Scoops

On Friday afternoon it was hot and we were glad it was the weekend. Tori and I had planned to walk into Mukono to buy the fixings for rice crispy treats. Usually we leave around 7 pm but at around 5 she suddenly had the hugest craving to get ice cream. Now the only place to find decent non melted ice cream is this little shop in the middle of tin shanty houses. This place seems so strange because it legitimately resembles an ice cream shop with mirrors on the walls and photos of ice cream treats. There are 4 choices of ice cream vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and mango that’s it. I had never been there so tori lead the way. I must have been extremely annoying because I complained the whole way there. My bag was heavy; I was carrying my laptop and a jerry can full of water. Well the place ended up being farther than she thought so we were hot and tired we finally get there and just as I walk around the corner to enter, all of the IMME girls pop out and yell happy birthday and start singing. They had planned a surprise party for me, we came in and they bought me a scoop of chocolate ice cream. We hung out for awhile and I told them I had made no-bakes the night before and since we were close to home they could all walk up to my house and try one. As is custom for an African having a birthday, on the way home the whole group plotted and executed a full on water dousing. We got home and only my 19 year old host brother was home. He was thrilled to have 13 beautiful women brought home, seemingly just for him. We ate no-bakes and hung out for a bit longer. All in all it was a great day, even though it wasn’t actually my b-day yet. On Sunday my actual b-day tori and a group of us went up to the capital city to go to church, shop and eat a big American birthday lunch at New York Kitchen. I don’t think I have ever had a better tasting strawberry milkshake in my life. Well thank you all who wished me a happy birthday, it was still a good day even though I couldn’t be with you all back home.

School Fees

So tori and I were walking home from school one day and there were a couple of kids a boy and a girl walking behind us so we started talking to them. The girl was really talkative but they boy never said anything. She told us her name it was long and I forgot it as soon as she said it. She was really small but convinced us that she was 10 years old. We asked if the boy was her brother but she said he was her uncle. Strange but not that uncommon, well then she whispered to me that she needed a sponsor. Right there I felt like crying. We asked her about her school and asked how far it was to walk; she then told us how much her year’s tuition cost. It was 60,000 shillings, which translates to $30, I wanted to cry even more, Most people have enough money in their bank accounts to pay for her and her brother to continue school clear thru college without breaking a sweat. Tori and I being broke college students we told her that we didn’t have any cash to pay her school fees; we were paying our own fees. She laughed and said all white people had money. Someone had taught her at a young age that all white people have money and if you ask them they will give it to you. I asked her if she knew any Africans who had lots of money and she said yes and I told her that just like Africa some white people had money and some white people didn’t. She thought I was so funny, granted Americans do have way more money than the average African. It’s so sad to think how inexpensive it really is to send a kid to school. I was reminded how hard it is to raise school feels this morning. Our brother who goes to high school is usually up before we are ready and leaving for school. But he was in casual clothes and so we asked him if there was a special holiday that closed school today. He said no, he said they hadn’t raised the school fees to keep him in school. Tori and I walked to school filled with so much frustration and shame at our wealth that we hoard. Its frustrating being here and not having those resources available to change this injustice. I don’t know the entirety of my purpose here in Uganda, but I know it has been to break me and make me understand the poverty that is felt here, and to really understand how wealthy we are back in the states. Sorry if this all sounded a little preachy, but I just wanted you as my family and friends to understand and maybe appreciate a little more the blessings that God has given you as Americans.

sites, sounds and smells of Bugujju at night

My family lives in the village Bugujju, it is the village closest to campus, we walk out the tech park gate and around the corner and arrive at our compound. We are required to be at home by 7 pm for safety precautions. But once we are with our families we can walk with them anywhere, within reason. Well on occasion our family needs to run down to the local shop or stand to purchase anything from milk to breakfast buns to chipati. Well our family in particular spends a lot of time outside in the evening because it is cooler and brighter based on cloud cover. We also live near several clubs and what my brother calls the cinima. So the noise level around our house at night is rather load. Tori and I get a good laugh decifering what movie is playing at the cinima that night and who the singer is that is being blasted from the clubs. Tori and I also noticed one night at around exactly 9 in the evening right before dinner a certain flower starts to bloom. It blooms for about 30 min and then closes again and waits until the next evening to bloom. We cant see the flower but when it blooms suddenly the air is filled with this unimaginably good sweet smell. It is so contrary to the ordinary smells of Africa you cant help but sit down and take large gulps of air. Well like I mentioned earlier our family occasionally walks to the food stands for last min purchases. Well last night we went out with our sister kevina to pick up some chipati for dinner. As we walked down the street several men started calling out in Lugandan. Then realizing we couldnt understand transfered to English, well it turns out they were trying to get my attention by yelling "Bald Woman". Now I have heard it all, muzungu why have you shaved your head, muzungu why dont you have hair, Muzungu where did your hair go. But I have never heard someone shout hey Bald Women. I'm not sure where the line was drawn but I snapped, suddenly it wasnt funny. I'm glad it was dark and we kept walking because I was furrious. I know they werent meaning anything by it they probably wanted to get a better look at both myself and tori but didnt have any other way of getting our attention. Thankfully it has never happened while I was alone but when traveling with the group often men will half jokingly half serious try to purchase us girls for the small amount of farm animals. I was once bid off for a chicken, being appaled that I was only worth a chicken I refused. haha but I guess this is all that one can experience while in uganda.

