Emily starts her rural home stay this Friday. She will be away from the college till March 1st. From February 20th to the 27th she will be staying with a local family out in the bush near Soroti. Then Sunday night (the 27th) she will travel with the USP students to some Falls [I think it was CP falls] and camp till Sunday, when they will return to campus.
This entire time Emily will be without technology whatsoever, no internet, phone, etc.
This is a very exciting experience that Emily is able to have, though it will be trying at times I am sure. We ask that you would continue to keep her in your prayers, that she would connect with God in a whole new way and grow even more into the Woman that God desires. This will be an anxious time for all of us, whom are used to being in some form of contact with her. But I pray that God would allow her family and friends to also grow closer to God as we trust Him to guide and protect Emily.
"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." -- 2 Timothy 1:7 [KJV]
"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you."-- 1 peter 5:7 [NIV]
--Andrew
Thursday 19 February 2009
Thursday 12 February 2009
Walk back to homestay after school, 28-7-09
A blog about my walk home from school:
Our walk to our homestay from UCU each evening was a beautiful adventure.
We left campus usually around 6pm, but I want to tell you about one particular walk that was just the epitome of a Mukono Town experience.
It was a Wednesday, I think, the 2nd to last walk of our homestay experience, since we were leaving on Friday. It was a little after six, and unfortunately Christine and I were both really hungry, having suffered through a particularly fishy lunchtime experience. Days like this one were never designed for success, because the period between lunch and dinner seemed to stretch interminably. One could justify “grabbing” a snack on the way home because we knew dinner wouldn’t be until after 9 at night. However, such rationalization conveniently failed to include the fact that we would also be served evening tea at about 7:30 or 8, which was usually a fairly large pastry or pile of the local nuts. But anyways, this particular night we persuaded ourselves that tea would probably be small and dinner late, so we had better help our hungry tummies out while we still could.
So we went out the Old Gate at UCU on purpose, to pass by the Rolex stand. I can’t believe I haven’t described these before, because we probably eat three a week, but they are an amazing piece of street food. Basically the guys operating the stand have piles of chapatti (that is finally the right spelling), fairly hot off of their tiny charcoal griddles. The griddles are flat, round pieces of metal that slope towards the center with hot charcoal underneath. When you say, “One Rolex, please,” the Rolex-makers crack two eggs and chop some onion, tomato, and cabbage all into a plastic mug. They then make a sort of un-folded omelet on the charcoal griddle and when it is cooked through, throw a chapatti on top. The whole pancake is then flopped off onto some newspaper, rolled like a jelly roll, and popped into a small paper bag or tucked into a scrap of paper. Hm this is making me hungry.
Ok so the point being, Christine ordered a Rolex, but I was trying to hold out. Not for any righteous motive such as “Saving room for dinner,” but because of a higher street food purpose.
It was my intention, upon this night, to purchase: meat on a stick.
Unfortunately, but predictably, I got too hungry watching Christine’s Rolex being made and bought two sumbusas (pastry triangles with a yellow-pea paste in them, much better than they sound) from the stand next door. They were awesome, and renewed my determination to make it to the meat stand without getting over-full, let alone have room for dinner. So since we had gone out the old Gate, we had to walk for about 15 minutes down the main road from campus to town, with cars whizzing by and boda bodas (motorcyclists with passengers) competing with us for “sidewalk” space. However, it really wasn’t that bad, the only dicey moments were when a particularly stubborn Ugandan (there’s no such thing as courteously walking off to the side, to let someone else pass, here, it’s always a competition!) would inadvertently force us to tight rope walk the edge of the drainage ditch. But by this point we were used to all this and could bully along with the best of them.
Actually getting into Mukono town was always fun, but always overwhelming. At 6:30-7pm the big tractor trailers are out in full force, filling the air with diesel fumes. I used to be pretty intimidated by how close cars will come to you, without a second thought, but now it just seems normal, once you understand how little road space there is to be had. Pedestrians can jump, for goodness sake! What car could do that? Naturally, those who can jump the most nimbly must give way first. There’s also dust in the air, the smell of the guy walking in front of you wafting back, the occasional hot breeze, and the tantalizing scent of street food.
Oh and let’s not forget the boda boda men and Matatu (taxi) drivers. Every boda boda man (the name for the motorcycle drivers, insane, the lot of them) is convinced that you are a damsel in distress and he is your knight in shining armor, mounted upon a glorious steed, ready to carry you off to wherever you wish for a fairly reasonable fee. The worst part is, they are convinced that you are also laboring under this delusion. Thus, winsome smiles, friendly hands, courteous addresses usually to the tune of, “AYE MZUNGU! YOU COME WITH ME! I TAKE YOU THERE!” are without cessation thrown your way. It takes some getting used to, believe me. They really don’t mean anything by it, though, just looking for any new customer. Plus, unbelievably, they are a completely acceptable mode of transportation here (not for USP, though, of course). I personally will never trust them because of the UCU student I went to shake hands with, only to find his right hand looked like a cantaloupe with little nub fingers, due to a nonchalantly expressed, “boda boda accident.” Yeah…
The taxi drivers just go, “Kampala Kampala Kampala Kampala Kampala?” But they have enough people looking to catch a ride to pretty much leave us alone. We did learn not to walk between the taxi stand and the taxis, though. Large crowds are never a real comfortable idea, especially not when you are between them and their object.
About 5 or 10 minutes after getting into Mukono, if we went the long way to get Rolexes, we would pass by our host father’s work. He’d greet us, ask, “How has been your day?” (the grammar is on purpose, and this particular syntax is the only thing most older Ugandans understand) and ask us if we would like to buy milk for tea. We’d say yes, of course, and then he’d promise that if we successfully made the tea, he’d sing us a song upon his arrival at home. Enough motivation for me –I’ve yet to hear an African who couldn’t carry a tune. We would take the milk money (haha… oh elementary school) and go a bit further down the street to probably the only guy in town who owns a refrigerator (except for the restaurants and supermarkets). He kept a big bucket/vat/tub of milk in this fridge (one of the ones that opens from the top), ready to ladle out. He got to know us after a few days and it was nice to have him greet us with a smile and an, “Olyotya?” (how are you?). Our father would usually have given us the all-too-frequent black plastic bag (they’re all over the ground here), and the milk man would ladle our two litres into a clear plastic bag which he would carefully place in the black plastic bag. If you’re starting to think there’s a lot of plastic bags here, there are. On the plus side, they’re reused like a million times. But when they are thrown away, they’re burned, which is awful for the air quality and the environment. Then again, they burn all their trash, and have probably not a single landfill, though I don’t really know.
Carrying our milk, we would proceed to complete the first of two street crossings. These were seriously harrowing affairs, though more to my mind than Christine’s. Every time I said a prayer, convinced that I might as well be ready for the inevitable. But every time we made it without a scratch, the only close calls being when those stinkin boda bodas snuck out from behind a semi. But really, it’s not that big a deal, we’re just very careful. As I said in my other note, things became easier once we learned you can totally stop in the middle of the road, sometimes it’s actually safer than the curbs. Nobody wants a head-on collision, go figure, so they leave the center alone. My strategy was usually to stalk a Ugandan for a little while who looked like he/she wanted to cross, then follow them from a bit downstream. Then you were guaranteed a fairly wise timing.
After the milk, on this night our next goal was the meat-on-a-stick stands. This was just something I had to do, having walked past the tantalizing smell of just-butchered, grilling meat so many times. The meat here may be tough, but it’s certainly fresh and I have yet to have any unpleasant side effects. I know, Mom, I know, but that’s not gonna stop me. So we approached the long-admired stands of chicken, beef, and some other unidentifiable varieties laid out in steaming rows on newspaper. I asked about the prices (really stupid move, but sometimes you can’t help it) and decided to cough up the 700 shillings (about 30 cents) for some chicken. Much to my dismay, the guy made me remove the stick from my piece of chicken! That seriously was like the whole point, to eat this chicken right off the stick. But I had a big enough challenge as it was, with the bones and ligaments and whatnot. I think it was probably a thigh/breast type piece, but honestly I don’t really remember. It was really good, though, much better than our dining hall chicken. The best part was the outside, all crispy and charcoal grilled. However, probably not a do-again, because I can buy a Rolex for the same amount and those are more filling.
