Learning about life from Africa

Okay, that last post is not entirely true. That’s not all I’m doing.

When I walk, I am usually walking to the BeadforLife office, where I am volunteering (the photo is of the Acholi beaders dancing). BFL is a “poverty eradication” organization, working with displaced, HIV positive women. Simply put, the women make paper beads, BFL buys the beads from them, and then sells the beads in the US. The money comes back and is used for community development; the women are now getting a village! You can read on the BFL Web site how this all happens – it is amazing.

I’m helping the group with some writing projects, and anything else they want me to do. And in return I am getting to know the women of Africa! If I didn’t have this connection to the local women, I might as well be in Kansas.

I have visited the mud-hut compounds where the women live, am learning how to talk to them so I don’t sound so darned American, have helped buy the beads. I am beginning to hear their stories and understand what they have been through. (A lot -- more than I could ever stand.) And, more importantly, I’m learning what their hopes are, how they think.

These women are teaching me something about Africa, and maybe about why people say you take some of Africa with you when you leave. Africa is about the fabric of life, the whole of it. Babies are sick, and die. Spouses regularly disappear. And die. You are hungry. There are co-wives. You can’t afford AIDS treatment for yourself – or your child.

What do you do? You go on, because that is what life is. The women dance and sing in their bright dresses and beautiful beads – and go on. Torkin Wakefield, who started BeadforLife, says: “The poor don’t sit around feeling sorry for themselves.” And our new friend Jennifer says the only other alternative is to go mad.

From what I’ve seen, this has made them see life differently. They see it as a story that includes good times and bad, and that is what is expected. (We, on the other hand, think life owes us something; we DO feel sorry for ourselves.)

These people have to rely on their wits every single day. If your boat breaks down, you’d better fix it. If you don’t have water, you’d better put the jerry can on your head and go get it. The crocodile has three babies on his back, they are so cute. They will all be eaten by some other animal in the next week. It’s just how it is. The fabric of life.

My new job

Eldest son Adam asks, “We know Bill is busy, but what are YOU doing?”

I am observing and absorbing. This is tough work for someone who is used to the 8-5 structure – try it and you’ll see. What does it mean? I have time to walk through the market where the young woman with the tiny baby and I are becoming friends. We look for each other, and now the young men hanging out nearby are looking for me too.

I have time to walk up a dirt side-street, where I can stop and talk to the woman who sweeps out her tiny beauty salon in the morning. The man with the “BlackBoy” stand nods at me while he makes chapatti. I walk by the school where I can hear the kids in their pink gingham dresses (girls) and khaki shorts (boys) practicing English in unison: “The dog walks home with the boy.” I notice the white lace curtains in the doorways and wonder how the heck they keep them clean. I hang out at the Bench Corner Bar (just kidding, but the picture is fun).

Today I stopped for lunch at a place that could be in California -- big palms and shaded patio. As I left, I discovered it is right next to the Iranian embassy, good to know. The cafe watchman told me about a hair salon with a stylist from South Africa who only does mzungu hair. Also good to know.

Observing and absorbing. I am getting my writer’s eyes and ears back, that’s what I am doing.

A haiku for maintenance

The blog undergoes change
Ssebo Rich B needs yahoo
So be it, Sir B*

*For those who do not understand this, ignore it. It only took me two hours to add My Yahoo to the blog. Stoph, Beitel, Sunil -- where are you when I need you!

Why they stare

We are still being stared at, not only by kids but by almost everyone local. Sometimes they say, "Hi, mzungu!" but more often they just stare. And stare.

Last week we met a young Canadian woman who lived here for over a year. She explained it to us: "It would be as if purple people suddenly appeared in your neighborhood. That's how we seem to them, like purple people."

That makes lots of sense. Now, when people stare at us, like these little girls in the picture, we just think, "Yes, we are purple people."

