A Final Overhearing

I rode public transportation with my host brother on Monday. We slumped into the low-sitting middle seats of the van and sat in silence between several other Ugandans as we looked out the windows at the craziness of downtown Mukono. After coercing as many people into his taxi as possible, the conductor jumped into the van and told the driver to go. He seemed to be in mid-conversation, and as the van started he turned back and looked right at Peter, a broad grin on his face and the story still coming from his lips in rapid Luganda. Peter smiled and nodded at the conductor, who turned back to whoever it was he was talking to.

A few minutes later I asked Peter what the conductor had been saying. Peter told me he was just being silly- making a comment about how even policemen are afraid of their own guns. I nodded and smiled.
It was a throwaway moment: Peter didn't seem to think the conductor was really that funny and I didn't really care about the man's opinions of the Ugandan police. But as I dwelt on his words, it struck me how the scene I had just witnessed- the conductor turning to look at Peter, his wide grin, Peter's nonchalant response- had been almost devoid of meaning to me only seconds before. The whole scene might as well have been a silent movie with no character development. Yet Peter's explanation infused the scene with sound, color, and meaning such that the event was now planted in my mind.

I'd been thinking about this "last blog in Uganda" for a few weeks, and about a dozen stories I wanted to share came to mind. Yet as I thought more about the blog, I realized that they were stories that even I'm still struggling to understand.

So here's where you come in. I'm going to need you all, like Peter, to help me to fill in the meaning for all of these thought-provoking, joyful, and difficult stories. There's so much I can't wait to share with all of you, and I really hope I'll have the time to have a two-way conversation with many of you about our last 4 months.

See you in May!

From left: Christine, Emmanuel, Eunice, me, Peace, host-mom, Esther, Rita. And yes, that outfit is coming home with me.

A Photo Blog

I wanted to give you a glimpse at my life for the last 3 months, so below are some of the many photos I've got from Uganda. I've got lots more goofy touristy ones, but I think these ones do a fairly good job capturing more of the lifestyle I've been living day-to-day. Enjoy!

NOTE: Unless otherwise specified, "host-dad," "host-mom," or related terms refer to my longer-term host-family in Mukono. "Rural-homestay-host-dad," etc. refers to my 1-week host-family in Serere.

Host-dad (George). He doesn't smile much for photos because he says chances are better that he'll get a good photo if he keeps a straight face. Pretty reasonable, I think.

Host-sister (Peace) and "Baby." Alternatively adorable, obnoxious, and hilarious. Like most 3 year-olds.

Yup, I learned to flat-iron. I charge $2/shirt. You never know when your dryer will go bust...

USP (Uganda Studies Program) Students in an on-campus restaurant. Dear Christian Colleges of America: recruit more men.

Eating jackfruit at home.

 My host-family's neighbor during the rural homestay in Serere District, sporting the "I carry my potatoes on my head" swagger.

Watering tomato plants in Serere. I was just informed that this little garden was destroyed by hail last month.

From left: Rural-homestay-host-brother Onyege, host-family neighbor on the right. Jackfruit on the tree... crazy.

From left: Rural-homestay-host-dad Onyege, me, and host-brother Onyege (yep, same name) after church.

Some guy brought a Ugandan harp to the well, and of course he wanted a picture with the muzungu. I'll be quite glad not to be a muzungu anymore.

From left: Rural-homestay-host-mom Lois, me, host-dad Onyege at home 

Sipi Falls, during a debrief after rural homestays. Ask Kelly R what she thinks about this place.

From left: host-mom Josephine, Peace, and me on our way to the family's village in Busia District.

From left: Host-cousin Senga, me, host-mom, Peace, Christine, and host-cousin Anyango at the Kenyan border in Busia District. I wasn't allowed to cross...

Clockwise from left: Senga, Christine, me, host-brother Richard, and host-mom on Lake Victoria in Busia District.

 Peace has this pose that she makes while repeating the words, "model, model, model..."

Host-mom, stoked.

 From left: host-mom, host-dad, me, Richard, Peace, Christine, Senga

 From left: host-grandma (on host-mom's side), me, and her fellow wife (polygamous marriage) in their house

Host-grandma (on host-dad's side). This woman is a firecracker.

Drawing water in the village in Busia. In Mukono we'd get water from a well, but it came out of a tap. They don't all look this rustic. 

 For Nancy (click to enlarge).

I see Malaria! Legit, I saw it. I had an internship at the local health clinic, and as cool as this might look, it mostly consisted of sitting on a stool and watching the lab techs cleaning slides.

