A Numerous Amount of Unrelated Stories

Muli mutya! I hope this message finds you all happy and well! I cannot believe summer is already here and I hope you are enjoying the sweet sunshine! I am jealous that many of you will be spending time on boats and in the water. There are only canoes here and if I swim in the water I will most definitely contract a parasite.

It has happened more than once during my time here in Uganda that my neighbors will spot another muzungu in the village and find me immediately. The conversation usually goes something like this, “Nalubega, there are muzungus! Come and see!” Of course I always come running because it is incredibly unusual to find muzungus in the village. Upon reflecting on this event later I usually laugh. Here we are running outside to find other white people as if we are an extinct species with only a few left in the world. I acted in the same way a few days previous when we saw some rare parrot. On this particular day I met five westerners. Three of these muzungus were from the states on a mission trip. My villagers apparently informed them that there was a born again Christian living in the village which is how they found me; which brings me to the second point. I don’t exactly know what a born again Christian is, but this country is crazy about them. I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked if I am a born again Christian. Why do I need to be born again? Can’t I just be Christian? And where did they get the idea that I was a born again Christian in the first place? Upon walking into the grocery store I have even been given a rosary. If I know anything about this country it is this, Ugandans love muzungu sightings and born again Christians.

An addition to the mission trip people: I went for a run last night and the Christians were back in the village having some sort of assembly and were just finishing up as I was running by. As they are driving by me one of them has a video camera out the window filming me. Now, I am sure it was because many children were running along side me, but come on; it is not a safari. I can think of many things I would not liked to be filmed doing and running is definitely one of them. I am sure they are going to go home and show all of their friends a video of me running and they will probably laugh at how slow I am and how much I am tripping over the uneven ground. Awesome.

Ugandans are very indirect. For example, if you have not ironed your clothes they may ask you if the power was out. What they are really asking is why have you not ironed your clothes. When I was at home stay I was washing my clothes on a Sunday and the father said, “I think you wash your clothes on Saturday.” To this day I am not sure if he literally thought I washed my clothes on Saturday or if he was indirectly telling me to wash my clothes on Saturday. Now that I am in the village my new favorite word is “somehow.” My friend Peace told me she was going to come visit me in the afternoon, but never showed up. When I saw here later I was giving her a hard time about it. The conversation that followed went like this:

Peace: “I am sorry I could not come. I was sick”
Me: “Oh, you were sick? I am sorry.”
Peace: Somehow I was sick.
Me: “You mean you were sick or you were not sick?”
Peace: “I was sick, somehow.”

What does this word somehow mean in this context? I have laughed with Peace about this a lot lately. It was Peace’s way of lying to me about being sick, but indirectly. It was used in a way that if questioned, she wasn’t really lying. I have noticed many Ugandans using this word lately and I laugh every time. I have even started using the word myself. The other day a teacher saw that I was planning to carry two jerry cans and asked me if I was stronger than him. My response was, “Somehow.”

I love big dogs and for the past few years I have really wanted to get a Great Dane. Last weekend I met a German man with a Great Dane as big as a calf and it got me thinking about what it would be like to have such a large dog in the village. First, let me explain the idea of pets here in Uganda. It is non existent. Sure, many Ugandans have dogs, but the are underfed, sleep outside, are never petted, and are used for protection and chasing monkeys out of the garden. Second, Ugandans are scared of dogs that they don’t know. Third, they have no idea how smart animals are. Lastly, all of their dogs look exactly the same; none over two feet in height and none any other color than brown. I would love to have a Great Dane here mostly for the shock factor. My dog would have a very cool African name; perhaps that of a warrior. I would walk him to the local store and people would run for their lives. When I asked my pup to sit and he did, they would be in total amazement. At night when I brought him into my house people would laugh and point. When some thug (not that there are any, but lets say there is a village thug) tries stealing from me, my dog would scare him away with one simple bark. He would probably even eat the bats. It would be fabulous all around. Well, until I was trying to feed him on a volunteers’ salary. I would probably have to ship him home to my parents who would be less than thrilled. No worries Mom and Dad, I will not own a Great Dane in the next two years, somehow.

Under most circumstances living on a Peace Corps salary is more than enough, or so I hear. However, moving in I had to buy everything I own and I quickly ran out of money. The last week in May had been incredibly rough for me in the money department. I was out of money and food, owning only a kilo of beans. However, at this point my stomach was hating me for the amount of beans I have consumed lately. So what I would do is strategically place myself in the path of anyone I saw returning from the garden carrying food. I would then greet them knowing that they were going to ask me if I could identify the food item they were carrying. It was usually an ear of corn or an avocado, but I would look at it in amazement and act like I have never seen such a thing. Because they are incredibly generous and because they want to be the one to give the muzungu their first ear of corn, they would give me some and there you have it; I am able to eat a dinner consisting of an ear of corn. I know it is wrong to deceive them in this way, but I was hungry.

