Oh Lizard Poop!

This is my new epithet given that’s what I want to utter or worse when I find gecko droppings around my cottage! For those of you who don’t use Facebook, you’ve missed my posts about living with geckos and all that I’m discovering about them. It’s actually become quite entertaining to see where they’ll turn up next, or to observe some of their behaviors.

This poor fellow was actually in the process
 of dying when I took this picture. I wondered
 why he didn't skitter away when I approached
 him and he stayed in the same spot all day until
 he dropped dead onto the floor!

I knew I would be moving in with geckos ahead of time. Every time I had checked on the progress of the renovation of the cottage I would find several, and because the house was vacant for a while until the renovations were complete, I think the geckos might have thought that the cottage was their permanent home. And it’s at least one family if not more of them. I have observed large “parent” geckos, “teen” geckos, and teeny tiny little baby geckos – so somebody is laying eggs around here somewhere! I think they were a bit annoyed when I moved into the cottage – they would explore my stuff – I would often find them on some item like my suitcase, and one time I opened a drawer where I hide my laptop and one had been perched on the computer! I wondered if he was trying to send an email to his gecko buddies complaining about the mean human who took over his home!

I definitely startle them at times. When they’re perched on a window shutter, chillin’ out and I decide to open (or close) the shutter they get really confused and don’t seem to know what to do. I have to be careful when I am moving the shutter that they don’t go in a direction that will end up squishing them in the window frame when the shutter closes. I don’t think I could handle gecko blood on my hands.

I haven’t named them because I don’t know whether I’m seeing the same ones or not – they don’t have any distinctive markings that set them apart. “Gordon Gecko” keeps coming to mind after Michael Douglas’ character Gordon Gekko from the movie “Wall Street”. The urge to give them alliterative names is too great though – if I were to name them they would have to be names like Gary, Grover, Ginny, Gretchen, etc.

They’re definitely entertaining – especially the little ones. I have found that I tend to talk to them, much like you might talk to a pet like a cat or dog, or even a child. A couple of times when I’ve opened up the shutter (the shutters are pushed out and up, not like shutters we’re used to in the states) and caught a gecko on it, I find myself saying something like “Whoops – you’re going for a ride!” as I push the shutter up. And watching the baby or teen geckos try to catch bugs to eat has really been entertaining. One evening I watched a teen gecko stalk a bug that was on the floor. He wasn’t very successful though, just as he would get close to the bug it would fly away. But it was fun watching a little baby gecko go after a tiny moth on my screen door. It took him a few tries but he was finally successful in snagging the too slow moth and having a tasty morsel. I found myself in the process encouraging him and then cheering for him when he was successful.

There’s an aspect of gecko behavior, however, that I’m not very happy about and which will be they’re undoing. That is their tendency to be like mice. I don’t have mice in the cottage, but in the evenings I’ll hear rustling noises in my kitchen and have determined that it’s the geckos moving around in there. Now what is likely happening is that because it’s an unfortunate fact about Uganda that you can’t keep bugs out of your kitchen, the geckos are in the kitchen having their dinner. However, it’s the after effects that are so annoying as I have mentioned on Facebook, and that’s the whole issue of gecko “droppings.” They’re everywhere! They poop in the shower, randomly on the floor, on my kitchen counter, and even on my dishes. Then I have to rewash and try to sterilize the dishes!

But I finally had to draw a line in the sand with the geckos when I awoke one morning to find a “deposit” on my bed right next to my pillow! And it hadn’t been there when I went to bed (obviously I would have done something about it if it was!) So  while I was sleeping a gecko was pooping by my head! Big eww! Not tolerating lizard poop on my bed! And another day I found a lizard – I don’t think it was a gecko and was much bigger – walking across my bed! That’s not happening anymore.

I got a cat.

Meet Toulouse LeChat. He's still pretty little,

some of the geckos are bigger than him!

But one day soon they'll be a runnin'!



The Realities of Life in Uganda – Health, Medical Care, and Mortality

I had my first experience a few weeks back of being sick enough that it required a visit to a local clinic. It was just an ear infection, but I felt lousy for a couple of days and stayed in the cottage mostly sleeping and putting antibiotic ear drops in my ears every 8 hours. I was surprised at how many people came by to check on me when the word got out that I was ill. It’s a fact of my life now that I’m living on the Bahá’í grounds that I can’t “hide.” Everyone always knows where I am and if they need something, day or night, they come by the cottage. But this had been my first experience of well wishers stopping by to check on me. I commented about this to Carolyn who suggested that because they didn’t know how sick I might be, people wanted to come see me in case I didn’t survive! I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but apparently illness is taken very seriously here. I have observed that people get sick often here, primarily with malaria and typhoid or flu, and that the quality of medical services, if you can even afford them, which so many people can’t, leaves a lot to be desired.

There are a number of medical clinics around, and I went to one recommended to me by several of the Bahá’ís who have lived here many years. The doctor seemed competent, the nurses were in uniform and kind, and they had a pharmacy on site where you could immediately get your prescription filled. Beyond that, it’s all questionable. The doctor was able to see me quickly, and just as quickly deduced I had an ear infection, but I had already determined that. I was a bit disconcerted however, to watch him clean the otoscope to examine my ears. He simply took a piece of gauze with alcohol on it and pulled it through the hole of the scope! No nice sterile, one use only disposable instruments here! He prescribed the antibiotic ear drops and sent me on my way – it cost me all of 7000 shillings, about $3 – that includes the antibiotic! When I returned in a week to have a follow up exam, he had the nurses do an ear wash. This is where I felt like I had gone back about 30 or more years in time. In the treatment room, I sat on an old fashioned examination table. The ear wash kit was wrapped in cloth and I can only assume (and hope!) that the instruments had gone through the old autoclave sterilization procedure. When the nurse opened the kit – I was floored to see her pull out a huge metal ear syringe through which she drew hot water to then plunge into my ear. Seriously, I had not seen instruments like these since I was a child. In fact, I’m wondering if that’s where old American medical instruments were sent – to third world countries in Africa and other places. All in all it wasn’t a terrible experience, and the nurses were very sweet. I was just shocked at how basic the medical facilities really are.

So if that is my experience and I can afford clinic visits like that – what happens to people away from the city where medical facilities are harder to find, or those people who can’t afford treatment?

A child born in Uganda today has a life expectancy of 53 years. The longer a child lives and manages to get past the dangers of baby hood and childhood, the longer the life expectancy, so that if you reach the age of 30 your life expectancy in Uganda may be as high as 70 years. Now I have met plenty of elderly Ugandans, so it may not be as dire as it sounds, but just within the Bahá’í community I’ve met so many families in which either a child or a parent has died. And it appears that life in Uganda is harder on women than on men – which is logical given that women in most societies do so much of the heavy work of the household. So far I’ve met several families where widowed fathers are raising the children and few of the young people I’ve met have both parents living. In fact it seems that by the age of 20, most young people have lost their mother. It’s pretty distressing to think about, but it’s a hard fact of life. In fact, one of our staff members is taking care of her mother who is HIV positive - a gift brought to her by her philandering husband – another common problem.