Things we find startling

Some things are startling (not in a good or bad way, they just are):


• Men holding hands (this doesn’t mean they are gay, it’s a cultural thing)
• The exotic African fabric, especially when made into languorous dresses or skirts and worn by the tall, graceful Ugandan nyabos (madams)
• Burning garbage (it’s very common to see big or small piles of garbage smoldering away – there are garbage trucks, but that doesn’t seem to take care of it)
• The ice cream man: he hauls a colorful box of ice cream, popsicles, et al, on his retrofitted bike (complete with music) and becomes surrounded by kids
• Scaffolding made from trees – it’s everywhere and very impressive
• The potholes! They are the size of a swimming pool, and when it rains they are bright orange lakes (sometimes they are ruts that run the length of a road shoulder and are a good three feet deep or more)
• Latrines. We are in the city, but there are two-pit latrines in most compounds – it took awhile to recognize what they are, but now it’s easy to see. They block off one pit while the other side “cooks” and then rotate them)
• The smell of jackfruit (apparently it’s delicious, but it’s hard to get close enough to find out)
• Multiple (and creative) uses for shipping containers
• Women carrying bags of cement on their heads
• Women carrying everything on their heads
• “Flying toilets” – these are plastic bags that suffice when there is no toilet; you see them on the side of the road and kind of figure out what’s inside but look the other way
• The huge green grasshopper that hopped into our flat the other night
• The red breasted and redheaded parrot-like bird that landed on the tree right near our back porch – he’s a double-toothed barbet (according to our new "Birds of East Africa" book)
• The soft voices of the people; at first we couldn’t hear or understand, but now we think the quiet rhythm of the speech is peaceful and musical
• The “yodeling” of the Acholi women when they sing; this is a high-pitched throat undulating yell. While beautiful, it also makes you sit up straight and watch your back
• The way everyone bursts into song and dance with enthusiasm, no matter how hard their lives
• The Arabic and Japanese print on matatus and trucks. The trucks come from Japan by way of Dubai, and they just leave the print on them. We have no idea what it says.
• Drivers pull over when they get a cell phone call and never drive while talking (it’s a law that they actually obey)
• “Knock-out” gin ads: “No headache or hangover” – presumably you are just knocked out
  
  
  
  
  

We are in Africa for sure!

There is something about the name “savanna” that evokes images of early morning sunlight seen through tall grass, giraffes stretching their necks to eat acacia leaves, big cats moving silently to water holes. Now we know that those imaginings are true.

Last week we headed out of the city to Murchison Falls National Park, just about 7 hours of a teeth-grinding, spine-compressing ride from Kampala. This was Bill’s birthday present: a safari with a tour company, two nights in the park, two game drives and one boat ride up the Nile. We are writing a travel story on the park, so I won’t go into much detail. But we were not in a big caravan of tourists on safari – this was just a driver named Junior and his very sturdy Land Cruiser, a ranger/guide (in the park) named Simon, and the two of us. We were within spitting distance of elephants; giraffes; hippos; crocodiles; kob (a kind of deer); hartebeests – very strange creatures with long faces; amazing turquoise, red, and yellow birds of all sizes. Of course, there were baboons, monkeys and oribi (little sweet looking miniature deer).

But here was the most amazing thing. At 7 a.m. Friday morning, we set off with Simon and Junior as the sun was rising (through the tall grass!). It is so silent in the grasslands; that silence is almost a tangible thing (maybe because our ears have been clanging in frantic Kampala). And the air is so fresh. We had gone with Simon the evening before and saw amazing things as the sun set. But Simon announced that this morning we were going to find the big cats, though he added a disclaimer: “For the cats, I cannot promise.”

We drove alone along the narrow game track, staring so hard at anything golden that our eyes hurt. Simon balanced his rifle on his lap; the sun appeared slowly, a bright red orb in the morning haze. Suddenly he pointed and said very quietly: “There it is – a big male.” And standing there looking straight at us, a very healthy male lion opened his mouth, showing off his pointy teeth. We just plain gasped. We bumped slowly off the track and shut off the engine; we were within 10-15 feet of him, and though he knew we were there, he just lay down, gazing around his early morning kingdom. Another male emerged from the grass a little ways away, heading slowing and gracefully for a water hole. We sat for a long time watching them . We didn’t want to even move.