One day I was looking out my front window and I saw my seven year old friend Patrick, also known as Patu, standing behind a cow. After looking around to see if anyone was watching Patrick stuck his fingers inside the cows rear-end. He then looked to see how the cow would respond. When the cow gave no reaction, he did it again! I could not believe this. I was watching a child willingly stick his fingers into a cow’s butt. All I had to do was yell “Patu” and he took off running. A few hours later I passed his house on the way to the store and his mother told me he was really sick and that it was malaria. I should have told her that it was not malaria, but it was probably from Patrick sticking his fingers in a cow’s butts. From now on there is going to be a strict hand washing policy for Patrick anytime he comes to my house. Later in the day, Patrick comes over again. If you remember from my last post, Patrick was the one wearing his sister’s skirt. However, on this trip to my house he decided to leave the skirt at home and opted for just a semi long T-shirt. I know I should love this kid less, but I just don’t.

I think I mentioned that I bought a football a while ago. I have adopted the Ugandan name for the game of soccer; the word soccer almost sounds derogatory to me anymore. Today as I was on my way out for a run the kids were playing with my football and I decided to play with them instead. I soon had a crowd watching me which included, but was not limited to, the entire village. Now, I used to play football as a small child. My team even won the city championship, but I do not think it had anything to do with my athletic abilities. In all honesty, all I remember from my football days is my coach telling my mom not to buy me shorts with pockets because I spent most of my football career with my hands in my pockets. Needless to say, my abilities have not grown exponentially over the years. However, when I was playing against the seven year olds I was winning ten to one. The older kids were intrigued that I was playing so I invited them to play. I knew what was going to happen even before I invited them to play; they showed me how the game was really played. These kids play barefoot on some of the most uneven ground I have ever seen and they are fabulous. Actually, fabulous does not even begin to describe how good they are. The thing that gets me is that they have never had a coach. They have never done drills or worked out. All of their talent comes from just playing during recess with a blow up plastic ball. Bless their hearts, they would pass it to me knowing that I would probably give it up to the other team in a couple of seconds anyway. I have about five kids that have promised to turn me into an all star football player before I move back to the states. We’ll see how that works out for me.

Without electronics and the late arrival of my counterpart I have had great deal of free time. Luckily for me, I have recently inherited a set of water color paints from a PCV about to return to the states and have picked up painting as a hobby. I am not sure which is better, my athletic abilities or my artistic abilities. I like to paint pictures and amaze small children. However, there is always one brutally honest child in the group who tells me as he sees it. “Sagala,” he says. Meaning, “I don’t like/love/want.” I just pretend there is a language barrier and go on painting gaudy things.

I feel that most people can be put in one of three categories. You are either incredibly intelligent, athletic, or artistic. During training I became aware that everyone was incredibly talented. My friends and I tried to find my talent and as it turns out I am very mediocre at everything. For weeks we tried to find my talent. At the end of training, when we still had not come up with anything, Celeste told me that I had good ideas. I think she was being sarcastic or just trying to make me feel good, but I am going to take it. I may not be able to play soccer well, paint well, or be incredibly intelligent, but darn it, I have good ideas.

I sleep under a mosquito net every night. When I first opened the package it told me that it was treated to repeal mosquitos. The other night I noticed my mosquito net was covered with mosquitos. I am not sure what exactly they treated the net with, but I have a feeling it might be sugar water. Some nights I manage to trap a mosquito inside my net. As I am sure you can imagine, this ends up a complete catastrophe. After nights like this, I wake up covered from head to toe with bites that I then continue to scratch like a three year old with the chicken pocks. Between my mosquito bites and the cuts and bruises I acquire in this country, I look like a complete disaster on a daily basis. While my mosquito net may not do much for me in the mosquito department, at least it protects me from bat poop.

My last story is not about Uganda at all, but about Holland. There is a volunteer living in Uganda from Holland and one night some PCVs and this volunteer from Holland were hanging out. A fellow PCV decided to tell this other volunteer everything he knew about Holland. Apparently, Holland has a their own Santa Claus like character, but instead of reindeer he has fifth-teen black men that carry the presents, obviously slaves. However, in recent years they have claimed that these black men were not slaves at all, but merely this Santa character’s friends. On top of this, apparently they have a parade every year with Santa and his “friends.”

As Said By Ugandans:

“Do not go to the next village, they eat people there.”

“Your father must be really rich to have three girls. My friend told me about how Americans have to pay the government money if they have more than two children”

“I am sorry your father did not have any boys.”

“I am sorry I could not come; I fell out of an avocado tree.”

"Did you see my mom? She is the one with only one eye?"

“All women have to do is give birth to children. Men do everything else.” Apparently this man has not given birth to know how much work it is nor has he noticed the amount of work woman do here which is exponentially greater than what the men do.

Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read! If you have not done so already, please be sure to send me an e-mail letting me know what you have been up to! I miss you and think about you all often!

Peace and love,

Autumn

P.S. To add to the list of things I miss. Good flavored teas, but not fruity ones.

P.S.S. Sarah I would love to send you a packing list. Send me an e-mail at auradtke@gmail.com so I can e-mail it to you.