In fact, according to the WHO, HIV/AIDS is the number one killer of Ugandans, followed by diarrhea-related illnesses (this is what gets the babies), and malaria. Oddly, for the number of people I have met who have had typhoid, I was surprised that was not on the list. But here’s the problem – symptoms of typhoid and malaria are very similar, but the treatment required for each of them is different. Often times a person will have typhoid, but because it looks like malaria, they treat it as malaria. And by the time it’s realized that it’s not malaria but typhoid, it might be too late and the person dies. So my guess is that a lot of the deaths that are attributed to malaria may actually have been due to typhoid.

It’s a hard life in Uganda, and any country in Africa. It’s easy for us in countries like the United States to take what we have available to us for granted and to assume that the same services we have access to exist elsewhere. It’s hard to believe that in the 21^st century that these issues of health and medical treatment still exist in these countries. It’s all part of the great disparity between wealth and poverty, the haves and the have nots and the unwillingness of many who have to share with the have nots. It’s easy to sit in our comfortable air conditioned or heated homes in the U.S., watching our HDTV and snacking on whatever fatty foods are handy, to not relate at all to the pictures we see on the TVs about drought conditions, famine, AIDS epidemic, etc. And while Uganda is definitely not suffering from a drought and food is plentiful, I’m still in the middle of a situation that is untenable to me – that there should be anyone suffering from and dying from diseases that have been eradicated in the U.S. and Europe, but are still so prevalent here. It’s just something to think about.

And just for anyone who might be worried about my exposure to any of these diseases – I was well immunized against typhoid, tetanus, diphtheria and pertussis before coming here and I’m taking daily anti-malarial medication. And I know how to boil my water before using it as drinking or cooking water – so I’m pretty safe.

Hey Muzungu!

I am being terribly neglectful of the blog, and will try to remedy that now that I’m finally in my little cottage. It’s been a period of transition (again!) as I went from spending 3 months in relative luxury and surrounded by “family” – Carolyn and the folks who live in her house, to a more Spartan environment and living on my own. But as I’ve mentioned in some of my Facebook posts, being alone in the cottage is a relative term as well. I’m essentially on call 24/7 and some days are busier than others. Since people know I live here now, there’s no hesitation to come to the cottage if they need something. Even earlier this week when I was home sick with the ear infection – and the first couple of days I was really unsteady on my feet and tried to stay in bed – person after person kept coming to the door asking for one thing or another. However, I must say, that some people came just to check on me and to express their concern, and that meant a lot to me as well. I don’t think I’m in any danger of anything happening to me and people not noticing! But it was a bit disconcerting this week when I would just settle down to rest, and of course every time I moved from a laying down position to an upright position or vice versa, I would have the dizziness, and there would be someone knocking, or calling “Auntie Joyce!” through the window, anything to get my attention, and force me up again. Bless them!

But I’m gradually putting my own touch on my little cottage (still trying to furnish the living room - or lounge as they call it here- before posting photos) and settling into this routine of being up and about on the Temple grounds early each morning. In some ways it’s quieter here than it was at Carolyn’s and in other ways it’s noisier. At Carolyn’s we had free range turkeys, guinea fowl, chickens and a rooster, and they started early in the morning crowing or otherwise making noise, usually right outside my door! Here, there are roosters around but a little further away, and so I’m vaguely aware of the crowing but it’s not as loud. In the evening, just at dusk, I can hear the neighbors behind me settling in for the evening, children are playing, babies crying - the general noises of people moving about. There are also a few goats nearby that start up their baaing as they wait for their supper. Then as soon as it gets dark it’s completely quiet….at least from the households closest by. As the evening hours wear on, other noises start up, a lot of drumming going on somewhere, or the sounds of people doing some late night entertainment with music turned up loud. There are a lot of dogs scattered about and anytime there is a siren or some other random noise, they all start their baying.  So settling down to sleep can be a bit tricky sometimes.

The drumming I hear every night has been a bit of an inspiration for my writing. Sitting alone in my cottage (especially when the power is out!) and hearing the distant drumming gets my imagination going and I come up with all kinds of scenarios for what the drumming is about. So I’ve started writing a novel (mind you – I have three actual writing projects that I’m SUPPOSED to be working on!) that offers one explanation for the drumming. Not going to explain what just yet until I see where the story goes – but it’s based on something that is actually happening or has happened here that is not very savory at all but lends itself quite nicely to a mystery type novel set in Kampala. I’m having fun playing with it and seeing how the characters develop and where the story line goes.

But lest anyone worry about me being alone on this hill, the reality is that I am not. The Temple director and his wife live in another house not far from me, there is a third house – Zilpha’s House – built by Zilpha Mapp Robinson (for those of you who know who I’m talking about) where there are sometimes female guests staying, and then there is a men’s dorm next to my cottage where there are sometimes guests staying, And, there is a night watchman who monitors the property from dusk until dawn. When I first moved into the cottage, both of the night watchmen made a point of stopping by and letting me know they were around. And they really do walk around during the evening, In fact, the one time I got really scared was an evening when we didn’t have power and I could hear people walking around the cottage and flashing a flashlight. When I called out one of the windows, it turned out it was just the night watchman checking things out! So I feel really safe.

I’ve also been getting familiar with my new “neighborhood” of Kikaaya, and the neighboring area of Kisaasi. Kisaasi will be where I’ll likely do most of my food shopping – it’s just a short boda ride from the Temple and there’s a good selection of vegetable and fruit vendors. There’s a small supermarket directly across from the Temple entrance where I can stop in to pick up items that I run out of or if I want an occasional treat. Walking down Kikaaya or “Bahá’í” Road as it is stated on city maps I’m getting to see “life” up close. And of course, being the new kid on the block, I’m an endless source of curiosity and entertainment for the Ugandans in the area, especially the kids. Since they’re all living right around the Temple, they’re used to seeing all kinds of people coming through there, but there aren’t that many white non-Ugandans who live in the area and so everyone gets a kick out of seeing me. The kids get so excited when they see me coming down the road, and they call out “Hi Muzungu” or “Bye Muzungu” (and they sometimes get mixed up as to which is which – saying “Bye” when I’ve just arrived in view) when they see me, usually over and over, just so I’ll notice them and smile or wave at them. One day I got the biggest kick out of three little tykes who caught sight of me and started a little dance as they chanted “Hi Muzungu” over and over. The more I waved at them the more they did it. “Muzungu” basically means “white person.” Some of the ex-pats take offense at it and consider it a derogatory term, but I don’t – I think they use it more as a description or an expression of surprise when they see me or any white person. Most of the adults will simply say “Madam” or “Mama” or “Sister” when greeting me, it’s primarily the children who will call out Muzungu. And the way they say it adds flavor to it, especially when the kids are dancing around like those three tykes. The emphasis is on the last syllable, so they’ll call out “Hey Muh-zune-GU!”