No wonder they are called kings of the jungle. They really are royal in their demeanor, elegant and stately with those gold manes and clear eyes. Later we saw two females out hunting. The kob and oribi were watching them very carefully, as you can imagine. (First we thought the oribi were so cute; after seeing the lions it was hard to think of them as anything but bite-size hors d’oeuvres.)

The trip was tons of fun – we stayed at Nile Safari Camp, where we had a tent-like cabana with screened canvas windows and a screened veranda, power only from 7-10:30 p.m., and a view over the river. We could pretend we were Dr. Stanley or Hemingway or someone. (Well, they probably didn’t have the swimming pool … .) We had monkeys jumping on our roof, and had a shower from a bucket. The boat broke down on our boat ride and we had visions of the African Queen as we drifted into the crocodile and hippo-populated reeds. We waded in the Nile River above the falls. We wished on a rainbow made by the rushing Nile as it dropped through huge rocks. At night, we listened to hippos blowing their noses right below us on the river.

We wore so much bug juice and sunscreen that our skin will never recover. We saw four overturned semis on the highway on the way home. Gulp. And we have never been as dirty as we were when we reached our little flat.

I think Bill’s birthday trip trumped mine (Venice). Now he won’t be satisfied with just going snowshoeing for his February birthday. This will be a hard act to follow. (In case you can't see it, he is pointing to the words on his shirt, "Life is Good.")

Applause for Fr. Guido

We went to church today. (Okay, don’t everyone start laughing at once. Even Bill pretended to know what was going on.) Our Lady of Africa is right up the hill from us so we set off, not knowing what time Mass was. We met a huge crowd coming out and almost turned around. But we thought we’d at least see the church – and got there just in time for the Luganda Mass. Meaning it was all in Luganda, the most common language here.

We didn’t care; the priest is Italian and with his heavy accent we couldn’t understand much. (That’s a joke. We are trying to learn some Luganda but so far can only say, “Thank you, Madam,” “Good/beautiful/fine,” (balungi) and we are learning “Good morning sir/madam” as tonight’s lesson.) Actually, we could follow along pretty well; the prayers have the same rhythm no matter the language, and the “ameni” was close enough. We even did the "peace be with you" part, mumbling the English in response to whatever the others said.

The music was wonderful – a choir with drums, lots of clapping and swaying. The women were all dressed in their beautiful, bright cotton dresses, some of the men had very cool African shirts (maybe Bill will get one for his birthday!) and the children … the children are always beautiful. The little girls wear ruffley dresses like colored First Communion dresses -- all chiffony and bows -- and the boys wear baggy pants, very hip. The kids vied to get closer to us until finally we got crowded down the pew, surrounded by grinning little boys and girls. We were the only mzungus, of course.

My favorite part (other than the drums and the kids) was the consecration. When the priest held up the host, a bell rang and then everyone started clapping! Ditto the chalice. It was great! Applause for Jesus!

We thought the priest looked familiar. I think we’ve seen him at the Italian deli. The church is right near the Vatican embassy and both are part of our neighborhood. But he reminded me of the priests of the old religion class – when a baby cried, he pointed to the door and the poor baby got evicted to the crying room. When a cell phone went off – uh-oh. Big frown and shaking finger. Don’t cross Fr. Guido.

Next we’ll try an Evangelical church, which we hear is really rockin’.

The picture with this post has nothing to do with church. Meet Juliet. Her parents died from AIDS. She is 17. She takes care of her five siblings. Alone. She makes beads to pay their school fees. More on that later. But it just seemed that if she has little to do with faith, she has much to do with hope. Isn’t she beautiful? Amen.

"How do you like our climate?"

That was a question one of the New Vision editors asked me at a meeting the other day. Well, I said, I had just received an email from our daughter in New York, who said it was 12 degrees Fahrenheit; and a few days before we left Seattle, it snowed there. So we liked this climate fine!

