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.

Genocide

A lot has been said, and even more has been written, about the 1994 Rwandan Genocide. Some blame the Germans for consciously creating a hierarchical difference between the Hutus and the Tutsis, others blame the Belgians for fostering this policy and further aggravating the difference, and then there’s the current Rwandan administration who blame the French for backing the Hutu militias. However, blaming certain groups does not change history and certainly does nothing to change the fact that the entire world allowed 1 million Rwandans to kill each other in 100 days without as much as lifting a finger to stop it. Are the Rwandan’s also to blame? Of course they are, but I’m afraid that, ultimately, privileged society has never understood, nor can they even comprehend today the catastrophic influence they wield over the vulnerable people of the world. The pictures below are of the Genocide Memorial in Kigali. The concrete slabs cover the final resting place for 250,000 genocide victims, only a quarter of the total killed.


Rwanda has made an astounding economic recovery, but I cannot even imagine the physical and emotional scars that will linger for generations from this pinnacle of human tragedy. Kigali (the Capital) is a remarkably clean and orderly city that achieved 10% economic growth last year; they have even gone as far as banning the use of plastic bags in the entire country, both of which are unprecedented on this continent.I am desperately trying to believe in some leader, or some government, here that actually cares about the people more than enriching themselves or their cronies. They are hard to come by and Uganda’s Museveni is certainly not one of them. I have admired the practicality and confidence that the President of Rwanda, Paul Kagame, has shown in reviving his country, yet it is almost certain that much of Rwanda’s recovery has occurred through the systematic raping of the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s vast mineral resources. Don't even get me started on the idiotic African policies that the United States has implented: pick any corrupt leader past or present, and guaranteed the US has backed him at one point or another. It's truly detestable. The problem with trying to believe in someone or something is that there is always another version of the story that is far less appealing than you wanted or expected. I will keep searching in hopes that other countries and other leaders will follow the example of Ghana, for instance, who is in the midst of completing another free election, the third since 1992, where the former leader actually stepped down peacefully upon completion of the allowable two terms. Go Ghana!!

"It's a small world" is not just a cliche!

Some people probably ask why I like to travel, or more importantly, why I choose to move to the other side of the world for extended periods of time? Well, there are many reasons, but mainly it’s because I get to meet so many people of such varying backgrounds who end up becoming good friends. When you have friends all over the world, that world sometimes becomes a remarkably small place, as was the case in Lynn and my most recent travels.

This story begins way back when I lived in China in 2000; one of my best friends was a Rwandan guy named Virgile who was dating this great girl, Alyssa. I always talked about how great it would be to visit him in his homeland of Rwanda, but had no idea if or when that would happen. Fast forward eight years, Virgile and Alyssa are still living in Beijing, but are recently married and planning a honeymoon trip down to Africa including a visit to his family in Kigali, Rwanda, which just happens to be a five hour bus ride from where we are living in Uganda.

Meanwhile, my brother Corry decides to go visit my dad in Australia, but take a 4-day detour in Dubai to compete in a surfski race. I figure Dubai is as close as he is going to get to us for a year so I decided to go meet him. Not only did I get to visit Corry in Dubai, but I was also able to hang out with two fun friends that Lynn and I met while climbing Kilimanjaro in June who happen to be currently living in Dubai. Corry paddled a great race considering that he competed against, probably the 50 best paddlers in the world (minus one or two who didn’t show), including 6-7 Beijing Olympic medalists and numerous other national and world title holders and he would have won if not for the 68 guys who just edged him out. I certainly miss racing when I have to witness a race of that magnitude as a spectator, but I did get to take 5 spectacular showers in 3 days at the hotel: sometimes one must enjoy the small things in life. Pictures will be coming later as, unfortunately, my camera (the old one not my good one) was stolen in Nairobi airport by the good folks at Kenya Airways.

I flew round trip out of Rwanda so as to avoid an 11hr bus ride from Kampala and Lynn showed up in Kigali the next day on a bus from Mbarara, so after eight years of dreaming about this, we spent two great days in the beautifully clean city of Kigali with Virgile and Alyssa. Virgile works for the Rwandan Embassy in Beijing, which, it turns out, means he knows a lot of important people in Rwanda. In one day, I met the Minister of Sports who invited us to attend a hugely popular concert that night at the football stadium as VIP guests, and, at the concert, was introduced to the President of Rwanda’s bodyguard. Getting in to the concert was quite a spectacle because the show was one big promotional campaign for a new cell phone company in town. The tickets were dirt cheap so every kid in the city tried to get into this show, headlined by “Sean Paul” who apparently is very popular in the US if you’re not old like me. We showed up at the gate and the police were standing there with fire hoses keeping kids from rushing the entrance as the show was completely sold out. Our group consisted of five locals and five muzungus with Virgile at the head working his magic to get us in while we tried not to get separated. It was quite a wild experience just getting to the front door of the stadium and we decided it was worth it just to get there even if we did not make it all the way in to the concert, but Virgile got us in and we enjoyed a great show with local singers from Rwanda, Congo, and Uganda belting out tunes as hundreds of bats raced around overhead chasing grasshoppers. It was very cool.