I have great neighbors among the Bahá’ís as well – all within a short walk from where I live. Along Bahá’í Road are Boshra (a young Persian woman), Vi Gilbert (another American pioneer but who has lived in Africa for more than 40 years so doesn’t consider herself a pioneer), Wes Baker, who has been in Uganda around 15 years, and Azieb and her family. Azieb is one of the Eritrean Bahá’ís who live in Uganda. Vi and I will likely spend a lot of time together, and Wes is my singing buddy, we go to choir together and he has offered to chauffer me around when I need to go places. He’s a sweetheart. Azieb has a little shop of her own right next to the Temple grounds. Just further down the same road, a little bit more of a walk, is the Senoga family. Edith Senoga was one of the early Bahá’ís in Uganda and has served as an Auxiliary Board member. She has a wonderful family, including a daughter who was recently made a federal court judge in Uganda, and grandchildren who are quite active in the community. She has all the oral history of the early years of the Bahá’í community in Uganda that I’m going to have to get recorded soon.

So this is my life now. Not posting any photos this time, but I’m going to take my camera out one day along Bahá’í Road and just start taking pictures to give my faithful readers a pictorial view of my life here. When I have time….maybe.

3 Kitante Rd

I know I know! I haven’t been updating my blog as regularly as I had been! But guess what? I’ve been here two months and I’m not feeling like a tourist anymore! I don’t feel the need to grab my camera and snap a picture of everything I see as I was doing in the first few weeks. Every day is an adventure, and I’m still always learning new things and meeting new people and making new friends, but now I’m also settled into my work and my whole life is pretty much serving the Bahá’í community here. So finding time to write new and interesting things is becoming a bit problematic. But never fear, I’m sure more new experiences and adventures await and you’ll be hearing all about them. Now, however, I’m going to share some of the history I’m learning about the Bahá’í Faith in Uganda. In fact, I have offered to the NSA, and they have happily accepted, for me to begin researching, organizing, and writing the definitive history of the Ugandan Bahá’í community. There are bits and pieces here and there, but to date no one has put a complete volume of work together on Uganda. And as the earlier believers are beginning to age, time is of the essence to start recording these histories. I think this is why I am really here. I’ll be sharing a lot of what I learn through the blog, so you can learn along with me.

The most historic spot in Kampala in terms of Bahá’í history is the house that sits at 3 Kitante Road. It’s actually a compound, as many homes are, where there is a wall that surrounds the property to shield the house from the road, and gates that have to be opened for anyone to enter. Kitante Road is situated in the part of Kampala which is now primarily an “expatriate” neighborhood where the Americans, Europeans, and Australians who come to Uganda for business reasons end up living. However, I doubt this was an ex-pat haven in 1951 when the first pioneer families to Uganda arrived.



The first Local Spiritual Assembly of Kampala. Mr. and Mrs. Banani

and Violette Nakhjavani are seated. Standing from left is Phillip

Hainsworth, third from left is Enoch Olinga and next to him is Ali

Nakhjavani. This is in the yard at 3 Kitante Rd.



In 1950-51, the Guardian of the Bahá’í Faith, Shoghi Effendi, launched a campaign to encourage Bahá’ís to come to Africa and begin teaching the Faith here. Immediately heeding his call were a number of European, American and Iranian Bahá’ís. An intrepid band of six souls headed for Kampala. Among them were Musa Banani (who would later be appointed as a Hand of the Cause of God) and his wife Samiyyih, their daughter Violette Nakhjavani, her husband Ali, and their daughter Bahiyyih. Along with these five was Phillip Hainsworth, a Britishman, who resigned his position on the National Spiritual Assembly of    Great Britain in order to go to Uganda.

After the group was settled in Kampala, the Bananis purchased the house at 3 Kitante Road, and they, along with the Nakhjavanis moved in. In this home the first Bahá’í firesides in Kampala were held and the first native Ugandans were confirmed as Bahá’ís. Among these first Bahá’ís was a young civil servant, a man who liked to drink and gamble and live the good life. But somewhere along the way he met Mr. Nakhjavani, and he ended up going to 3 Kitante Rd. After some weeks, Enoch Olinga knew that he had no choice but to also declare himself a Bahá’í.

Enoch Olinga

Olinga was immediately a confirmed Bahá’í and desired to serve the Cause to the fullest extent possible. He would soon relocate to Cameroon to open that country to the Bahá’í Faith and it wasn’t long before he was a well-respected and natural leader in the African Bahá’í community. He eventually returned to Uganda where he settled with his family. And again at 3 Kitante Road, he was told by Mr. Banani in October 1957 that he had been named by Shoghi Effendi as a Hand of the Cause of God.

Upon hearing the news, the Nakhjavanis later related, Mr. Olinga immediately prostrated himself flat on the floor the way the ancient Ugandans would prostrate themselves before the kabaka (king), showing his abject humility before God for having been appointed to such an elevated station.

The Bananis continued living at 3 Kitante Road, ceaselessly serving the Bahá’í community in Kampala, being a witness to the growth of the community and the erection of the Mother Temple of Africa, until Mr. Banani died in 1971. He is now buried in the Bahá’í cemetery on Kikaaya Hill near the Temple.

Mr. Olinga continued serving the Ugandan Bahá’ís and indeed all of the Bahá’ís of the world, as he traveled everywhere to encourage the Bahá’ís the world round (in fact, he was even in Nashville!)

But the mid-seventies became a turbulent and dangerous time in Uganda and even the Bahá’ís were in danger. The Faith was banned for a while and all Bahá’í activities had to be stopped and the Temple closed. But Mr. Olinga stayed alone on the hill to make sure that the Temple grounds were kept safe during these troubles.

The beautiful gravestone

over Mr. Olinga's grave

(Courtesy of Barbie Mundt)

After Mr. Banani’s death, his wife went to live with their daughter Violette and Ali Nakhjavani, in Haifa, where Mr. Nakhjavani had been elected to the first Universal House of Justice in 1963. While Olinga’s ancestral home was in the Teso region of Uganda (where I traveled recently), northeast of Kampala and where he maintained a home, after the Bananis left,  he and his wife Elizabeth, and their younger children moved into 3 Kitante Road. After Idi Amin’s rule was over and he left in exile, there was still quite a bit of lawlessness and danger in Uganda as the people didn’t know where to turn and it was a time for those with evil intentions to take advantage of the innocents. So it was, that on September 16, 1979, armed men forced their way into the compound at 3 Kitante Road and brutally murdered Mr. Olinga, his wife Elizabeth, and their three youngest children, Badi, Tahirih, and Lennie. No one was ever caught and charged with the murder, and it was never determined whether it was a random act of violence or whether Mr. Olinga and his family were specifically targeted. I remember when the Bahá’í world was first told of this tragedy and how horrified and shocked we all were.

