakfast consists of hard-boiled eggs and some sort of sausage, instant coffee or tea, and maybe some rolls. Every morning. I haven’t gotten sick of it, but the guys have. Lunch and dinner are beans and sauce or meat and sauce over rice or porsha (sp?). Maybe some pineapple on the side. I enjoy the food, but the guys like to go out for food a lot.

I have a hard time with the theory and actuality of servants. They are my equals, dammit. But they also consider it good money to work for us all day. We pay them more than 3x the national average. I would help, but they ask me why im in the kitchen, or look at me strange if I enter “their” area. Also, I have no idea how to do things in this country, how to cook this food, how to wash clothes without a washer. But that’s MY dirty laundry. I don’t like others touching my dirt. anywyas, I treat them as just one of the guys when they are in the house or watch tv with us, and thank them when they serve somehow right in front of me. But it still raises the my hackles to have servants. Any thoughts on how to make this easier, either internally or in action?

Apparently Africans don’t believe in 90’ angles. There are none in this house. Oh, and nothing is level. Its not “can you roll a marble across the floor without trying”, its that I can usually SEE the angle. All the walls are sorta white. Some of the previous outlets don’t have covers and several of the lights arent screwed in properly. And there are no hand-towels in the bathrooms. That isn’t just this house, its everywhere; I haven’t found one yet in this country. The yard is beautiful with its palm trees and other things I don’t know. Sitting in the large red driveway area is an old rusted tractor. I have not yet asked if it is a lawn ornament or a forgotten relic. The cement has the same levelness as the inside floors, only more pronounced. There are several porches where we can sit. All around the yard is a high wall with spikes and a large metal gate. I learned that the security system is a dude with a rifle who appears at 6pm every day and sleeps inside our gate till 6am. There are bars on my windows and padlocks on the doors. Newness and hilarity compete to define my life here.