So at this point we’re still carrying the milk and fending off the boda boda men (which means pointedly ignoring them), about two-thirds of the way home. We crossed the street for the second time, but this section was usually quieter and thus less intimidating. Once we got to the other side, we had a difficult decision. Walk in the street, boda bodas and cars whizzing by too close for comfort, always looking over our shoulders, or walk up by the stores, feeling all the while like we were walking through someone’s front yard. We usually (this night included) chose to walk up by the stores, because it was quieter. However, there were always little kids playing and women cooking and men moving around rebar or bunk beds (both very common items to be just laying by the street) that we had to pick our way through. It felt intrusive, but that’s pretty African in itself. On this night (the night of being so full, though that may not be as poignant throughout this account as it should be), for the second time we heard a man behind us, speaking Luganda. Again with the, “aye, mzungu, olyotya? Mzungu? I am your friend, how are you?” We always ignored this, but we were getting worried because he wasn’t going away, like usual. But then all of a sudden we heard with an American accent, “Jeez guys, turn around!” And it had been our USP friend Jeff, the whole time! He was walking home the same way and doing a really good Ugandan man impression. He felt bad, though, when he heard that that had actually happened to us for real before.
Jeff got to accompany us on the best part of our walk –Sumbusas! There’s this one stand on our walk home that makes really big, bean-filled sumbusas (there’s meat, pea, and bean varieties) for 200 shillings each (about a dime). Our father buys them for us for tea, sometimes, but they’re not his favorite. He said he likes something that “occupies his mouth” for longer (aka takes longer to eat, like tiny little sim sim seeds). So this night, it being one of our last, we decided to get them for ourselves in case our father didn’t pick them up on his way home. They’re so awesome, how could we not? So we did, and ate them while walking with Jeff, who had a chapatti. Actually, eating while walking is really taboo here, because is shows a lack of respect for food. Drinking or eating in class is also a faux pas, for the same reason. But at that point we didn’t really care, so we chewed happily while talking to Jeff about his family.
You have to keep in mind that at this point I had had two pea sumbusas, chicken off a stick, and a large bean sumbusa. Definitely not set for success when it came to dinner that night. We finished our walk home in peace, with the remaining 15 minutes or so being in our “village” and off the main Mukono road. The best part was at the end, when our little friends from the village would run out to grab our hands, try to carry our bags for us, and clamor loudly, “How are you?” If we by any chance tried to say, “Hello,” first, it was almost always responded to with, “Fine!” As if there was only one acceptable line of greeting and the proper answer would be given whether we behaved correctly or not.
Despite the massive quantities of street food, at dinner I ate like a champ. I believe our father did, in fact, bring home sumbusas and we enjoyed them with tea of my making. Father sang a “thank you Emily, thank you Christine” song to the tune of “Happy Birthday,” a classic. Then about an hour and a half later, we had smoked fish, matoke, and rice. Somehow I was just still really hungry, and ate a respectable portion of everything. And that is no laughing matter. Here, a respectable portion is about 5 lbs. No kidding. And to eat anything less (as unfortunately Christine usually did, not her fault) was a crime of the most insupportable nature. Our poor Mama would be convinced we were sick and our father would rack his brain for menu options that would be more suitable for us. Needless to say, the people pleaser in me made me eat way more than I wanted or needed every night. I was getting pretty good at shoving it down, though, until we came back to eating dining hall food all the time. It’s just not the same.
Anyways, that was our walk home, an incredible cross cultural experience, the vividness of which I don’t ever want to forget!
--Emmes
Our walk to our homestay from UCU each evening was a beautiful adventure.
We left campus usually around 6pm, but I want to tell you about one particular walk that was just the epitome of a Mukono Town experience.
It was a Wednesday, I think, the 2nd to last walk of our homestay experience, since we were leaving on Friday. It was a little after six, and unfortunately Christine and I were both really hungry, having suffered through a particularly fishy lunchtime experience. Days like this one were never designed for success, because the period between lunch and dinner seemed to stretch interminably. One could justify “grabbing” a snack on the way home because we knew dinner wouldn’t be until after 9 at night. However, such rationalization conveniently failed to include the fact that we would also be served evening tea at about 7:30 or 8, which was usually a fairly large pastry or pile of the local nuts. But anyways, this particular night we persuaded ourselves that tea would probably be small and dinner late, so we had better help our hungry tummies out while we still could.
So we went out the Old Gate at UCU on purpose, to pass by the Rolex stand. I can’t believe I haven’t described these before, because we probably eat three a week, but they are an amazing piece of street food. Basically the guys operating the stand have piles of chapatti (that is finally the right spelling), fairly hot off of their tiny charcoal griddles. The griddles are flat, round pieces of metal that slope towards the center with hot charcoal underneath. When you say, “One Rolex, please,” the Rolex-makers crack two eggs and chop some onion, tomato, and cabbage all into a plastic mug. They then make a sort of un-folded omelet on the charcoal griddle and when it is cooked through, throw a chapatti on top. The whole pancake is then flopped off onto some newspaper, rolled like a jelly roll, and popped into a small paper bag or tucked into a scrap of paper. Hm this is making me hungry.
Ok so the point being, Christine ordered a Rolex, but I was trying to hold out. Not for any righteous motive such as “Saving room for dinner,” but because of a higher street food purpose.
It was my intention, upon this night, to purchase: meat on a stick.
Unfortunately, but predictably, I got too hungry watching Christine’s Rolex being made and bought two sumbusas (pastry triangles with a yellow-pea paste in them, much better than they sound) from the stand next door. They were awesome, and renewed my determination to make it to the meat stand without getting over-full, let alone have room for dinner. So since we had gone out the old Gate, we had to walk for about 15 minutes down the main road from campus to town, with cars whizzing by and boda bodas (motorcyclists with passengers) competing with us for “sidewalk” space. However, it really wasn’t that bad, the only dicey moments were when a particularly stubborn Ugandan (there’s no such thing as courteously walking off to the side, to let someone else pass, here, it’s always a competition!) would inadvertently force us to tight rope walk the edge of the drainage ditch. But by this point we were used to all this and could bully along with the best of them.
Actually getting into Mukono town was always fun, but always overwhelming. At 6:30-7pm the big tractor trailers are out in full force, filling the air with diesel fumes. I used to be pretty intimidated by how close cars will come to you, without a second thought, but now it just seems normal, once you understand how little road space there is to be had. Pedestrians can jump, for goodness sake! What car could do that? Naturally, those who can jump the most nimbly must give way first. There’s also dust in the air, the smell of the guy walking in front of you wafting back, the occasional hot breeze, and the tantalizing scent of street food.
Oh and let’s not forget the boda boda men and Matatu (taxi) drivers. Every boda boda man (the name for the motorcycle drivers, insane, the lot of them) is convinced that you are a damsel in distress and he is your knight in shining armor, mounted upon a glorious steed, ready to carry you off to wherever you wish for a fairly reasonable fee. The worst part is, they are convinced that you are also laboring under this delusion. Thus, winsome smiles, friendly hands, courteous addresses usually to the tune of, “AYE MZUNGU! YOU COME WITH ME! I TAKE YOU THERE!” are without cessation thrown your way. It takes some getting used to, believe me. They really don’t mean anything by it, though, just looking for any new customer. Plus, unbelievably, they are a completely acceptable mode of transportation here (not for USP, though, of course). I personally will never trust them because of the UCU student I went to shake hands with, only to find his right hand looked like a cantaloupe with little nub fingers, due to a nonchalantly expressed, “boda boda accident.” Yeah…
The taxi drivers just go, “Kampala Kampala Kampala Kampala Kampala?” But they have enough people looking to catch a ride to pretty much leave us alone. We did learn not to walk between the taxi stand and the taxis, though. Large crowds are never a real comfortable idea, especially not when you are between them and their object.