My visit to 3 Kitante Road with Carolyn Wade and

 our hosts Shahram and Nafha Ebrahimi.

(Courtesy of Barbie Mundt)

When I was given the opportunity to visit the house at 3 Kitante Road just a few weeks ago, I was a bit nervous about how the spirit of the house might feel given the violence that had taken place there. But I found a serene house and a beautiful couple, Nafha and Shahram Ebrahimi, who have lived there for the last 15 plus years. It was obvious that the historical positive events that occurred in that modest home far outweighed the tragedy and the spirit of the Ugandan Bahá’í community was palpable. In 2001 when the Ugandan Bahá’í Community was celebrating the 50^th anniversary of the opening of Uganda to the Bahá’í Faith, Mr. and Mrs. Ali Nakhjavani returned to Kampala, and Nafha and Shahram insisted they stay in their old home at 3 Kitante Road. While there, the Nakhjavanis shared even more stories with them about the house. For example, for the period of time that the Bananis lived there, every living Hand of the Cause of God was in that house at one time or another. The luscious green lawn so full of beautiful flowering bushes, was the site of many community gatherings as well.

I can’t do justice here to a more detailed recounting of the early years of the Faith in Uganda – there are too many stories, and I haven’t heard all of them yet. But this gives you an idea of what a rich history there is here, both beautiful and tragic, and the story isn’t over yet.

Going Up Country

There is a definite truth in Uganda – that if you’re one of the lucky ones who owns a car, you better be prepared to offer rides to others, to carry parcels, mail, people to various destinations (if you happen to be going that way) and you do it without any expectation of remuneration or help with fuel costs. A sincere thank you will be your reward. Because if you are wealthy enough to own a car in a country where the average income of the average citizen is well below what is called “the poverty line” in the United States, then a sincere “Thank you” should be all you need.

It was with this understanding that Carolyn and I undertook our trip to the north to retrieve two members of our household – Robert and Nina -  who had spent a month in their respective home compounds to help with harvesting crops, planting, building – whatever needed to be done. The family bond is still very strong in Uganda – something that is being lost in the United States – and in spite of the fact that Robert and Nina are making their lives for the most part in Kampala now, family loyalty demands that they return home a few times a year to tend to their “ancestral” homes.

When we left that Thursday morning, our ultimate destination was the little town of Opot, where both Nina’s and Robert’s homes are. Opot is about 375 miles from Kampala, a quick 2.5-3 hour, 4 hours at the most; drive if you’re on any interstate in the U.S. But there aren’t any “interstates” in Uganda. If you’re lucky, between the major towns you’ll have a relatively nice paved two-lane highway. If you’re lucky. Our roads would range from the aforementioned paved two-lane highway with the occasional pothole, to, as we drove further north, the same two lane highway being riddled with endless potholes, to finally, when we turned off the main road to go toward the Kumi District where we would come to Tilling and eventually Opot, such rutted, gouged out dirt tracks that the only way you can access them is with a four wheel drive such as Carolyn’s Toyota Prado. And it was going to take a lot longer than 4 hours to get there!

But that’s even if you’re driving straight through. We knew that we had to make two stops along the way to deliver various items to Bahá’ís who otherwise would have no way of receiving what they needed. So in the car we had mail, packages, information, and suitcases – things that would be dropped off along the way.

Mbale Bahá’í Institute

Mbale Baha'i Institute

Our first stop was in the town of Mbale (pronounce m-bolly) where there is a Bahá’í institute. There are a few institutes scattered throughout Uganda where area Bahá’ís can come together for tutor training in the Ruhi courses, children’s classes and youth activities are developed as well as other activities. Carolyn had something which had to be delivered to the director of the Institute, Patrick Itemor. While we were there, Patrick asked Carolyn if on our return trip we could stop and pick him up as he had a meeting on the hill that Saturday. Of course Carolyn said yes, so it was arranged that we would be there the next day to fetch Patrick.

Once we left Mbale, the road, although still a two lane paved highway, started becoming a little rougher to drive over. The road was obviously less well maintained so there were potholes all along the way. You had to either slow down in order to go over them, swerve back and forth like an obstacle course to avoid them, or pull off onto the shoulder and drive on it for a while. Ugandans are nothing if not enterprising, so some of the local citizenry, mostly children, would take advantage of the sparse traffic and try to fill the potholes with dirt, rock and grass to make them easier to drive over, and then they would stand on the side of the road and hold out their hands in hope that grateful travelers would stop and pay them. I’m not sure how much money they could make that way, but Carolyn said that if she had had change she would’ve stopped at least once. However, the problem with doing that is that the potholes aren’t so far apart that there are different groups of children filling holes along the way, and if the group just a little further down the road sees that you’ve stopped to pay the previous group, there’s an expectation that you would stop for them as well. Gives new meaning to the term “toll road!”

Tilling

The traffic was pretty light on this Thursday morning, so in spite of all of the stops we made pretty good time so about four hours after we started this journey we were close to our final destination. We turned off the main road onto a smaller road which gradually turned from tarmac to dirt, and gradually narrowed and became much more difficult to traverse because of the deep ruts. We came into the little town of Tilling where we needed to make another stop at the home of John Robarts and Florence Okiror. Carolyn had something to deliver to Florence and I was hoping that they had their paperwork ready to obtain their visas for the group pilgrimage that is happening in late October (and which I’m in charge of organizing all the paperwork for). In typical Ugandan fashion, when Carolyn had asked John Robarts (he is a member of the NSA) the previous weekend in Kampala where their home was, he gave her directions to the Bahá’í School and described the Olinga home which is across the road from the school, and then said “When you reach there, you’ve gone too far, turn around and come back two houses!” And guess what? That’s exactly what we did!

Opot

We finally and gratefully arrived at the Oloro compound in Opot. We had been in the car six to seven hours and we were stiff! We were thrilled to have the opportunity to stretch our legs and walk around the area.



As soon as it was clear that we had arrived, people came from all directions, primarily children. Ugandan children are endlessly fascinated with white people, and while we were certainly not the first they had ever seen, it’s a rare enough sight that garners everyone’s attention. Once the children got over the general excitement of our arrival, and allowed me to take their photos (which I had to show them after they were made) then they settled down to munch on popcorn that we had brought with us. Spread out around the compound was drying cassava pieces, which would be pounded into a flour, and millet grain was also spread out on large plastic sheets. One of the women was threshing the millet grain. She took the millet stalks and beat them against a rock to get the grain to fall from the stalks. 

Threshing millet

Then she would take the grain and put it in a large shallow basket and she proceeded to shake and toss the grain to sift out the husks. It was quite fascinating to see this “old fashioned” way of threshing the grain.