My story of a small world ends with the imminent arrival, in Uganda, of my old roommate Kathi who I have not seen in about 4-5 years. She is spending a year teaching in Cairo and decided to come down to spend Christmas with us. Lynn and I will also be spending a week with her in January when we head off on our big trip to Egypt and Ethiopia…and this is why I love to travel.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Mmmm....grasshoppers

So apparently November in Uganda is when hordes of grasshoppers descend on this tiny nation providing sustenance and quick cash to those smart enough to round them up and sell them by the cup full to hungry neighbors. The way the locals explained the phenomenon back in October, I was expecting a Hitchcock type scene where small children are carried off by thousands of these winged hors 'dourves. In reality, you really don't see that many around except at night around bright lights, but the street vendors are all-of-a-sudden selling them by the hundreds at a pretty good mark up, I might add. They shove baskets of de-winged and de-legged, squirmy delicacies in your face all month. Our friends Pasco and Alicia bravely fried up a batch and brought them over one night and, to our surprise, they were really tasty little guys...kind of shrimpy tasting. All in all a very enjoyable snack, so think about it next time you are feeling a bit hungry.

Someone I met on the road last weekend...

Queen Elizabeth National Park

Obama-land

Despite the delay, I want to tell the story of our experiences here in Uganda during the presidential election earlier this month. As many of our friends and family know, for a very long time Danny and I had eagerly anticipated the election with high hopes. And so we found ourselves with a handful of fellow ex-patriot Americans at 3am on election night (7pm EST) huddled around a small television waiting for the polls to close and results to start to come.

As a preface to the rest of this blog, I ask anyone reading to name the president of Uganda, and, for bonus points, state the year of the last Ugandan presidential election. Difficult, eh? Of course many of us (including myself until 4 months ago) don’t know the answer to these questions because Ugandan politics has little effect on our lives. The same cannot be said for the impact of the election of the president of the United States to people in Uganda, thus the race was followed intensely from this tiny equatorial, developing nation in East Africa.

The reasons for the interest in the election varied, but there was one commonality: people here loved Barack Obama. There was the boda boda (a motorcycle taxi) driver who Danny uses daily and spent every trip debating politics in an incredibly sophisticated manner. There were my colleagues in the hospital, who harbored perhaps a more common, educated skepticism of the Bush administration and knew the latest election updates before I did (right down to who won the previous evening’s debate, or how much Palin’s wardrobe cost). There were those who equated the possible election of McCain with a continuation of the war- the war where their loved ones (Ugandans) have been recruited and trained to serve as poorly paid “security forces” for private American interests located in Iraq. And then there were those who knew little about politics, but simply saw the election of a man with East African heritage and dark skin to perhaps the most powerful and important position in the world as a symbol of hope, and a promise for better things to come.

Our election night party in Mbarara was a mellow affair, and centered around CNN coverage which luckily was shown on the one and only available channel. The only interruption in CNN coverage occurred in true Ugandan fashion when for 30 minutes the local TV station decided to show footage of people in Kampala at an election night party who themselves were watching CNN (yes, we watched people watching CNN for 25 minutes- seriously). But the coverage returned, and so we huddled around the television in the wee hours of the morning as McCain conceded and Obama was elected president.

Now I’ll admit that I was delighted at the result, but was not prepared for next couple of days… It began as I walked into the hospital, where friends and colleagues were filled with emotional and heart-felt congratulations. As I walked through town, in lieu of the usual “how are you muzungu?” (common greeting to a white person), I instead had shouts of “Obama!!” directed at me from inside shops, from across the street and even from boda boda stands. If I smiled and gave a thumbs-up, an excited chorus of cheers and handshakes would follow. The buzz continued for many days, with such demonstrations as free large Obama posters inside the daily newspaper (we’re definitely bringing one home…). It seemed that East Africa itself had actually won the presidency of the United States.

And, at the end of the day, I admit to really enjoying telling people that I now come from Obama-land.

Golfing Uganda Style

There is a "golf course" right next to our house and I have been meaning to play it for months now. Last Saturday two friends, Josh and JJ and I finally decided to go golfing Uganda Style.

It's a 9-hole course that is ridiculously cheap(about $2.50USD), but the balls are 4x more expensive than the greens fees and since we are all huge cheapos, we bought one box for the three of us(for those who don't know, that's one ball each). They don't provide rental clubs or bags, but they have a pile of clubs that people have left over the years free to use. All we could find in working order was a 3-iron, 6-iron, 8-iron, 3-wood, and a wooden driver. The putter was bent in half, but we found a fringe iron that worked fine. The manager assured us that we would not be able to find our own way around the course and so hooked us up with a 12 year old local kid, named Joseph, as our caddie. Joseph was a slick dude as he right away called over one of his friends and handed him all the clubs to carry(all 6 that is).

When we got to the first tee we already had six more caddies, which it turns out we really needed. It started drizzling but we teed off anyways. On my second shot with the driver, because my first shot only went 20yds, the wooden head broke off and went flying further than my ball and then it started dumping rain. We were just about to head to the clubhouse when it let up so we ventured on with our 3 balls, 6 clubs and 8 caddies. The next few holes were fine except that whoever set up the course had either never done it before or secretly hated golfers because you constantly have to hit across other fairways directly over the heads of other golfers while other peoples balls are landing around you. You also have to hit across roads about 7 times. I now refer to hole #4 as the bat-hole because the tee box is underneath a tree that is home to about 6000 bats and they never stop squeaking during your backswing...who knew bats were so rude? I almost had to quit on hole #5 because the three of us, our 8 caddies, and several locals walking around could not find my ball, but luckily Josh found another ball in the grass after a 15min search. We ran out of luck, however, on the 8th hole when Josh lost his ball on his second shot and had to disqualify himself from our super competitive Ugandan Skins Game at 100 shillings per hole. JJ and I battled on and I was sure to win a triple skin on the 8th when JJ sunk an impossible 30ft putt that bounced 9 different directions on the uneven grass on its way to the hole. Inconceivable!

We finished up with the 9th hole, paid our caddies and made definite plans to play every week. Golfing Uganda Style was another unique experience that I will not soon forget. Oh yeah, and then I got malaria later that night and thought I was going to die for about two days.....all better now.