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.