About 5 or 10 minutes after getting into Mukono, if we went the long way to get Rolexes, we would pass by our host father’s work. He’d greet us, ask, “How has been your day?” (the grammar is on purpose, and this particular syntax is the only thing most older Ugandans understand) and ask us if we would like to buy milk for tea. We’d say yes, of course, and then he’d promise that if we successfully made the tea, he’d sing us a song upon his arrival at home. Enough motivation for me –I’ve yet to hear an African who couldn’t carry a tune. We would take the milk money (haha… oh elementary school) and go a bit further down the street to probably the only guy in town who owns a refrigerator (except for the restaurants and supermarkets). He kept a big bucket/vat/tub of milk in this fridge (one of the ones that opens from the top), ready to ladle out. He got to know us after a few days and it was nice to have him greet us with a smile and an, “Olyotya?” (how are you?). Our father would usually have given us the all-too-frequent black plastic bag (they’re all over the ground here), and the milk man would ladle our two litres into a clear plastic bag which he would carefully place in the black plastic bag. If you’re starting to think there’s a lot of plastic bags here, there are. On the plus side, they’re reused like a million times. But when they are thrown away, they’re burned, which is awful for the air quality and the environment. Then again, they burn all their trash, and have probably not a single landfill, though I don’t really know.
Carrying our milk, we would proceed to complete the first of two street crossings. These were seriously harrowing affairs, though more to my mind than Christine’s. Every time I said a prayer, convinced that I might as well be ready for the inevitable. But every time we made it without a scratch, the only close calls being when those stinkin boda bodas snuck out from behind a semi. But really, it’s not that big a deal, we’re just very careful. As I said in my other note, things became easier once we learned you can totally stop in the middle of the road, sometimes it’s actually safer than the curbs. Nobody wants a head-on collision, go figure, so they leave the center alone. My strategy was usually to stalk a Ugandan for a little while who looked like he/she wanted to cross, then follow them from a bit downstream. Then you were guaranteed a fairly wise timing.
After the milk, on this night our next goal was the meat-on-a-stick stands. This was just something I had to do, having walked past the tantalizing smell of just-butchered, grilling meat so many times. The meat here may be tough, but it’s certainly fresh and I have yet to have any unpleasant side effects. I know, Mom, I know, but that’s not gonna stop me. So we approached the long-admired stands of chicken, beef, and some other unidentifiable varieties laid out in steaming rows on newspaper. I asked about the prices (really stupid move, but sometimes you can’t help it) and decided to cough up the 700 shillings (about 30 cents) for some chicken. Much to my dismay, the guy made me remove the stick from my piece of chicken! That seriously was like the whole point, to eat this chicken right off the stick. But I had a big enough challenge as it was, with the bones and ligaments and whatnot. I think it was probably a thigh/breast type piece, but honestly I don’t really remember. It was really good, though, much better than our dining hall chicken. The best part was the outside, all crispy and charcoal grilled. However, probably not a do-again, because I can buy a Rolex for the same amount and those are more filling.
So at this point we’re still carrying the milk and fending off the boda boda men (which means pointedly ignoring them), about two-thirds of the way home. We crossed the street for the second time, but this section was usually quieter and thus less intimidating. Once we got to the other side, we had a difficult decision. Walk in the street, boda bodas and cars whizzing by too close for comfort, always looking over our shoulders, or walk up by the stores, feeling all the while like we were walking through someone’s front yard. We usually (this night included) chose to walk up by the stores, because it was quieter. However, there were always little kids playing and women cooking and men moving around rebar or bunk beds (both very common items to be just laying by the street) that we had to pick our way through. It felt intrusive, but that’s pretty African in itself. On this night (the night of being so full, though that may not be as poignant throughout this account as it should be), for the second time we heard a man behind us, speaking Luganda. Again with the, “aye, mzungu, olyotya? Mzungu? I am your friend, how are you?” We always ignored this, but we were getting worried because he wasn’t going away, like usual. But then all of a sudden we heard with an American accent, “Jeez guys, turn around!” And it had been our USP friend Jeff, the whole time! He was walking home the same way and doing a really good Ugandan man impression. He felt bad, though, when he heard that that had actually happened to us for real before.
Jeff got to accompany us on the best part of our walk –Sumbusas! There’s this one stand on our walk home that makes really big, bean-filled sumbusas (there’s meat, pea, and bean varieties) for 200 shillings each (about a dime). Our father buys them for us for tea, sometimes, but they’re not his favorite. He said he likes something that “occupies his mouth” for longer (aka takes longer to eat, like tiny little sim sim seeds). So this night, it being one of our last, we decided to get them for ourselves in case our father didn’t pick them up on his way home. They’re so awesome, how could we not? So we did, and ate them while walking with Jeff, who had a chapatti. Actually, eating while walking is really taboo here, because is shows a lack of respect for food. Drinking or eating in class is also a faux pas, for the same reason. But at that point we didn’t really care, so we chewed happily while talking to Jeff about his family.
You have to keep in mind that at this point I had had two pea sumbusas, chicken off a stick, and a large bean sumbusa. Definitely not set for success when it came to dinner that night. We finished our walk home in peace, with the remaining 15 minutes or so being in our “village” and off the main Mukono road. The best part was at the end, when our little friends from the village would run out to grab our hands, try to carry our bags for us, and clamor loudly, “How are you?” If we by any chance tried to say, “Hello,” first, it was almost always responded to with, “Fine!” As if there was only one acceptable line of greeting and the proper answer would be given whether we behaved correctly or not.
Despite the massive quantities of street food, at dinner I ate like a champ. I believe our father did, in fact, bring home sumbusas and we enjoyed them with tea of my making. Father sang a “thank you Emily, thank you Christine” song to the tune of “Happy Birthday,” a classic. Then about an hour and a half later, we had smoked fish, matoke, and rice. Somehow I was just still really hungry, and ate a respectable portion of everything. And that is no laughing matter. Here, a respectable portion is about 5 lbs. No kidding. And to eat anything less (as unfortunately Christine usually did, not her fault) was a crime of the most insupportable nature. Our poor Mama would be convinced we were sick and our father would rack his brain for menu options that would be more suitable for us. Needless to say, the people pleaser in me made me eat way more than I wanted or needed every night. I was getting pretty good at shoving it down, though, until we came back to eating dining hall food all the time. It’s just not the same.
Anyways, that was our walk home, an incredible cross cultural experience, the vividness of which I don’t ever want to forget!
--Emmes
Sunday 8 February 2009
Jaunt to Kampala, 8-2-09
So yesterday, February 7th, was a day to remember.
We woke up late, about 9 or so, and just sat around until 11, talking and drinking coffee, hot chocolate, and tea. We snacked on bread (brown bread, with extra fat and sugar!, according to the label) with nutella, peanut butter, and “Blue Band,” which is margarine-type stuff that doesn’t require refrigeration. It tastes pretty good, surprisingly, and the bread is awesome! Very filling, too. It was so wonderful just to move slowly, talking about whatever we want and feeling as if we have all the time in the world. It was actually our first Saturday morning together since the very first day we were here, which of course was not a relaxing day.
At about 11 or so we started getting ready to go on our big adventure, which basically meant Kelsey and Ashley showered in the freezing cold water and I tried to talk myself into taking a warm basin bath, but with no avail. So I settled for washing my face while they lamented the absence of blow dryers and curling irons. I’ve never been so grateful for thick, wavy hair that doesn’t show dirt or oil in my life. I know that sounds awful, but you don’t know how much effort it takes for me to talk myself into getting my head wet. Bathing is one thing, but putting your head under cold water when the air is chilled from the rain and you have no robe to look forward to? I always have to promise my unwilling body hot chocolate when I finish, in order to get my head under the water. : )
Anyways, we (me, Kristen, Kelsey, Ashley, and Katie) decided to get kinda spiffed up for our little outing, so we all wore sundresses and put a little extra effort into the make-up/hair battle. It was really fun to look all cute and know we had somewhere to go, even though I was really nervous about the actual act of getting ourselves to Kampala.
Katie had been to Kampala on Friday afternoon/evening, so she promised to be our guide to the taxi system. So we walked into Mukono, meeting Mark and Phil on our way in, luckily. Mark affirmed our choice of restaurant as really good, and gave us some pointers on getting there once we were in Kampala. We got to the taxi stand and it was quite a rush to actually be able to respond to the hordes of taxi hawkers shouting, “Kampala? Kampala! Kampala? KAMPALA KAMPALA KAMPALA!” Once they realized we actually wanted to get on they were pretty thrilled, but we made sure that they were only going to charge us the standard fare of 1500 Uganda shillings (about $0.75), because sometimes they do try to rip “mzungus” off. It’s funny to think of our scruples because the highest they ever charge anyone is 2000 Ushs, which is a difference of a quarter. We’ve definitely been absorbed by the local tendency to quibble over even only 100 shillings, which is hilarious. It’s the principle of the thing, though, we want to not seem like gullible tourists, but like people who do actually live here and have a clue as to what’s going on.
