A chat on the way home

So yesterday I was walking out of one of the many DVD rental stores in town (the films from which are frequently interrupted by a shadow walking across the screen as someone in the movie theater where the film is being pirated goes to the toilet), when I heard the familiar "how are you, muzungu?". The phrase is a complicated one, because it can be taken in many ways. When a primary school child says it shyly under her breath as you pass her on the street, it can be seen as a first brave attempt at English. When the boda boda driver shouts it from his stand, it usually means "can I drive you somewhere?" When a toddler screams it at the top of his lungs from the end of the path that leads to his house, it is hysterical (and even funnier when he gets it wrong and screams "I am fine Muzuuuuuuuungu!!!!"- the phrase his parents have taught him should follow "how are you"). But most difficult is knowing how to take the educated, adult Ugandan who passes you on the street with "how are you, muzungu?". I know I am muzungu, so do I need to be reminded of my race with every interaction? Surely an adult English speaker should be more polite than to greet me by pointing out the color of my skin? Or is it just an attempt at polite conversation in a way that their parents taught them as toddlers, and has stuck as the correct way to say hello? And, why do I care? Like I said, it's difficult to know how to take it.
So, yesterday, as I was greeted by a man walking next to me I responded...

"I am fine. How are you, Ugandan?"
He laughed, "You can not call me Ugandan! I call you Muzungu, because that is the language you speak. The language of the Muzungu. But there is no language of Ugandan."
"Ah", I said "but my language is not called Muzungu. It is English. And I am certainly not English! Perhaps I should call you Ankole, then, for Runyankole is your language". I end with an eye brow raise and a smile (half of my communication now involves my eye brows).
"Okay, then it shall be. You can call me Ankole. Do you know some of our local language? Agande (how are you)??", he said.
So, I responded, "Ndijay (I'm good). Agande sebo (how are you sir)?"
He laughed again, with eye brows raised. "So, what other words do you know in our language?"
"I can count...". And, so I counted to ten with only one mistake by substituting six for seven.
"Why do you know this language?" he asked, probably now curious as to why this strange muzungu woman had not simply answered his first greeting with "I am fine" and walked away.
"I work in the hospital, so I speak a little Runyankole to my patients."
"Do you like working there?", he asked. We are now long past the muzungu-debate.
"Yes, I very much like it, but it is difficult sometimes when we do not have the medicines or the resources that people need"
"Yes", he said knowingly, "money is always the problem".
"But I like my patients very much," I say, changing the subject.
"Of course," he says. It is well known, even amongst themselves, that Ugandans are very nice people.
There was a short pause in the conversation as we continued walking. By this time I was half-way home.
"Me, myself. I am a patient," my new friend says abruptly. "I have 'slim' (common East African reference to HIV)". He looks to me for a response.
I said, "ay" with an eye brow raise. A common response that I have learned here to mean neither shock nor dismissal. Simply acknowledgment.
He continued, "my wife, too, she is a patient. And I have one child. We are all three patients".
"My boy, he is six months. We just tested him and he is positive".
"I am sorry to hear that," I said without eye brows. Somehow it never surprises me to discover someone here is positive, but the thought of a couple finding out that their child only child is also infected seems too much to bear.
"Do you go to one of the clinics? Are you on ARV's?" I asked.
"Yes, and my wife's CD4 counts is 500 and mine is 380. We are lucky. We feel well and are not sick yet. The baby takes liquid medicine."
I said, "that is great. You sound very educated, and are taking your medicines. I suspect you and your wife will do very well for a long time," hoping he does not notice the omission of his son's prognosis.
By now we are at the gate of my house, and I tell him that I am home.
"I have one question for you, doctor," he says. We have now stopped walking. "If I take my medicines on time every day and stay healthy, how long do you think I will last?"
Was it only 10 minutes ago that I was trying to decide between Season 3 of Boston Legal and Season 2 of Ugly Betty? How do people go about their lives with these problems? I have been here 5 months and this continues to be one of the hardest things to get my mind around.
"Sebo, I do not know. But I do know that if you take care of yourself and your family. And take your medicine everyday. And go to the doctor as soon as you have a cough (too many of our HIV patients succumb to TB), or malaria (synonymous with any fever). And eat healthy food. And live healthily. (and, and, and...how are all these conditions ever possible in any setting???). Then I truly believe it is possible that you will live many, many years and become an old man."
With a very formal turn to face me and shake my hand, he said, "Thank you for your advice, doctor," and turns and walks on down the road.