From left: Rob, Jake, and Gabe... the other three guys who came to Uganda. 

 Jake.

The typical bus situation for one of the USP weekend trips. These buses were SO crowded- I wish I could capture it.

 Stoked to have ice cream.

 What is it? It's a MONKEY!

I did some volunteer hours with this guy who repairs shoes in town.

 In Queen Elizabeth National Park for the safari.

Hippos!

 My friend Sam at the health clinic. He wants me to marry his sister and aims to marry either Kelly or Elise. Unfortunately, plans never materialized.

 Host-mom doing what she does. She hopes to open a vocational school at some point.

Richard helping me to slaughter a... what is that? Oh, that's right, it's a TURKEY. Seriously, I'm glad to leave Uganda for the sole reason that I'll never have to slaughter anything again.

 Host-brother Peter watching TV. This is a pretty typical night at home.

Host-mom sifting the rice

Getting the easter lunch ready! We were so late for church, and host-dad was not happy.

From left: Peter, me, and Richard.

From left: Peter, me, and Christine

 From left: me, Richard, and Peter at the dinner table. The women ate in the living room or on the floor (cultural difference...).

 Washing dishes with Christine

Peter trying to do homework as Peace and I distract him. He's pursuing a BA in social work at Kyambogo University

That's a taste of January-April in Uganda for you... there's plenty more where that came from.

Laughter

Hi everyone,
First of all, thanks for your patience with the blog. The situation's been this: there was virtually no internet during the month of March, and what little access I had I used to look for jobs. Which reminds me that if anyone is looking for a psychology research assistant, I've got a stellar resume...
I also wanted to update you that our group is headed to Rwanda April 19, and I generally won't have access to phones or internet between April 19-29. Most likely I will not have internet after then either, until I return to the US on Elise Ranck's birthday. If you have any really important or particularly flattering messages, feel free to send them to my parents who maybe will pass them on after April 29. I hope to continue to update the blog a few times after I return home, since I'll still be processing. So keep checking!

For this week, I'm going to try to post a few things... so keep checking daily! And now, let me write about laughter:

There have been a fair number of funny cross-cultural stories that came out of this trip. I’d love to elaborate on them further but I think it’d be funnier in person. For now, ask me sometime about:

1)   Shaving in the library

2)   The Easter Sports Anthem and the most dangerous rendition of “All Glory, Laud, & Honor” I’ve ever seen performed

3)   Peace says the darnedest things

4)   Bizarre sermon stories

5)   Pocket snacks

6) Traditional wedding practices

And while I have a captive audience, I’d like to take a moment to pontificate. When I came to Africa, I didn’t expect I’d really be able to relate to the people with whom I spent my time. I figured they’d be more like my psychology study subjects, or to put it more bluntly, fish in a fishtank with whom I'd have a relationship of mild amusement and well-wishing. I could be wrong, but I think this is a common misconception about other cultures. We watch a documentary interview with an Ethiopian man mumbling softly with long, drawn pauses and a fly crawling on his face and we subconsciously assume, “I don't really have anything common with that guy.” Or we look at a photo like this one:

Host-sister Christine & host-dad (George). They requested to use my camera for this photo.

…and we think www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com. At best, we’re jumping to conclusions. At worst, we’re objectifying & alien-izing people.

            Take a look at this photo:

Happy International Women's Day! Clockwise from left: Host-mom (Josephine), host-sister (Fiona), host-sister (Christine, see above), host-cousin (Anyango), host-distant-relation (Senga)

          This photo, to an American, feels very familiar. I won’t deny that there are significant points of divergence between Ugandan and Southern Californian humor and culture in general. Significant points. But I would like to note that there have been disproportionately more moments of genuine laughter shared by both my host-family and myself. They make the same jokes as my friends in America: Host-Dad teasingly calls host-Mom by her middle name, which she hates. Host-sister Christine picks up the chocolate bar that was brought as a gift for the whole family and claims, “Oh, thank you. I’ve been looking for this ever since I misplaced it this morning.” Everyone makes fun of host-grandma when she uses the wrong English term at the wrong time (she answered the phone with “good morning” at 8pm).

           Somehow, I didn’t really anticipate I’d be able to feel like a close family friend with the Wanderas. You may say I was just ignorant, but (I think) I’m not the only one. These people are goofy, frustrated, content, grumpy, and impatient in the same ways I’ve seen Americans acting goofy, frustrated, content, grumpy, and impatient. Pictures and short video clips only capture a moment in time; it’s been eye-openingly familiar to witness a family narrative unfolding in the daily mundanities.

