Goodbyes again

Our flat has been filled with goodbyes, a steady stream of people wishing us “safe journey,” ducking in and out with gifts and wishes for family at home. There have been goodbye lunches and goodbye dinners, goodbye matoke and goodbye tikka masala. Goodbye laughter and goodbye tears. We are the luckiest people on earth to have a Ugandan community full of love for us, and vice versa.

It's a jungle out there

Last weekend we went “deep in the village” to Asia’s house on the edge of Mabira Forest, where it is so green even the air seems to shimmer with it. It has been raining, so all the flowers are suddenly blooming and there is a soft moisture everywhere. The huge trees are hung with jungly vines and you half expect Tarzan to swing on down to share a meal.

Asia’s mother is a dynamo. She screamed when we arrived and came running from the kitchen hut behind the house - she and I hugged like long-lost sisters. We jabbered and laughed – though we speak not one word of the same language. She ran up the path to show us her cows and goats, even ushered me to a 3-legged stool which I accepted so I could stir the fire under the soup. Asia’s sisters came and a brother, visitors came by, and her father sat quietly through a lot of happy laughter and chaos.

Like camping!

We went to the well, slipping on sugar cane on the path, and heard about Asia growing up doing the same. I sat on the mats to eat with the women and gave up on the mzungu fork and just dug in with my hands, using the matoke as a utensil (though not as effectively as they do!) I even served Bill his meal by kneeling in front of him – to lots of laughter (and claims I didn’t kneel ALL the way). After dinner Asia and I did the dishes – I kept asking her where the dishwasher “on” button was.

And also: Asia took us to a small clearing that is the family’s burial ground. Muslims, she said, do not use cement on graves, so the graves were marked with strewn rocks, and vines were creeping in between them, the oldest mounds almost disappearing into the ground, as they should, I suppose. Asia pointed to her sisters’ and brothers’ graves, recounting them all by name. They died young, leaving nieces and nephews that everyone is taking care of. It is so sad, and yet her mother has the most beautiful smile and laugh despite a lifetime of tragedies. It’s the same with everyone here – death stalks families constantly. But somehow they go on.

 

Asia's father, left, Bill, me and Asia's mom

We have had a great time on this trip to Uganda. And still I keep thinking of that burial ground next to Asia’s family house. Yes, it’s sad, but there’s also something very beautiful about it. It is in keeping with how important family is here. People refer to their “sons” and “daughters” and it turns out they are nephews and nieces. Everyone takes care of everyone else in the family and children that way have many parents, and parents have a lot of children. It seems it is not by accident that the graves are right there inside the family place forever. No cold graveyards or drawers where people put ashes – Ugandans actually don’t have cemeteries. They are buried “in the village.”

So now we head out once again. It’s impossible to say goodbye, so we say, “Next time!”

Home in a little less than a week; a few days first in Amsterdam – a world away for sure!

Whirled peas & Carnegie Hall

Language is a funny thing. Ugandans speak English, often very well. But we constantly are getting ourselves mired in traps.

For example,  I have the responsibility of making compelling Powerpoints for the trainings we are doing. I am always looking for clever things. Sometimes I just get bored and throw in something that seems right to m. As in, our “compelling writing” training. At the end of the session we say that the best thing (next to reading) to do to write well is to practice.

Ezra, making tea in the back of the Hiace

Brilliant, I thought. I'll have a thought balloon saying, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” Surely you know the answer: “Practice, practice, practice.” I knew it would be a reach, but I thought we could explain it.

Dr. Journalism (Bill) looked at the slide and said, “Theresa will explain this.” Out on a limb. So I said, “New York, concerts, blah, blah.” Blank faces. I tried again – violins, etc. They politely laughed but I could see the furrowed brows.

On the long way back from the recent safari, Kate ended up sitting in front with our friend and guide, Ezra. Ezra was tired and it was a long drive. Kate was trying valiantly to entertain him as we zoomed down the highway toward Kampala. They were talking about the signs on taxis and buses – things like “God Is Able” and “Love All, Trust None.” So Kate started telling Ezra about bumper stickers in the US. He didn’t get it, they don't have those here.

Kate explained. “There is this bumper sticker a lot of people have that has a picture of the world,” she said. “And it says on it, ‘whirled peas.’" Ezra looked confused. The four of us in the back of the impressive Toyota Hiace safari vehicle waited. Kate went on. “You see, it’s about world peace.” Ezra looks more confused. 

Kate: “You see, peas and peace … never mind. Really, it doesn’t mean anything. Lots of bumper stickers are just for politicians …” Fortunately, she didn’t talk about stickers like “Dog is my co-pilot.” Or others.

Yesterday, we went to the center of town and decided to get a "special hire" (like a US taxi, sort of) to take us and wait until we were finished with some business. It had stormed violently the night before and Bill started talking about weather to the driver, Bright. Bright then asked about what people do in the US when it snows to keep warm. Bill started describing a "jacket that is poofy and filled with feathers, like from a duck." I could see the quicksand sucking downward … but Bright said, yes, he had seen something like that on TV. Whew. 

I'd like to think that the next time we feel a culture clash coming on, we'll remember whirled peas, Carnegie Hall and down jackets. But most likely we'll blunder into it again.