The taxi was not as scary as I expected, having seen these 14 passenger vans barreling down the roads with reckless abandon. The seats were pretty comfy and covered in plastic, so no bugs. There were also bars along the side to hang on to, though no seat belts. Haha, a Ugandan would laugh so hard at the idea of seat belts, especially with the thought of a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) in their heads. The ride wasn’t too rough at all, and only took about an hour fifteen.
Once we got into the city, though, we had no idea where to get off. They wanted us to get off at one point, but Ashley refused to let us because she had a feeling they just wanted to trade us for new paying customers. However, in hindsight it might have actually been at a spot close to our desired destination, Garden City, we just didn’t realize. We’re so wary these days and very stubborn. Anyways, we went a little farther until we felt like we knew where we were and then paid the guy who seemed to be in charge of the shuffle and got off.
As a matter of fact, we had no idea where we were in relation to Garden City, the Kampala mall. So we wandered for awhile, debating whether or not to ask someone for directions. The area was pretty nice and we kind of liked feeling our way around, because it would make us more comfortable the next time we came. Plus, it was only about 1:30 and none of us were hungry. We planned to go to Garden City to change US dollars and get some drinks, then to head over to the restaurant. Mark had told us that the best thing to do would be to use the taxi to get us somewhere we knew pretty well (we had been to Garden City a couple weeks ago, with USP) and then to get a private hire to take us to the restaurant, because it was a bit hidden. So we did eventually make it to Garden City, after asking about 5 different people for directions (always official-looking women, don’t worry, Dad), and crossing too many streets for comfort. That in itself is an adventure –pedestrians are like squirrels here. I think I’ve said this before, but right-of-way is definitely determined by size.
Trucks first (they can’t really stop, anyways, so I accept that one), then matatus (the taxis, who will only stop if they think someone wants to get on), then cars (who are feisty, so they pick fights with bigger vehicles but tend to lose), then boda bodas (who just swerve around everything, anyways), then bicycles (but surprisingly, the bigger the load they have, the less respected they are by other cars), then livestock (big deal, if you hit someone’s goat), then I guess pedestrians.
So basically, I am terrified of crossing the street, but I’ve never had a close call so I suppose my wariness must be paying off. Apparently it’s also perfectly acceptable to cross halfway, then stop in the middle of the road to get your bearings or let a car pass. It almost feels safer than standing just off the curb, where the stray boda boda occasionally takes a turn too sharply (just kidding).
Ok so, we made it to Garden City and I changed some money and we used the toilets. It took us a bit to get a hold of the private hire driver Mark had recommended, so we got some sodas at the little café on the first floor. I did eventually talk to him, in my clearest, most Ugandan-like, unaccented, slow as dirt voice. It may feel funny and my friends may laugh, but it sure does cut down on misunderstandings. We arranged to have him pick us up outside the mall and drive us to “Sam’s Restaurant” for 8000 shillings, or $4. Pretty good deal, as we had basically no idea where it was and Mark had said it was about a 45 minute walk from Garden City.
The drive to the restaurant was fairly calm, though we did almost hit a lady when a car pulled away suddenly, and we SHOT FORWARD and there was a woman there and she SCURRIED like a bunny! Luckily all was well, except I may have instantaneously developed a heart arrhythmia.
We were so thankful that we had decided to get a ride there, even if we had to squish four people in the back seat. The driver, Rogers, pointed out the place where we could catch a taxi home later and a pretty craft market on the way. Plus, the restaurant was like down a side street, looking nowhere near where we’d thought it be, according to Mark’s directions. But we did find it, and it was beautiful.
My writing stamina is wearing down so I’m going to get to the main point: the food. I having been craving bacon for weeks, so I just had to order the American traditional breakfast, even if it was after 3 pm. This magnificent array included a literal pile of bacon, two English-style sausages, half a plate of home fries (big ones), two eggs over easy (Ugandan style, so the yolks were like off-white instead of yellow, but tasted the same), and two pieces of French toast with 6 cubes of butter and an entire pitcher of syrup. Plus, mango juice and half a pot of coffee.
Yes, it was beyond amazing, and Yes, I felt very sick afterwards. It was so so so great, though. Katie called our meal “spirit food” because it was an entire existential, not only culinary, experience.
Katie, by the way, had fresh grilled Tilapia with steamed vegetables and roasted potatoes. Kristen had a beef fillet with steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes, which Ashley also had, except with chicken. Kels had a Philly cheese steak sandwich with chips (French fries), which she said was awesome. She took her first bite, held the sandwich back a bit, regarded it thoughtfully, and said, “I love sautéed onions.” As if such a thought had never occurred to her in her life. Kels and Ashley also split a ceasar salad and Kristen had a garden one, because we never get fresh vegetables at school or in Mukono. If you hadn’t already noticed, the meal I was craving, body and soul, included not a vegetable in sight, green or otherwise. Personally, though, I find my aversion a blessing because I am spared the intense chlorophyll cravings most of my friends have. Plus, my body’s used to not getting the vitamins vegetables usually provide, so my whole maintenance of homeostasis is proceeding much more smoothly than most. Who knew my distaste for healthy foods would pay off so mightily? : )
--Emmes
We woke up late, about 9 or so, and just sat around until 11, talking and drinking coffee, hot chocolate, and tea. We snacked on bread (brown bread, with extra fat and sugar!, according to the label) with nutella, peanut butter, and “Blue Band,” which is margarine-type stuff that doesn’t require refrigeration. It tastes pretty good, surprisingly, and the bread is awesome! Very filling, too. It was so wonderful just to move slowly, talking about whatever we want and feeling as if we have all the time in the world. It was actually our first Saturday morning together since the very first day we were here, which of course was not a relaxing day.
At about 11 or so we started getting ready to go on our big adventure, which basically meant Kelsey and Ashley showered in the freezing cold water and I tried to talk myself into taking a warm basin bath, but with no avail. So I settled for washing my face while they lamented the absence of blow dryers and curling irons. I’ve never been so grateful for thick, wavy hair that doesn’t show dirt or oil in my life. I know that sounds awful, but you don’t know how much effort it takes for me to talk myself into getting my head wet. Bathing is one thing, but putting your head under cold water when the air is chilled from the rain and you have no robe to look forward to? I always have to promise my unwilling body hot chocolate when I finish, in order to get my head under the water. : )
Anyways, we (me, Kristen, Kelsey, Ashley, and Katie) decided to get kinda spiffed up for our little outing, so we all wore sundresses and put a little extra effort into the make-up/hair battle. It was really fun to look all cute and know we had somewhere to go, even though I was really nervous about the actual act of getting ourselves to Kampala.
Katie had been to Kampala on Friday afternoon/evening, so she promised to be our guide to the taxi system. So we walked into Mukono, meeting Mark and Phil on our way in, luckily. Mark affirmed our choice of restaurant as really good, and gave us some pointers on getting there once we were in Kampala. We got to the taxi stand and it was quite a rush to actually be able to respond to the hordes of taxi hawkers shouting, “Kampala? Kampala! Kampala? KAMPALA KAMPALA KAMPALA!” Once they realized we actually wanted to get on they were pretty thrilled, but we made sure that they were only going to charge us the standard fare of 1500 Uganda shillings (about $0.75), because sometimes they do try to rip “mzungus” off. It’s funny to think of our scruples because the highest they ever charge anyone is 2000 Ushs, which is a difference of a quarter. We’ve definitely been absorbed by the local tendency to quibble over even only 100 shillings, which is hilarious. It’s the principle of the thing, though, we want to not seem like gullible tourists, but like people who do actually live here and have a clue as to what’s going on.
The taxi was not as scary as I expected, having seen these 14 passenger vans barreling down the roads with reckless abandon. The seats were pretty comfy and covered in plastic, so no bugs. There were also bars along the side to hang on to, though no seat belts. Haha, a Ugandan would laugh so hard at the idea of seat belts, especially with the thought of a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) in their heads. The ride wasn’t too rough at all, and only took about an hour fifteen.
