Penis Envy

I don’t run around burning bras in my free time; however, I did not realize how much of a feminist I am until I came to a culture that is quite patriarchal. In Uganda, it is customary for females to kneel to men or older women when meeting them, during greetings, and after farewells. I know it is a sign of respect and part of their culture, but I can feel my insides cringe every time I witness this. Apparently, twenty years ago, boys would be beaten in school if a girl scored a higher grade on a test. Even church on Sunday was mildly segregated into mostly male and mostly female sections.

Other male interns have told me stories about having a beer with the locals. They get to learn about the culture and people in a very relaxed setting. Because I am female, I can’t go to a bar and knock back a beer with some of the guys. Granted my western appearance will get me into the bar, but no locals are going to sit there and tell me stories. I may be white, and I may be from America; nonetheless, I am still female. Also, because I am female, I am at a greater risk of being accosted here. It isn’t high, but the risk is there. I am worried about how much this will impact my work here.

Apart from developing Freudian Penis Envy, I moved in with my host family several days ago. They were incredibly welcoming and considerate. Their favorite thing to do is feed me. I am quite small for a female in this culture; weight is the equivalence to health here. Thus, I seem to be eating non-stop. Breakfast, mid-morning tea, lunch, snack, another snack, heavy tea, dinner. It is rather nice however. In America, we look at food as calories, fat, and how many minutes on the treadmill that cookie will require. Here, food is food, something to enjoy and savor.

Back to my family though. I live with my host mother, father, and one of my five sisters, Tosha. It is customary in Ugandan culture to refer to people other than your actual parent as parents. When my dad took me around Masaka so I could learn about some of the local hangouts and how to get around, he introduced me as his daughter. Every now and then, my inability to speak Luganda well bothers me. My family and those that work for them will speak in Luganda when I am around. It doesn’t bother me much as I know it is there native language and easier for them to express themselves in. Yet, I know enough Luganda to know when they are talking about the family mzungu. Tosha has a lot of energy since she is turning four next week. A few days ago, she discovered my hand sanitizer and thought it was perfume. Whenever I don’t lock my door or am in my room with her, she will cover her hands and body in the sanitizer. I had to hide it and have taken to locking my door even when I am home. I attached a photo of her to this post.



My impressions about being here go through waves of various moods. I can be frustrated, excited, happy, annoyed, confused, tired, over-stimulated, enthralled, stressed, and content in a matter of a few hours. It mainly depends on the day and what I am doing. Walking through town can invoke all of these as well. My color causes me to stand out here. A lot. All of the time. It is impossibly to be inconspicuous. Every few yards someone yells “mzungu!” I somewhat miss being able to blend in with a group.