Nina, who was quite surprised to see us, took us on a walking tour of the area, showing off the acres of farm land they had and pointing out the different crops. As we walked along the road a different crowd of children espied us and began following us. It was so funny because if I stopped and looked behind me at them, they would stop abruptly and some would run a little bit away as if they were afraid I was going to do something to them. Then when I started walking again they started walking, I’d stop, they’d stop and jump back. Looked like something out of the Three Stooges! Interestingly however, for as “primitive” as their lives appeared, they all seemed to know what a camera was and as soon as I pulled it out, they all grouped together and posed nicely for the camera!

A neighboring compound near
where we stayed

A typical compound consists of a cluster of round huts with thatched roofs. Some compounds, like the Oloro compound, also have a house. Since families are pretty close, and even if family members move away, they always have their own hut to come home to, so Ugandans know that they can always go home again! Huts are made of different materials, depending on the relative wealth of the family. On our drive there we saw huts that were constructed of only the adobe made from the red clay dirt and grass. This is probably how these huts have been traditionally made for centuries. Other huts might be made of tin, bricks, or in the case of the Oloro compount, cement. These huts were larger then the traditional huts and are designed and built to meet the needs of the person or persons who will be inhabiting the hut. The thatch roof is pitched pretty high and then comes down, forming an overhang that comes down so low that in order to get through the door, you have to stoop to get under the overhang. Inside the hut, you don't have anything covering the thatch ceiling. I full expected that I would be sleeping on the floor of the hut but they had moved beds in. Mosquito netting was hung up over the bed and I was set for the night.

The hut I slept in

Other buildings in the compound incuded a small hut that was used as the kitchen, Two structures that were granaries for storing millet, and the out house! As a child I got practice using the outhouse when country relatives we visited didn't have indoor plumbing and in Girl Scouts. But add to this the fact that there's no wooded seat like I'm used to in outhouses, but rather a pit in the ground with two raised footprints on either side of the hole so you would know where to place your feet as you started the squat down - which is not very easy for a 57 year old! Still I bravely availed myself of the facilities unti Friday morning when I saw the huge spider on the wall. I still did the squat, but I was ever so careful not to disturb that spider.

Rezwan

A self portrait with Rezwan

Living in the Oloro compound is a family who are tenants and who have two children, Hosea, who appeared to be 7 or 8 years old, and Rezwan, who is probably 4 years old. Rezwan just absolutely captured my heart. They were both fascinated with me but weren’t afraid of me. They both seemed intent on having my full attention and Rezwan, for the most part, got it. After walking with me as I went about taking photos of the area, once I sat down in a rickety wooden chair that I wasn’t sure would even hold me, Rezwan climbed into my lap – and pretty much stayed there! She chattered at me in the Ateso language, although I discovered that she knew body parts and numbers in English. And she could sing some Bahá’í children’s prayers in English. But she mostly kept up a running chatter in Ateso and I had no clue what she was saying. She didn’t seem to care – she would finger my necklace or my dress, my hair, my face, my glasses and just talk. She would occasionally break out into a song in Ateso – I’m guessing it was a children’s song of some sort like our kids in the U.S. learn nursery rhymes. She was just something! She and Hosea played well together but she definitely could turn on the little sister tears if she felt like she was being slighted or if Hosea was getting to do something that she wanted to do. I was impressed with Hosea’s ability to ride a full size bicycle, although he wasn’t sitting up on the seat – he would never have been able to reach the pedals. Instead he would stand on the pedals and start pumping – he had to maneuver around the heavy metal “boy bar” (don’t know what else to all it!) so it was kind of like he was riding side saddle, if that makes any sense at all. I wish I had taken a photo to more clearly show what I’m incapable of adequately describing. What really blew me away was when I saw him riding off with Rezwan perched up on the high back seat!

Hosea and Rezwan

As the sun was setting and Carolyn went to bed and the rest of us were waiting for our supper to cook, Rezwan and Hosea still stayed close. I got my flashlight out and they were endlessly fascinated with it – blinding some of us or the dogs occasionally as they flashed it around the compound. I entertained them for a little while with shadow puppets – but my repertoire there is limited!

The night sky was beautiful. I’m always taken aback when I’m out in the middle of nowhere and there are no artificial lights to compete with the beauty of the night lights. The last time I remembered being in such a remote location was the Navajo reservation. Here, the only lights (other than my flashlight) was a sliver of moon, the constellations, and some heat lightning off to the west. Then, magically the fireflies started their sky dance and twinkled throughout the compound adding to the serenity that had settled over the area.

When I went to bed and was settling in for what would prove to be a fitful sleep, I listened to the night sounds of the compound. The family was still awake and the father, who had been away working all day, was playing with Rezwan. I would occasionally hear a squeal of laughter from Rezwan as he was entertaining her with whatever it is fathers entertain their children with. These were happy sounds to drift off to sleep to.

As soon as the sun was up the next morning the compound was astir. Some had already gone to the fields to work, others were working in the compound itself. Carolyn and I tried to make ourselves useful so we spent some time dragging rotted sesame seed stalks that had been on a drying rack off to the fields across the road and dumped them, where they would be spread out and used as fertilizer. Absolutely nothing is wasted here! We also helped sew shut the huge sacks that were stuff full of millet stalks that still needed to be threshed. Did we use string to sew these sacks? No….we used twigs that had been soaked in water to get soft, along with some sisal, and we used a stick to poke holes along the edges of the opening in the sack, and then threaded the sisal or twigs through the holes and tied them off tightly. But after these chores were done, Rezwan was back in my lap until it was time for us to load up the various animals and go.

Bahá’í Historical Significance



Tilling home of Enoch Olinga



I really didn’t appreciate where I was at first until as we were leaving the area Carolyn explained to me that for all intents and purposes, the Kumi District, and the towns of Tilling and Opot were where the Bahá’í Faith started in Uganda. In the early 1950s five Bahá’í pioneers – Ali and Violette Nakhjavani, Musa and Samiyyih Banani, and a Englishman named Phillip Hainesworth, settled in the Kampala area with the encouragement and support of the Guardian of the Bahá’í Faith, Shoghi Effendi. Through their efforts to share the message of the Bahá’í Faith they came across a young government service worker named Enoch Olinga. When Enoch Olinga embraced the Bahá’í Cause, he was the first native Ugandan to do so.  He carried the message back to his home town of Tilling. Through his efforts there, his extended family, and many other people in the area became Bahá’ís. The Olinga home where he and his family lived when they weren’t in Kampala still stands and members of the Olinga family live there. Of the nine members of the current National Spiritual Assembly, at least three, possibly four members are from that area, and two retired members of the NSA are from that same Tilling area as well. Family names of Olinga, Oloro, Okiror, Onama, and Okello usually indicate a Bahá’í family. Eperyu Oloro, whose home compound we were visiting, was on the first NSA formed in Ugandan – although it was a regional NSA at that time and covered more countries than just Uganda, and he was also named one of the first two Counsellors for Africa. I have yet to find out what’s behind the names. It seems that most of the people who come from this area have names that start with “O.” I hope to find out the origin of that, if anyone actually knows. I’m sure that there’s some clan identifying connection going way back in time.