Once we got into the city, though, we had no idea where to get off. They wanted us to get off at one point, but Ashley refused to let us because she had a feeling they just wanted to trade us for new paying customers. However, in hindsight it might have actually been at a spot close to our desired destination, Garden City, we just didn’t realize. We’re so wary these days and very stubborn. Anyways, we went a little farther until we felt like we knew where we were and then paid the guy who seemed to be in charge of the shuffle and got off.
As a matter of fact, we had no idea where we were in relation to Garden City, the Kampala mall. So we wandered for awhile, debating whether or not to ask someone for directions. The area was pretty nice and we kind of liked feeling our way around, because it would make us more comfortable the next time we came. Plus, it was only about 1:30 and none of us were hungry. We planned to go to Garden City to change US dollars and get some drinks, then to head over to the restaurant. Mark had told us that the best thing to do would be to use the taxi to get us somewhere we knew pretty well (we had been to Garden City a couple weeks ago, with USP) and then to get a private hire to take us to the restaurant, because it was a bit hidden. So we did eventually make it to Garden City, after asking about 5 different people for directions (always official-looking women, don’t worry, Dad), and crossing too many streets for comfort. That in itself is an adventure –pedestrians are like squirrels here. I think I’ve said this before, but right-of-way is definitely determined by size.
Trucks first (they can’t really stop, anyways, so I accept that one), then matatus (the taxis, who will only stop if they think someone wants to get on), then cars (who are feisty, so they pick fights with bigger vehicles but tend to lose), then boda bodas (who just swerve around everything, anyways), then bicycles (but surprisingly, the bigger the load they have, the less respected they are by other cars), then livestock (big deal, if you hit someone’s goat), then I guess pedestrians.
So basically, I am terrified of crossing the street, but I’ve never had a close call so I suppose my wariness must be paying off. Apparently it’s also perfectly acceptable to cross halfway, then stop in the middle of the road to get your bearings or let a car pass. It almost feels safer than standing just off the curb, where the stray boda boda occasionally takes a turn too sharply (just kidding).
Ok so, we made it to Garden City and I changed some money and we used the toilets. It took us a bit to get a hold of the private hire driver Mark had recommended, so we got some sodas at the little café on the first floor. I did eventually talk to him, in my clearest, most Ugandan-like, unaccented, slow as dirt voice. It may feel funny and my friends may laugh, but it sure does cut down on misunderstandings. We arranged to have him pick us up outside the mall and drive us to “Sam’s Restaurant” for 8000 shillings, or $4. Pretty good deal, as we had basically no idea where it was and Mark had said it was about a 45 minute walk from Garden City.
The drive to the restaurant was fairly calm, though we did almost hit a lady when a car pulled away suddenly, and we SHOT FORWARD and there was a woman there and she SCURRIED like a bunny! Luckily all was well, except I may have instantaneously developed a heart arrhythmia.
We were so thankful that we had decided to get a ride there, even if we had to squish four people in the back seat. The driver, Rogers, pointed out the place where we could catch a taxi home later and a pretty craft market on the way. Plus, the restaurant was like down a side street, looking nowhere near where we’d thought it be, according to Mark’s directions. But we did find it, and it was beautiful.
My writing stamina is wearing down so I’m going to get to the main point: the food. I having been craving bacon for weeks, so I just had to order the American traditional breakfast, even if it was after 3 pm. This magnificent array included a literal pile of bacon, two English-style sausages, half a plate of home fries (big ones), two eggs over easy (Ugandan style, so the yolks were like off-white instead of yellow, but tasted the same), and two pieces of French toast with 6 cubes of butter and an entire pitcher of syrup. Plus, mango juice and half a pot of coffee.
Yes, it was beyond amazing, and Yes, I felt very sick afterwards. It was so so so great, though. Katie called our meal “spirit food” because it was an entire existential, not only culinary, experience.
Katie, by the way, had fresh grilled Tilapia with steamed vegetables and roasted potatoes. Kristen had a beef fillet with steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes, which Ashley also had, except with chicken. Kels had a Philly cheese steak sandwich with chips (French fries), which she said was awesome. She took her first bite, held the sandwich back a bit, regarded it thoughtfully, and said, “I love sautéed onions.” As if such a thought had never occurred to her in her life. Kels and Ashley also split a ceasar salad and Kristen had a garden one, because we never get fresh vegetables at school or in Mukono. If you hadn’t already noticed, the meal I was craving, body and soul, included not a vegetable in sight, green or otherwise. Personally, though, I find my aversion a blessing because I am spared the intense chlorophyll cravings most of my friends have. Plus, my body’s used to not getting the vitamins vegetables usually provide, so my whole maintenance of homeostasis is proceeding much more smoothly than most. Who knew my distaste for healthy foods would pay off so mightily? : )
--Emmes
Tuesday 3 February 2009
Weekend Adventures--Tuesday, 3-2-09
So Friday [30-1-09] was awesome, because I got that six page history paper all done and had a smoothie with Christine, Esther, and Lillie. They’re pretty cool.
Ok so back to this weekend. So Lydia, the lady who makes smoothies on campus, has introduced me to her “cappuccinos” which are kind of like frappucinos, but less ice. The ones I’ve gotten have instant coffee, chocolate, milk, ice, and almond flavoring. Yesterday I tasted a vanilla one that Kristen got and it was so awesome though, I might have to switch from my beloved almond. These things are only 1500 shillings, too, which is about 75 cents. That’s starting to seem like a lot, though, because we’re all slipping into the Ugandan money mindset here. That’s a good thing, though, because we buy less. Ok so great Friday afternoon, then I had to go pack and try to fit too many things into my backpack. I definitely over packed. But oh well. We caught the bus at 5p and I sat with Kristen and Dave. I didn’t feel much like talking because everyone was so loud anyways (you know that typical, we’re going on a field trip, hyper active bus atmosphere). So it was cool to listen to them explore and debate the merits of fair trade and a free market economy. Dave’s pretty knowledgeable about all that stuff and Kristen’s really passionate about it. Plus, the scenery was beautiful, though I didn’t get to put any of those pictures up on Picasa because they’re cool, but not as cool as the ones from the resort.
The bus ride took about 1.5, 2 hrs, and we got to “Kingfisher Resort” at about 6:45 or 7 I guess. Our first of 6 amazing meals was that night, when we had roast chicken, rice, chapatti, grilled fish (really tough, not like American grilled fish), fresh cabbage that was kind of like cole slaw, irish potatoes, and soda. SO good. Then we had a meeting, where we played name games with everyone. I probably should’ve mentioned before that this was a retreat with the Honours College, so there were about 20ish USP students and 40 Ugandans. I think, at least, though it seems like it was a more even split, looking back. We each had a Uganda roommate, too, except one room of girls. My roommate was named Tala, or Rachel, I’m not sure what the distinction there was. She was little like me, but such as tomboy! She wore jeans and a big t-shirt with these big black sneakers and had her hair cut really short, though that’s not that unusual here. She was so loud and funny; one time we were kidding around and she was teasing this other HC girl who had seen a snake go into her room, making fun of her for being scared. So I laughed at Tala and said I’d put a snake in her bed and see how she liked it. She just shot right back, “Go ahead, it’s your bed, too!” Because we shared a king size bed. It was pretty funny.
Some people went night swimming, but the night air was pretty cool and I was tired, so I just watched. Looked like they had a good time, though it’s so weird to see bathing suits when there’s such a strict dress code at UCU. We never quite figured out how that worked, because the Ugandans seemed to dress very Westernly all weekend. Very relaxed.
The next day, after a great night’s sleep, we had an awesome breakfast that included an omelet, sausage, rolls with butter and honey, fresh pineapple and “po po” (like cantaloupe), different cereals, and most importantly, REAL COFFEE! Yay. I had so much. Seriously I think three cups, and then another with tea. They had hot milk, too, which is such a great idea. I love to fill like half my mug with milk, and it always cools down the coffee too much! Anyways, this way I could drink more of the blessed coffee without being quite so wired. I was still pretty wired though. Oh it was so good, I miss it.
