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