Chickens, Turkeys and a Guinea Hen!

Traveling fowl in the back of
 Carolyn's SUV

Our return trip to Kampala was typical of what you’ll see in most cars, suvs, buses, or taxis on the open road. Although Nina wasn’t ready to come with us just yet, we now had Robert and whatever he was bringing back with him. Before we left that morning, Nina picked a huge sack full of lemons off the lemon tree in the yard so we could bring it back and she could take it to market later and sell them. We also had in tow a new rooster to replace the one who met an unfortunate demise a few weeks ago, a guinea hen to bring some love to the guinea fowl Carolyn already has and who had lost his mate, and turkey, which was a gift from the Oloro compound and had we come the next day – which is when they expected us, she would have been cooked and eaten there. But instead we got to bring her home. Carolyn had every intention of bringing a billy goat home to mate with Buttercup, one of the two nanny goats already living at Carolyn’s, but this billy goat was a little young and had diarrhea so none of us wanted him riding in the back of the car!

Before we could leave however, Robert wanted to go back over to his compound to say goodbye to his mother. So off we went, the roads to his compound got narrower and narrower until they really were nothing more than a walking path. Because it’s rare to see a car coming that direction, and what few cars come they would recognize – when anyone heard or saw us coming, they stopped whatever they were doing and just watched us. We pulled into the compound and Carolyn thought that perhaps it would be a quick stop and no need to get out of the car but no……soon there were about 30 people – adults, children, and babies – all of whom had come to greet and welcome us. The newest baby was thrust into Carolyn’s arms, Robert’s mother presented her with a chicken (which ended up in the back of the car with the other fowl, and later that weekend was dinner!), and the kids stared in amazement at the two muzungus. Once we finally succeeded in extricating ourselves and heading off, several children ran behind the car all the way to the main road and again, everyone stopped whatever they were doing to watch the strange car go by.

Hatchling basket lashed to top of car

Once we finally got back on the road, we stopped again at the Okiror residence in Tilling to see if they had some documents I needed (they didn’t), and then we headed on. We stopped at Mbale Institute again to pick up Patrick and his luggage and off we went again!  While we were at the Mbale Institute however, Carolyn and Robert had noticed some hatchling baskets that Patrick had. They realized they would need such a basket for any chicks that might be hatched in the future. The hatchling basket is exactly that – a large basket with a hole in the bottom. After chicks hatch, but before they can wander too far away, the basket is turned upside down on them – keeping them from wandering around and also keeping them safe. There are predatory birds and monkeys who like chicks for their meals, and the only way to keep them from being picked off one by one is to keep the basket over them. As we left Mbale, Patrick pointed out a road side market that had beautiful huge hatchling baskets for sale. So we stop again and off Robert and Patrick go to negotiate for the basket. When they brought it back to the car, they realized it was much too large to cram into the back of the SUV with the chickens, turkey, guinea hen and everything else, so they purchased some rope and lashed it to the top of the car and off we went again.

Only one more stop – and that was in the town (whose name I just forgot) where there are markets selling primarily rice, as that is the primary crop in that area. Carolyn sent Patrick and Robert off to negotiate a good price for 50 kilos of rice (if she or I had gone with them, the price of the rice would have gone up significantly!). Soon they came running back (it was now pouring rain) with a 50 kilo sack of rice which was added to the back of the car with the lemons, luggage, and various fowl.

“Drive Through” Dining

Although in Kampala, and some of the other larger towns there are restaurants that like to call themselves “fast food” restaurants, there really isn’t anything like the drive through fast food restaurants that exist in the U.S., which is, frankly, a good thing! However we did experience the Ugandan version of drive through dining on our way back from Opot.

All along the roads when traveling anywhere, you’ll find any number of fruit and vegetable stands. However, in certain areas where there is enough space for cars and trucks to safely (and sometimes not so safely) pull over, there are much larger markets, which, in addition to the fruits and vegetables, you can purchase cooked food items. Food vendors, dressed in identifying blue coats will have anything from roast chicken on a stick, soft drinks or cold water, roasted bananas, and baskets of fresh bananas and tomatoes, passion fruit, maize, etc. for sale. As soon as the car stops, all of these vendors rush the car and thrust their particular wares inside the window for you to select from. Because they’re all in business for themselves, you’ll have more than one vendor trying to sell the same thing. So it’s really a question of who gets to the window first. So as soon as I rolled down the window I had hands coming at me with chicken, bananas, everything – with a lot of shouting. There must be some kind of “fair play” rules that the vendors abide by, because remarkably, even though they’re all in competition with each other, there’s no fighting, shoving, anything like that. It’s just sort of a “survival of the fittest” situation. All of our windows were down; I was trying to buy chicken on a stick for each of us, along with cold drinks. Carolyn was trying to buy bananas to take home, and Patrick was getting water for himself. I could hardly get my money out to pay for the items I was purchasing because there were so many items being thrust at me. I lost my patience a bit but managed to maintain some equilibrium as I paid for the items and convinced the rest that I wasn’t buying anything else from anyone! I would like to have taken a photo – but I couldn’t get to my camera! Finally, we all successfully negotiated our various purchases, closed the windows and drove away.

And the chicken on a stick Ugandan style is absolutely delicious!

"Yes, Please" and other language and communication quirks

I had wondered before coming to Uganda how much trouble I might have understanding Ugandan English or how much trouble the Ugandans may have understanding my American Southern English. Having been here for five weeks now I would say it’s a toss up – with the Ugandans having a harder time understanding me than me understanding them! There are specific times I can’t understand what’s being said to me, and that usually occurs in phone calls. Or sometimes the Ugandan, in his or her shyness, will speak very quietly, and I don’t get much of what they say. But usually it’s me who is getting the blank stare when I say something they don’t understand. Edith, the woman who cleans the Bahá’í Centre and who speaks decent English, will usually look at me in bewilderment when I speak to her and then she’ll turn to Brenda, my assistant, and ask her to translate for her! And when I was telling the members of the NSA this weekend that I was going to the village of Opot (which I thought I was pronouncing correctly as “O-pot”) they also looked quite confused and then said “Oh you mean “O-pote” – apparently that second “o” is long. So more often the Ugandans just giggle at me when I say something wrong.