For the rest of Saturday morning we played games like we usually do at Collab retreats or prayer breakfasts, more name games, and making up a song/dance for your team, the human knot, and then we had a dodgeball tournament. THAT was not my forte. My team got whooped, lol, but I blame it on us being mostly white girls and a lot of the other teams had more guys, or Ugandan girls who are usually pretty jacked, or at least not quite as pansy-ish as most of the USP girls. Anyways, it was awesome to watch, especially because the field was really small and there were only 6 balls. So it became very one-on-one and there were heroes on each team. One time this little Ugandan girl (it’s actually considered rude to call any girl who is “mature” a girl, they always say women. I’m not used to it though) was the last person on her team and she got out like 3 boys, bing bang boom. It was awesome. The winning team got to get in line for lunch first, but most of them were in the pool when they served the meal anyways, so it was more just for the glory of it : )
After a wonderful lunch, to the same tune as Friday’s dinner, I took a quick nap, had a dip in the pool, took all those pics of flowers, and then went down to the lake. Ashley and I decided to catch the first boat ride over to the source of the Nile, which was good because some people ended up waiting for quite some time. The boat ride was glorious, but I got killer sunburnt, as you know. Haha I didn’t notice at the time, though, all I noticed was how cool it was on the water and the gorgeous hills rising up all along the edges of the lake, and the water going on forever into the distance, and the sky being so blue. We got to the source sooner than we expected and it was very anticlimactic. Apparently the story goes that the explorer who found the source of the Nile stood on the hills off in the distance and looked out at the little island we were standing on. He saw a huge waterfall, where Lake Victoria literally dumped off a cliff into the River Nile. BUT, since then they have damned up the river downstream until the water level rose to the level of the lake, so the waterfall has disappeared! Now all there is is a barely perceptible change in current right past the little island, and the water becomes a little turbulent. There is a very big rock marking the spot, though, and Gandhi’s ashes are scattered across on the shore of the Lake. There’s a memorial for that, too. It was very cool being there and taking pictures, especially because there were some locals on the little island, too, cooking tilapia and just hanging out. We got to ride around on the boat a bit, to go past Gandhi’s memorial and to see some really big lizards that looked like water snakes and a huge tree overhanging the water just FULL of birds. Overall, a good experience and a very cool, “I’ve been to the source of the Nile” story.
-------------------------
Gah internet is not working! I’m at the honours college now, but it’s taking forever webbers… I want to eat and eat and eat everything. Especially peanut butter. I likes peanut butter a lots. I wish I had ten gallons of peanut butter. Then I could eat as much as I wants. Now I have to save my peanut butter and it’s not even mine. It’s the room’s. I bought nutella for the room. So now I can barter nutella for peanut butter, both to eat on biscuits. And biscuits are cookies, but they’re flat, wide cookies that are kind of like crackers, but sweeter. Gah I want’s to talks to yous. But interweb no working. No aim or nuffing. Boo. I also needs more Nido… I have more chocolate but not’s more Nido. My coffee mocha drink will soon be very strong and not have enough milk.
--Emmes
PS: I just got Kelsey to buy me more Nido, so you can ignore my earlier whining.
Ok so back to this weekend. So Lydia, the lady who makes smoothies on campus, has introduced me to her “cappuccinos” which are kind of like frappucinos, but less ice. The ones I’ve gotten have instant coffee, chocolate, milk, ice, and almond flavoring. Yesterday I tasted a vanilla one that Kristen got and it was so awesome though, I might have to switch from my beloved almond. These things are only 1500 shillings, too, which is about 75 cents. That’s starting to seem like a lot, though, because we’re all slipping into the Ugandan money mindset here. That’s a good thing, though, because we buy less. Ok so great Friday afternoon, then I had to go pack and try to fit too many things into my backpack. I definitely over packed. But oh well. We caught the bus at 5p and I sat with Kristen and Dave. I didn’t feel much like talking because everyone was so loud anyways (you know that typical, we’re going on a field trip, hyper active bus atmosphere). So it was cool to listen to them explore and debate the merits of fair trade and a free market economy. Dave’s pretty knowledgeable about all that stuff and Kristen’s really passionate about it. Plus, the scenery was beautiful, though I didn’t get to put any of those pictures up on Picasa because they’re cool, but not as cool as the ones from the resort.
The bus ride took about 1.5, 2 hrs, and we got to “Kingfisher Resort” at about 6:45 or 7 I guess. Our first of 6 amazing meals was that night, when we had roast chicken, rice, chapatti, grilled fish (really tough, not like American grilled fish), fresh cabbage that was kind of like cole slaw, irish potatoes, and soda. SO good. Then we had a meeting, where we played name games with everyone. I probably should’ve mentioned before that this was a retreat with the Honours College, so there were about 20ish USP students and 40 Ugandans. I think, at least, though it seems like it was a more even split, looking back. We each had a Uganda roommate, too, except one room of girls. My roommate was named Tala, or Rachel, I’m not sure what the distinction there was. She was little like me, but such as tomboy! She wore jeans and a big t-shirt with these big black sneakers and had her hair cut really short, though that’s not that unusual here. She was so loud and funny; one time we were kidding around and she was teasing this other HC girl who had seen a snake go into her room, making fun of her for being scared. So I laughed at Tala and said I’d put a snake in her bed and see how she liked it. She just shot right back, “Go ahead, it’s your bed, too!” Because we shared a king size bed. It was pretty funny.
Some people went night swimming, but the night air was pretty cool and I was tired, so I just watched. Looked like they had a good time, though it’s so weird to see bathing suits when there’s such a strict dress code at UCU. We never quite figured out how that worked, because the Ugandans seemed to dress very Westernly all weekend. Very relaxed.
The next day, after a great night’s sleep, we had an awesome breakfast that included an omelet, sausage, rolls with butter and honey, fresh pineapple and “po po” (like cantaloupe), different cereals, and most importantly, REAL COFFEE! Yay. I had so much. Seriously I think three cups, and then another with tea. They had hot milk, too, which is such a great idea. I love to fill like half my mug with milk, and it always cools down the coffee too much! Anyways, this way I could drink more of the blessed coffee without being quite so wired. I was still pretty wired though. Oh it was so good, I miss it.
For the rest of Saturday morning we played games like we usually do at Collab retreats or prayer breakfasts, more name games, and making up a song/dance for your team, the human knot, and then we had a dodgeball tournament. THAT was not my forte. My team got whooped, lol, but I blame it on us being mostly white girls and a lot of the other teams had more guys, or Ugandan girls who are usually pretty jacked, or at least not quite as pansy-ish as most of the USP girls. Anyways, it was awesome to watch, especially because the field was really small and there were only 6 balls. So it became very one-on-one and there were heroes on each team. One time this little Ugandan girl (it’s actually considered rude to call any girl who is “mature” a girl, they always say women. I’m not used to it though) was the last person on her team and she got out like 3 boys, bing bang boom. It was awesome. The winning team got to get in line for lunch first, but most of them were in the pool when they served the meal anyways, so it was more just for the glory of it : )
After a wonderful lunch, to the same tune as Friday’s dinner, I took a quick nap, had a dip in the pool, took all those pics of flowers, and then went down to the lake. Ashley and I decided to catch the first boat ride over to the source of the Nile, which was good because some people ended up waiting for quite some time. The boat ride was glorious, but I got killer sunburnt, as you know. Haha I didn’t notice at the time, though, all I noticed was how cool it was on the water and the gorgeous hills rising up all along the edges of the lake, and the water going on forever into the distance, and the sky being so blue. We got to the source sooner than we expected and it was very anticlimactic. Apparently the story goes that the explorer who found the source of the Nile stood on the hills off in the distance and looked out at the little island we were standing on. He saw a huge waterfall, where Lake Victoria literally dumped off a cliff into the River Nile. BUT, since then they have damned up the river downstream until the water level rose to the level of the lake, so the waterfall has disappeared! Now all there is is a barely perceptible change in current right past the little island, and the water becomes a little turbulent. There is a very big rock marking the spot, though, and Gandhi’s ashes are scattered across on the shore of the Lake. There’s a memorial for that, too. It was very cool being there and taking pictures, especially because there were some locals on the little island, too, cooking tilapia and just hanging out. We got to ride around on the boat a bit, to go past Gandhi’s memorial and to see some really big lizards that looked like water snakes and a huge tree overhanging the water just FULL of birds. Overall, a good experience and a very cool, “I’ve been to the source of the Nile” story.