One of the other editors laughed. "In our language (Luganda)," he said, "we don't even have a word for snow. Hail, yes, and ice. But not snow." ("But we have MANY words for bananas," another chimed in, saying there are more than 60 varieties.)

Theresa used to joke about the weather forecast on the New Vision site when we were still in Seattle: it always showed mixed clouds and sun and showers, and temperatures never more than a few degrees either side of 80. Well, that's exactly how it is. The equatorial sun certainly can be intense (I was careless for a half-hour yesterday and am paying the price today), and the walk to the market and back usually leaves us dripping. But often the temperature is just perfect -- and, as T. said last night as we sat out on a restaurant's lawn for a drink, underneath a giant Jack Fruit tree and next to a giant avocado tree-- both heavy with fruit -- if you squint your eyes and aren't in a place where you can smell the acrid smoke, it's very much like Hawaii.

Here's that sausage tree!

I'm having trouble uploading images -- our connection is slow. But here it is! Big ol' salami growing on a tree. (Well, they look like that anyway!) It's at the Botannical Garden in Entebbe, where they also have umbrella trees. You didn't know umbrellas grew on trees, did you? Africa is strange.

Sausages that grow on trees

“Do you want the salami with the ant or the other one?” Bill asked, as we stood in front of the Italian deli counter. Well, I chose the one with the ant – I mean, they are everywhere and they are pretty small, and there was only one, which is a departure from the norm.

Everyone wants to know what we are eating, but the truth is we are eating pretty much what we do at home with some exceptions. For example, there is an Italian deli close to us, with prosciutto, pancetta, pecorino – all with a little extra something in the form of ants. Apparently there is an Italian community in our neighborhood, including a Catholic church with Italian priests and the Vatican embassy behind it.

We do NOT eat the sausages from the Sausage Tree that we saw on Saturday at the Botanical Gardens in Entebbe (thank you Fr. Matthias once again for a wonderful day!). The local Ugandan food is pure starch: potatoes (boiled potatoes called “Irish potatoes” mainly), yams, maize (a white cornmeal paste), cassava, matoke (a paste made of bananas squashed inside banana leaves that turns to cement almost the second it is taken out of the leaves – imagine what happens in your stomach!).

There is lots of goat – we had goat broth this weekend. And mutton, which is tough.

The people are lean and graceful – no obesity here (no corn syrup or processed food). We have eaten the local food and it is filling, but not too flavorful. They add groundnut sauce to everything (peanut sauce), and that helps some. And a few other sauces, not sure what is in them.

We buy eggplant, zucchini, avocados (oh, they are the best – huge and tasty!), garlic, ginger, and green beans at the market. We peel everything because of pesticides and who knows what else. We also wash lettuce and many other things in water with a little bleach – they are supposed to have something that washes vegetables but we haven’t found it.

The lettuce is pretty sad. But there is something akin to spinach that is pretty good. The meat is tough, tough, tough. So we are rapidly becoming pseudo-vegetarians (except for the ants that we inadvertently eat).

The good news is that there is a great Indian restaurant nearby. And the Italian deli also has a restaurant that is good. Talapia is everywhere – it’s a bland fish from Lake Victoria, but I like it okay. Chicken is so lean you find yourself starring at bones and wondering where the meat went. As I say, we eat a lot of eggplant.

The best, bar none, food is the fruit. The pineapples are huge and juicy – a local woman told us to pick the ones with the biggest hexagonal scales. They cost 1000 sh each – about 50 cents. And they are so great – as are the mangoes, with which I plan to make a chilled mango soup that we had at Xmas in Hawaii with papayas. As soon as I find cream …

We have yogurt for breakfast and it is great too, very much like Greek yogurt. Tart and good. With granola from the UK that says on the package: “Be careful of your teeth. Call a dentist if you break them on this grain” or something like that. The eggs come in bags, so you had better be careful on your way home. And the yolks are very pale.

For dessert we have Cadbury chocolate, but it’s all milk chocolate, sigh. And the coffee … well, it’s not Seattle coffee.

