Becoming a Mzungu

Each time I try to write another blog entry, I stop and decide to come back to it later. I cannot begin to describe each day in a manner that will exemplify my experiences. After my last post from a mall in Kampala, Uganda’s capital, we went out and toured the city. For those who know me, you’ll realize cities are not always the best places for someone mildly haptephobic and disconcerted in large crowds. We got to this point in the tour where we crested a hill and looked out over a taxi park. (I attached a photo of the view.) I thought, “I can’t do this; I can’t be here.” Maybe it was the jet lag or the swarms of people, but I felt so inadequate and poorly prepared. Nothing in my life has primed me for the next two months. It felt like I was jumping off the high dive at an Olympic training pool after just graduating one of those plastic pools you can buy at Wal-mart.

The next day, we left Kampala to drive to Masaka where I will be working and living. The countryside here is breath taking. I am not quite sure what I was expecting but I can honestly say Uganda is one of the most beautiful places I have been. However, three hours driving past run down buildings and huts were no help in convincing me I was game for the next couple months.

Masaka changed that though. There is something about this place that makes me feel more comfortable. Regardless of the fact that people yell “mzungu” (foreigner) as I pass by, regardless of the dust and smog, regardless of the fact I can’t understand a word anyone says, I feel as if Masaka is a place I can call home for the summer. I have no idea what I will be doing daily with Kitovu Mobile and no idea what my cumulating project will be; nevertheless, I want to be here. Our lives are the product of our days and actions. We can never be the people we wish to be unless we play the part. I am not extroverted nor at ease in new situations. I have gone so far out of my comfort zone box and colored boldly outside the lines. Thus far, I would count this among one of the better decisions I have ever made.

Besides acclimating ourselves to the new culture, the other interns and I have toured an organic farm and training center, viewed past projects of various interns, and attempted to master Luganda. The latter seems to be going quite poorly for me. I greeted a man today outside a bank. He became very happy, shook my hand, and continued to talk to me in Luganda. All I could do was smile and look confused. People here are very friendly. I am trying to make an effort to grasp a good deal of the language so I can converse better with the locals. Once I move in with my host family, I should be able to do this.

At this point in time, I greatly miss reliable toilets and water pressure. So far, I haven’t started taking bucket showers but I believe those would work better than the trickle coming out of the showerhead. The hotels I have stayed at also have toilets; I really can’t complain but they won’t flush at times. One of my highlight experiences was at the organic farm. One of the interns and I really needed to use the restroom. We asked to be pointed in the direction and started along our merry way. After passing several metal doors we came to a row of four at a dead end. The first of out of the three was open and we peered inside. There was nothing there. Just a hole in the ground. Where was the bathroom? We looked around a bit bewildered. And then we saw it. Above the hole in the ground, there was toilet paper attached to the wall. We had found the bathroom. I have no idea why it was so funny to us especially since I’ve relieved myself in the woods before. Yet, dressed in skirts that would rival the Amish in conservatism in the middle of rural Africa, nothing could have been more hysterical at the time.

Two Impressions

After 17 hours of flying and about 10 hours of sitting in Airports aimlessly, I have come to two conclusions. The first being never travel without wheels attached to your duffle bag. My bag is only 45 pounds. Not too bad considering I have huge bottles of shampoo and conditioner and more than five bottles of sunscreen. However, while nearly killing my own back, a very nice Ugandan man offer to carry my bag for me from the Entebbe airport to the van parked nearby. I tried to tell him it was heavy and I didn't want him to have to carry it. Nonetheless, he did. After about fifty yards, he realized I was not lying and enlisted another man to help. First lesson from traveling to Africa: be able to carry your own luggage easily otherwise you feel like a goober.

The next conclusion I have is that American life is simply too fast pace and stressful.I may be in a new country, not understand their major language, be overheated, and have little clue about what I will be doing the next two months. But this is the least amount of stress I have felt for years. The culture here is welcoming and friendly. Take things as they go and don't worry about time or minor stressors. We'll see if I continue to like this with my North-eastern ways and continuous fast walking; but for now, it is a change that is calming.

Lamenting a Layover

Hour four of the seven hour layover commences. I have resorted to chocolate muffins and talking to strangers in the Airport. Let's backtrack a bit though, shall we?

While I have been telling people for months that I am headed to Uganda for the summer, I don't think I have quite grasped that myself. I like to plan and over-think everything. High school was my eternal planning purgatory. I planned my summers, my college career, my retirement, and all my life's recreation with a bucket list. Planning means one thing: you never actually are living. Each step taken is never noticed because you are so busying arranging your second, third, and fourth. When you are always planning, it is very strange to start living, something I was forced into this past year. For once I am in the present and not the fog covered future.

Thus with my newfound ability to not plan every step and thought, I figured I should attempt to step out of my comfort zone as much as possible. Step one: chat with other people waiting in line at the airport. Step two: fly to Uganda. Step three: try to assimilate into a new culture. Step four: swim with crocodiles in the Nile.

I have been up since 4:30am. This means other than walking around airports, most of my time has been spent reading. Since I am working for Kitovu Mobile AIDS Organization I keep trying to comprehend as much as possible in regards to AIDS in Uganda. An article here, a book excerpt there. I believe I have a bit of an understanding. However, in all honesty, I am nervous to actually face the emotion of it all. Statistics cannot capture the suffering real people face nor the aftershocks death leaves behind. In just one day, this will all no longer be foreign. It will be tangible, real, and in my face.

Hours of sleep deprivation have compelled me to search for coffee.

Mweraba! (Good bye)