The funniest thing that happened in one of my first weeks here was when the phone rang in my office. I politely answered “National Bahá’í Centre, may I help you?” The voice on the other end said “Yes, good afternoon.” I didn’t respond, since I already said hello, and was waiting for the person to continue. The voice on the other end said “Yes, are you there?” I said “Yes,” so she said “Good afternoon” with a bit more emphasis. It was then that I realized that phone etiquette in Uganda demands that you respond to the person’s greeting, whether you have said hello already or not. The conversation went on and only got worse. When I had offered the proper greeting, the voice then said, “This is …….” – I totally did not get the name at all, I could only tell I was talking to a woman. But trying to fake it I just said “Yes?” She went on to ask about the deadlines for getting visas for  the group pilgrimage that is happening in October (about 20 Ugandan Bahá’ís have been invited for a group pilgrimage to the Bahá’í World Centre and there is a need for the native Ugandans to get visas from the Israeli Embassy in Nairobi.) Ah! I sort of knew the answer to that question, so continuing to fake it and hoping that I would give her enough information to make her go away happy, I said “I’m not sure of the details but I know that Betty Kharone (the chairperson of the NSA) is going to Nairobi to get all of the visas.”  “There” I thought, “that should satisfy her!” There was a slight hesitation on the other end and then a chuckle. “This IS …….” I still didn’t understand the name, but light is beginning to dawn – but rather than just ask I continued to fake it. “I really think you’ll need to contact Betty Kharone about the details.” I offered. Silence on the other end, then “Perhaps I could talk to Brenda?” I gratefully but with some embarrassment handed the phone to Brenda, who proceeded to have a normal conversation with a few giggles interspersed. When she hung up I somewhat ruefully said “That was Betty Kharone wasn’t it?” Brenda just laughed and said yes! Fortunately Betty has a good sense of humor and we have since laughed about it, but suffice it to say that Brenda is now the official telephone receptionist!

However, there are times that even the Ugandans don’t understand each other, as much like the different accents in the United States, depending on what village, clan or tribe you’re from, you may pronounce things differently or have difficulty pronouncing some letters. I mentioned in my last post about some people not being able to pronounce “l” and replacing it with “r”. Even the Ugandans laugh about the misunderstanding when someone wants to say “I want to pray,” but might mean “I want to play” or apparently there is the tribe that has the opposite problem – they can pronounce “l” but not “r” so they’ll say “I want to play” and mean they want to pray.

One day Jimmy, an accounting intern, came into our office. “I want a bok” he said. Brenda and I both looked confused. “What do you want?” Brenda asked. “A bok. I want a bok,” Jimmy repeated. Brenda, who can get a bit sassy sometimes said, “You want a bok? What is a bok?” Jimmy looked around and seeing a “box” pointed at it – “A bok – I need a bok!” he repeated. “Ohhhh…” Brenda laughed, “A box, you want a box!” We chuckled about that the rest of the day. Fortunately  I have found most of the Ugandans to be very good humored and so can laugh at themselves when these kinds of misunderstandings happen.

Some of the quirks of language in Uganda are probably derivative of British English idiomatic language. But nonetheless there are ways things are phrased here that I find interesting and am starting to pick up as well. For example, rather than saying that someone is going to pick something up – like someone needs to come pick up mail  that we have in the office for them, instead the Ugandans just say “pick” – I just find that interesting – so it would be “You need to pick some letters in the office.” And any supply closet or storeroom is just referred to as the “store” – so you’re not going to the storeroom to get paper, you’re going to the store.

But the two most interesting language quirks I have run across here really intrigue me. One is “Yes, please.” It’s normal to expect that when you ask someone if they want something you have and they do, they would say “Yes, please.” But here the Ugandans say “Yes, please” for any question or statement that simply needs an affirmative response. “Did you have a nice day?” “Yes, please.” Is John going to the store?” “Yes, please.” You get the picture.

The “What?” phrasing is something that is a little harder to explain but I’ll try to offer examples that will make it clear what I’m talking about. Many of the Ugandans, when talking in conversation, and especially when offering an explanation or saying something with emphasis will use a rhetorical question approach. So Nina is talking about the reason we might not have bananas (this is a very simplistic explanation). Rather than just making the statement, “We don’t have bananas because it was raining and Cyrus couldn’t go to the market,” she would instead say, “We don’t have bananas because it was raining and so what? (slight pause, then) Cyrus couldn’t go to the market.” I find this particular phrasing so intriguing, some Ugandans will pause longer than other as though they are waiting for a response from the listener, but they’re really not. The first time I heard this being used in a conversation at our kitchen table -  I really thought that the speaker was waiting for a response. One theory I’ve heard as to why the Ugandans speak this way is that is how they’re taught in schools – they are used to hearing teachers lecture with this same patois and they are copying that. I’m used to it now but initially I was really confused by this manner of speaking. And I’m pretty sure I won’t “pick” that particular language quirk.

Names

Now to address the issue of Ugandan names – both in general and among the Bahá’ís. In general, the Ugandans go by English or “Christian” first names with the Ugandan surname. However in reading some documents related to this group pilgrimage (I’m helping collect documents for the visas) and seeing passports and such – I realize that typically there is a Ugandan middle name as well. Where I have been confused, and stay confused is how Ugandans, especially men, will introduce themselves. Many traditionally will say their last name first and first name last – so instead of saying “I am Mathias Onama” he would say “I am Onama Mathias.” Also – because of this type of introduction, many men are called by their last name. For the longest time I kept hearing about “Onama” before I met him, and assumed that was his first name. It’s not “Mr. Onama” it’s simply Onama. But because not all of the Ugandan men do that then I stay forever confused when hearing introductions as to which name is really the first name! I think depending on how much you work in the ex-pat world with a lot of Americans and Europeans determines whether you introduce yourself the way Americans are used to rather than the traditional way.

Then there is the issue of family surnames – which is the most confusing thing I’ve ever encountered. You can have a complete family with father, mother, and children – and each of them have a different last name! Sometimes in marriage the wife will take her husband’s last name or she’ll keep her own, or some more progressive women will hyphenate both names. But due to some convoluted clan traditions, the children are given completely different last names that are connected to other relatives of their parents' respective clans. When processing visa applications for one family, each family member – mother, father, and three children had different last names!

Temple Guide Ruhiyyih Khanum with
Godfrey, one of the security guards.

Now add to that how the Bahá’ís name their children! There is a high sense of honoring well known and important Bahá’ís in both Ugandan Bahá’í history and Bahá’í history in general. So much like in the American Bahá’í community, we have our share of Badis, Tahirihs, Vahids, etc. But can you imagine, I had just gotten off the plane after a 12 hour flight and major time change. I’m exhausted  but anxious to see the Temple and so my hostess drives me there. I approach the House of Worship and the Temple guide, a Ugandan girl with beautiful dark skin and a dazzling bright smile approaches me and asks who I am. When I tell her that I’m coming there to work and live she brightens even more and extends her hand as she says “I am Ruhiyyih Khanum!” It took my jet-lagged brain a few seconds to process that particular statement! And what is even more intriguing is that if a child is named for a historical figure, they don’t just go by that person’s first name but the entire name. This girl introduced herself as Ruhiyyih Khanum, her last name is Ogwal (I think – that’s her father’s last name so it may not be hers!) One of the members of the NSA is John Robarts Okiror. And you always call him John Robarts! We also, of course, have our share of Ugandan Bahá’ís named Enoch Olinga – and that can get really confusing!