The juice is great! Pineapple and orange, mango … yum. Bill likes the Bell lager beer in huge bottles, but there’s no dark beer for me. And the wine is expensive, so I am losing weight. I’ve lost six pounds, but I think it’s from the heat and also working out every day, dripping about a gallon of sweat all over the little fitness room in our complex. We have had about two glasses of red wine since we’ve been here – it just isn’t so appetizing in the heat.

So that’s it! Anyone coming to visit please bring coffee. We might have to have a weekend in Zaccharo for a good salad before we come home. But, really, where else could you find a tree that spawns sausages???

Tell me about America...

Not surprisingly, the Ugandans we meet are highly curious about America -- and many of them don't have any idea what it's like. "How many capitals do you have in America?" asked Yowesi, the very nice driver from New Vision who takes me to work every morning. "50 -- one for each state -- plus one other one for the whole country, where the President lives." "Ohhhhh -- you have 50 states!"

Yowesi also wanted to know if there are a lot of Africans in the US. Well, yes, there are a lot in numbers, although they're still a relatively small part of the whole country. "Which state do they live in?" Well, they live in all the states -- some more than others, but there's no special state. They come in two general groups, I explained: African Americans who have roots in America going back many many generations; and much more recent African immigrants, who are growing in numbers.

In fact, I told him, there's a man whose father was from Kenya who is running to be President of the United States; if he won the election next year, he would be the first black man ever to be President. Ohhhhhhhh, Yowesi said -- fascinated and listening intently.

"But he couldn't win," he said, very positively. Maybe not, I said. But he's extremely popular right now. Yowesi was impressed, and perhaps will be following the presidential election in 2008.

Court is In Session

Yesterday I went out on my first actual story with a New Vision reporter (oh, yes, this is Bill speaking), and we went straight to the top: the Uganda Supreme Court, which was scheduled to release a fairly noteworthy ruling. Last April, the court ruled unanimously that the presidential elections of February 2006 had not been free and fair, and that they had been tainted by quite a bit of fraud. However a four-member majority of the court also ruled that the problems with the election weren’t sufficient to overturn it. Since they made their ruling without saying what their reasoning was, everyone was waiting to find out.

It seems you wait a long time for things in Uganda, which helps you develop patience. We are in the process of opening a bank account, meaning we wanted to put a bunch of money in the bank, and as of today it has taken three visits to the bank and we’re not done yet (although they do finally have our money; we just can’t get at it).

Anyway, perhaps this helps explain why it took almost 10 months for the Supreme Court justices to write down their opinions in one of the most momentous cases they’ve ever handled.
The court building itself is not particularly grand, but when the justices filed in – an hour late, I should add – they certainly were grand: four of them (one has died since the ruling, two others were absent), clad in long bright red robes adorned with elaborate gold decorations, and all wearing the traditional British-style judge wigs. Very impressive!

The attorneys for both sides were there too – no wigs, but black robes and white ties – and a pretty full house of spectators, including We of the Press sitting on plastic patio-style chairs in this otherwise nicely appointed courtroom with its dark-wood benches, high judges’ podium, and overhead fans.

After all the fuss, only one of the four actually read his opinion (though very dramatically, which was nice), and we were done in an hour. Well, “done” is not exactly right. Somehow, although they had had 10 months to get it organized, most of the justices didn’t get their opinions written until a week or two ago, and so when We of the Press went to pick up copies, they weren’t ready. Ha!

Much shuttling back and forth, from hallway to law library to court clerk’s office, and eventually they produced the three available opinions on floppy disks, and the reporters proceeded to copy them onto the flash drives they all had dangling around their necks.

Verdict: One hour of waiting before the court arrived; one hour of actual action; and two hours of waiting for the opinions. Plus a half-hour on each end negotiating the Kampala roads. Ratio of waiting:activity – 4:1. Par for the course. We are learning to be patient and laid back, really we are!

If you’re interested in the result of the court rulings, by the way, see the story.