Africa Smells

Again I tried to write this really eloquent blog/e-mail about my encounters in Africa when the power went out and I lost the entire thing. So here is my second attempt at describing the smell of Africa.
Africa smells. When you tell people that they smell they automatically think back to the last time they had a shower. For an African it was probably within the last couple of hours. Africa itself gets showers hourly as well. I think of all the smells in Africa this is my favorite. Africa after a rain shower, it has a dry sweet smell that leaves you feeling chilled but hot at the same time. I love it and it makes me think of summers in eastern Washington. Africans walk and do things slow It is their way of not rushing life. Americans rush everywhere and I think by doing that they miss out on the smells of life. Not all the smells here in Africa are pleasant, but it’s amazing because they are distinctly African. The smell of sweat on a body after a scorching afternoon, the smell of the latrine you don’t want to go into but know you have to, or even the smell of a cockroach infested room. These are some of the smells I don’t like but have learned to appreciate. Then there are the incredibly pleasant smells like the overly sweet scent of a jackfruit. Or the smell of a fresh banana smoothie. I even love the smell of the busy market. That is the most variegated scent of all. It is the combination of dust and sweat and fresh produce and the scent of perfume. The smell of Africa is on my clothes and in my skin, when I breathe I can almost taste Africa, it’s the food and the weather and the people. I know I will miss the smell of Africa when I come back to the states and rush to class and not even notice the smell of America.

Down Low on Ugandan Bathrooms

Our house as you all know does not have electricity; it as well does not have pluming. It’s very hot and dusty here so bathing is a must, which I find hilarious, considering most Americans do not bath as often. A shower in the morning and evening is considered minimum; most families will take three a day. I am blessed that my mama only makes me take one in the evening; we aren’t sure whether it is because we smell by then or she doesn’t want the school to think they aren’t taking care of us. Well the bath house is inside our compound but separate from the main house. It is a rectangle building with tall cement walls and floor, the door is on the skinny end. As you walk in it is built like a hallway, on the left there are two stalls, which thankfully are completely enclosed. The first is simply a hole in the cement; the second is a hole in the cement with a toilet seat placed over the top. Neither of these accommodations is meant for sitting however. LOL Then you move on down and there is an open air stall which is used for showering. I again remind you there is no pluming so a shower consists of a bucket, if you are lucky or spoiled like torey and I you get a small bucket of freshly boiled water and a jerry can of cold. You mix the two so its nice and warm, then stand in the small space kind of squat down over the bucket and using your hands splash water on yourself. The rest should be familiar to you. I am so blessed to not have hair to wash so I don’t have to worry about that. Our first day our mama took us outside to show us the strategy of scooping water and tossing on yourself before it falls out of your hands. There is some strange feeling of liberation being out in the open showering with the big sky above you. If we don’t get home by 6:30-7 the shower is usually done in the dark, as you can imagine the adds to the difficulty, you not only have to bath from a bucket, keep your fresh clothes clean, but now you have to balance a flashlight. My roommate torey informs me she doesn’t use the flashlight because then she can’t see the critters that crawl past on the walls. One time while I was showering or rather trying to I saw a cockroach and tons of ants on the wall; I gave up and came inside. When I talk with my fellow students we have a good laugh about the importance of cleanliness here. Most of us expected to shower more like 1 a week or every other day. We sometimes find it very bothersome and annoying to shower multiple times in a day and I have heard stories and from my own experience of faking a shower. Ha-ha we are such dirty Americans, we go in and simple splash the water around and then change into our clean clothes. I admit I have done this a couple of times when the bugs and mosquitoes were just too much to bear in one evening. Well I hope my description of the bathroom accommodations has given you a laugh.

Oompa Loompa's

I come from a state that it rains 6-7 months out of the year. I am also not a dainty butterfly that if it gets wet is ruined. But I have never seen it rain so hard and fierce in my whole life. When it rains the air gets heavy and you can feel what is coming, as well as see the dark luminous clouds forming. When it’s really upon you a strong wind announces the rains presence and that is when you start running for cover. I think it is assumed and expected to wait it out, even if you are suppose to be in class. You don’t see to many people walking out it the rain unless they have a sturdy umbrella boots or they are a muzungu (white person). There is something else that we were not taught something nobody mentioned. The beautiful orange red dirt we walk on everyday is not actually dirt it is paint waiting to be moistened by the downpour of rain. When you walk on you are forced to think of an overly soggy water color painting with only oranges yellows and reds. If you happen to be wearing sandals and who is not, well at least all the American students are, the paint changes your skin. It is not a nice painting that you can pick up to look at and then put down. When it makes contact with your skin it clings on like a stain. I think while we are here and until we have the convenience of a good hard scrub brush our feel and the hems of our full skirts and even our hands if we are not careful will be stained a permanent orange tint. In a way it is funny to see all of these white muzungu's running around with oompa loompa colored feet.

Torey and Cyndi's Sweat Shop

I enjoy sewing; it is something my mom taught me how to do when I was in kindergarten. I sewed Barbie doll clothes and she made me Halloween costumes and probably dresses. We knowing that Africa would be very hard on my clothing my mom bought me a sewing kit for Christmas. This thing is all inclusive, it comes with an assortment of colored thread, measuring tape, pin cushion, scissors, pins, buttons, needles and a thimble. Well I one time very briefly mentioned using it to mend tears in my clothing and my sister kevina heard me. She brought me a skirt that had a torn seam, so I fixed it. Mama was so impressed that she brought me her most worn dress that had a huge rip down the side so I fixed that. That is when it caught on and the entire family brought mending out to me on the front porch. I elicited help from my roommate torey and we worked the rest of Sunday afternoon on their shirts and cloth bags. We got many strange looks from the passing people; it must be strange to see a white bald girl intentionally sitting on the ground sewing. My family started calling me the tailor, which is fine. It’s better than being called muzungu (white person).