I'm starting to come to grips with the primary tribal language of Luganda and the pronounciations of letters, etc. Since the Temple choir often sings Bahá’í prayers in Luganda I've gained a real interest in the language and hope to find someone to tutor me in some of the basics. As I gain some knowledge of that I will write about it in a future post.

Reflections on My First Month in Uganda

Wow, it’s already been a month here in Uganda! I’ve seen and experienced so much in just this one month, and learned even more then I could have imagined. If this first month is any indication, the next 11 months will be full of even more surprises, experiences, and learning. Although I have to say, it’ll take a lot to beat the experience of riding the boda boda!

Here’s my list of what I have observed and/or learned in this first month:

• There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of in Uganda. From the moment I stepped off the plane I have not had a trace of fear, worry or anxiety. I feel completely at home here, and well cared for by all of my new friends.
• I am learning/receiving SO much more than I am teaching/giving. In fact, there isn’t all that much for me to offer to the friends here except my love and moral support, and maybe a game of “Uno.” But what I’ve been given by being allowed to be here, being able to pray daily in the Temple and singing in it on Sundays, and the unconditional acceptance and friendship I’ve received, far far outweighs my feeble attempts at “helping” in any way.
• 
  

  It is perfectly reasonable to have at least one cow, several goats or sheep, chickens and several children in your front yard at any given time.
• The digital age was created for third world countries like Uganda. Whereas it was difficult to get electricity and

  phone lines to many rural areas, and indeed there are many areas where those lines never reached, now everyone is “connected” with mobile phones and the internet. Plus, internet access and mobile access is so much easier and less expensive to have then in the U.S. No need to be tied to a corporate entity like Comcast and pay more than $100 a month for service. Here, you pay as you go for both internet and mobile phone – I’ve only paid $10 for my internet service so far. Plus – here we have “mobile money” as well which is genius. Another thing a lot of Ugandans don’t use regularly are bank accounts. But if you need to send money to someone in a rural area, or pay a bill, you can go to the mobile phone outlet and pay them however much money you want to send, then they send a text message to the mobile phone number of the person you’re sending the money to and they simply take it to their phone outlet, show them the phone with the amount of money they’re entitled to, and it’s paid to them. Another nifty trick in this land of sporadic electricity is that most of the mobile phones have a “flashlight” feature! Genius I tell ya’!
• It takes 3 times longer to complete any errand – such as banking, grocery shopping, just even getting from point A to point B – but it’s infinitely more interesting!
• You don’t need nearly as much “stuff” to live a decent life then you think you do.
• G-nut sauce on posho or matooke is very delicious and nutritious too.
• Electricity is overrated.
• Alison Krauss, Gillian Welch and Johnny Cash sound just as good in Uganda as they do in the U.S.
• You can get used to looking in the opposite direction when wanting to cross the road, but you better move fast when you do start to cross!
• People here think it’s “cold” and put on heavy jackets when it’s only 65 degrees.
• Smiling and greeting anyone you meet on the street is the order of the day. The Ugandans are some of the most polite people I’ve ever met. In fact, it’s very much like being in the South – everyone says good morning, good afternoon, or good evening whenever they meet; if you enter a home or a business you are told “You are welcome,” and when you return home from work or wherever, whoever is home will say “Welcome back.” I haven’t quite heard “Y’all come back now, ya here?” – but it’s been close.
• Regardless of how tiny the gift might be, whenever you give anything to a Ugandan they receive it as though they were being given gold. I’ve never met more grateful people.
• I’m not as “self-conscious” here as I was in the states. In the states, you have to be concerned with how you look, whether you weigh too much or too little, whether you have the right clothes, shoes, hairstyle, etc. I was always very aware of myself and inhibited as a result. Here, you are accepted at face value. No one is looked down on, that I can tell, because of how they look or how they dress. I feel like I can really accept myself because I feel so accepted by others. I think that’s why I had no fear about getting on the boda boda – I didn’t have to worry about what people might think. Of course, all of the Ugandans were amused by seeing the “mazune” – white – on the boda, but it was good-natured amusement – and I was amused as well!

To get serious for a minute, I do want to talk a little about what I’ve learned as a G.R.I.T.S. as regards African-American culture, issues of race, etc. Something that I’ve learned really fast is that the African-Americans in the U.S. aren’t so far removed from their African ancestry that they don’t still retain some of the speech patterns of their ancestors. For example, I had been told that certain tribes or clans have trouble pronouncing “r”s and others have difficulty pronouncing “l”s. When I heard this in someone who was talking, I realized that it was similar to how I have heard some African-Americans speak. For example, saying “chirren” instead of “children.” I always thought (part of my ignorance) that hearing an African-American say chirren implied either a speech impediment or a lack of education or sophistication. Now I see that it’s part of the DNA. How many prejudiced assumptions do white Americans make about African-Americans that can be explained by simple DNA?

In the South especially, typical southern fare in terms of food includes greens, sweet potatoes or yams, beans, peanuts, and corn. I had already learned that most of these items were introduced by slaves. Well guess where they got the idea of eating these foods? – again – from their ancestral roots – these foods are daily fare here in Uganda, and no doubt in many other African countries.

I had wondered before coming here if I would feel the impact of being in the minority – a turn about from how I was raised. But I have to say I’ve never been made to feel self-conscious at all because I am white. And in fact, I think there’s still some deference given to whites here in some establishments, much to my discomfort. And it was interesting that because in the U.S. we are, and sometimes have to be, so conscious about race – especially when trying to make sure someone is not being discriminated against because of race, that it unnecessarily informs my behaviors here. For example, we had a staff meeting that was attended by the one member of the NSA who is not native Ugandan. He’s Irish – although he’s been here about 30 years and has a Ugandan family. In this staff meeting, which I was conducting, I was suddenly and painfully aware that all of the staff, who are all Ugandan or Eritrean, were on one side, and the three whites were on the other side. I got extremely uncomfortable as I felt that it was coming across to the staff that the three whites were in power and were telling the Ugandan staff how to behave. When I checked this feeling later with Carolyn, who is white as well, she felt as though that would not have been a concern for the staff at all. I’m not totally convinced of her assessment, but I did realize that I’m the one who’s imposing the racial “thing” on my experiences, and I probably don’t have to do that.

This is just a small sampling of what I’ve learned this first month. And the primary thing I’ve learned is that I made the absolutely right decision to come here – and for that I’m ever so grateful.