-------------------------
Gah internet is not working! I’m at the honours college now, but it’s taking forever webbers… I want to eat and eat and eat everything. Especially peanut butter. I likes peanut butter a lots. I wish I had ten gallons of peanut butter. Then I could eat as much as I wants. Now I have to save my peanut butter and it’s not even mine. It’s the room’s. I bought nutella for the room. So now I can barter nutella for peanut butter, both to eat on biscuits. And biscuits are cookies, but they’re flat, wide cookies that are kind of like crackers, but sweeter. Gah I want’s to talks to yous. But interweb no working. No aim or nuffing. Boo. I also needs more Nido… I have more chocolate but not’s more Nido. My coffee mocha drink will soon be very strong and not have enough milk.
--Emmes
PS: I just got Kelsey to buy me more Nido, so you can ignore my earlier whining.
Sunday 1 February 2009
Update...Finally, 01-02-09
So the second week of our homestay went really well. Last Saturday we were preparing for the big “family gathering” on Sunday, which I thought would’ve meant more cooking than it actually did. Christine and I did get to help peel sweet potatoes, at least until I cut my thumb! It was a baby scratch, but of course Mama Faith was all worried and even brought me some mystery goo to rub on it! Medicinal assistance is always such a relief. : ) We also helped our little brother David crush groundnuts, but he kept saying, “Stronger! Stronger!” Which meant that we had to lift the mallet and smash it down harder. It was pretty funny to see him encouraging us.
We also got to go “fetch firewood” with our older brother, Samuel. I was a little anxious about going because I’d see him and two other boys making trips back and forth with loads of wood on their heads already. However, it turned out that mostly we were just there for company on the walk, and probably because he thought we looked bored, just playing hand games with the kids. It was a really long walk, but some of it was through the “bush” which was all wild and jungle-y and pretty. Anyways, Samuel did let us carry one piece of fire wood each and don’t laugh! They were long and awkward, and most of the walk was uphill! Just because his two friends loaded about 30 pieces (that’s not and exaggeration) onto the backs of their bicycles and then pushed the bicycles through the bush and up the hill, that does not take away from my achievement! They really do like to use their bicycles as wagons- especially with water, green bananas, and wood. It’s impressive.
On Sunday we decided to go to church not at the “church on the hill” where most of the USPers end up going, but with our little brother David. He was getting confirmed at the Anglican cathedral near UCU, but none of the family was going so we figured why not keep the kid company on his big day? Anyways, it was worth it, but such an ordeal! Luckily we met an American woman who sings in the choir at the service and she introduced herself a little before we went inside, but after David had had to abandon us for his confirmation group. She counseled us to get something substantial to eat from the little snack stand if we hadn’t had breakfast. Sound ominous? It was. She also said we’d probably be in the service until 2pm, and it was only10 in the morning! Also, the service was in Luganda, so we didn’t understand a word. However, all I can really remember is how happy David was. After the priest/reverend/bishop/whoever he was blessed David and his group and they took Communion, they all got into a line and filed back down the aisle. David looked all somber and serious in his suit, but right before he sat down he looked right at us, smiled so huge and waved like a maniac. It was a great moment.
Once we finally got home from church we had to head straight to the “family gathering.” David took us there then scampered off, for good reason. We were already pooped and what we thought was going to be a party turned out to be a series of speeches. Our father was so happy that 105 of his relatives had turned out, some from farther than 6 hours away! But all 105 of these honored guests had to stand up before the crowd of us seated there, introduce themselves, say their position in the family, and give a short statement. Can you even imagine? And all in Luganda, again.
But the good part is, we’ve been talking a lot about how tribal/clan loyalty is a huge thing for Ugandans, and this really helped me to understand that. Our father is from the Impendi clan, so now that’s Christine’s and my clan, too. My Ugandan name is Nalube Emily, and hers is Namugenyi Christine. They always give their African name first, but it’s not a family thing, like an American surname would be. It’s more like everyone has an African name and an English name. Some are quite odd, like “Alinda Bob Charity” is one of my friends in the honours college. But it was sweet of Mama Faith to give us the names, and they really liked addressing us by them more and more loudly until we remembered to respond!
The rest of the week was pretty mundane, with classes and doing homework and hanging out with the family at night. We didn’t get internet very much at all, and this six page history paper kinda took over my life. But it flew by, which was bittersweet. Actually I forgot- on Tuesday Christine and I made dinner for our family! We came home early from school and our brother Enoch met us at the grocery store. A friend from my dorm, Sarah, had picked me and my roommates up some vegetables earlier that day, so we didn’t need those. She is so sweet –she heard Ashley needed to go to the market and she refused to let her go because you have to barter and Ash totally would’ve gotten cheated. Not in a big way, it’s just the principle of the thing. So Sarah took this big list from me, Ash, and Kels and went shopping for us all by herself. I love her, she is such a blessing. She’s the one that took us to get the hot water kettle, too, and taught us to do laundry. You could pray for her –she’s fasting right now in order to seek God more fully about a big decision in her life.
Whew, tangent. So Enoch helped us at the grocery store on our way home and Christine bought him a candy bar. We even got him to break the cardinal Ugandan rule of never eating and walking! Basically the candy bar was melting in the sun and in his hand, and he really didn’t want to miss out on that treat. He was pretty sneaky about it, though, because it’s considered pretty rude here to eat and walk. Apparently, the philosophy is that food deserves respect and should be shown the honor of taking a minute to sit and enjoy it. I think it’s a good mindset, but I do miss having a hot mug of coffee on the way to class. Not that it’s even that cold!
So Christine and I bought beans, rice, green peppers, onions, cheese, avocado, garlic, and I brought my Mrs. Dashes and Tabasco sauce. We also ordered 20 ciapate a little later in the evening (which are like fried, fluffy tortillas) which was apparently a completely absurd thing to do. Our little brother laughed at that request so hard and the lady we tried to buy them from was flabbergasted. We decided it was the equivalent of walking into McDonalds and saying, “Can I have 20 orders of French fries, please?” I bet the stares would be similar.
If you haven’t already guessed, we made burritos with guacamole, but it took like 4.5 hrs. We cooked everything on a little charcoal stove, except the beans. David did those in the cooking hut on the firewood stove. They really didn’t want us to go in there and help him, though, because there was so much smoke and they thought it’d burn our eyes. It was quite the experience making all that food with such limited cooking supplies/utensils. I felt like a child again, especially with Mama Faith getting such a kick out of our every move. The only thing that I didn’t need David to walk us through was the green peppers and onions, which I managed to sauté without assistance. Enoch did try to convince me to add more cooking oil, because they basically drown all their vegetables in that stuff all the time. He had no idea how I was going to get the vegetables to cook when all the cooking oil had seemingly evaporated. It was a pretty mystifying moment for him, I think. These boys (David and Enoch) do pretty much all the cooking in the house while they’re home on break, by the way, so they know what they’re talking about.
The finished product went over pretty well, I think, though personally I wasn’t thrilled with it. Our family was so so sweet, with Mama Faith saying over and over how proud she was of her daughters and how we had been so generous to them and how it was so good and she wanted to eat three more servings. David and Joel did in fact eat three more servings, and Joel couldn’t stop talking about how he wished his stomach was bigger. Our father found it a little bland, though, I think. Apparently our refusal to use the traditional truckloads of salt in the rice and beans did not tempt his appetite. He was very gracious, though, of course, and told us he was very grateful. Overall, it was a great experience and I have a vastly increased respect for the cooks of any household in this country.
Thursday night at the homestay was also really meaningful, because it was our last night. All of us USPers were inordinately excited, primarily to go to the resort of Jinja on Friday, but also to be returning to the comparative luxury and independence of UCU. Mama Faith made Christine and I a great meal of rice and beans and matoke, and the beans even had peppers and onions and tomatoes and all sorts of stuff. It was delicious. But the highlight of the evening was the entertainment. Our father had asked us during one of our first nights there to compose a song for us. He said all their earlier guests had done it and he was very much looking forward to what we came up with (I’m fairly confident this was a sweeping exaggeration of what previous students had actually done). So the pressure was on, and I’m pleased to say we rose to the challenge. Thursday afternoon during lit class I wrote a poem to the rhythm of “Bah Bah Black Sheep” that summarized our whole experience and highlighted each family member. I’d include it here, but I gave it to our family as a gift. I might remember it though and write it down during a boring lecture this week. Anyways, Christine and I practiced on the way home from school and in our room, and I think we managed not to rupture any ear drums. The family was tickled pink to hear themselves in a song, though they understood it better when Mama Faith insisted on performing an encore. That’s pretty typical here, that we are starting to understand the Ugandan’s English really well, but they still have a hard time understanding us. But the song went really well, and I was glad we did it. We also took a family photo, gave them their gift of postcards and “Ferrero Rocher’s” and called it a night.