A Haiku

Will someone please fund
global internet access?
No blog now. Sorry!

Rustling in the Grass

Strap in for a long one...


I can’t escape a general sense of unease while I’m in Uganda. I think partly (if not largely) this can be attributed to the sense of “the unknown” attached to being in a foreign country as well as the mild fear that the rest of the world has something against Americans (which may be generally wrong, but in many cases would be justifiable). To be honest, I even felt this vague unease in Canada. As if someone’s going to knife me five minutes from New Hampshire just because I don’t know the name of the Canadian Prime Minister (or is it President?).

My pitiful ignorance aside, this uneasiness has hovered over all of my time in Uganda. I became more acutely aware of this fact during my rural homestay, where there was very little schoolwork to distract me and the only sounds in the night were crickets, grumpy cows, and a swishing ocean of dry grass. It was too quiet.

That said, the week was also incredibly peaceful and very rich. My homestay family was great; they were warm and soft-spoken, they treated me like a family member instead of some revered guest, and they were very good about maintaining a balance of making time for me to help around the farm and also to observe and reflect.

My host-dad is a commercial farmer in Serere, an eastern district in Uganda. He grows virtually every crop common to the country- oranges, bananas, pineapple, cassava, sweet potatoes- and raises livestock- chickens (at one time he had over 300), goats, & dairy cows. He’s 78 years old.

Leading a tour of the orange orchard

He’s a polygamist-turned-Christian, so his former first wife still lives in the compound along with his current wife. Their role around the compound is basically to be around the compound. I got the sense that they leave only to go to church or funerals, and they’re usually pretty busy cooking, cleaning, or napping in the kitchen-hut veranda. Both of them were really sweet- and were pretty sharp. They got a kick out of helping me to learn a bit of the local language.

My host-mom (host-dad's current wife) grinding sesame

Then there was Onyege, my host-parents’ 20 year-old nephew who lived with his aunt and uncle to help out around the farm. He gave the impression of being “too cool for school” (in a manner of speaking), but I think that was mostly because he slouched a lot, had a deep voice, and was constantly playing hip-hop on his phone. He was really very kind and helpful, and laughed every time I asked him another question about life in the boonies. 

Filling the cans at the well like a boss.

 In short, I really liked them and their home (and their food… a lot). So why the unease?

Midway through expressing a critique of the Ugandan government’s “development practices,” my host-dad stated that he had some fear for Uganda’s future. In his opinion, some form of regime change is inevitable and likely to be violent. Uganda has not had a peaceful transfer of power in its history as a country, and the current ruling party is suspected of rigging the elections in its favor.

The issues go deeper than that (though I don’t know much more on the topic), but my point is that stability is not a guarantee in Uganda. Or in about 2/3 of the world. Or really, in the long-term, in the whole world.

Before I dig myself in a hole, I should note that I’m very safe in Uganda. The country has been in a period of consistent stability since the current government came into power 26 years ago, and frankly, as a US citizen I’m in good hands anyway.

But I think it’s worth noting that in spite of these fears, host-dad is still planting orange trees, (slowly but steadily) digging his own well, and helping to start a loan-providing collective in his village. He’s pushing into an uncertain future with the hope and ambition of a man 1/3 his age.

 I suppose it’s worth asking: what else is there for an aging rural Ugandan family to do? You care for your family, the land, and the community. What will be will be.
As for what I should do about my sense of unease as an affluent American, I think my host family serves as a pretty good example. They're pretty aware of how small they are in the universe, and yet they still have a sense of hope and a belief in their own agency in their spheres of influence. I can cultivate those things.

And for now, it’s nice just to sit in the buzzing twilight, listening to the rustling grass and sipping tea with your family.

On a less contemplative (but no less meaningful) note, the food was really good. About an hour after I arrived at my host family’s compound was tea time...
Akile: Tea with steaming, unpasteurized milk that had been inside a cow 30 minutes prior to its boiling and consumption.

I'm terrible at this.

Omukeke: Sun-dried, boiled brown sweet potatoes mashed into a globe to be eaten with our hands. Mushy and delicious.

Eboo: For lunch I was served a big bowl of what appeared to be sewage. Apparently you burn matooke banana peels, filter water through the ashes (a natural salt), then use the water to boil mashed peanuts and leafy greens. It's really good, I promise.


I hope you're well, friends! I love to hear from you whenever possible.