This weekend at Jinja was amazing- but that story will be told mainly through the pictures I took. I have about 400 from just this weekend, but I’m not going to be able to upload that many. I’ll caption the ones that I have though, so you know what’s what : )
We also got to go “fetch firewood” with our older brother, Samuel. I was a little anxious about going because I’d see him and two other boys making trips back and forth with loads of wood on their heads already. However, it turned out that mostly we were just there for company on the walk, and probably because he thought we looked bored, just playing hand games with the kids. It was a really long walk, but some of it was through the “bush” which was all wild and jungle-y and pretty. Anyways, Samuel did let us carry one piece of fire wood each and don’t laugh! They were long and awkward, and most of the walk was uphill! Just because his two friends loaded about 30 pieces (that’s not and exaggeration) onto the backs of their bicycles and then pushed the bicycles through the bush and up the hill, that does not take away from my achievement! They really do like to use their bicycles as wagons- especially with water, green bananas, and wood. It’s impressive.
On Sunday we decided to go to church not at the “church on the hill” where most of the USPers end up going, but with our little brother David. He was getting confirmed at the Anglican cathedral near UCU, but none of the family was going so we figured why not keep the kid company on his big day? Anyways, it was worth it, but such an ordeal! Luckily we met an American woman who sings in the choir at the service and she introduced herself a little before we went inside, but after David had had to abandon us for his confirmation group. She counseled us to get something substantial to eat from the little snack stand if we hadn’t had breakfast. Sound ominous? It was. She also said we’d probably be in the service until 2pm, and it was only10 in the morning! Also, the service was in Luganda, so we didn’t understand a word. However, all I can really remember is how happy David was. After the priest/reverend/bishop/whoever he was blessed David and his group and they took Communion, they all got into a line and filed back down the aisle. David looked all somber and serious in his suit, but right before he sat down he looked right at us, smiled so huge and waved like a maniac. It was a great moment.
Once we finally got home from church we had to head straight to the “family gathering.” David took us there then scampered off, for good reason. We were already pooped and what we thought was going to be a party turned out to be a series of speeches. Our father was so happy that 105 of his relatives had turned out, some from farther than 6 hours away! But all 105 of these honored guests had to stand up before the crowd of us seated there, introduce themselves, say their position in the family, and give a short statement. Can you even imagine? And all in Luganda, again.
But the good part is, we’ve been talking a lot about how tribal/clan loyalty is a huge thing for Ugandans, and this really helped me to understand that. Our father is from the Impendi clan, so now that’s Christine’s and my clan, too. My Ugandan name is Nalube Emily, and hers is Namugenyi Christine. They always give their African name first, but it’s not a family thing, like an American surname would be. It’s more like everyone has an African name and an English name. Some are quite odd, like “Alinda Bob Charity” is one of my friends in the honours college. But it was sweet of Mama Faith to give us the names, and they really liked addressing us by them more and more loudly until we remembered to respond!
The rest of the week was pretty mundane, with classes and doing homework and hanging out with the family at night. We didn’t get internet very much at all, and this six page history paper kinda took over my life. But it flew by, which was bittersweet. Actually I forgot- on Tuesday Christine and I made dinner for our family! We came home early from school and our brother Enoch met us at the grocery store. A friend from my dorm, Sarah, had picked me and my roommates up some vegetables earlier that day, so we didn’t need those. She is so sweet –she heard Ashley needed to go to the market and she refused to let her go because you have to barter and Ash totally would’ve gotten cheated. Not in a big way, it’s just the principle of the thing. So Sarah took this big list from me, Ash, and Kels and went shopping for us all by herself. I love her, she is such a blessing. She’s the one that took us to get the hot water kettle, too, and taught us to do laundry. You could pray for her –she’s fasting right now in order to seek God more fully about a big decision in her life.
Whew, tangent. So Enoch helped us at the grocery store on our way home and Christine bought him a candy bar. We even got him to break the cardinal Ugandan rule of never eating and walking! Basically the candy bar was melting in the sun and in his hand, and he really didn’t want to miss out on that treat. He was pretty sneaky about it, though, because it’s considered pretty rude here to eat and walk. Apparently, the philosophy is that food deserves respect and should be shown the honor of taking a minute to sit and enjoy it. I think it’s a good mindset, but I do miss having a hot mug of coffee on the way to class. Not that it’s even that cold!
So Christine and I bought beans, rice, green peppers, onions, cheese, avocado, garlic, and I brought my Mrs. Dashes and Tabasco sauce. We also ordered 20 ciapate a little later in the evening (which are like fried, fluffy tortillas) which was apparently a completely absurd thing to do. Our little brother laughed at that request so hard and the lady we tried to buy them from was flabbergasted. We decided it was the equivalent of walking into McDonalds and saying, “Can I have 20 orders of French fries, please?” I bet the stares would be similar.
If you haven’t already guessed, we made burritos with guacamole, but it took like 4.5 hrs. We cooked everything on a little charcoal stove, except the beans. David did those in the cooking hut on the firewood stove. They really didn’t want us to go in there and help him, though, because there was so much smoke and they thought it’d burn our eyes. It was quite the experience making all that food with such limited cooking supplies/utensils. I felt like a child again, especially with Mama Faith getting such a kick out of our every move. The only thing that I didn’t need David to walk us through was the green peppers and onions, which I managed to sauté without assistance. Enoch did try to convince me to add more cooking oil, because they basically drown all their vegetables in that stuff all the time. He had no idea how I was going to get the vegetables to cook when all the cooking oil had seemingly evaporated. It was a pretty mystifying moment for him, I think. These boys (David and Enoch) do pretty much all the cooking in the house while they’re home on break, by the way, so they know what they’re talking about.
The finished product went over pretty well, I think, though personally I wasn’t thrilled with it. Our family was so so sweet, with Mama Faith saying over and over how proud she was of her daughters and how we had been so generous to them and how it was so good and she wanted to eat three more servings. David and Joel did in fact eat three more servings, and Joel couldn’t stop talking about how he wished his stomach was bigger. Our father found it a little bland, though, I think. Apparently our refusal to use the traditional truckloads of salt in the rice and beans did not tempt his appetite. He was very gracious, though, of course, and told us he was very grateful. Overall, it was a great experience and I have a vastly increased respect for the cooks of any household in this country.
Thursday night at the homestay was also really meaningful, because it was our last night. All of us USPers were inordinately excited, primarily to go to the resort of Jinja on Friday, but also to be returning to the comparative luxury and independence of UCU. Mama Faith made Christine and I a great meal of rice and beans and matoke, and the beans even had peppers and onions and tomatoes and all sorts of stuff. It was delicious. But the highlight of the evening was the entertainment. Our father had asked us during one of our first nights there to compose a song for us. He said all their earlier guests had done it and he was very much looking forward to what we came up with (I’m fairly confident this was a sweeping exaggeration of what previous students had actually done). So the pressure was on, and I’m pleased to say we rose to the challenge. Thursday afternoon during lit class I wrote a poem to the rhythm of “Bah Bah Black Sheep” that summarized our whole experience and highlighted each family member. I’d include it here, but I gave it to our family as a gift. I might remember it though and write it down during a boring lecture this week. Anyways, Christine and I practiced on the way home from school and in our room, and I think we managed not to rupture any ear drums. The family was tickled pink to hear themselves in a song, though they understood it better when Mama Faith insisted on performing an encore. That’s pretty typical here, that we are starting to understand the Ugandan’s English really well, but they still have a hard time understanding us. But the song went really well, and I was glad we did it. We also took a family photo, gave them their gift of postcards and “Ferrero Rocher’s” and called it a night.
This weekend at Jinja was amazing- but that story will be told mainly through the pictures I took. I have about 400 from just this weekend, but I’m not going to be able to upload that many. I’ll caption the ones that I have though, so you know what’s what : )
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